Sampson's heart sank. While he was convinced that the old man had been cruelly tricked by his business associates, that they had squeezed him dry in order to profit by his misery, that Stevens at least was actuated by a personal grudge which found relief in crushing the father of the man he hated, and that the others may have been innocently or pusillanimously influenced by the designs of this one man who sought control, there still remained the fact that Hildebrand, according to the evidence, had violated the law and was a subject for punishment--if not for correction, as the prison reformers would have it in these days. In no way could the old man's act be legally or morally justified. Sampson, after hearing the announcement of his counsel, realised that he would have a very unpleasant duty to perform, and he knew that he was going to hate himself. He had never spoken a word to Alexandra Hildebrand; he had not even heard the sound of her voice--her conversation with counsel was carried on in whispers or in subdued tones--And yet he was in love with her! He was the victim of a glorious enchantment. And he knew that No. 7 was in love with her--foolishly in love with her; and so was the once supercilious No. 12; and the chubby bachelor; and No. 9 who wanted to stay off the jury because he had to get married in three weeks; and No. 8 who had two sons in the high school, one daughter in Altman's and two wives in the cemetery; and the sombre-faced No. 1; and all the rest of them! No. 2, who chewed gum resoundingly, no longer chewed. His jaws were silenced. He had an impression that Miss Hildebrand disapproved of gum-chewing, so he stopped. More than this, no man could sacrifice. The spruce young men from the district attorney's office were visibly affected--(they really were quite sickening, thought Sampson); and the deputy clerk, the court-room bailiffs, and the stripling who carried messages from one given point to another with incredible speed, now that he had something to keep him moving. All of them, in a manner of speaking, were in love with her. And she was not in love with any one of them. There could be no doubt about that. They meant absolutely nothing to her. Sampson wondered if she had a sweetheart, if there was some one with whom she was in love, if those dear lips--and he sighed bleakly. He hated, with unexampled venom, this purely suppositious male who harassed him from morning till night. Common-sense told him that she must have a sweetheart. It was inconceivable that she shouldn't possess the most natural thing in the world. She just couldn't help having one. What sort of a fellow was he? Of course, he didn't deserve her; that was clear enough, assuming that the fellow actually existed. In his present frame of mind, Sampson could think of only one man in the world who might possibly be deserving of her.