Yet the principal thought in his mind that now the world would know all— And after all his efforts. And beginning volubly to explain to the desk lieutenant and the detectives and policemen all that he knew. But the only thought afloat in the unhappy Ida’s brain, once she awakened again, was: Was this really her father? And was he talking so—of help? That she might have come to him—for what—when she had thought—that—that he would not be like that to her. But ... after a time again ... there was Ed to be thought of. That terrible scene. That terrible accident. She had not intended to do that—really. She had not. She had not. No! But was he really dead? Had she really killed him? That push—almost a blow it was—those words. But still— Oh, dear! Oh, dear! And then beginning to cry to herself, silently and deeply, while Zobel and his wife bent over her for the first time in true sympathy. The complications of life! The terrors! There was no peace for any one on this earth—no peace—no peace. All was madness, really, and sorrow. But they would stand by her now—yes, yes. But then the reporters. A public furore fanned by the newspapers, with their men and women writers, pen and ink artists, photographers. Their editorials: “Beautiful girl of seventeen shoots lover, twenty-one. Fires two bullets into body of man she charges with refusing to keep faith. About to become a mother. Youth likely to die. Girl admits crime. Pleads to be left alone in misery. Parents of both in despair.” And then columns and columns, day after day—since on the following afternoon at three Hauptwanger did die—admitting that he had wronged her. And a coroner’s jury, called immediately afterwards, holding the girl for subsequent action by the Grand Jury, and without bail. Yet, because of her beauty and the “pathos” of the case—letters to the newspapers, from ministers, society men and women, politicians and the general public, demanding that this wronged girl about to become a mother, and who had committed no wrong other than that of loving too well—if not wisely—be not severely dealt with—be forgiven—be admitted to bail. No jury anywhere would convict her. Not in America. Indeed, it would “go hard” with any jury that would attempt to “further punish” a girl who had already suffered so much. Plainly it was the duty of the judge in this case to admit this poor wronged soul to bail and the peace and quiet of some home or institution where her child might be born, especially since already a woman of extreme wealth and social position, deeply stirred by the pathos of this drama, had not only come forward to sympathize with this innocent victim of love and order and duty, but had offered any amount of bail that she might be released to the peace and quiet of her own home—there to await the outcome of her physical condition as well as the unavoidable prosecution which must fix her future.