ted, "but I can't help--"

"I know, my child, just what you are going to say," she interrupted.
"You are going to say the words they have taught you--that it is your
duty, and all that! And do you not know that the law is just a great
machine of rules, and that this is one of them: that you must tell
whatever you have seen, no matter how unjust, no matter what harm it
does? It is for that reason I do not go to the law. I come to you,
who are a woman like me, and have compassion. You say you do not know
this man, but you have seen him. You can not be quite blind to what he
is. He has been rash and foolish, and it is true that he has made
angry some very virtuous citizens"--she rolled out the last two words
with a curl of her handsome lip--"but he is a most lovable and charming
boy, and the most brave! Can't you see by his face that he could not
do an evil thing? He was dragged into this affair as a matter of
honor; the quarrel was a fair and open one."

A joyful feeling went through me at her words--the first really kind,
saving words I had heard spoken of him. I almost loved her for them;
and the expectation that the next moment I was to hear the explanation
of them held me, leaning forward in my chair, breathless.

She made a little imploring movement toward me with her open hands.
"It would be cruel, cruel for a gentle, tender-hearted girl like you to
speak such words against him!" A faint color was beginning to shine in
her cheeks, and her eyes had opened wide their wonderful blacks.

"But," I cried, "if you know something in his favor why don't you go
into court and tell them about it? If only you would speak to them as
you do to me, I know they would believe you! They couldn't help it!"

She shot a quick glance at me, half suspicious, half fierce; but
immediately it softened into a rather sad smile. "That is very
gracious of you, to speak so; but about the court do not make a
mistake! The words I have, the things I know, are not those that speak
to the mind but to the heart. All that the lawyers take count of are
the facts; and for the jury, they would be more swayed by one word a
little innocent-eyed girl will say, than by the most eloquent plea I
could offer. It is you who will sway this balance of justice. Do not
try to escape from that responsibility. Think, think, of how, when you
saw him come out of the door, he looked at you, and with his eyes
implored you to be silent!"

I stared at