"I think I should say, in justice to myself," said Mr. Jarvis, a little stiffly, "that I made every effort to dissuade Mr. De Jarnette from doing this thing. I urged him to wait until the next day, knowing him to be an impulsive man, and feeling sure that he would wish afterwards to undo what he had done. But--he would not listen to me. I hoped that I could get him to change the will when he returned, and I can hardly doubt that he would have done so, had it not been for the unfortunate accident that ended his life." Margaret had been listening breathlessly. As Mr. Jarvis stopped she turned to speak to Judge Kirtley and again encountered the steady gaze of Richard De Jarnette's black eyes. It seemed so strange, so unaccountable, for him to watch her so that before she could control it--if indeed control is ever possible--she felt a hot tide sweeping up from neck to brow. And the consciousness of this did not lessen the flow. Then it passed and left her paler than before. It was annoying but it did not stop her in what she had to say. A new thought had come to her while Mr. Jarvis was speaking. "What is the date of that codicil?" she asked. "April 30, 1890." "I thought so," she said eagerly. "Well, don't you see how that date changes everything? Even if my--if Mr. De Jarnette had had the right by law to will away my child he could not have done it on April 30th, for Philip was not born till two days afterward! His birthday is May second!" She said it exultantly. As by one impulse the two lawyers looked each into the face of the other and then away. "Don't you see?" she cried desperately, not comprehending the look but knowing instinctively that something was wrong. "Don't you see the difference that makes? When that will was made this child was _mine_!--a part of my body!--my very breath giving him life!... Don't you see?--Oh, _can't_ you see?... He wouldn't have the right to make this will then--_not then_!" Her voice was becoming strained and high-pitched in her excitement. "Mrs. De Jarnette," began Mr. Jarvis, "the law--I should say--yes, the law--Judge, you can explain this to her better than I can." She turned to Judge Kirtley. She was in extremity now. "My child," he said, "the law, as it distinctly states, recognizes in this thing no difference between the living child and the infant _en ventre sa mere_. Your husband, according to the laws of the District of Columbia, had a right to will away your unborn child." She stared at him incredulously. Then, as the meaning of his words sank into her quivering soul, she bent toward him with a look that had a challenge in it. "And have you known this before?" "Always." "And you?" she demanded, turning to Mr. Jarvis. "Yes," he admitted. "It is a part of our imperfect laws. The whole thing should have been revised long ago. It is a disgrace to the District."