Little does he care which; he must see the dead, look down on the woman who has been like a mother to him, and see if her influence is forever removed, if his wealth is his, and his independence forever assured.
"Safe in the darkness of the gloomy recesses of the dancing hall, he steals slowly forward.

Drawn as by a magnet, he enters the room of seeming death, draws up to the pillow-laden couch, pulls off first one cushion, and then another, till face and hands are bare and-- "Ah!--there is a movement! death has not, then, done its work.

She lives--the hated one--_lives_! And he is no longer rich, no longer independent.

With a clutch, he seizes her at the feeble seat of life; and as the breath ceases and her whole body becomes again inert, he stoops to pull off the ring, which can have no especial value or meaning for him--and then, repiling the cushions over her, creeps forth again, takes up the bottles, and disappears from the house.
"Gentlemen of the jury, this is what my opponent would have you believe.
This will be his explanation of this extraordinary murder.

But when his eloquence meets your ears--when you hear this arraignment, and the emphasis he will place upon the few points remaining to his broken case, then ask yourself if you see such a monster in the prisoner now confronting you from the bar.