f. The girl had evidently come resolved to show
her better side. The impression was strengthened when he approached
them. Lydia's manner was gentle and dignified.

"Mr. O'Bannon," said she, "I feel distressed at the sentence of my
maid--Evans."

Miss Bennett looked on like a person seeing a vision--Lydia had never
seemed--had never been like this--gentle, feminine, well, there was no
other word for it, sweet--poignantly sweet. She did not see how anyone
could resist her, and glancing at the district attorney she saw he was
not resisting, on the contrary, with bent head, and his queer light eyes
fixed softly on Lydia's he was drinking in every tone of her voice.
Their voices sank lower and lower until they were almost whispering to
each other, so low that Miss Bennett thought fantastically that anybody
coming in unexpectedly might have thought they were lovers.

"She isn't a criminal," Lydia was saying. "She was tempted, and she has
confessed. Won't you help me to save her?"

"I can't," he whispered back. "It's too late. She's been sentenced."

"Too late, perhaps, by the regular methods--but there are always others.
You have so much power--you give people the feeling you can do
anything." He shook his head, still gazing at her. "You give me that
feeling. Do this for me."

"You could have done it yourself, so easily, before she was sentenced."

"I know, I know. That's why I care so. Oh, Mr. O'Bannon, just for a
moment, you and I----" Her voice sank so that Miss Bennett could not
hear what she said, but she saw her put her hand on his arm like a
person taking possession of her own belongings. Then there was no use in
listening any more, for a complete silence had fallen between them; they
did not even seem to be breathing.

The district attorney suddenly raised his head with a quick shake, like
a dog coming out of water, and stepped back.

"It can't be done," he said. "If I were willing to break the law into
pieces, I can't do it."

Lydia's brow darkened. "You mean you won't," she said.

"No," he answered quietly. "I mean just what I say. I can't. Remember
you have had two chances to help the girl--at the first complaint, and
in your conversation with the judge. Why didn't you do it then?"

Why hadn't she? She didn't know, but she answered hastily:

"I did not understand----"

"You wouldn't understand," he returned, in that quiet, terrible tone
that made her think somehow of Ilseboro. "I tried to tell you a