"Manslaughter!" she repeated involuntarily. "Yes, but Everett thinks it is very doubtful whether the Grand Jury will find a true bill against any one. It would be almost an unheard-of thing to do. Of course, Graves will stay away until he sees how it will turn out, and probably the others will keep out of reach. Everett wants me to go--" "No, no!" she cried, "never! You have come all this way on the hard road, and we must go on to the very end, no matter what that is." "So I thought you would feel," he answered gently. "I said the same thing to Everett. Of course, the justice of it isn't very clear. It's mixed up with politics, anyway. I don't know that it would do much good to any one to stay and be tried. But if you feel that way--" She laid her hand on his arm, imploring him mutely not to give her all the responsibility for the decision. "Think what it might mean, if--if they found me guilty!" he muttered gloomily. "I know," she shuddered. "But Francis, we must pay somehow, you and I. We must pay!" CHAPTER XXXIII But if in her heroic soul she was ready to pay, and to make him pay, at the price of public shame for her and her children, the full penalty of his misdeeds, it was not to be so. He was to escape the full measure of retribution, shielded by the accident of his class. Unknown to him, the tangled threads of his fate were being sorted in the great city, and the vengeance of society was being averted, so far, at least, as legal punishment was concerned. Everett Wheeler, once recovered from his disgust at the sentimental folly of the architect's confession at the inquest, had no mind to see his cousin on trial for manslaughter. His mood was invariably to settle things, to cover them up, to bury them! As has been said, he had political influence, enough to reach even to the district attorney's office, enough to close the mouth of the Chicago _Buzzard_, to quiet the snarls of the _Thunderer_. So the case against the men held to the Grand Jury for the hotel disaster was quietly dropped. The mayor put another man in Bloom's place as chief building inspector, and very soon things went merrily on in their old way. And that was the end of it all! The seventeen human beings who had lost their lives in the fire had not even pointed a moral by their agonizing death. For a few summer months the gaunt, smoke-blackened pit of ruins on the boulevard served to remind the passers-by of a grewsome tale. Then, by the beginning of the new year, in its place rose a splendid apartment building, faced with cut stone and trimmed with marble. Wheeler notified the architect in a curt note that the case had been dismissed, and Jackson showed the letter to his wife. "Thank God!" he exclaimed fervently, "that is the end. I shan't drag you into the mud any farther."