The fourth day came and went. On the fifth day, May 16, the stillness of the house was broken by the sound of hushed voices and hurrying footsteps. “Nurse,” I exclaimed, when I could no longer bear the feeling of oppression that possessed me, “is anything the matter?” She turned, and in a cold, harsh voice replied, “The funeral starts in an hour.” “Whose funeral?” I asked. “Your husband’s,” the nurse exclaimed; “but for you he would have been buried on Tuesday.” I stared at her for a moment, and then, trembling from head to foot, got out of bed and commenced with weak hands to dress myself. The nurse looked alarmed, and came forward. “Stand back!” I cried. “I will see my husband before he is taken away.” She placed herself in front of me; I pushed her aside and confronted the policeman at the door. “I demand to see my husband,” I exclaimed. “The law does not permit a person to be treated as guilty until she is proven so.” He hesitated, and then said, “Follow me.” With tottering steps, supported by the nurse, I was led into the adjoining room. Upon the bed stood the coffin, covered with white flowers. It was already closed. I turned to the policeman and the nurse. “Leave me alone with the dead.” They refused. I then knelt down at the bedside, and God in His mercy spared my reason by granting me, there and then, the first tears which many days of suffering had failed to bring. Death had wiped out the memory of many things. I was thankful to remember that I had stopped divorce proceedings, and that we had become reconciled for the children’s sake. Calmed, I arose and returned to my room. I sat down near a window, still weeping. Suddenly the harsh voice of a nurse broke on my ears: “If you wish to see the last of the husband you have poisoned you had better stand up. The funeral has started.” I stumbled to my feet and clutched at the window-sill, where I stood rigid and tearless until the hearse had passed, and was out of sight, and then I fainted. When I recovered consciousness I asked why my mother had not been sent for. No answer was made, but a tardy summons was sent to her at Paris. When she arrived she came to me at once. What a meeting! She kissed me, and was speaking a few loving words in French, when the nurse interposed and said, “You must speak in English,” and the policeman joined in with “I warn you, madam, that I will write down all you say,” and he produced paper and pencil. I then begged my mother to go into Liverpool to see the Messrs. Cleaver, who represented me, as they would give her all the information she required; and then I cried out in the bitterness of my heart, “Mother, they all believe me guilty, but I swear to you I am innocent.” That night I had a violent attack of hysteria. Two nurses and the policeman held me down, and when my mother, outraged by his presence, wished to take his place and send him from the room, Nurse Wilson became insolent and turned her out. AT WALTON JAIL