"But," said Fru Heyerdahl, "if this is the terrible fate that is meted out to the guilty--or, let us say, the more clearly guilty--unmarried mother who has killed her child, what of the innocent one who is merely suspected of the crime, and has not committed it? What reparation does society offer to her? None at all! I can testify that I know the girl here accused; have known her since she was a child; she has been in my service, and her father is my husband's assistant. We women venture to think and feel directly in opposition to men's accusations and persecution; we dare to have our own opinion. The girl there has been arrested, deprived of her liberty, on suspicion of having in the first place concealed the birth of a child, and further of having killed the child so born. I have no doubt in my own mind that she is not guilty of either--the court will itself arrive at this self-evident conclusion. Concealment of birth--the child was born in the middle of the day. True, the mother is alone at the time--but who could have been with her in any case? The place is far away in the wilds, the only living soul within reach is a man--how could she send for a man at such a moment? Any woman will tell you it is impossible--not to be thought of. And then--it is alleged that she must have killed the child after. But the child was born in the water--the mother falls down in an icy stream, and the child is born. What was she doing by the water? She is a servant-girl, a slave, that is to say, and has her daily work to do; she is going to fetch juniper twigs for cleaning. And crossing the stream, she slips and falls in. And there she lies; the child is born, and is drowned in the water." Fru Heyerdahl stopped. She could see from the look of the court and the spectators that she had spoken wonderfully well; there was a great silence in the place, only Barbro sat dabbing her eyes now and again for sheer emotion. And Fru Heyerdahl closed with these words: "We women have some heart, some feeling. I have left my own children in the care of strangers to travel all this way and appear as a witness on behalf of the unfortunate girl sitting there. Men's laws cannot prevent women from thinking; and I think this, that the girl there has been punished sufficiently for no crime. Acquit her, let her go free, and I will take charge of her myself. She will make the best nurse I have ever had." And Fru Heyerdahl stepped down. Says the justice then: "But I think you said a moment ago that the best nurses were those who _had_ killed their children?" Oh, but the justice was not of a mind to go against Fru Heyerdahl, not in the least--he was as humane as could be himself, a man as gentle as a priest. When the advocate for the Crown put a few questions to the witness afterwards, the justice sat for the most part making notes on some papers.