That's the only ground on which any of these people are entitled to help from any of us."
In obedience to his father's injunction he refrained from approaching Mrs. Bradley. Nevertheless he cast a longing eye in her direction and then, with apparent reluctance, followed his father and Westgate from the court-room.
But the rector of Christ Church remained. This tragedy in law had stirred him deeply. From his broad, humanitarian point of view, while the letter of the law had doubtless been upheld, justice, at the same time, had been mocked. He had not said so to defendant's counsel, nor to the president of the defendant company. He had not cared to get into a controversy with them. But he realized, as perhaps no other spectator in the court-room had realized, how sharply and bitterly this unexpected termination of her year's struggle for justice had fallen on the soul of the woman who had borne the burden of the fight. His quick sympathy went out to her. The desire to comfort her if possible, to help her if he could, was strong within him.
Not that her disappointment was especially manifest. She did not shrink, nor grow pale, nor weep, when she heard the charge of the court which virtually sentenced her to a life of unrelieved poverty and toil. She did not, even now, as she stood talking quietly with counsel, look like one who had just toppled from the pinnacle of hope to the pit of despair. Yet that she had done so there could be no doubt.
As her lawyer turned away, both the rector and Juror No. 7 approached her. She turned her back on the rector, and held out her hand to the juror, smiling on him as she did so.
"I don't know you by name," she said, "but I want to thank you for having the courage of your convictions. I'm told it's not often a juror dares do what you've done to-day."
