As the woman (without the disfiguring head-dress which she habitually wore) stepped to the center of the room a murmur of surprise arose from the jury and the few spectators who were permitted to squat along the walls. She not only appeared young; she was comely. Her face, though darkly tanned, was attractive, and her hair, combed rigidly away from her brow, was abundant and glossy. The line of her lips was firm yet sweet, and her long, straight nose denoted the excellence of her strain. Even her hands, reddened and calloused by labor, were well kept and shapely. But it was through her bearing that she appealed most strongly to the ranger and the coroner. She was very far from being humble. On the contrary, the glance which she directed toward Carmody was remote and haughty. She did not appear to notice the still, sheeted shape in the corner. In answer to a query she informed the jury that her name was Helen McLaren; that she was a native of Kentucky and twenty-six years of age. "I came to the mountains for my health," she said, curtly. "You mean your mental health?" queried the coroner. "Yes. I wanted to get away from the city for a while. I needed rest and a change." The coroner, deeply impressed with her dignity and grace, leaned back in his chair and said: "Now before I ask the next question, Miss McLaren, I want to tell you that what you say in answer may be used against you in court, and according to law you need not incriminate yourself. You understand that, do you?" "Yes, sir. I think I do." "Very well. Now one thing more. It is usual in cases of this kind to have some one to represent you, and if you wish Mr. Hanscom, the forest ranger, will act for you." The glance she turned on Hanscom confused him, but he said: "I'm no lawyer, but I'll do my best to see that you are treated fairly." She thanked him with a trustful word, and the coroner began. "You have had a great sorrow recently, I believe?" "Yes, sir." "A very bitter bereavement?" "Yes, sir." "Have you any near relatives living?" "Yes, sir. A sister and several aunts and uncles." "Do they know where you are?" "No, sir--at least, not precisely. They know I am in the mountains." "Will you give me the names and addresses of these relatives?" "I would rather not, if you please. I do not care to involve them in any troubles of mine." "Well, I won't insist on that at this point. But I would like to understand whether, if I require it, you will furnish this information?" "Certainly. Only I would rather not disturb them unnecessarily." Her manner not only profoundly affected the coroner; it soon softened the prejudices of the jury, although four of them were immediate friends and neighbors of Kitsong. They all were manifestly astonished at the candor of her replies. The coroner himself rose and solemnly disclosed the corpse. "Do you recognize this man?" he asked. She paled and shrank from the face, which was brutal even in death, but answered, quietly, "I do."