er it might be. The thought of it ran
through all her dreams like a secret romance.

It began to take shape in her mind as political ruin. She knew from
Eleanor that he had ambitions. He had taken the district attorneyship
with the intention of making it lead to higher political office. She had
fancies of defeating him in a campaign, using all the tragedy of her own
experience to rouse the emotions of audiences. Easier to destroy him
within his own party by Albee's help--easier, but not so spectacular.
He might not know who had done it unless she went to him and explained.
Over that interview her mind often lingered.

As her ideas of retribution took shape she became happier in her daily
life, as if the thought of O'Bannon sucked up all the poison in her
nature and left her other relations sweeter.

If Lydia had but known it, her revenge was complete when she fell at his
feet. The months she had spent in prison had been paradise compared to
the months he had spent at large. The verdict in the case had hardly
been rendered before he had begun to be tortured by doubts as to his own
motives. It was no help to him that his reason offered him a perfect
defense. The girl was a criminal--reckless, irresponsible and
untruthful, more deserving of punishment than most of the defendants who
came into court. If there were any personal animus in his prosecution
there was an excuse for it in the fact that Albee had certainly come to
him with the intention of exerting dishonorable pressure in her behalf.
Everyone he saw--his mother, Eleanor, Foster, Judge Homan--all believed
that he had followed the path of duty in spite of many shining
temptations to be weakly pitiful. But he himself knew--and gradually
came to admit--that he had done what he passionately desired to do. Even
he could not look deeply enough into his own heart to understand his
motives, but he began to be aware of a secret growing remorse poisoning
his inner life.

The thought of her in prison was never out of his mind, and it was a
nightmare prison he thought of. In the first warm September days he
imagined the leaden, airless heat of cells. When October turned suddenly
cold and windy he remembered how she was accustomed to playing golf on
the windy links and how he had once seen her driving from a tee near the
roadside with her skirts wrapped about her by her vigorous swing. He
gave up playing bridge--the memories were too poignant. And after
Eleanor had once men