"For God's sake don't let's talk of her!" said O'Bannon, and it was on this note that they parted. He wrote to her only once, though his letters to his mother were always at her disposal. She saw a great deal of the old lady, who developed a mild pleurisy as soon as her son's back was turned and didn't want Dan told of it. Eleanor spent most of that hot August taking care of her. "I want him to have an uninterrupted holiday," said Mrs. O'Bannon firmly. "He hasn't been well. He doesn't sleep as he ought to, and he's cross, and you know it's not like Dan to be cross." On the last day of August he was back, lean and sunburned, announcing himself to be in excellent condition. His first question was about the Thorne case. "Are you anxious about it?" said his mother. "Not a bit. They can't reverse us," he answered. After Labor Day Lydia moved back to her Long Island house, and she was there when the decision in her case was handed down. The verdict of the lower court was sustained. It was a great blow to her--perhaps the first real blow she had ever received. She had so firmly made up her mind that the former verdict had been the result of undue influence of the district attorney that she had thought it impossible that the higher court would uphold it. Another triumph for "that man!" The idea of punishment was horrible to her--to be fined as a criminal. She still did not conceive it a possibility that she could be sent to prison. "I can think of lots of ways in which I'd rather spend a thousand dollars," was her only comment. But day and night she thought of the scene in court when she must present herself for sentence. In secret her courage failed her. It would be the visible symbol of O'Bannon's triumph over her. Yet her will threw itself in vain against the necessity. Nothing but death could save her. It would be short anyhow. She knew how it would be. She and Wiley would appear in the midst of some other wretch's trial. There would be whisperings about the judge's desk, and O'Bannon would be there--not looking at her, but triumphing in his black heart, and the judge would say "A thousand-dollar fine," or--no, nothing so succinct. He would find it an opportunity to talk about her and her case first. And then she would pay the money and leave court, a convicted criminal. And then the second stage would begin. It would be her turn. She would give her life to getting even with O'Bannon. She who had always needed a purpose--a string on which to thread her life--had found it in hate. Most people found it in love, but for her part she enjoyed hate. It was exciting and active, and, oh, what a climax it promised! Yes, like the adventuress in the melodrama, she would go to him herself and say: "I've waited ten years to ruin you, and now I've done it. Have you been wondering all these years what was against you--what held you back and poisoned everything you touched? It was I!"