"But there was a mist, wasn't there?" asked Mr. O'Donnell. "No such record." "What kind of clouds were there?" "Low, hanging clouds." "When did the sky clear?" "At four a. m." "Let me look at that book," said Mr. O'Donnell. "I'm not a--what do you call it--meterologist?" suggested Mr. Cox. "Read the meter, Pat," said Mr. Short. "Here. What's this? Why, the record shows there was rain that night!" shouted Mr. O'Donnell. Mr. Cox looked and saw the letter "T" opposite the temperature reading for nine p. m. "That means 'trace.' Yes, there was a trace of rain at that hour," admitted Mr. Cox. When the case closed and the arguments were through the courtroom was filled with wild, expectant people. It was a scene never equaled in Cook county. Even the scenes of confusion in the trial of Dora McDonald for the slaying of Webster Guerin were eclipsed. The jury did not deliberate long. A few hours sufficed to reach a verdict. There was some contention on the part of one juror, but he was soon convinced that the verdict should be not guilty. The scene when the verdict was handed to Judge Brentano was appalling. The little Irish girl standing in front of the bar of justice, with eyes looking straight ahead into those of the judge; the auditors standing breathless awaiting the words that were to fall from his lips. When the court read from the slip of paper, "We, the jury, find Ella Gingles not guilty," bedlam broke loose. Men and women, many of them richly dressed, rioted madly. Several of the clubwomen and members of the Irish Fellowship Society ran to the girl's side and hugged and kissed her. For several minutes the court made no attempt to still the outbreak. He, too, grim and stern, and used to tragedies in the court, seemed to feel the joyfulness of the occasion. "I'm so happy," the little lace-maker told her friends. "I was certain I would be freed. It was a horrible plot against me, but with all my friends working for me I knew I could not come to any harm." After leaving the courtroom the girl was taken in a cab to the home of a wealthy clubwoman on the south side. That evening hundreds of supporters called to greet her and tell her of their joy at her acquittal. Several of them joined together and presented her with a small diamond brooch. The next day the little lace-maker began making arrangements to return to her old home and to her parents, at Larne, Ireland. There with her family she expected to try to live down the horrors of her experiences in Chicago. CHAPTER XII. THE RETURN HOME. A clipping from the pages of one of Chicago's great newspapers we leave to tell the last chapter of the life of Ella Gingles. In its few words it tells chapters of the faith and confidence placed in the Irish lace-maker by her friends in Chicago. It was the last good-bye to the little foreigner before she sailed back across the ocean to her waiting parents and friends in the town of Larne, Ireland.