“But you would not deliberately discharge a guilty man just because you happened to feel sorry for him, would you? We, as individuals, are all sorry for the person we are obliged to punish, Mr. Sampson. But the law is never sorry. The mere fact that one man disregards the law is no reason why the rest of us should do the same, is it?” “Of course not,” said Sampson, feeling himself in a trap. “The State asks no more of you than you would, as a citizen, ask of the State, Mr. Sampson. The fact that this defendant, after five years, voluntarily surrendered himself to the authorities--would that have any effect on your feelings?” “Yes, it would. I should certainly take that into consideration. As a citizen, I could not ask more of any man than that he surrender himself to my State if it couldn't catch him.” The Court tapped with his pencil, and a raucous voice from somewhere called for order. “Are you a married man, Mr. Sampson?” “I am not.” “The State is satisfied,” said the assistant district attorney, and sat down. Sampson caught his breath. Satisfied? It meant that he was acceptable to the State! After all he had said, he was acceptable to the State. He could hardly believe his ears. Landed! Landed, that's what it meant. The defence would take him like a shot. A cold perspiration burst out all over him. And while he was still wondering how the district attorney could have entrusted the case to such an incompetent subordinate, counsel for the defence began to ply him with questions--perfunctory, ponderous questions that might have been omitted, for any one with half an eye could see that Sampson was doomed the instant the State said it was satisfied. His spirit was gone. He recognised the inevitable; in a dazed sort of way he answered the questions, usually in monosyllables and utterly without spunk. Miss Hildebrand was no longer resting her elbows on the table in front of her in an attitude of suspense. She was leaning comfortably back in her chair, her head cocked a little to one side, and she gazed serenely at the topmost pane of glass in the tall window behind the jury box. She appeared to be completely satisfied. He saw the two lawyers lean across the table in consultation with the prisoner and his granddaughter, their heads close together. They were discussing him as if he were the criminal in the case. Miss Hildebrand peered at him as she whispered something in her grandfather's ear, and then he caught a fleeting, though friendly smile in her eyes. He was reminded, in spite of his extreme discomfiture, that she was an amazingly pretty girl. “No challenge,” said the defendant's attorney, and Sampson was told to take seat No. 3 in the jury box.