:


GUILTY P
BY
JNO. W. ARCTANDER, L.L.D.
of the Minneapolis Bar
Author of “The Apostle of Alaska ”
Cochrane Publishing Company
Tribune Building
New York
1910


Inscribed
to
That Exquisite Little Southern Maiden
LILLY MAUD SCOOLER
of
New Orleans, La.


*-*------


CONTENTS
BOOK I.—The Case
Chapter
I. The Telegram .
II. The Lawyer .
III. The Retainer
IV. On the Ground
V. Shadows of a Crime
VI. The Arraignment .
VII. The Conference
VIII. The Skirmish
BOOK II.-The Confession
I. The Kiss .
II. The Exile
III. The Child
IV. The Marriage
V. The Ghost
BOOK III.—The Trial
I. The Scene •
II. The Links in the Chain
III. The Dream • •
IV. A Flaw in the Chain
V. The Black Jar .
VI. The Chemist
VII. The Truth
VIII.
The Last Word
Page
22
35
41
46
55
60
71
81
95
. 106
114
127
134
144
. 155
166
. 179
194
. 202





BOOK I.
THE CASE





G U I L T Y P
CHAPTER I.
THE TELEGRAM.
“A TELEGRAM for you, sir.”
At these words, James Barker, the leading criminal
lawyer of Minneapolis, looked absently over his gold-
rimmed spectacles at the office boy of the firm of Bar-
ker & McDonald, who, thumbing a Western Union en-
velope, stood near the corner of the large desk at which
the lawyer was seated. He had knocked at the door
of the private office several times without receiving an
answer, so engrossed was the lawyer in the preparation
of a complicated brief which lay on the desk before him.
“What can I do for you, Bob?” And a kind smile
lit up the anything but handsome features of the noted
lawyer.
“A telegram, sir,” repeated the boy.
“For me, eh?” And with a peculiar nervous jerk,
the lawyer took the straw-colored envelope and tore it
open. His eyes rapidly scanned the contents of the
message. It read as follows:
Willmar, Minn., Sept. 6, 1893.
HON. JAMES BARKER,
Temple Court, Minneapolis, Minn.
Innocent woman, accused horrible crime, requires
your eminent assistance. Come immediately.
MARIE EKLUND.
3 *
9


10 GUILTY?
“Tut, tut, my little one! Come immediately! We
are in a great hurry, aren’t we?” muttered the lawyer
in his heavy beard, as he once more perused the mes-
sage, this time with a keen, searching glance resting
inquisitively on each word, yea, on each syllable, as if
he were trying to make out the writer's character from
the wording.
It was an old habit of Mr. Barker never to let an
opportunity go by that could possibly afford an insight
into the character of any person with whom he came in
contact. It was perhaps the main secret of his success.
Whenever a juror was called in one of his cases, he
looked up at him sternly for a moment over the rim of
his glasses, and this one quick glance, generally, cor-
rectly deciphered to the lawyer's mind what would be
concealed to most men behind the wrinkled brow or the
smiling countenance.
He read in the face and, especially in the eyes, as in
an open book, the human mind and heart hidden with-
in; he saw their strong and weak points; he divined
their likes and their dislikes and, with the intuitive in-
stinct of a woman, he would, from a moment’s investi-
gation, rather than from an extended examination into
the juror’s history and surroundings, determine in his
own mind whether to trust the man on the jury or not.
Although he would often indulge in a lengthy exami-
nation of a juror on his “voir dire,” it was mainly for
the purpose of verifying his first impression, rarely to
change it. -
This confirmed habit of always searching for traces
of the true character in a person who came under his
observation had bred in him the firm belief that not
only would a man's handwriting unfailingly betray his
character to the keen observer, but that even expressions
that he made use of, whether verbal or written, could


GUILTY? 11
give a judge of human nature a clue to the true in-
wardness of the man and to his sincerity in any asser-
tion he might choose to make.
“All right, my boy,” he said, without in any way in-
terrupting his searching investigation of the few words
of the message.
The office boy silently withdrew from the room, and
closed the door leading to the large general office of
the firm.
The keen eyes of the lawyer continued to follow every
word in that scanty message from beginning to end.
Word for word to the end again. And so on for a num-
ber of times.
His brows were firmly knit, and there came a worried
expression over his features, as he evidently was en-
gaged in spelling out from the eleven words of that
brief telegraphic message the history and character of
the woman who, in her trouble, had appealed to him for
help. -
This idea of his power to construct a solution of the
riddle of a person’s life history from his looks and re-
marks had, during the long years of his practice, so
thoroughly taken hold of him that, whenever he failed
to weave a story of human experience from the most
slender threads, he almost felt the pangs of the weak-
ness of old age coming over him, and he doubted the
continual vital force of his wonted perspicuity.
But presently the deep vertical furrows between his
eyebrows relaxed. A light of understanding and ap-
preciation swept over the troubled features. With an
evident feeling of great relief he threw the message
down on his desk and spoke aloud, addressing an imagi-
nary person, as often was his wont, when his mind was
recovering from some strenuous effort:
“Aha! my dear girl, I have got you at last. You.


12 GUILTY 7
- - - - -
are a keen one, and came near making no breaks. In-
nocent? No. You don’t allow anything for my knowl-
edge and observation of women. A woman who is in-
nocent will not stop to assert it. She expects you to
take it for granted without saying anything about it.
If she has any snap about her, she will devour you, if
you undertake to express the first shadow of a doubt
about it. You may be beautiful; you may be every-
thing that is perfect; but innocent you are not.
“But let me see. You are young; you are a for-
eigner. Well, of course, the name indicates that, but
then you might be an American girl who had found on
the wild western prairie a Swede good enough to marry.
You might be, in spite of your name, but you are not,
and I know it.
“You were brought up across the sea. You have
tried too hard to make ten words answer for your mes-
sage. You have been used to the ten-word division in
telegraphic rates on the continent. But you have failed
after all. There are eleven words, trying your utmost.
You gave it up in despair for you had an object to ac-
complish. What was it? Oh, you keen one; don’t you
think an old fox like me can read between the lines?
“You could have stricken out the word ‘eminent,’
characterizing my humble services. You have left out
words really necessary to make good sense in the mes-
sage. Why did you insist on retaining that wholly un-
necessary word? Oh, I will tell you, my little one.
You are keen, as I just remarked. You thought I was
an old fool who would swallow flattery from a young
girl, and so you stuck to that word, even at the risk of
paying a double rate.
“You wanted to tickle my vanity,” continued the
lawyer in soliloquy. “Perhaps you have not the where-
withal with which to tickle my purse, so you employ


GUILTY } 13
*
that other weapon usually so effective in the combat of
a woman with an old bald-headed lawyer. But I see
through you, my duck, and you will not get my services
unless you have the ducats. An old fool like myself
can resist those blandishments a great deal easier when
a hundred miles away.
“The telegraph is a splendid invention. By its
means persons speak as if they were in each other's
presence, but the most dangerous concomitants of
speech—the glances from bewitching eyes, which in
their silence and sadness speak louder than words, are
wholly absent.
“But I must get through with you and not divert.
If it were not for your cuteness I should say you were
a romantic school-girl, but you are too keen and calcu-
lating for a school-girl. You have gone through a
good deal, and have successfully taken a postgraduate
course in the science of man’s weakness. But romantic
and sentimental you are, there is no mistaking that.
You admire Byron. I will lay a wager he is your fa-
vorite poet. “Horrible crime’—murder, of course. Of
what else could a woman of your stamp be guilty? But
how did you commit it? That is the question. Who is
the 'victim? Another woman who has robbed you of
your lover? No, you would glory in that with your
romantic temperament. ‘Horrible crime’—I have it.
You have poisoned somebody. But if you have there is
a lover in it. That old Frenchman used always to in-
quire for the woman in every criminal case. In your
case there is a man, my dear, or my name is not Jim
Barker. Well, we will soon see if my diagnosis of your
disease is correct.”
The lawyer wheeled his office chair around, reached
over to an electric button at the extreme end of his
desk, and pressed it three times. In a few seconds


14 GUILTY?
there appeared in the doorway a bald head as round
and polished as a billiard ball resting on a diminutive
but very active and nimble body.
The owner of this strange looking head was Charles
Dyke, Barker & McDonald's confidential clerk, and the
chief in the general office. He advanced to the desk
without addressing his superior in words, but his shin-
ing face, way up beyond a pair of large ears, that evi-
dently were made for the purpose of taking in every-
thing that came their way, smiled an inquiry to his
employer loud enough to be heard a square off.
As the clerk advanced, the lawyer again took up the
telegram, glanced for a moment at the signature, and
said, in his blandest tones:
“Please examine the morning papers, Mr. Dyke, and
let me know if you find in any of them a special from
Willmar concerning a poison case in which a young
woman, Marie Eklund, is involved. Bring me the pa-
per as soon as you have found the paragraph, and find
it quick, if you please.”
Mr. Dyke, without uttering a word, simply bowed
assent to his employer and withdrew.
His lips were as thin and as firmly closed as his ears
were large and open. Evidently Mr. Barker's theory
of the face being a truthful exponent of a man’s char-
acter had obtained for Mr. Dyke his present confiden-
tial position, for even less keen eyes than those of the . .
lawyer could easily discern that Mr. Dyke was a man
who knew how to keep his tongue well barricaded be-
hind those thin lips.
Even before the door closed upon the clerk, Mr. Bar-
ker resumed work on the knotty brief, the preparation
of which had been disturbed by the arrival of the tele-
gram. 1
Not a thought did he now give to the new case of-


GUILTY? 15
fered him. He had formed his judgment. It was, of
course, correct. The newspaper report would simply
confirm it—that was all. He just knew that it would,
and troubled himself no more about it.
He was so deeply engrossed in his work that he did
not notice Mr. Dyke’s reappearance until the latter laid
on the desk, right under the lay wer’s nose, a copy of
that morning’s Tribune. Mr. Dyke's sharp index fin-
ger pointed to an article which he had marked in blue
pencil. |
“The special, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dyke. Please remain a moment. I
may want to send a telegram when I have read this
article,” said Mr. Barker, quietly, without looking up
from his work. -
He did not even seem to notice the newspaper until
he had finished the portion of the brief on which his
attention had been riveted. This completed, he grabbed
the newspaper with that same nervous jerk which was
noticeable on his tearing open the envelope, and one
glance was sufficient to attract his attention to the
marked article in the last column of the first page. This
is what he read:
ACCUSED OF MURDER.
Handsome Young Widow Arrested on the
Charge of Poisoning Her Husband
Paramour May Be Partner in the Crime.
Grand Jury Investigating the Case.
(Special to the Tribune.)
Willmar, Sept. 5.–Last March, Andrew
Eklund, a prominent and well-to-do farm-


18
GUILTY!
the arrest. This noon he arrived with the
prisoners. They were brought before Jus-
tice Burns this afternoon, when the county
attorney asked a continuance of the exam-
ination for four days, as he would be en-
gaged during that time before the grand
jury which is now in session. The pris-
oners were thereupon committed to the
county jail. Mr. Steen was at once locked
up, but the fair widow enjoys the hospi-
tality of the sheriff's residence, as the eco-
nomic instincts of the county board have
not provided any separate jail for female
prisoners.
The sheriff has the utmost faith in his
fair prisoner, and has left her to the care
of Mrs. Brown, who asserts her ability to
handle two or three prisoners without giv-
ing them a chance to escape.
It was generally understood this after-
noon that the witnesses in the case were
being examined before the grand jury, and
that the expert chemist will arrive on the
evening train from St. Paul to give his evi-
dence tomorrow. It is likely that an in-
dictment will then be found, and that, in
any event, the young widow will be called
upon to appear in the district court in-
stead of before the magistrate to answer
to the charge of murdering her husband.
The “Tribune” correspondent sought an
interview with her at the sheriff's resi-
dence this evening, but exerted in vain
his ingenuity to draw any information
from her regarding the alleged crime. Al-
though receiving the correspondent very
cordially and in a very ladylike and re-
fined manner, she was mum as an oyster
on the question of her husband's death,


GUILTY! 19
and could not be induced to say anything
except that she, with tears in her eyes,
most strenuously affirmed that she was
wholly innocent of the alleged crime, and
a victim of the most unfortunate circum-
stances, and that she trusted in God alone
for help out of the trouble which had be-
fallen her. She indignantly denied any
but the purest relations between her and
the other prisoner, and explains all insinu-
ations to the contrary by the fact that the
women of the neighborhood, who she
avers are all low-bred Swedes, heartily
dislike her because she has declined to as-
sociate with them. The other prisoner ab-
solutely refused to speak to the “Tribune”
correspondent at all, and would neither af-
firm nor deny his guilt. On the whole, the
case is the most mysterious one this coun-
ty has ever had, and the people of the vil-
lage are getting quite excited, bets as to
the conviction of the prisoners being free-
ly offered and taken, showing that public
opinion is greatly divided. From what
has leaked out as to the evidence in the
possession of the State, there seems to be
no doubt but that a true bill will be re-
turned by the grand jury tomorrow after-
noon against the woman at least.
The lawyer's eyes ran down the column, and it was
with a smile of satisfaction that he perused the con-
tents. -
As usual, his judgment had been correct.
From the innocent eleven words of the telegraphic
message he had constructed the life story of this young
woman. His old-time perspicuity had not deserted him,
and he sniffed another legal victory in the air.


20 - GUILTY?
There was only one point of dissatisfaction in the
story told in the newspaper—the woman was not poor.
She evidently had money. What then was the reason
for her attempt to cajole him into her services by abject
flattery? In this particular only had he judged her
wrongly, but this troubled him but for a moment.
“Bah,” he muttered to himself, “what does it mat-
ter? It was only a trifle anyhow, and I will soon
enough discover her hidden reason for this attack on
me. Everything considered, I would rather have her
wealthy, for I must confess that the sender of that tele-
gram had fascinated me against my will, and I am
afraid I should have taken her case, even if there had
not been a cent in it. So much the better, though !
There is always more satisfaction in working for a good
fee than merely for the love of the thing. Isn’t she
keen, though? Getting a decree of distribution before
the regular time and getting ready to leave the un-
healthy atmosphere behind her. Women don’t like
hempen neckties—they are not fashionable.
“She was evidently too much for you, Mr. County
Attorney, and you would never have had her, had not
some spy, interested for some reason in her doings, put
you on to her scheme. Who is that spy? Well, never
mind, we shall know it all in good time. But I must go
to work. If I leave for Willmar tonight, I shall have
to work like a slave to get through with this confounded
brief.” - •
He gave the innocent brief a slap as if to revenge
himself on it for the trouble it caused him at a time
when a new and interesting case called for the applica-
tion of all his native keenness and energy. Then turn-
ing to Mr. Dyke, who had remained respectfully stand-
ing near the edge of the desk, he said:


GUILTY? 21
“Mr. Dyke, you will please telephone at once a mes-
sage to the Western Union for Mrs. Marie Eklund, in
care of Sheriff Brown, Willmar, to the effect that I will
arrive at Willmar on this evening s train, provided she
wires me before two o’clock today through the local
bank, my trial fee in district court, one thousand dol-
lars. Tell them to rush it, and inform me when the an-
swer comes.”
Mr. Dyke nodded and was about to disappear when
the lawyer again addressed him.
“I shall be busy all day, so if anyone calls, I am out
of the city. You understand?”
“Yes, sir,” and Mr. Dyke disappeared.
It was some time before Mr. Barker could concentrate
his thoughts on his brief. The new case had a strange
fascination for him, and he could not resist the tempta-
tion to peruse the newspaper story once more.
“That correspondent is a lawyer,” he said to him-
self. “It is the first time I ever saw any of those con-
founded papers get any legal matters right, but this
fellow knows what he is talking about. He evidently
doubts her guilt, too. Young man, likely—has perhaps
fallen a victim to the little woman’s charms. Well,
we will have use for you, my friend. The power of the
press is great, and must never be overlooked. All you
have to do is to send its shafts in the right direction,
and it is a blessed power, great for good and great for
evil. In this case we will use it for our fair client’s
good, and incidentally for Jim Barker's as well.”
With this remark he threw the newspaper aside, and
bent over his brief, pen in hand.


CHAPTER II.
THE LAWYER.
WHILE Mr. Barker is engaged on his brief, let us take
advantage of the opportunity to allow the reader to
form a closer acquaintance with this remarkable man
who is destined to figure so prominently in this drama
of life.
“Jim” Barker was at this time sixty-two years of
age, but in spite of his venerable age, and the promi-
nent position he occupied at the bar of the State, where
he had cast his lot since early manhood, not even a
mere acquaintance of his was ever known to address
him in any other way than by the familiar sobriquet,
“Jim.” There was something so large-hearted, so cor-
dial and kind about the man, he managed on short or
long acquaintance to reach out for the heart-strings of
any one he met to such an extent that even a stranger
felt as if he had known him for years.
Intimate friends from his native State said that in
his early youth Barker had met with a great sorrow
which came near ending his usefulness, but that when
he finally emerged from the whirlpool of despair, in-
stead of becoming sour, crabbed and bitter, it had the
opposite effect; and from that day you could always
reckon upon Jim Barker taking the part of the under
dog, whether it was in a dog fight or in that more cruel
fight wherein society is hounding one of its poor un-
fortunates whom it believes to have broken one of its
22


GUILTY! 23
laws—to death or a fate a thousand times worse than
death.
He was in this particular, if in no other, a typical
American.
He never held public office but once. For two years
he filled with great credit and ability the position of
prosecuting attorney of Hennepin county. No one
could say that he did not honorably discharge the duties
of his office. The criminal trembled at the sound of
his deep, sonorous voice when he exhorted the jury
never to strike the blow of guilty until every avenue of
doubt had been closed, but then to strike fearlessly, no
matter who was hit.
His very anxiety to obtain the poor fellow a fair
trial, and to see that none was convicted unless his guilt
was manifest and free from reasonable doubt, secured
him conviction from juries in cases where some more
zealous and less fair advocate, perchance, would have
tried in vain.
He did his duty—did it manfully, but any one who
saw him could not fail to see that, during these two
years, he always went into battle with a sad heart, and
that he really wished he was free from the distasteful
task.
A remarkable trait of his may be mentioned. His
hand rested heavily on the neck of every criminal until
the jury had pronounced him guilty; but from that
moment he loosened his hold on the poor fellow. From
that time not a word from him was heard which could
in the least tend to aggravate the lot of the poor un-
fortunate. In fact, he was often known to plead in the
privacy of the judge’s chamber for leniency in the
punishment of the convicted criminal.


24 GUILTY?
Shortly before the close of his term of office he was
tendered a unanimous renomination by his own party,
and the party which he had combatted with all the
strength of conviction almost from the days of his
boyhood, without an opposing voice, concluded to en-
dorse his nomination, so effective and fearless had been
his administration of justice in the largest county of
the State.
But fate would have it that a red-handed murderer,
who, by the lawyer's efforts, had been convicted on
greatly circumstantial, though convincing evidence, ex-
piated his crime on the scaffold a few days after the
latter convention.
For weeks afterwards Barker’s face wore a haunted
expression. One could see that he suffered intensely,
and before election day, he, with thanks, declined both
nominations, and absolutely refused to allow his name
to go before the people. When his friends urged him
to reconsider this action he told them, with a look of
horror in his eyes, that he would commit suicide rather
than run the risk of having another man’s blood on
his hands.
The day his term of office expired, and when he found
himself at liberty again to appear and fight the battle
of the down-trodden and the unfortunate, a new elasti-
city seemed to come into his steps, a new luster shone
in his eyes.
He was in his element again.
In defending a criminal he never cared whether a
man was guilty or innocent. That was not the ques-
tion with him. He insisted that every criminal, were
he ever so guilty, under the merciful view of the law,
was entitled to a fair trial for his life or liberty; to


GUILTY? 25
have every doubt on the law or the facts magnified in
his favor. In support of this position he proudly quot-
ed the maxim of the common law, that it were better
that ninety-nine guilty men escape than that one in-
nocent suffer.
I don’t know but that he really preferred to defend
a guilty person. At least he had been known to remark
that it was much easier to defend a guilty man than an
innocent one, and that the only time a jury would not
listen to the plea of insanity interposed by himself in
behalf of a person accused of homicide, was in a case
in which the defendant was “as mad as a March hare.”
Some have been malicious enough to say that in all
other cases in which he cleared his man on the plea of
insanity the defendants were at least as sane as the law-
yer himself.
The lion was never so much aroused in him, as when
he was to defend a man against whom the full force of
popular opinion and prejudice had set in; when the
community, so to speak, clamored for his client’s blood.
Then his biting sarcasm silenced the mouth of many
a lying witness, and the fear of his scathing cross-ex-
amination scared from the stand even many an honest
and truthful witness.
Then in torrents of eloquence his voice fairly lifted
the rafters of the court house, and, with the wild, ir-
resistible force of a tornado, howled and whizzed and
screeched for human liberty, for human life, for the
protection of the citizen against the unfair onslaught
of the Commonwealth, and, like the thunder-clap, it
generally struck consternation, flight and fear into the
camp of the prosecution. But when he had at last suc-
ceeded in divesting the minds of the jurors of every


26 GUILTY?
shred of prejudice and preconceived opinion, when he
had eloquently terrorized their souls with the terrible
consequences to them, to the community and to the
prisoner at the bar, of an erroneous conviction, and
when their minds had become blank tablets on which
could be written his lofty dictations, he changed his
tactics.
The roaring, thunderous voice was hushed, and in
tones as soft and winning as a woman’s caresses, he
instilled into their minds and hearts the blessings flow-
ing from extending mercy toward the erring and fallen,
until there was not a dry eye in the court-room.
At times his voice would tremble in the deepest
tremolo of a tear-choked throat, but on such occasions
never a tear glimmered in the corner of his eye. He
knew the secret, that when you wish to awaken in your
hearer’s hearts the emotions that find their outlet in
the sweet pearls of sorrow and compassion, you must
be beyond the pale of that emotion yourself.
So during his most pathetic appeals his cheeks were
the only ones in the room that were not tear-stained.
But that does not signify that he was not sincere in
what he said. He was only perfect master of the sit-
uation and of his emotions, and knew that he must
absolutely control his personal feelings, if he wished to
succeed in swaying the emotions of his hearers.
The secret of his success in the trial cases could, in
a measure, be attributed to his marvelously keen judg-
ment of human nature, but that faculty alone would
never have achieved the continuous victories he enjoyed
had it not been aided by his untiring energy in work-
ing up his cases in the smallest details, and by his be-
ing prepared for anything the enemy could offer.


GUILTY! 27
Besides he had a wonderful faculty of quick percep-
tion, so necessary to the successful lawyer. He could,
so to speak, sniff a point, intended to be made by the
other side, a long ways off, and long before it showed
itself to the ordinary naked eye. And by the time the
evidence dangerous to his client’s case was about to be
introduced he was either prepared to eliminate it from
the case by clever objections, or he had already made up
his mind how to meet and counteract its poisonous ef-
fects on the jury.
He was never taken unawares. If he were, he never
showed it.
The effect of the most damaging evidence against
him was more than once totally destroyed by his simply
drumming his pencil on the table, by a loud yawn, or
by a disgusted look which indicated that he was greatly
bored by the whole performance.
No lawyer ever cross-examined as little as he did. He
never did so, simply to harass a witness, or for the mere
fun of cross-examination.
Many a witness against him he literally eliminated
from the case by that magnificent wave of his hand, in-
dicating to every one present that the witness was not
of the slightest importance in the case, and far beneath
the dignity of cross-examination.
As a general thing he never cross-examined unless he
went after a scalp, knew, or divined where he could get
it, and then, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, he
returned from the hunt with the trophy dangling at his
belt. -
But if he felt in his heart that a witness had lied in
any material particular, or if he wanted for some rea-
son to draw the jury's attention away from a danger-


28 GUILTY.'"
ous matter, it was fine to see him rise to his feet and
close in on the witness. Six feet two inches in his stock-
ing feet, and tipping the scale at three hundred pounds,
he was a physical giant as well as an intellectual one,
and when the strong index finger of his long arm was
ominously pointed at the witness, and the burning ques-
tions poured down on the head of the victim thick and
fast, and when the otherwise kindly eyes looked dag-
gers, blazing with indignation, it was no uncommon
thing for the bravest man to cow down in abject fear,
and “give up the ghost,” figuratively speaking.
Many a brave and courageous man, many a person
as well provided intellectually as he, stepped down from
the witness stand after a rattling cross-examination at
the lawyer's hands, literally “as limp as a rag,” with
all his evidence torn into tatters.
While in the smoke of battle, he had but one aim—
to clear his man. Every move he made, every word
he spoke to client, witness or judge, even every joke
he passed across the table, had but one object—effect
on the jury.
When he addressed the court on a legal question he
spoke clearly, convincingly, as one who knows what he
is talking about, and none could make finer and more
delicate distinctions in the law than he, but at all times
the keen observer could see that while every word was
sent on its way so as to graze the judge’s ear, at the
same time the shafts were aimed directly at the hearts
and brains of the twelve men, who ultimately had his
client’s fate in their keeping. And his arrows gener-
ally hit the bull’s eye.
His appearance was rugged and disorderly as were
his habits. His shaggy, white beard he let grow long


GUILTY? 29
and unkempt. The strangling hairs on his head looked
as if they had never made the acquaintance of a comb
or brush. His coat and vest were always dotted with
grease spots, even the day after they came from the
tailor, and his desk presented a perfect picture of the
prevailing disturbance at the building of the tower
of Babel. Letters, briefs, telegrams, pamphlets, legal
periodicals and books were dumped there in one con-
glomerate mass, and he was exceedingly fortunate if he
could find an empty space on it large enough to rest his
arm when he wished to sign his name.
One of his pronounced peculiarities was that he mis-
trusted every woman. He admired all of them, who
were beautiful; he had loved many of them in his day,
but he never trusted anything in petticoats.
That, perhaps, explains why no female stenographer
could be found in Barker & McDonald’s office.
Perhaps the great sorrow of his life had something to
do with this extreme distrust of women; perhaps it
was a just punishment for the crime of having remained
a bachelor all his life with the world full of lovely
women, ready and willing to make him a good, true and
loving wife. Who can tell?


CHAPTER III.
THE RETAINER.
MR. BARKER had just returned from lunch when one
of his clerks handed him a telegram from the cashier
of the Bank of Willmar, informing him that one thou-
sand dollars had been deposited with the bank to his
credit by Mrs. Eklund.
He at once indited a telegram to his fair client in-
structing her, if brought into court to plead to the
indictment, to demand time to plead until the follow-
ing day. He ended the message with a caution to keep
her own counsel, and not to speak to anyone about the
case, under any pretext whatever, until he arrived.
Knowing that his client, being a foreigner, might
fail to appreciate the import of any possible court pro-
ceedings, he, as a matter of further precaution, sent a
telegram to the judge, who was an old friend of his,
notifying him of his intended appearance in the case,
and invoking the protection of the court for his client's
rights, and further asked that her arraignment, if pos-
sible, be delayed until he could be present in court the
next morning.
... This disposed of, he rang the bell for Mr. Dyke.
, “Mr. Dyke, when is my next engagement in court?”
“Next Monday—the bank robbery case—St. Paul.”
“Very well, I shall only spend two days at Willmar
anyway. Where is Thompson?”
“St. Paul, sir.”
30


GUILTY! 31
“What is he doing there?”
“Working on a clue in the bank case, sir.”
“Can you have him here before 5 o'clock?”
“I will try, sir.”
“Trying will not do, Mr. Dyke; Thompson is to go
with me to Willmar tonight. He must be here at five.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Will you please ascertain when the night train
leaves for Willmar, Mr. Dyke.”
“At 7:10, sir.”
“Well, I declare. Do you know that, too, Mr. Dyke,
you are a regular encyclopedia. I would like to know
if there is anything that you don’t know all about.”
“I looked it up, sir.”
“Well, well, I dare say. You are a valuable man,
Mr. Dyke.” -
“Thanks, sir.”
Mr. Dyke was about to retire from the room.
“One moment, Mr. Dyke; will you kindly send one
of the boys to the hotel for my valise. Let him tell
the chambermaid to put in a shirt or two. If he doesn’t
she’ll pack my whole wardrobe.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Place ‘Taylor on Poisons’ and ‘Woodman's Toxi-
cology’ in the valise, and, Mr. Dyke, Willmar is a dry
village, is it not? Haven’t they voted no license there?”
“Yes, sir; I believe so.” - - - -
“I thought so. D—n those prohibition towns, . A
fellow who never drinks anything gets terribly thirsty
the moment he strikes one of them. Get me a couple
of quarts of the best whiskey you can find. It may
come in handy; one never can tell.”
“Bourbon, sir?”


32 GUILTY?
“No, sir. What do you take me for?” fairly roared
the lawyer. “A Democrat? Rye, sir. Never anything
but rye for me.”
“All right, sir.”
And Mr. Dyke, surprised to learn that there was
something about his employer he did not know, and
evidently very much disgusted with himself, retired to
execute the lawyer’s orders.
At 5 o'clock Mr. Barker was still assiduously at work
at his desk. There had been repeated knocks at the
door to his private room for several moments, but, as
usual, when engrossed in his duties, he heeded them
not. In fact, he did not hear them at all.
Finally the door opened and the longest, sharpest
and reddest nose one would ever expect to see insinu-
ated itself into the opening.
That nose belonged to Mr. Thompson, and its owner
was not far away, although it must be admitted that
there was a considerable distance from the tip of his
nose to any of the adjacent portions of his face.
Before there was a chance to see anything else of him
a fine, long hand hove in sight, and lovingly caressed
that nose. And it was well worth petting, for it was
valuable. Its rubicund shade had cost many a dollar
of good honest money. In fact, it was claimed that
Mr. Thompson had expended upon it a considerable
portion of the large fortune his father, a rich railroad
contractor, had left for him to squander. No wonder
his hand, whenever he was studying on anything, and,
in fact, on the smallest provocation, involuntarily, with
a soft, loving caress, stroked that prominent probocis,
that certainly was not done in water-colors.
Mr. Thompson was Mr. Barker’s factotum. For the


GUILTY 7 33
last ten years the lawyer had not tried an important
case in court without Thompson’s assistance. He was
a lightning stenographer, and in court he always sat
behind his employer, taking down in shorthand every
word which passed in the court-room. But this was
not his most valuable accomplishment.
Ten years ago when Thompson had been wallowing
in the dregs of the whiskey barrel, he had, in an un-
fortunate moment, tried to retrieve his ruined finances,
in order to satisfy the cravings of his nose for higher
coloring, by passing a forged check on an unsuspect-
ing saloon-keeper.
He was arrested, indicted and tried. Mr. Barker
secured his acquittal.
That nose had impressed Mr. Barker's fancy from
the start. He concluded that such a nose, with such a
wonderful hook-like appendix at the end, could not fail
to indicate a great natural aptness for detective work,
if its owner could only be prevailed upon to keep sober,
and when the case was over he kindly took the young
criminal into his office. The Keely cure was not then
in vogue, but Mr. Barker had a medical friend who,
like himself, had implicit faith in the therapeutic pow-
ers of hypnotism, and he set the medical man to work
on the owner of that extraordinary nose.
The weak condition of Thompson's brain, brought
about by incessant dissipation, made him an easy sub-
ject for the doctor's hypnotic powers.
For some weeks he was daily put into a hypnotic
condition. When in that condition the suggestion was
given him, every day stronger and more emphatic, not
to touch liquor and to be unable to stand the effect of
any strong drinks. Finally it was strongly impressed


34 GUILTY?
upon him that his system would immediately repel any
attempt to force liquor upon it.
After the lapse of a few weeks Mr. Thompson found
himself reformed to such an extent that even the mere
odor emanating from a saloon was sufficient to give him
an attack of nausea.
Saved from ignominious imprisonment and from the
slavery of the drink curse, was it strange that he be-
came the great lawyer's faithful servant and sleuth?
He would burrow and dig into the slimy surround-
ings of every criminal case in which Mr. Barker was
interested, until he could lay before his employer every
fact obtainable from the witnesses for the State, and
every scintilla of evidence which could be scared up for
the defense. *
“You wanted me at five, Mr. Barker, and here I am.
It is two minutes after five, sir.” These words startled
Mr. Barker, who was still buried in his work.
“Aha, my boy, you are here, are you? I couldn’t
have gone off without you, you know. We go to Will-
mar tonight. I have a week’s work for you there in a
poison case. Get yourself a clean shirt and come here
at 6.30 to take my valise to the depot.”
“But the bank case, sir?”
“D—n the bank case. I want you to understand
that this is no ordinary case, Thompson. If I am not
: mistaken, you have to put in your best efforts if I am
to win, and win I must. Tell Mr. Dyke to have some
one else put on your clues in the bank case, and meet
me here at 6.30 sharp. These are my orders—now
vamoose.”
And Thompson vamoosed.


CHAPTER IV.
ON THE GROUND.
IT was after 10 o’clock when the huge Great Northern
engine pulled the heavy Winnipeg train up to the plat-
form at Willmar station. -
When Mr. Barker alighted from the car he soon
ascertained that his arrival had been anticipated. The
platform was thronged with a crowd of curious men,
who had come down to get a glimpse of the man whose
name just then was in everybody’s mouth in the vil-
lage.
In the crowd he soon perceived the burly form of
Sheriff Brown, who elbowed his way to Barker, and
after a hearty handshake, relieved him of his satchel
which he insisted on carrying over to the Merchant’s
Hotel.
In the hotel office a number of the leading citizens
came up to shake hands with Mr. Barker, for he was
no stranger in the town. A few years before, he had,
amidst great public excitement, succeeded in acquitting
a couple of railroad men who, at the instigation of the
railroad company, had been indicted for manslaughter
on account of a fatal wreck caused by an alleged lack
of vigilance on their part. - . . . . . . . .
Among others, who crowded around him to take him
by the hand, was his old friend, Judge Thayer, the pre-
sid’ng judge of the district court. With his peculiar
western abandon, the judge had been enjoying his usual
35


36 GUILTY?
game of cinch in the hotel office, and certainly would
not have left the card-table before midnight for any
other man than his old time friend, Jim Barker.
“Hello, Jim, old boy; how are you?” he said, heart-
ily shaking the lawyer's hand. “I received your tele-
gram and thought I would sit up to have the pleasure
of shaking hands with you.”
“Now, Judge, what’s the matter with Willmar? Have
the boys all forgotten how to play cinch, inasmuch as
you have acquired the habit of retiring before mid-
night? I see it is high time I came here, or you would
be in danger of forgetting the game.’’
“Now, let up, Jim. A fellow cannot even be allowed
to give you a compliment without you getting per-
sonal,” said the judge, smiling at the dig his old friend
had given his well-known only passion.
“Oh, you will get even with me in court, Judge. You
have got the advantage of me there, you know,” an-
swered Barker as he scrawled his name on the register
which the night clerk pushed over to him.
“But, Judge, I know you are just aching to teach
those fellows over there the science of cinch, so I will
leave them to your tender mercy and retire to my vir-
tuous couch. Tomorrow night I will be your victim,”
he added, with a smile lurking in the corner of his eye.
He knew well enough he was the only man who could
make the judge squirm in a game of cinch. . . . . . .
“Sheriff, will you step up to my room for a little con-
fab?” said Mr. Barker to the officer, who only seemed
too glad to be honored by the lawyer’s confidence in
the presence and hearing of so many of his constitu-
ents.
“Certainly, Jim, I am yer huckleberry,” he rejoined


GUILTY?" 37
in his western slang as he followed the lawyer up the
broad stairway.
“Well, Sheriff, what kind of a case have you for
me here?” asked Mr. Barker after the lamp in his bed-
room had been lit, for Willmar could not then boast
of either gas or electric lights.
“Dandy case, Jim, dandy case!” replied the sheriff.
“Arsenic, I understand.”
“Arsenic and phosphorus together. The chemist says
he found two grains of arsenic and any amount of
phosphorus in the liver.’’
‘‘Has she been indicted?”
“The grand jury reported the bill this afternoon,
and the county attorney wanted them brought up right
away, but the old man wouldn’t allow it. He said you
would be here in the morning, and he reckoned it was
only perliteness to you to wait.”
“Very kind of him, I am sure. What kind of a fel-
low is your new county attorney?”
“Good enough fellow, but I reckon he don’t know
overly much law—not to hurt him, anyhow. He is a
young Swede, born in this county, and wasn’t admit-
ted only last fall, just before election. Isn’t he scared
of you, though, Jim' He is just trembling in his boots,
I tell you.”
There was a few moments silence.
Mr. Barker stroked his bald head as he was wont
when he felt the least bit embarrassed, or hesitated on
the proper course to take. Suddenly he said, as if with
some effort:
“Tell me one thing, sheriff; do you honestly believe
she is guilty?”
“Now, that is just what I never believed, Jim. Last


38 GUILTY?
spring when I went snooping around at the coroner's
inquest to see what I could find out, I just would have
sworn that she was as innocent as a babe, and I have
always stuck to it till that professor down in St. Paul
said he found arsenic in him. Then I sort of wavered;
for, you see, Jim, if it was there, it must have got there
some way or another, musn’t it?”
“Yes, that is very evident, sheriff; but, of course, that
doesn’t prove that my client gave it to him. He might
have taken it himself.”
“That would be all right enough if it wasn’t for that
Norwegian fellow who has been hanging around her.
That is the worst thing against her.”
“Is that the worst they can bring?”
“Just about.’”
“Sheriff, I am going to ask you a question. Don’t
answer it if you do not feel at liberty to do so, or if it
in any way would interfere with your official duties,
but I would, for my own satisfaction, like to know, if
it has been ascertained whether she bought any arsenic
anywhere at any time before the man died.”
“Well, Jim, I don’t see as that’s anything to be so
sober about. I don’t reckon the truth is going to hurt
anybody, and I can just as well tell you the gospel
truth about that there thing. When we had the in-
quest, the county attorney sent me around to every
blamed drug store in the county, and nary a place could
I find where she had bought pison of any kind. You
know that they all pretend to keep a register of the
pison they sell and who buys it. Well, I went through
them all for a whole year back, but her name wasn’t
nowhere. And I spoke to every druggist about her,
too, but they all said no such person had been there


40 GUILTY!
During the sheriff’s recital of what he had found at
the house, Mr. Barker had closed his eyes as if mentally
taking notes of the possible bearing the found articles
might have on his client’s case. .
He had gone as far as he thought it prudent to go,
and closed the interview by inquiring of the officer
how early in the morning he could be permitted to see
his handsome client, to which the sheriff responded by
offering to come down to the hotel - for him at eight
o’clock so as to give him an hour's conference with the
widow before the opening of court.
After a parting drink from one of Mr. Barker’s bot-
tles, the contents of which seemed to meet with the un-
qualified official approval of Sheriff Brown, they shook.
hands, and Mr. Barker retired to enjoy a few hours’
rest.


42 GUILTY?
“A wrapper which had contained “Rough on Rats’
was found on the premises when the inquest was held.”
The lawyer nodded.
“‘Rough on Rats’ contains both arsenic and phos-
phorus, sir.”
“I know it,” said Mr. Barker.
“Why didn’t the foolish woman burn it when she
was through with it?”
“You are getting dull, Thompson. That is the best
proof we could possibly get that she did not administer
“Rough on Rats’ to her husband, whatever else she may
have given him. Don’t you think I can make any jury
see that, if she poisoned her husband with that stuff,
she would, as a matter of self-protection, have de-
stroyed the wrapper immediately? Have you nothing
more than that, Thompson?”
“Yes, sir; I am sorry to say I have. The morning the
old man died two calves were found dead in the stable.
They had been perfectly well the evening before, but
suddenly died in convulsions during the night.”
“That is worse. Did you learn what became of
them?”
“The fool of a coroner never took any steps about
them, and by this time they have likely rotted away en-
tirely.”
“That was undoubtedly the most sensible course the
calves could take for our interest, Thompson,” said the
lawyer, the vertical furrows between his eyebrows,
which had gathered as he heard of the death of the
calves, gradually disappearing.
“But the worst is left, sir,” said Thompson.
“What is it?”
“There is a witness who swears that the night after


44 GUILTY? .
“Yes, sir; I am sorry to say it is out. Everybody
is talking about it, and it has had considerable to do
with changing the sentiment in the village, which was
greatly in favor of the widow before this came out.”
“Sorry, you say? Be glad, man! That is just what
we want. No one here knows as yet your connection
with me. Return to town in haste and spend the morn-
ing relating this story in the most glowing colors to
anyone who will listen, and don’t fail to end up with
saying that there can be no question of her guilt now.”
* “But allow me, sir. That would tend to prejudice
the jury against your client, would it not? And might
cause a repetition of what was attempted in Whitefield
when the story first came out there.”
“What was that?’”
“One night about twenty or thirty of the Swedes
there turned out for a hanging bee. They were pro-
vided with all the paraphernalia, and if that woman
had not met them in the doorway with a loaded six-
shooter in her hand and threatened to shoot the first
man who approached the house, you would probably
not have been here to defend her today. I talked with
one of the men who was there with the party, and he
said it was a sight to see how she cowed them all. One
lone woman holding thirty men at bay! He thought
even the women folks, who were at the bottom of the
excursion, would have wavered had they been there.”
“As for a lynching bee here,” replied the lawyer,
“it is out of the question. Sheriff Brown is too brave
to allow that, and I would trust him alone to defy a
mob of a hundred. Besides the sentiment of the village
is too enlightened for that. As to prejudicing the
jurors, that is just what I want to do. If there is not


GUILTY? 45
sufficient prejudice here, I want it created to enable
me to get a change of venue to another county where
the influence of her husband’s friends cannot be felt.
To try the case here would be to invite certain defeat.
Besides, even if we have to remain in this county, it
is far better that all the people learn to know every-
thing of that kind now. The first horror will have worn
off by the time of the trial, and it will not have anything
like the effect it would have, were it sprung for the
first time then. That would take away the breath of
the jurors—now we’ll let it spend its force before-
hand.’’
“I see the force of your point.”
Thompson was about to leave when Mr. Barker
stopped him with the question:
“Did you find out who the Tribune’s correspondent
is ?”
“Yes, sir; his name is Jones. He is a young lawyer,
as you thought.”
“All right, call on him, and bring him to my room
at the Merchant’s at 10 o’clock. In the meantime don’t
forget that your main occupation now is to poison the
public mind with that young woman’s story. Take
pains to put in your best licks when the petit jurors
are around.” - - -
; : “Very well, sir.” . - - - - -
Thompson hurriedly retraced his steps to the vil-
lage. Barker followed him at a slow, pensive gait. His
first impression as to the guilt of the woman seemed in
a fair way to be confirmed by the shadows of the crime
in which she stood.


CHAPTER VI.
THE ARRAIGNMENT.
AT the appointed time the sheriff called at the hotel
for the lawyer, and accompanied him to his residence in
the building erected for the common jail of the county.
In the neat parlor Mr. Barker for the first time met
the fair prisoner.
What took place between them at this time no one
knows. The consultations between an attorney and his
client are confidential, and as sacred as the secrets of
the grave—no one has any right to divulge them.
All that can be said is that the lawyer, after nearly
an hour’s conversation with Mrs. Eklund, requested to
be conducted to the cell of Mr. Steen for a short inter-
view with him.
On emerging from the jail the lawyer's brow was
clouded as if something worried him, and there was an
expression of uncertainty over his features. To the
close observer it was evident that grave and serious
doubts were racking the lawyer’s brain.
Did he begin to doubt his client’s guilt, of which he
had such a strong preconceived opinion? Or could it
be that his discerning judgment refused to accept as
true the story that had just been told him?
No one can tell, for he made a confidant of no living
soul. He did not even, as was usual, commune with
himself.
But as he approached the court-house steps the frown
46


GUILTY? 47
which had hung like a mist over his features gradully
dissolved, and it was with his usual good cheer he
ascended the broad staircase.
He entered the court-room which presented the ap-
pearance of a sea of human faces, drawn hither by the
expectation that the defendants in the now celebrated
case would be brought in to plead to the indictment.
Court had just been opened by the deputy sheriff.
As the lawyer was attempting to make his way
through the crowded aisle to the space inside the rail-
ing allotted to the members of the bar, a gentleman of
quaint appearance and proportions arose to address the
judge, who had just taken his seat on the bench.
This legal gentleman was a lean, lank, angular and
awkward specimen of mankind. When he opened his
mouth, which was of very generous proportions, the
muscles of his face began a strange play, giving the ap-
pearance of an incessant, eternal grin illuminating the
closely shaven features. A luxurious growth of red
hair, worn a la pompadour, which by the tenacity of
purpose with which it strutted out in all directions, re-
minded one forcibly of bristles, indicated an opinionated
self-consciousness which ought to stand a lawyer in
good stead. The cunning, restless eyes, which never
sought or met yours frankly, but always went below you
or beyond you, as if the owner, out of the corner of his
eye continually attempted to discover some weak spot
in your armor, where he could quietly and without be-
ing observed, thrust his knife, gave the impression that
the young man very likely would prove no mean adver-
sary in the arena of the sordid politics of the present
day.
It was the county attorney, who now moved the ar-


48 GUILTY?
raignment of the defendants in the case of the State
of Minnesota vs. Marie Eklund and Harold Steen.
Espying the presence of Mr. Barker in the court-room
and learning upon inquiry that the defendants were
not present, the judge ordered that the prisoners be
brought in at once.
Mr. Barker, with his usual urbanity, improved the
opportunity that the lull in the proceedings gave, to
seek an introduction to the county attorney, whose
cold and clammy hand he shook with his wonted cor-
diality, and at the same time took occasion to address
to him some commonplace pleasantries.
They were interrupted in their conversation by a
murmur of admiration which rippled and ran through
the audience at the appearance of the fair prisoner. She
was preceded by the burly sheriff, who endeavored to
make a passageway for her through the crowded aisle.
The prisoner walked with firm step, and head lifted
high, as in defiance of every minion who had brought
trouble and misery upon her.
She was a tall, stately woman, splendidly propor-
tioned. As she came up the aisle, what first seemed to
lay hold of your particular attention, was her magnifi-
cent head of hair. She was a perfect blonde—not one
of these bleached specimens, who bring in their wake
a disgusting reminder of ill-smelling chemicals, as well
as of something dead and unreal, but a blonde of the
rich, mellow type, which you will only find under the
soft radiance of the midnight sun, seemingly a product
of the breath of its one long summer day of three
months.
To call it golden would not describe it correctly, for
it was richer, softer and warmer than gold. The mel-


52 GUILTY?
clerk, and in his usual monotonous voice he commenced
the reading of the document which charged both the
prisoners with murder in the first degree, and in the or-
dinary legal vernacular accused them of having on the
12th day of March, A. D. 1893, wrongfully and feloni-
ously killed and murdered one Andrew Eklund, by
then and there administering to said Andrew Eklund
a deadly poison, to wit: arsenic and phosphorus.
The voice of the little clerk generally assumed con-
siderable asperity when he asked the prisoners the
usual question after reading the indictment:
“What say you to this indictment—guilty or not
guilty?”
But on this occasion it sounded almost like an apology
to the beautiful woman, when it came in a soft, kind,
half-stammering tone.
Before either one of the prisoners had an oppor-
tunity to answer, Mr. Barker, who had carefully pe-
rused the copy furnished him, and on whose face, upon
such perusal, a satisfied smile had made its appear-
ance, arose and addressed the Court:
“May it please your Honor, the prisoners demand
their statutory time to plead. We shall be ready to
enter our plea tomorrow morning.”
“Very well,” said the judge. “Make the proper en-
try, Mr. Clerk.”
Then again turning to the lawyer he inquired:
“I suppose, Brother Barker, it will be impossible for
you to tell now, whether your clients will be prepared
to enter upon their trial tomorrow. But any indication
on your part would be greatly appreciated by the court,
as the bottom has fallen out of our civil jury calendar,
and we now have the petit jury on our hands without


GUILTY! 53
anything for it to do. If you should deem it necessary
to take your statutory time to prepare for trial, I sup-
pose I might just as well send the jurors home and
order them to report at an adjourned term, as I have to
open court at Benson next Tuesday and therefore can-
not take up any lengthy case after tomorrow.”
“I see no reason, your Honor,” answered Mr. Bar-
ker, “why I cannot at the present time give your Honor
all necessary information on this point. We shall cer-
tainly be obliged to take our four days in which to pre-
pare for trial, as the matter is a complete surprise to
my clients as well as to myself. There is therefore no
reason, so far as this case is concerned, why the petit
jury cannot now be discharged. I have no doubt
that the learned county attorney and myself, on consul-
tation and with the approval of your Honor, can agree
on the proper time and place for the trial of this case.
But if we cannot come to an agreement on this point, I
shall, most certainly, at the proper time, give notice of
a motion that the place of trial of this case be changed
to a county where an impartial trial can be had. In
any event, even should your Honor in your wisdom con-
clude that the case should be tried in this county, I
submit that it would be better for the proper adminis-
tration of justice and more consistent with economy,
not to retain the present panel, as the jurors, of neces-
sity, must have become more or less imbued with preju-
dice from the atmosphere surrounding them for the last
two days. A large venire must, of course, in any event
be issued in a capital case where the parties, if they
see fit, can use twenty-seven peremptory challenges.
For these reasons I submit to your Honor, whether it
would not be better, even in case it should be deter-


* GUILTY!
mined that no change of venue should be had, to have
an entirely new panel of jurors for this most important
case.”
The Judge, in spite of the red-headed county attor-
ney’s objections, readily acquiesced in this suggestion,
and the petit jury of the term was ordered to be dis-
charged.
The county attorney evidently did not relish the idea
that the defense should draw first blood in the case, and
when Mr. Barker went over to him for the purpose of
inquiring, when he could see him at his office during the
day, he answered somewhat curtly:
“I shall be busy with the grand jury all forenoon.”
“I suppose the grand jury adjourns at twelve?”
“Yes.”
“Would it be convenient for you to grant me ten
minutes of your valuable time at 12:15?”
“Yes, I can do so, if it is important.”
“It is important. Another thing, Mr. County At-
torney, do not have the grand jury discharged until
after our interview. I believe you will need it after I
have talked with you.”
“No danger of that,” the county attorney answered.
“They are engaged on a case which will take all day.”


CHAPTER VII.
THE CONFERENCE.
MR. BARKER had hardly entered his room at the hotel
when there was a knock at the door and Mr. Thompson
ushered in a young, sickly looking man.
“Mr. Barker, I beg leave to introduce to you Mr.
Jones, who says he feels flattered, that a lawyer of your
reputation should desire to make his acquaintance. Mr.
Jones, Mr. Barker.” s
The old lawyer took his young brother at the bar
heartily by the hand.
“I am most happy to meet you, Mr. Jones. Please
be seated. I have two hours at my disposal and want
to have a good long talk with you. I understand you
are the local correspondent of the Tribune at this place,
and I will frankly tell you that your very interesting
special with reference to the Eklund case, first called
my attention to the fact that you were a keen lawyer,
who was well posted and the right man to act as my
associate in this case.”
The young man blushed to the roots of his hair at the
flattering way in which the noted lawyer addressed
him. At the last words he bowed his acknowledgment
of the honor intended for him. It was easy to see that
Mr. Barker had found the right way to the young
man’s heart and good will, and that he could ask noth-
ing from his intended coadjutor which he would not
undertake with zeal and enthusiasm.
55


56 GUILTY?
“It is very likely,” continued Mr. Barker, “that this
remarkable case will not be tried in this county, but as
long as it remains here, you will understand that it is
absolutely necessary for me to have a local attorney
with whom I can consult at least as to particularly local
features of the case, and who can assist me in prepar-
ing properly the case and any necessary preliminary
motion in it in short, a man who is on the ground, and
who can feel that he is fighting on his native heath.”
“I understand you, sir, and I shall be most happy if
I can be of any assistance to you, I assure you.”
“All right, Brother Jones, I may have to call upon
you for assistance this very forenoon, so it is best that
we settle the preliminaries at once. Every lawyer in a
case should have a retainer. Suppose we call it $50;
would that amount be sufficient, sir?”
“Certainly, Mr. Barker, we country lawyers are not
used to the liberal fees you prominent leaders of the
bar in the cities are in the habit of getting. I assure
you that $50 is as large a retainer as I have had any one
offer me in a case since I came to Willmar, and I greatly
appreciate your generosity.”
“Tut, tut, my friend! You are satisfied—voila tout.
Thompson, will you please pay Mr. Jones $50 as a re-
tainer in this case?”
“I have not that much money with me, sir. I have
only a few dollars along for cigar money.”
“What, no money! Who will pay our bills then?
Are we going to beat our way up here? What was Mr.
Dyke thinking of that he did not furnish you with ex-
pense money? That fellow must be getting superan-
nuated! It is a disgrace!—letting us have no money!
Telegraph, Thompson, telegraph at once for a hundred
dollars.”


GUILTY? 57
Thompson had tried in vain to make himself heard,
but that was futile as long as Mr. Barker was angry,
and was wound up. He had to run down before any
one could get in a word edgewise, so Thompson gave
up all effort to explain till his employer was through.
“Mr. Dyke gave me only the railroad tickets, sir. He
thought—”
“Mr. Dyke thought! Mr. Dyke has no business to
think, sir. I can do all the necessary thinking myself.
We don’t pay Mr. Dyke to think. We pay him to look
after our business affairs, sir.’’
“He thought we would not need anything except our
railroad tickets,” Thompson courageously flung in,
even at the risk of arousing the lawyer's ire. “He
said you had a thousand dollars in the bank here.”
“So I have, so I have,” laughed Mr. Barker at his
own absent-mindedness. “I had forgotten all about that
confounded fee. Thompson, present my most abject
apologies to Mr. Dyke. I take great pleasure in with-
drawing all the mean things I said about him. Well,
well, the cigars are on me.” And he offered the two
gentlemen a smoke from a case on the dresser.
“When we get through, Mr. Jones, you will kindly
remind me to go down to the bank with you and draw
that money and pay you your retainer.”
“Trust me not to forget that, sir. We have need of
all the money we can get up this way.”
“And now to our case,” said Mr. Barker. “I have
possibly learned as much of the facts as you know, but
for safety’s sake you will please compare notes with
Mr. Thompson later on. He generally manages to find
what there is, though. There is one point, however,
on which I would like to be informed. Had Mr. Ek-
lund many warm friends in the county?”


58 GUILTY?
“He certainly had. He was a prominent local poli-
tician. Some time ago he held the office of county
treasurer, and by reason of his frank, cordial ways he
acquired a large circle of friends. He was, you might
say, the leading man among the Swedes in this county.”
“I feared that much. We must get the case away
from this county, Mr. Jones, and in that you can be of
great assistance to me. You do not doubt, do you, that
it will be rather difficult to obtain a wholly impartial
jury in this county for the unfortunate woman?”
“I think there is no question about it. You are at
least liable to get some man on the jury whom Mr. Ek-
lund has befriended; besides, of late, a systematic effort
has been made to create prejudice against her.’’
“I thought that much. Now, do you think there will
be any difficulty in your obtaining, by to-morrow morn-
ing, affidavits from five or six reputable citizens to the
effect that they do not believe the defendants can have
a fair and impartial trial in this county, and that it will
be well nigh impossible to secure an unprejudiced
jury?”
“Why I can swear to that myself.”
“No, my young friend, not you. You are now one of
the counsel in the case. You are yet young in practice,
but when you get older you will appreciate the advice
I give you. Never swear through a case in which you
are attorney. By doing so you lay yourself open to
criticism, however honestly you may act. But get the
best men you can, and the more the better. Mr. Thomp-
son will draw up the affidavits for you on his type-
writer. He knows what is required. It would be a
good idea to have one affidavit setting up the facts of
the lynching bee that those Swedes down in Whitefield
managed so bungingly.”


CHAPTER VIII.
THE SKIRMISH.
SHORTLY after 12:15 Mr. Barker entered the county
attorney’s office.
After being invited to a seat he said:
“I come to you on a double errand, Mr. County At-
torney; to do you a favor and to ask one of you in re-
turn.”
The county attorney smiled incredulously.
“Let me first tell you the favor I have come to do
you: Your indictment is fatally defective.”
The official started up for a moment, but he imme-
diately seated himself again. The incredulous grin re-
turned to his features. He evidently thought Mr. Bar-
ker was playing a game of bluff. But he was not. He
continued: -
“I can demur to your indictment tomorrow, and the
court will have to sustain me and quash the indictment,
but that course will not help my client one iota. The
court would re-submit the case to the grand jury and
you would have a properly drawn indictment the next
day. The only one who would suffer by such a course
would be yourself. Your constituents would think you
had committed a serious blunder, and it might injure
you both in politics and in your professional career.
You are a young man, and I have always felt it the
duty of us old practitioners to lend a helping hand to
our younger brethren whenever we can consistently do
60


62 ' GUILTY:
“Mr. Jones is my associate in this case.”
The muscles around the county attorney’s mouth
quivered.
“But he knows nothing about the defective indict-
ment, nor shall he ever know about it.”
“How will you prevent it? Tomorrow everybody
will know it, and I will be the laughing stock of the
county.” -
“No, my boy! I told you I came here to do you a
favor, and I meant it. Here is the way to prevent the
mischief: This afternoon you draw up a new indict-
ment, corrected as I have suggested; lay it before the
grand jury, and ask them to return it on the evidence
already before them. Explain to them that you have
discovered a clerical error in the first indictment. To-
morrow morning, when we come into court to plead, you
will tell the court that you have discovered a slight mis-
take in the first indictment, and express a desire to
have the defendants arraigned on a new indictment al-
ready reported by the grand jury. It will be done.
The prisoners will be arraigned and we will at once in-
terpose a plea of not guilty. No one will suspect what
the error was or, if they do, they will all give you credit
for having discovered it yourself. It will raise your
standing in this county, rather than lower it. Certainly
no one would for a moment suspect that I had given
you this hint.”
“You are right. How can I thank you for the favor
you have shown me?”
“By doing me one in return. I have two favors to
ask of you, so you see you will still have one coming.”
“What are they?” . . . . - - - - -:
“You undoubtedly know that there is considerable


GUILTY? 65
culosis. His case had to go over the term on account
of some absent witness. He had no friends. I begged
the judge to let him off without bail. He had told me
he was anxious to clear his name from the blot this ac-
cusation placed on it, and would only expect to live
long enough to succeed in doing so. The judge asked
me if I would give my word that the fellow would ap-
pear next term, if he were alive. I gave it unhesitat-
ingly, thinking I could trust that dying rascal. Two
months before the next term of court he disappeared. I
learned of it, and spent a thousand dollars hunting him
across the continent, and in bringing him back. He
did’t appear at the next term, but he did at an ad-
journed term held at my request a month later.”
“What became of him finally?”
“I acquitted him, of course, after I got him back–
could not do less for him you see,” said the lawyer
quietly.
Before Mr. Barker left the county attorney’s office,
he had succeeded in arranging everything as he desired.
The programme was carried out next morning in
court as pre-arranged. A new and perfect indictment was
presented. The prisoners were arraigned and promptly
pleaded “not guilty.” The affidavits for a change of
place of trial were read, and, after some little parley,
the case was sent to Granite Falls for trial. The mat-
ter of bail for the woman was broached, and the judge
readily agreed to have her give bail in the sum of five
thousand dollars. Her sureties were sent for and recog-
nized in open court, and she left the court room a free
woman—for the time being.
Mr. Barker had, for several reasons, insisted that the
other prisoner should remain in jail until the trial,


66 GUILTY?
and this decision was reluctantly acquiesced in by his
fair client.
When the train from the West came by that after-
noon, Mr. Barker was ready to depart, leaving Thomp-
son behind, however, to gather up the loose threads
from which the weft of the defense was to be woven.
Mrs. Eklund went over to the depot with him. On
the way down to the station a person walking behind
them might have overheard the following conversation:
“I have asked you repeatedly, Mrs. Eklund, to tell
me the true history of your past life, but you have per-
sistently evaded complying with my request. Believe
me, it is not out of idle curiosity that I ask it. I don’t
know you, and in order to successfully plead your
cause, it is necessary that I should. I cannot throw my
whole soul into your case until I do. I cannot defend
a stranger of whom I know nothing. I feel that there
is a mystery behind this awful accusation. Why do
you persist in hiding it from me? You had better take
the train, and come down to my office and tell me hon-
estly and frankly all about yourself.”
“T cannot, Mr. Barker. It is impossible.”
“Whv do you then insist on demanding of me the
impossible?”
“To clear me of this charge, you mean?”
“Yes. Without full confidence on your part, I doubt
whether it can be done. Perhaps not even then.”
“Oh, don’t say that, Mr. Barker! I will do as you
ask. May I write to you? A woman may write things,
which it would humiliate her terribly to tell to a per-
son’s face.”
“Very well,” he said, “write then, if you prefer.
But write the truth, the whole truth and nothing but
the truth,” he added impressively.


GUILTY? 67
“I will,” she sobbed. “You shall have the history
of my whole life before you within two weeks.”
As she spoke the train pulled up to the platform. It
was but a moment, and the conductor’s “All aboard”
was heard.
As the lawyer was speedily being carried on his
homeward journey, a woman, accused of murdering her
husband, stood on the platform, and looked with wist-
ful eyes after the disappearing train.
“My God!” she whispered. “If he cannot save me,
what then?”
And there came a gleam of untold horror into her
eyes.


BOOK II.
T H E CON FESSION


CHAPTER I.
THE KISS.
A FORTNIGHT later Mr. Barker received by mail a
large roll of manuscript accompanied by the following
letter:
MY DEAR FRIEND:–
I promised that I would render you a true account
of my past life. I have tried—tried hard to do so;
and enclosed I send you what I call “My Confession.”
Your keen judgment will tell you that I have fol-
lowed your orders and told you the whole truth.
I wonder if ever before in this world a woman laid
bare her heart, her failings and her sufferings to a fel-
low-mortal as I have to you in the enclosed pages.
It has cost me many a pang—many a sad tear to
thus bring back the bitter-sweet memories of the past,
but you demanded it, and I have not shirked the task,
hard as it was.
I hope I have not suffered in vain the past two weeks,
and that you will not judge me too harshly.
- Your unfortunate and suffering client,
MARIE EKLUND.
The manuscript accompanying this note read as
follows:
I am a child of the Midnight Sun. I came to this
world in all the glorious sunlight of a summer in Nor-
land, one of the northernmost provinces of the Kingdom
of Norway.
71


72 GUILTY?
Have you any idea what a summer is in the arctic
circle?
You retire in the darkness of night, and in the chill
and dreariness of winter. You awake in the morning to
find the dazzling sunlight, which has been a stranger
to you for long months, dancing in at your window,
caressing your pillow and arousing to new life and ac-
tivity your senses, which have slumbered during the
long winter months.
The sun rises one beautiful May morning, not to set
again till the latter days of August.
An eternal day of sunlight, of joy, of happiness and
pleasure.
It was but yesterday—deep snow drifts surrounded
you everywhere. Today the velvety green of the
meadows and the heath-clad hills peep forth. Tomor-
row flowers of the brightest hues, wherever your glance
may rest.
Thus comes the summer of the Midnight Sun in the
far-away Norland. It seems as if the sun, regretting
its long absence, is trying to make amends for having
so long disappointed you, and that everything which
grows is conscious that the time is short and it must
hurry along in order to mature, lest in a few short
months the solitude and darkness of the long winter
night once more overtake it.
Everything is in a fever haste. All nature lives—
lives at breakneck speed—a year—in that long summer
day without the shadow of night.
So with the men and women of this strange land.
During the long winter months—in the dreary dark-
ness—they do not live, they merely vegetate. They go
around on tip toe in the middle of the day as for fear


GUILTY? 73
of disturbing some one in his slumbers. They discharge
their ordinary duties, but they do it unconsciously, as
though walking in their sleep.
But as it is in the night time you espy the shores of
dreamland, so in this long winter night of Norland,
dream-life takes possession of your soul—strong long-
ings and emotions reign in your heart.
Hope—a tiny plant in other climes—grows to the
proportions of the sturdy oak in the gleam of the many-
hued, glorious Northern Lights, this faintest echo of
the sun, which dwells now in distant lands, a memory
of what was and a promise of what shall be again.
Is it surprising that the people raised under this sky
become a race with strong emotions, with wild and
weird longings and cravings, and that they, when once
their fondest hopes promise to be realized—like chil-
dren who cannot gauge their appetites—grasp for all
in sight and so heartily partake of all the good things
set before them as to even take their chances on dys-
pepsia of the heart by reason of their over-indulgence?
In this land, left almost entirely to myself, I grew
up. My father, who was the judge of the province,
was well nigh constantly away on his circuit, whence he
went in his large Norland boat, propelled by its eight
strong rowers. So far North roads are almost unknown.
The sea and the fjord are the highways of the traveler.
My mother, from her first years so far North, sorely
missed the sunshine of her childhood days. The long,
dreary winter night sapped her health and strength. It
was only on rare occasions, while the sun again visited
us in the mildest of summer days, that I ever saw her
outside of her bed chamber.
Of companions. I had none. We associated with no


T4 GUILTY?
one except the family of the minister, who lived five
miles distant, and the doctor, who was still farther
away. All other neighbors were common peasants and
fishermen. Under the strict laws of caste prevalent in
Norway, any intercourse with their children was out of
the question, and even had it not been so, I could see no
great temptation in that direction. The squalor sur-
rounding them toook away any charm I might have
found in associating with them.
At an early age I was provided with a governess, a
sentimental love-sick maiden of uncertain age. She was
not exactly the right person to guide my steps, and
open my eyes to the earnest demands of life. She was,
however, thoroughly familiar with the modern lan-
guages, could play the piano fairly well, and did not
make a very extravagant demand as to salary, three ac-
complishments which I fear were more highly appreci-
ated by my father than by myself.
She had quite a task before her, when my younger
brothers grew up, and she was required, in addition to
the care necessary to be bestowed on me, to teach them
all the branches, especially as I was about as mischievous
a child as ever lived, and played all the tricks on her I
could possibly think of. I could do this more freely as
my father had the peculiar notion that none of his chil-
dren should be subjected to corporal punishment.
About all the means of discipline left to her discretion
was to lock me up in my room. This had no terror to me,
for I always had one of Walter Scott's novels under my
pillow, or, when I grew older, a copy of Byron's poems,
and those hours of punishment were simply idled away
by reading over and over again these my favorite au-
thors, whom I, thanks too the efficiency of my governess
in this direction, was able to enjoy in the original.


GUILTY? 75
Sometimes I spent these hours in letting my vivid im-
agination have loose reins and gallop over the fields of
my sunlit future to the time when he, my prince charm-
ing, would come, he, who should cause my young heart
to swell with the sweetest emotions.
I was a trifle over fifteen years of age when it became
necessary for my oldest brother to commence the
study of the Latin language in order too fit himself for
a university course. This was something our governess
could not undertake, and my father, therefore, conclud.
ed to make a change, and to secure for us a private tu-
tor, who, while attending to the finishing touches of
my education, could also instruct the boys in a regular
college course. Consequently a young student, a son of
one of father’s old college chums, was engaged and
started on his way North to relieve my governess of her
duties.
To say that I was curious to know what this young
man would look like was to put it mildly, but it was
only the curiosity of the school girl after all.
It was therefore without any violent heartfluttering
that I, on the day of the arrival of the mail steamer
from Bergen, accompanied my governess and the boys
down to the landing to bid the young tutor welcome to
our desolate northern home.
This weekly steamer was the only connecting link be-
tween us and civilization, between our torpor and the
quickly pulsating life in the world—far—far—away.
It brought us the newspapers, the new books, the new
music, and the latest fashions, which we really had very
little use for, but which nevertheless possessed for me
the same charms that they always have for every female
heart. -


76 GUILTY.'
On our way down we heard the signal-whistle, and
hurried our steps in order to be at the landing before
the steamer should land its passengers, but we hastened
in vain, for, when we reached the dock, a young man of
rather ordinary appearance was standing guard over a
couple of trunks which the deck hands had just brought
ashore.
My governess walked ahead and addressed the young
man, who respectfully lifted his student’s cap in saluta-
tion:
“Mr. Hagerup, I suppose?”
“Yes,” he said with a smile, “at least all there is left
of him after a most horrible voyage, –and are these my
future pupils?” he said turning to us.
That is all I remember, for I then looked into a pair
of beautiful brown eyes which I felt burning into my
very soul, and into my heart, which cried out inces-
santly in wild joy, so loud that I was almost afraid the
others would hear it: “The prince! The prince | The
prince has come!”
I could see nothing but those heavenly eyes as they
delved down into my own, as they surveyed me in evi-
dent admiration and wonder. When they rested on my
cheek, my bosom, or my hands, I felt in each place a deep
scarlet blush. When we turned around and walked up
to the house I could feel them burn me in my back, but
not with a destroying fire, only with a sweet caressing
warmth poductive of perfect comfort and pleasure.
To such an extent did those eyes take dominion of my
faculties that, if any one had asked me later in the day
to describe my new tutor, I could not have done so, no
—not if my life had depended upon it. I could see
nothing, was conscious of nothing except those wonder-
ful dark-brown eyes.


GUILTY? 77
The governess said he looked interesting, that his
emaciated face indicated dissipation, and that the dark
rings under his eyes boded no good, but I observed noth-
ing of it and cared less. I had no desire but to dive and
delve into those eyes. They held me transfixed as the
hypnotizing eyes of the snake do the fluttering bird.
The next day the new tutor started on his duties.
How different everything soon became. I used to
look longingly at the clock a hundred times before the
closing hour. It seemed to drag itself into eternity be-
fore it came.
Now, on the contrary, I was the first one in the school
room, often ten or fifteen minutes before the time, anx-
ious for him to arrive and to commence our instruction.
It was always with regret that I heard the clock strike
the closing hour. I seemed to live only during those
hours of the day when I could be in his presence. I
longed for them to come during the long vigils of the
night. I dreaded the time of their ceasing during the
day.
Soon I noticed that he also sought the school-room
before the regular hour. It was as if we met there by
appointment. There was always a composition of mine
to be looked through, or some difficult problem to solve.
He was always bending over me, anxious to smooth my
path. Sometimes I pretended dullness and difficulties
where there in reality were none, in order to get his
help, in order to have him near me. Every assistance
he gave me I felt like a caress. There was such a soft
tone in his voice, such a sweet expression in his eyes,
when he answered me, and helped me over my pre-
tended or real difficulties. -
I could not fail to see that he admired me. Every


78 GUILTY?
now and then, when he spoke eloquently of anything,
I caught his eyes resting burningly on me. We then
looked hurriedly and awkwardly away, as if ashamed
to have caught each others’ glance. At times, when his
hand accidentally touched mine, I observed a peculiar
tremor in it. I did not then understand why this was
so, for mine did not tremble in response. I had not as
yet awakened. The woman in me was still slumbering,
but it was not always to be so.
After the afternoon instruction it was his wont to go
out for a walk, from which he usually returned about
6 o'clock. Oh, how I longed to meet him accidentally
on one of those walks, and to share them with him, but
I dared not. I still had the fear of the school-girl of
appearing ridiculous by showing my affections. I al-
ways suspected that some one might be watching me, if
I did, and it seemed to me my love was too sacred to
be exposed to the public gaze.
One dark night a violent thunder storm came up
while he was out for his evening walk. A strange feel-
ing took possession of me. I could not explain it. I
felt an irresistible desire to steal out into the dark cor-
ridor that led to his room—to hide myself there behind
the tall linen press near his door and await his coming,
only to convince myself—thus I reasoned—that he was
safe.
I could no more have resisted that desire than I could
have helped withdrawing my hand from a scorching
fire. I crept carefully and cautiously along the corri-
dor; I reached the old press; I hid behind it; I trembled
in every limb. I had to steady myself against the press
to keep from falling. I could hear my heart beat so
rapidly and violently that I almost feared some one in


GUILTY.' 79
the other end of the hall would open a door and ask
what the matter was.
I heard the hall door open and close. It was his step
on the stairs! Oh how well I knew it. He approached.
As he came toward the old press I stepped courageously
out into the corridor and walked deliberately in the
path I knew he would be likely to take. I brushed
against him so close that he could feel my hot breath on
his cheek.
“Is it you, Marie?” I heard him whisper.
I fully intended to answer. I gasped out something
which was intended for “yes,” when I felt his strong
arm encircling my waist. His other hand fumbled for
my chin, and in the next moment his lips met mine in a
kiss—and such a kiss.
That moment I seemed to lose all conscious power
over myself. My actions became wholly involuntary.
My arms flew around his neck in response to his caress.
Just then I heard a door open in the farther end of
the corridor.
I was so weak that I do not understand how I found
strength to tear myself away from him and run to my
own room. I hurriedly locked the door, and sank ex-
hausted to the floor.
That kiss had awakened me. The child was gone;
the slumbering woman had become aroused by its magic
force. She craved no time to develop or to grow. In
those few blissful moments she had blossomed out to
full maturity, as the summer in the land of the mid-
night sun blooms out in a single night.
One moment I was almost ashamed of my passion, of
the wild outburst of my senses. I felt it. I knew it.
In that kiss I had given myself to him, given to him my





*
*
*wa." *r-
JIM BAKER SHAKES THE HAND OF THE ASSISTANT ATTORNEY GENERAL


CHAPTER II.
THE EXILE.
THE ice was broken. I need not tell you that my life
after that was one sunlit day of happiness, nor need I
describe the sweetness of our secret meetings in the
dense spruce forest, stretching out for miles back of my
father’ house, nor the new vigor that came to my school
life. I went to my studies as I would go to a ball. Our
rambles through the books, the languages and the sci-
ences were like a festive dance. It seemed like gliding
with him through the charming mazes of a stately min-
uet. I never tired of it. I only wished in my heart it
would continue through night and day and never cease.
But after six short months the cruel awakening from
this beautiful day-dream came.
My father had in some way learned of our secret
meetings, and my lover was one day politely told that
his services were no more needed, and that he was at
liberty to depart on the first steamer going South; in
fact, he was made to understand that this was expected
of him.
My father did not deign to speak to me on the sub-
ject, but I was made aware of the fact that every step of
mine was watched, and that it was impossible for me to
even have a farewell meeting with my lover before his
departure.
The last day before the arrival of the steamer he re-
turned my composition book to me with a suggestive
81 -


82 GUILTY?
glance, and a look of sadness in his eyes that gave to
me the sensation of a parting kiss. In the book I found
a letter in which he gave me his address at the capital,
whither he now went, and in which he informed me that
he had succeeded in bribing old John, the fisherman,
under whose cover he would send me a letter by every
mail, and from whom I could obtain it immediately
after the arrival of the steamer.
The love my father had sought to kill by parting us
so suddenly and cruelly only grew in intensity, nursed
by the tender missives which secretly passed between us,
but I took good care to guard my secret, so that two
years later, when my father was appointed to a judge-
ship in the Superior Court in Christiania and we moved
to the capital, neither one of my parents dreamed but
what the love escapade of their youthful daughter, as
well as the object of her first child-love, had been long
forgotten.
How to meet him without arousing my father’s sus-
picions was now the main question. I realized that my
freedom of going and coming, to a great extent, depend-
ed on my keeping concealed from my father the fact
that I entertained any notion of continuing the rela-
tion evidently so obnoxious to him. * .
This was arranged, thanks to the cleverness of Thor-
vald, who, through a mutual friend, managed to secure
my introduction to a Miss Alice Fischer, in the home
of whose parents he was a frequent guest.
I appreciated the usefulness of her acquaintance, and
although she was a silly girl with whom I in reality
could enjoy nothing in common, I assiduously culti-
vated her friendship. I succeeded so well in insinuat-
ing myself into her good graces that she soon counted


GUILTY? 83
me her best friend, and really did not feel happy if I
did not spend two or three evenings in the week at her
house. Little she dreamed that the only object I had in
gaining her friendship was to meet my lover at her
home; that I might breathe the same air with him for
an hour or two; that I might look into his faithful
brown eyes, and, perhaps, once in a while, touch his
hand, or feel his warm breath caressing my neck, as he
leaned over my chair at times when we all three were
looking at an illustrated paper or examining some art
work.
But this, in the long run, could not satisfy my warm,
loving nature. I was dying for his intoxicating love
kisses, and could not live without them. While we had
been hundreds of miles apart his passionate love letters
were all I craved. Now, when fate again had thrown us
together, they seemed to have lost their charms. I wanted
him, himself, his warm embraces, his glowing kisses, his
living love. I would die if I could not have them. I
wrote him so; told him he must find a way in which we
could meet, where no eye but that of God was upon us;
where we could love and live in each other’s presence,
without restraint or simulation, if only for a few hours
every week.
In a few days he wrote me that he had succeeded in
obtaining two rooms with private entrance in Number
120 Lower Castle Street. I could come to his apart-
ments in perfect safety after dark, and be absolutely
sure that no one would observe my coming or going.
The idea of my going to my lover's apartments was
at first abhorrent to me, although at this particular
period a greater freedom between the sexes existed in
Christiania than almost anywhere else in Europe, out-


84 GUILTY?
side of Paris. This was particularly so in what might
be called the more rapid set to which many of the
younger members of the best families unhesitatingly de-
clared their allegiance, and little festivities at the bache-
lor’s halls of the students and cadets, where their lady
friends of the better families could throw off all re-
straint, sip a little wine and indulge in a soothing cig-
arette, were by no means infrequent.
To me, however, who had been brought up in a stricter
and more puritanical school than the Parisian airs of
the capital would favor, these little innocent pecadilloes,
as they were called, these flagrant branches of conven-
tionalities as I would prefer to style them, did not ad-
dress themselves with any considerable favor.
Still, what was to be done? I had or knew no other
way in which I could meet my lover. And meet him I
must. Besides, I had every confidence in his manhood,
and felt that my honor was as dear to him as it was to
me, and that it would be as safe in his apartments as in
my father’s house.
The very helplessness of my situation could not fail
to appeal to his sense of honor.
After some hesitation I therefore consented to call at
his apartments one evening after dark when my parents
believed that I was with my friend Alice, who there-
after did me yeoman service as a most excellent screen.
My love, strong and passionate as it was, had not
made me lose my head entirely, and it was agreed be-
tween us that in order to minimize the danger of dis-
covery these cozy evenings should be strictly and irrevo-
cably limited to once a week. Although we both craved
much more frequent enjoyment of each other's society,
we let it suffice. I, at least, lived all the week in glad


GUILTY? 85
expectation of what the Friday night would bring me
of joy and happiness.
In order to defy detection I provided myself with a
thick veil, which I placed over my hat on emerging from
a neighboring cafe, where I made it a practice to go
immediately before the hour of our rendezvous, under
, the pretext of sipping a cup of chocolate, although I
was generally so nervous with the wild expectation of
what my meeting with my lover would bring that I was
unable to drink the chocolate and often, when no one
was looking, was obliged to empty the contents of the
cup in the cuspidor in order not to arouse suspicion.
When the clock in the great tower of Our Saviour’s
church rang out the hour of nine, our sweet seance in-
variably ended. My lover escorted me to the street car,
only a few blocks distant. I could then in safety ride
directly to the door of our house, quite a distance out
on the Drammens Road.
This happy state of affairs had continued for up-
wards of five months, to me the happiest and most joy-
ful in my life, when Thorwald's father suddenly died,
and the astounding discovery was made that he was a
bankrupt, who left far from sufficient property to sat-
isfy his creditors. He had during Thorvald’s attend-
ance at the university made him a certain monthly al-
lowance, which enabled him to pursue his studies. This,
of course, now ceased entirely and he had to look around
for other means of subsistence. To find any occupation
in Christiania was out of the question. He had of late
written some short stories for the magazines, but his
efforts in this direction had barely sufficed to furnish
him with necessary pocket money, as the field for this
kind of work was rather limited. He attempted to get


86 GUILTY?
a regular position as a writer on one of the daily papers,
but there were twenty applicants for every place and
no prospect for him in that direction.
The only resource left was to try to get a position
as private tutor in some family in the country, and in
this he was more fortunate. A rich farmer in one of
the mountain valleys of Telemarken, father of two
hopeful scions, whom he desired to qualify for the gov-
ernment service, advertised for a private tutor for his
boys, and Thorvald's application was favorably con-
sidered, as he was highly recommended by one of the
professors of the Royal University.
The heart-burning which his departure caused me I
cannot describe.
It seemed to me impossible to live without those sweet
hours devoted to our love, to me now almost as neces-
sary as my daily nutriment. And this was not all.
I had a presentiment that, if I let him go out of my
presence now, I would lose him forever. This presenti-
ment so completely assumed dominion over my soul that
it seemed as though I should die, if he left me. Al-
though I knew that starvation would stare him in the
face if he remained, I nevertheless implored him on my
knees not to leave me.
He reasoned with me, consoled me as much as he
could, tried to show me how foolish my presentiments
were, swore me eternal fidelity and love by all that was
sacred and holy, and tore himself away from me.
If I had been left on a desert island I could not have
been more lonesome and desolate. In the bosom of my
family, in the midst of all the noise and bustle of the
busy life of the capital, I had a sensation of having been
left all alone in the world. It seemed as if by one fell


88 GUILTY?
for I felt intuitively that my father's influence over her
was so strong and despotic that to make her my confi-
dant could only result in making him cognizant of the
affairs of my heart and this seemed to me little short of
sacrilege. The rude way in which he had parted me
from my lover in Norland still rankled in my heart.
Thus I was even denied the consolation which a
mother's sympathetic heart and love would have given
Ine.
It was in the latter part of June that my mother one
afternoon asked me to come into her boudoir.
I was even more depressed than usual because for
over a fortnight I had received no letter from Thor-
vald, who up to this time had sent me a long, loving
missive every week, and I thought mother was only
about to make another desperate effort to have me con-
fide in her the cause of my melancholy state of mind.
“Poor child!” were her first words, as she lovingly
stroked my hair. “How did it happen?” -
I was startled. Did she suspect? Was then what I
had, myself, only half divined, true? Was disgrace to
be added to my sorrow and pain?
“What do you refer to, mamma?” I stammered.
“You know, my poor, unfortunate child, or at least
you ought to know. I have observed you carefully of .
late and there can be no doubt about it. What will your
proud father say?”
I cannot relate what took place between my mother
and myself. It is sufficient to say that on her bosom I
was allowed to cry out in bitter tears the sad confes-
sion of my folly, and that her loving caresses after a
while succeeded in soothing, to some extent, at least, my
bitter sorrow.


GUILTY? 89
Proud as my mother was, deeply as I had wounded
that pride, keenly as she felt the disgrace, which almost
killed her, such is a mother's heart, that it can not
refuse to comfort the suffering, sinning child.
At my sobbing entreaty she consented to delay the
sad announcement to my father for some days in order
to enable me to prepare for the battle, which I knew
was coming.
But the evil day could not be postponed indefinitely
and it came sooner than I had expected.
Spare me from reciting what occurred between my
father and myself. He came from one of Norway’s old-
est and proudest families, and the disgrace which I had
brought upon his name seemed to be almost more than
he could bear. Always the stern judge who, at least,
preached the strictest moral principles, whatever might
be said as to his having always practised them in his
younger days, he now appeared to me like an irate god,
in his bitter denunciation of my conduct, in his violent
deprecation of the dishonor which had tarnished his
good family name.
His stern decision was that I, before my condition be-
came apparent to others, should leave the family hearth
and bury my shame and disgrace forever in far-off
America. He disowned me, and forbade me most strict-
ly ever to return to the shores of my native land, or to
communicate with anyone of my family in any manner.
“Go!” he said. “Leave us forever with your shame
and disgrace. You are no more my daughter. I drive
you out of my house and out of my heart. Curse the
tongue which shall ever again mention your name in
my presence. You are dead now to me—worse than
dead. I wish you to be forgotten as though you had


90 GUILTY?
never come into our lives. Do you hear, mother! Away
from her! She has brought shame on herself. Let her
carry it alone to her dying day with her old father's
curse.’’
But not even his authority, which never was disputed
in our home, could drive my dear mother from me. It
was in her loving arms I fainted away and thus was
spared from hearing the cruel anathema he hurled upon
my erring head and heart.
I did not see him afterward. His orders were that
I should take passage on the steamer which left for
America the next day.
But I pleaded with my mother to give me one more
chance, to obtain leave for me to stay long enough to
communicate with Thorwald, whom I knew in my heart
loved me still and would not forsake me. As soon as he
learned of my deplorable condition he would come to me
at once, and would give me all the reparation, now in
his power, by a speedy marriage.
Up to this time I had not by a word intimated to him
what I myself feared. Day after day I had tried to
lead myself to believe that it was all a horrible mistake,
and I did not want to burden his heart with a sorrow
that was not absolutely certain.
But now I would tell him, and he would come. I
knew it. I felt sure of it. It was with a feeling of
mingled pity and anger that I refused to listen to my
mother’s insinuation that I should not lean too strong-
ly on what might prove a false hope.
Through mother's intercession I succeeded in obtain-
ing from my father a little respite. I was allowed to
remain for fourteen days—till the next steamer left—
on the condition that I should remain secluded in my
room, and not show my face to him.


GUILTY? 91
That same day I wrote to Thorwald and told him all.
I did not ask him to come—that seemed to me to be an
insult to his sense of honor. I knew that his true, noble
heart would tell him what to do, as soon as he was made
aware of my situation.
Never for a moment did it occur to me that he would
dream of shirking his duty to me, his love—his wife
before God—the mother of his unborn child.
My heart could easily invent an excuse for his not
having written me for two weeks. He might be ill;
or the letter might have miscarried; or he might have
started on that trip across the mountains with his
pupils which he, in his last letter, had mentioned they
contemplated taking. In the mountains there were no
post offices—no mails. Yes, that was the reason. But
now he certainly had returned, and my cry of despair
would reach him. He would come, come at once, and all
would yet be well, even if, by the stern ukase of my
father, we both would have to leave together for a
strange land to save the family name from disgrace.
Oh, I would go to the end of the world with him, my
childhood’s love, my child’s father.
I was calm now. I knew it would take three days for
my letter to reach him. He would start the day he re-
ceived it in order to catch the steamer on the Bandak
Sea the next morning. That night he would arrive in
Skien. From there he would telegraph me. That would
# be Friday night. He would telegraph: “Am coming
on first train, courage, my darling.” I knew he would.
And Saturday night he would be in Christiania. He
would rush to the house—into my loving arms. And I
could sob out all my misery, all my sorrow on his
strong, manly breast.


92 GUILTY!
It was Monday night, after I had retired, that I made
this calculation. A smile came over my face in the
midst of my great sorrow, and I went to sleep with that
glad, happy smile on my lips and dreamed of my loving,
faithful Thorwald.
But Friday came and no telegram. I was a little
disappointed, but consoled myself with the thought:
“He comes into Skien late at night. Perhaps he found
the telegraph office closed. It will come to-morrow—
to-morrow, sure.”
But the morrow came and still no telegram.
“Why, it was foolish to think that he would tele-
graph. Why should he?” I said to myself then. “He
knows that I expect him, that I know he will come. Why
should he go to that unnecessary expense?”
Thus my heart responded all day to any doubt or
misgiving which would arise in me.
“Tonight he will be here surely. Everything will
be forgotten. The sorrow, the shame, the anxious wait-
ing of the last four days, my father’s curse, all—all
will disappear in the warm light of his eyes.”
Evening came. The train was due at seven. At eight
he could be at our house. Eight came, but no Thor-
wald.
“Of course, the train is delayed. It almost always is
on that miserable West Coast Railway.”
Nine—still no Thorwald. Ten—no tidings.
“Oh,” my heart said again. “He has missed the
steamer. Not till tomorrow night should I expect him.
Why did I not think of that?”
Sunday night. Eight—nine—ten—eleven—twelve,
and no Thorwald.
Still my heart had no really serious misgivings.


GUILTY? 93
“It is not certain that they go to the post-office every
day. They are so busy just now, of course, and the mail
is so slow in the country. Perhaps they wait till Sun-
day. If so, he cannot be here before Tuesday night.”
Not only Tuesday came, but also all the other days
of the week—and no Thorwald. No word from him.
And Monday night “Hekla” was to leave for America!
It would not wait for Thorwald. On its deck I would
stand alone Monday night, a disgraced exile from coun-
try and home.
This was the hardest blow of all. Thorwald false!
Thorwald deserting me in my hour of need and dis-
grace | I still hesitated to believe it. Foolish girl, in
the face of it all my heart strings still clung to him and
refused to snap, though we were so rudely torn apart.
“That is the man of it,” said my mother to console
me. “They are all alike. While the sun shines and the
sea is calm they are on deck entertaining us; when the
storm comes they are nowhere to be found.”
I did not answer her, but in my heart I was obliged
to admit that she was right. I cursed all men; I cursed
him who, to my mind, embodied the quintessence of
all that was manly and strong and noble in the world.
At this moment in my heart I took an oath of revenge
against all men. The revenge of the deserted, the aban-
doned woman, who has given her all and has received
naught but disgrace in return; who is spurned and
looked down upon by all, even by her own sisters; who
is hounded and driven to the lowest depths of degrada-
tion, while the man, who was the partner in her sin,
is honored and respected, and carries his head as high
as ever.
And still I waited for him. I prayed for his coming


94 GUILTY!
till the last moment when my mother brought me my
ticket and five hundred dollars.
“She need never ask me for anything more,” were
the words my father sent me, “for it is all she will
ever get.”
The stern orders left by him were that no one should
see me off; that I should ride down to the quay alone
in a closed carriage, board the steamer and stay in my
stateroom till after the boat had started.
“That much, at least, she owes her family,” he had
said.
My mother wanted to disobey his orders and accom-
pany me to the steamer, but I begged her not to. I
knew the probable consequences. In our home his will
was law, and my mother was as much a slave to it as any
of the rest of us.
Alone I went away.
Cast out of my father’s house! An exile from my
native land Forbidden ever to see it again! And
worst of all, cruelly forsaken by him whom I had loved
with all my heart, by him to whom I had given all I
had—myself—my honor—my soul.
Merciful God! Had I deserved this punishment?


CHAPTER III.
THE CHILD.
MY little Thorwald was born at Maternity Hospital
in Chicago, November 25th, 1891.
When the tiny babe was first placed in my arms and
his beautiful brown eyes looked up into mine, all the
miserable suffering I had experienced during the last
five months, all the dreadful solitude of the lone
stranger in a strange land, were forgotten.
The mad desire of my strong nature, the wild crav-
ing of my heart for some one whom I could love with my
whole soul, was now satisfied.
Though lying in the cold, bare hospital ward, a lonely
creature without a friend, deserted and abandoned by
those for whose love my heart was constantly yearning,
disgraced and dishonored, I was nevertheless at that
moment the happiest woman in the world.
Love, with me, had always been a passion which had
hurled me along with the wild force of one of those
foaming mountain cataracts of my native land.
That warm, passionate love of mine had frozen to a
solid mass in my heart during the horrible winter of
the past months. Now it melted at one glance from my
darling babe’s brown eyes, and not gradually, but all
at once. With the sudden force of the waters of a bro-
ken dam all the strong well-springs of love in me poured
forth like a cloud-burst and with fond, wild caresses
submerged my child in their waves.
95


96 GUILTY?
My child, the child of my sorrow and disgrace, in
that moment came to be my life, my pride, my happi-
IleSS.
Its helplessness seemed to call my best energies to
life. I wanted to get up and toil for the little one. I
wanted to work myself to death. I wanted to wear out
my hands till the blisters came, and the blood flowed,
so that my little darling should never divine that there
was anything but sunshine and summer in this beauti-
ful life. I wanted to keep the clouds away from his
sky, to close out the chill and dreariness of winter from
his life. Yes, that should be my life work, and what
mattered it if I ruined my strength and health in do-
ing so? The more I could sacrifice for him the greater
would be my happiness.
What I had imagined to be a frozen mass of ice in
my innermost soul proved really to be a volcano burning
under the callous crust of suffering, bitterness and des-
pair. It had found an outlet now, this volcanic fire,
and it burned with a glare which almost blinded me;
but its heat warmed me, gave power and life and
strength to every limb, to ever nerve, to every thought,
and to every hope.
I was no longer the lonely deserted woman. I was
the tigeress now, ready to defend her cub to the last
drop of her ebbing life-blood, if necessary, and I defied
the world; in my mad strength I defied God himself
on his mighty throne to hinder me in my noble life work.
The matron of the hospital urged me to give my child
away to some well-to-do childless couple, who could
give it a good home.
I told her, with a gleam of anger in my eyes, that I
would die first.


GUILTY! 97
She continued day after day to argue with me that
this would be best for my child; that I never could get
along with it; that it would prevent me from earning
a living, and that by insisting on taking care of it my-
self I would bring misery on both of us, and that it,
perhaps, might be the cause of my sinking into lower
depths of degradation.
I realize now that she undoubtedly was actuated by
the best of motives, but then I could not see it in that
light. I looked upon her almost as a highway robber
who wanted to steal my only treasure, and, with anger
in my soul, I answered all her entreaties with a scorn-
ful smile.
One night I became possessed of the idea that these
people might steal my boy away from me while I was
sleeping. I could not close my eyes, so completely did
this fear take hold of me, and when midnight came and
all was quiet in the great building I dressed myself
in the dark, wrapped a large, heavy shawl around my
baby boy, took my shoes in my hand, and, in my stock-
ing feet, crept silently through the halls down to the
entrance. Fortunately the key was in the door. I
turned it in the lock as cautiously and noiselessly as
I could and opened the door. It squeaked on its hinges.
I feared that this noise would arouse some one in the
building and, without even stopping to put on my shoes,
I rushed out into the night and darkness with my baby
in my arms. My fear must have given me superhuman
strength, for, though only a week had elapsed since my
confinement, I rushed in mad flight through the streets.
I turned corner after corner to elude the pursuers I
imagined were following me. I crept through dark
alleyways wherever I found them, and kept on running,


98 GUILTY 7
running as though fleeing for my life, never stopping
till I was miles away from the hospital.
Then I sank down exhausted on the steps of a fine
church and was on the point of fainting away when a
wail from within the folds of the shawl aroused me to
conscious life again. Oblivious to the chill of the se-
vere winter night, thinking only of him, I opened my
dress and exposed my breast to the cold night air. I
nursed my child to sleep again on that cold, cheerless
church step.
It is surprising to me now that I did not take my
death from cold and exposure that awful night, but I
suppose the fires of anxiety and love burning within
protected me and kept me warm.
When daylight came I sought refuge in a third-class
hotel in a neighboring street. The roll of money which
I exhibited on paying for one day’s lodging allayed the
suspicions with which the clerk evidently regarded my
entrance there at such an unseemly hour.
After a few days I succeeded in obtaining board and
lodging at a small cottage where a poor workman, Mr.
Johnson lived with his childless wife. . -
... The price which their spare bedroom brought them
was a welcome help to them in the cold winter when
they had to rely entirely for their subsistence on the
scanty sum they had been able to save from the sum-
mer’s earnings. . . . - - . . .
The sign, “Furnished Rooms” was taken in, and my
story that my husband had run away from me, just as
I was about to become a mother, found willing and re-
ceptive ears, specially in view of the fact that my pres-
ence would enable them to worry through a workless
winter. I took pains to show them that I possessed
f -


GUILTY? 99
sufficient means to pay my way, if I could only have a
comfortable home for baby and myself.
By this time the sum, with which I had been pro-
vided when cast adrift by my father, had been reduced
almost one-half.
Until Thorwald’s birth, in my despair I had not given
any thought to the future, and had allowed my small
capital to dwindle down without fear or apprehension.
But now it was different. I became the most abject
miser.
“It is his money,” I said to myself. “I must not rob
him of what little he has.”
Every dollar of it was to be saved for him and I felt
as if every penny of it used even for our necessaries
was stolen from him.
“I must go to work at something. Earn money for
him, or at least enough for us to live upon without en-
croaching on his little patrimony.”
I advised with my kind landlady as to where to get
work, and one day she took me around to a vest shop,
a few blocks distant, where she had been employed be-
fore her marriage. -
On her recommendation the proprietor, a dirty-look-
ing little Jew, agreed to give me employment if I came
around the next morning at the opening of the shop.
The only thing that worried me was that I was obliged
to be away from my little Thorvald, but Mrs. Johnson,
who was a kind-hearted, affectionate woman, promised
to take good care of him while I was at work, and as I
could usually go home for lunch during the middle of
the day, she did not see how the baby could possibly suf-
fer from my absence under the circumstances.
It was terrible to tear myself away from him, but I


100 GUILTY 7
told myself, a thousand times a day, that it was for him
I worked, and that he would not miss me much, as he
spent most of the day sleeping sweetly, and, judging
from the happy smile on his face, dreaming of the
angels.
When I arrived at the shop in the morning a sewing-
machine was provided for me, and the forewoman gave
me instructions in the work.
Three hundred whizzing and whirring sewing-
machines in the large room, all operated by steam, at
first made me quite nervous. The pale, careworn faces
of the operating girls did not serve to give me great
encouragement as to what I had to expect from this
experience—I, who never had worked a day in my life
and had never known what it meant to earn my own
living. But the thought of my child gave me courage
and strength. I was working for him. It was not many
weeks before I was able to turn out as many vests a
week as the average girl with much longer experience,
and thus earn not only enough to pay for my board and
modest lodgings, but also a scanty compensation to my
landlady for the care she bestowed on my little boy in
my absence.
The confinement and steady application to my work .
commenced to show in my face. I looked pale and care-
worn as the other girls, and when night came I was so
tired that it was an effort to get up from my chair. But
. I did not mind it. Every stitch in those vests was a
work of love for my little Thorwald. Every shooting
pain in my chest, which the bending over the machine
gave me, was sweet, for it was for him I suffered, and
soon the evening would come, when I could take him
in my loving arms, caress him, smother him with my


GUILTY 7 101
love kisses, rock him into sweet, innocent slumber on
my breast.
Oh! how I enjoyed those evenings! How I would
sit and talk to him for hours! Tell him the sweetest
fairy tales. Whisper into his ears charming poems of
my love for him. And to see him smile at me! For
within a few months he smiled so sweetly to me, when
I took him in my arms and commenced to fondle and
play with him, that it seemed as though he already
knew his mamma, and how much she loved him.
I used to have the longest and most delicious talks
with him. It did not matter that I did both the ques-
tioning and answering. -
He was the loveliest boy. I had only one fault to find
with him. He was so fond of sleeping. He would sleep
from the time I left in the morning till I returned at
lunch time and then go to snoozing again till evening,
when it was with the greatest effort that he kept his
beautiful brown eyes open as long as I wanted to talk
with him, and consult him about our little troubles.
Then all through the night he slept on my arm and
scarcely ever stirred.
I was disappointed because he did not cry and wake
me up in the night so I could walk the floor with him
and rock him to sleep again. My heart craved greater
sacrifices for his sake than he would allow me to make.
I really envied other mothers whose children kept
them awake during the night, and exacted from them
those exhausting love services, so sweet and soothing
to a mother's heart.
Happiness had returned to me with little Thorwald.
With his tiny baby hands he pulled up by their roots
those noxious weeds of hatred, bitterness and misery


102 GUILTY!
which had been growing so luxuriously and rampantly
in my deserted heart.
But my happiness was too great to last.
It was in the fore part of July.
The day had been exceedingly sultry. All my love
and longing to press my babe to my breast would
scarcely suffice to drag my tired feet along the hot pave-
ment.
When I entered the house I heard my child wailing
as if in pain, and found Mrs. Johnson engaged in sooth-
ing him by rocking him on her knees.
I rushed over to her, picked up my darling boy and
strained him to my heart.
There was no question about it, the boy was sick.
“Oh, my Thorwald is dying,” I cried out in frenzy,
gazing in despair at the contortion of my poor darling’s
features, as he plaintively kept up his wailing.
“No, you must not believe that. He only has a little
colic,” said the landlady, to console me.
But I refused to be consoled. I hurried her off for a
doctor while I kept on pacing the floor with my babe
in my arms, trying to put him to sleep, wailing and
crying as much myself as he did.
The doctor finally came. It was to me an eternity
before he arrived. It seemed as though his presence
soothed baby as well as me. He became more quiet
and ceased his moaning, but that was only for a mo-
ment. Suddenly he gave a cry of pain; his face became
almost purple; his features drawn, and his little hands
were clinched, oh, so tight.
“My baby is dying. Oh, Doctor, save him!” I cried
in despair.
“Quick; some tepid water in a basin,” said the doc-


GUILTY? 103
tor, and with rapid movements he tore off the child's
clothes.
I stood as if stunned, and left it to Mrs. Johnson
to bring the water.
Soon after he had been immersed in the warm water
the convulsions ceased.
But they came back again more and more frequently,
and they seemed to increase in intensity at every fresh
attack.
The last one came during the night after the other
folks had retired.
I had lifted him from the basin as the attack seemed
to be over, and was drying the little body, when I
noticed that the plaintive wail had ceased. My soul
rose to the throne of God, whom I, during the vigils
of the night, had implored, oh, so humbly, to save my
child, for I thought sleep had come to his relief and
that his suffering was over—but my grateful prayer
froze on my lips.
Looking lovingly at my babe I saw that his eyes were
wide open, but that the gleam of life had fled.
I was like one suddenly stricken down with palsy. I
could not move hand or foot; I could not speak; I could
not even think. Every tear well was suddenly dried up
in my heart; every thought frozen in my brain. I only
sat there in blank despair peering into those dimmed
eyes. I said nothing—did nothing—thought nothing.
I was almost in the jaws of death myself.
And thus I still sat with my dead child in my lap
when daybreak came, and Mrs. Johnson softly entered
to inquire how he was getting along.
When they attempted to take my dead child from my


104 - GUILTY!
arms, my conscious suffering set in. I had been like
one turned into stone till that moment.
I then became wild.
“No one shall take my child from me. I will die
first.” And so I kept on sitting with my dead babe in
my arms for a whole day and night, rocking to and fro,
and staring with wild fright into those vacant eyes un-
til finally merciful sleep came to my lacerted heart—
to my troubled brain. It brought back my wandering
mind. My heart was dead—dead forever! But when
I awoke and for the first time realized my terrible po-
sition, tears came to my relief, and I was permitted to
sob out my desperate sorrow over my child’s dead body.
After he was hidden under the ground, a fearful hal-
lucination took possession of my whirling brain.
Wherever I went, amidst the whizz of the machines
at the shop where I went to find in occupation a means
of driving away my sorrow, in the stillness of the night
in my own chamber, at church in the mighty tones of
the great organ, in the moaning of the wind, I heard
continuously the tiny, plaintive wail of my child. It
followed me wherever I went—whatever I did.
One Sunday I went to the cemetery to place a bunch
of pansies on his little grave.
I imagined I heard the tender, wailing cry of my
baby from the bottom of the grave. I was sure I heard
it. He was buried alive, and I must save him!
I threw myself on the mound and commenced to dig
the grave open with my hands.
My strange actions attracted the officers of the ceme-
tery. They ordered me to desist. I told them that my
child was under there. He was buried alive. I could


CHAPTER IV.
THE MARRIAGE.
THE expenses connected with the burial of my little
darling as well as the cost of my stay at the pri-
vate insane asylum had diminished my funds con-
siderably, and I arrived in Minneapolis with less than
fifty dollars.
This was, perhaps, in one way, beneficial to me, for
my impending necessities aroused my energies so sorely
blunted by my last great sorrow.
My first impulse was to make use of the accomplish-
ments of my splendid education, and for a week or two
I advertised assiduously both for a position as a gov-
erness in a private family in the country and for pupils
in instrumental music.
But I received no response whatever to the first ad-
vertisement, and the grand result of my advertisement
for pupils in music, as well as of a canvass from house
to house for two weeks, was two pupils who each took
one lesson a week at the munificent compensation of
fifty cents an hour.
This experience opened my eyes to the fact that,
unless I wanted to starve, I would have to come down
to menial work.
Work in a factory had no particular attraction for
me. It would remind me too much of my great sorrow
and bring back too vividly to my soul the sweet memo-
106


GUILTY.' 107
ries of the brief period of happiness so abruptly and
cruelly cut short by the sickle of death.
There was then no field open for me but that of the
common domestic. As the art of cooking was not among
my accomplishments I felt that I was incompetent to
fill a place in a private family, and that I would be
compelled to seek employment as chambermaid, which
I shortly succeeded in obtaining at the Nicollet House.
What would my proud father say if he knew to what
depths of degradation his cruel decision had reduced his
only daughter? -
But then I consoled myself with the thought that in
this great country no honest work, however lowly, was
considered disgraceful. All the bridges connecting me
with my past were burned, and a return to my former
position in society closed forever. So what mattered
it, so long as I could earn my daily bread and eke out
a miserable existence? -
I had been engaged in my new occupation less than
two weeks when one night, about 11 o’clock, the hotel
caught fire. I had worked unusually hard during the
day; my roommate was on watch during the night, and
as I found myself alone on entering my bedchamber, I
threw myself down on the bed without undressing to
rest a few moments before making preparations for re-
tiring.
So tired was I from the day's work that I fell asleep
in this position and was awakened only by a choking
sensation that almost prevented me from breathing.
Arousing myself, I at once became aware that the
room was filled with a dense, suffocating smoke. At
first I did not realize what it meant, but, listening, I
soon heard a crackling noise as of fire coming from


108 GUILTY?
the hallway. My room was on the fourth floor, and
when I became fully aware that the hotel was on fire,
my courage nearly failed me. How was I to escape?
The only exit was by the stairs, and it seemed certain
that the fire was in that direction.
Almost asphyxiated I reeled over to the door and
threw it open, when a denser and still more stifling
smoke rolled in through the opening.
In despair I stepped out. Far away—it seemed miles
away—I saw the red light indicating the stairs. It
glimmered faintly through the smoke, but between it
and me the flames were with voracious tongues licking
the dry woodwork.
I had to get past the fire in order to escape. I took .
a few steps in that direction, and was overcome by the
smoke and heat. I staggered against the wall and sank .
unconscious to the floor.
The last thing I am aware of—and I only remember
that as in a dream—is that, as I was sinking down,
someone rudely took hold of me. I remember still the
pain in my arm from the sudden grasp, and then I
knew nothing more until I found myself on the pave-
ment where I was supported by the strong arm of a
strange man, who was attempting to pour some whiskey
or brandy down my throat. I was surrounded by a
gaping crowd, which watched the man’s efforts to re-
vive me with that interested curiosity that always char-
acterizes a crowd at a fire.
As I regained consciousness I have an indistinct rec-
ollection of noticing a peculiarity in my companion.
He wore a long, heavy beard, but on the right side of
his face there was hardly a hair left. It was all singed
off, and his face on that side was red as though it had
been exposed to an intense fire.


110 GUILTY?
He spoke so kindly, and with such an honest expres-
sion in his voice, that I could not help trusting him and,
anxious to get away from the gaping crowd which still
insisted on taking a great interest in me, I followed
him to a neighboring hotel, where he kindly secured a
room for me.
Now came for me a most trying time.
It was not difficult to observe that the man, who had
saved me from a most terrible death, had become deeply
interested in me.
He stopped at the same hotel and showed all the lit-
tle attentions which a kind and warm heart could sug-
gest.
My deplorable condition could not, of course, remain
unknown to him. All my wardrobe burned! My
money gone with it! Alone in a strange city without
a friend or even an acquaintance! It could not very
well be worse.
He insisted that I should accept a loan from him of
a hundred dollars to enable me to procure a new ward-
robe, of which I certainly was sorely in need. I pro-
tested that I might never be able to repay it, but he
would not take “mo” for an answer, and thrust the
money into my hands. I had not the courage to refuse
it. I wished I could have done so, for I began to feel
in my heart that this was the fateful beginning of an
end which I could only contemplate with a shudder.
After a week's assiduous attention in which he gave
me too many proofs of the complete conquest I had
been unfortunate enough to make, he, in his peculiar,
meek way, but at the same time with an undercurrent
of fixed determination asked me to become his wife.
He told me he was a widower, who, but two years be-


GUILTY? 111
fore, after a happy but childless marriage, had lost his
wife; that he was a farmer, reasonably well off, and
that in a few years, when the times should become bet-
ter and prices of farm lands advance, as they certainly
would do, he could leave the farm and live on the in-
terest of his money in a small city, or in Minneapolis,
if I preferred it; that in the meantime he would make
my life on the farm as pleasant as possible; that his
brother’s wife, who with her husband was now living
at his farm and keeping house for him, could remain
there, if I wished, and relieve me of the cares of look-
ing after the household.
I listened to him in silence.
Then I told him that it could never be; that I did
not love him and never could; that my heart was only
a heap of dead ashes, where no man could ever discover
a spark from which to kindle a fire of love and devo-
tion.
But when I had ceased speaking, he was not in the
least disconcerted. He begged me not to decide the
matter then, but to think it over till the next day.
I did not wish to wound him unnecessarily as I owed
him such a debt of gratitude, and was foolish enough
not to end the matter then and there.
The next day, after thinking it over, I concluded to
tell him the story of my life, and said I felt convinced
that he would plainly see that I could never become the
wife of an honest man. * - - - - - -
But the sad story of my disgrace only seemed to make
him more eager to possess me for his wife. It seemed
as though my downfall in his eyes had lessened the dis-
tance between us, as though my degradation had brought
me down nearer to where he, the common farmer, stood,


112 GUILTY?
and he still begged me with tears in his eyes not to
refuse him.
He would not crave my love, if I could not give it.
He would only ask the privilege of being near me, of
looking after my every want, of giving me the happi-
ness of a home of my own. He would only ask to be
allowed to be my faithful servant and slave. Perhaps
some day, by a life devotion to me, he would earn the
right in my eyes of being worthy of a kind thought,
of a tender regard.
I cannot tell how it came about, whether it was be-
cause I was so tired and exhausted from my disheart-
ening battle with life and did not care what became
of me, or whether it was because of the gratitude I felt
toward the man, who had saved my life and had shown
me so many tender kindnesses, I only know that I was
finally persuaded, and consented to be his wife on the
express condition, however, that he should ask or expect
no more from me than what my burned-out heart could
freely and voluntarily bestow. *
On these conditions I became Andrew Eklund’s wife,
less than a fortnight after the fire in the hotel.
The next day we started for his farm way out on the
desolate western prairie.
No bride ever went to her future home with a heavier
heart.
A shudder went through me as I entered his house.
It was quite neat for a farm-house in a new settle-
ment, and the large barn gave evidence of the compara-
tive wealth of the owner, but there was no evidence of
comfort about it.
The floors were carpetless and painted a dark, gloomy
color. The walls were bare and had the dull gray hue
of the common rough plastering.


CHAPTER V.
THE GHOST.
As soon as I had succeeded in getting rid of my sister-
in-law I went to work to make the place inhabitable.
In the sitting-room and in my sleeping-room soft in-
grain carpets were laid.
The grey, naked walls were covered by as tasty wall-
paper as I could find in Willmar.
Modest, inexpensive lace curtains were draped at the
windows.
From a lady in the village, who was a great lover of
flowers, I, by a little coaxing, and by paying a goodly
sum therefor, obtained some nice house plants.
A small book shelf in my sleeping room was filled
with cheap editions of my favorite authors.
In fact, I succeeded fairly well in transforming the
burial crypt into quite a cozy, comfortable home. I felt
it a duty to myself to beautify, as much as was in my
power, my prison cell, and I must admit that my hus-
band, fond as he was of money, without a murmur, gave
me the necessary funds to transform the house into
something approaching my ideas of what a home should
be. . . . . .
When I suggested to him one day that a piano would
be such a consolation to me, he looked shocked, but in-
side of a week the music dealer at Willmar sent out a
piano, not one of the richest tone, nor of the best make,
it is true, but in any event a piano.
114


118 GUILTY.'
“That is too bad,” I heard my unsuspecting husband
remark in a compassionate tone. “Can I help you,”
“No thanks,” I said. “It relieves the pain to keep
it in the cold water.”
“Thank God he does not divine the cause of my ex-
citement,” I thought to myself, while my heart pulsated
so that I almost feared it would break.
“Don’t let the steak get cold. Take what there is left
on the spider and help yourselves, while I am nursing
my burn,” I managed to whisper with an exertion,
which I thought would kill me.
If my husband once saw the pallor on my face, my
secret would be out. And I could not again, not now
anyway, look at Thorwald’s sad face.
The two men went into the dining room and seated
themselves at the table. I could hear the scraping of
their chairs as they sat down. I then flew to my room,
bandaged my hand, and laid down on the bed to think—
to think. * * * *
The pain of my pretended burn would have to do
service as sufficient excuse for my not showing myself
again that night.
“I cannot do it—I cannot do it,” I moaned in de-
spair.
I had believed my heart dead. Oh, if it only were !
The old wound was torn open afresh.
All through the stillness of the night its every violent
beat sang only one strain: “Thorwald, Thorwald.”
“The coward, I hate him,” I said to myself one mo-
ment. -
“No,” came the next moment in a whisper as soft as
a caress. “I don’t—I love him—I love him with all my
heart—I always will love him.”


122 GUILTY?
One day a new man was taken into the gang with
which he worked. It was Mr. Johnson, my landlady's
husband. From Thorwald's description of the lady he
was looking for, Mr. Johnson soon recognized me, and
invited Thorwald to go home with him that night and
see his wife, as he suspected that she might know the
girl.
From her he learned all about me; about the death
of our child, about my suffering, and about my depar-
ture for Minneapolis, a month before. But as I had not
written to Mrs. Johnson since I left Chicago, she, of
course, could not give him any further information.
He had less than five dollars in money. How should
he get to Minneapolis? Some of his acquaintances ad-
vised him to steal rides on freight trains. If he was put
off one he could take the next one. One station would
be gained anyway. He did so and, after a journey last-
ing nearly fourteen days, he reached Minneapolis. He
searched for me all over the city, but could find no clue.
He had almost made up his mind that there must be
some mistake, and that I must have changed my mind
and gone to another city, when, in looking over an issue
of a Swedish paper, more than a month old, which he
had accidentally picked up one day while waiting for
dinner at his boarding place, his eyes fell on my name
in an item giving the marriage licenses of the week. He
ascertained from one of his fellow boarders where mar-
riage licenses were obtained, and, without waiting for
his dinner, he started for the office of the clerk of court
at the court house. Here he learned that the man, who
had obtained the license to marry me, was a resident of
Kandiyohi county. He did not think of dinner again.
All he cared about was to find out where Kandiyohi


GUILTY 7 123
county was, and in what direction he had to go to get
there. This accomplished, he started to walk the one
hundred miles, or more, to Willmar. Before night he
was fifteen miles nearer me. In order to hide his iden-
tity in case I should have mentioned his name to my
husband, he thought it best to assume his maternal
grandfather’s name.
Arriving at the county seat he made inquiries for Mr.
Eklund, and soon located us in the town of Whitefield.
Then he tried to ascertain whether it was a love match
on my part, for if it were he would disappear and never
show his face to me again. But from all he could learn
it would seem that I was not over-charmed with my
married state. He then eagerly sought to make my hus-
band's acquaintance and the day before, on learning his
errand into town, had anxiously offered his services at
any price and on any condition, so long as he could
accomplish his object to be near me.
This in short was the story Thorwald told me that
morning.
: * * * * * *
If I did forget my husband and my plighted troth in
the living presence of my childhood's lover have you
the heart to condemn me? -


B O OK III.
THE TRIAL














GUILTY? 129
Inquiry at a farm house near by elicited the informa-
tion that she was nearing the road running from Mon-
tevideo to Granite Falls, and as soon as she struck this
extensively traveled and well kept highway, the horse
trotted along at a brisk pace, as if anxious to make up
the time lost by his awkwardness.
When she arrived at the brow of the hill, where the
highway is suddenly tumbling down the steep bank
toward the railroad track and the iron bridge crossing
the Minnesota river, a view the like of which she never
remembered having seen, even amid the impressive
scenery of her native country, burst upon her surprised
SenSeS. -
There, three or four hundred feet below her, lay the
city of Granite Falls with its quaint and gaily painted
dwellings and its spire-crowned little churches, scat-
tered around in humdrum disorder on and amongst the
granite rocks.
From her view-point the houses and churches, stores,
mills and public buildings took on the aspect of the Ger-
man toy houses she had played with as a child.
Not only in the midst of the little town, in its streets
and between its houses, but way beyond it, between the
town and the other river bank, several miles distant,
appeared the same out-croppings of the protrusive gran-
ite in the weirdest, most irregular formations, as if the
rocks had been thrown around by giant hands.
Away on the undulating prairie, beyond the other
bank, here and there, neat, white farmhouses and large
red barns peeped forth from the mani-colored groves.
Right below her, along the hillside down to the river
shore and stretching for miles in both directions along
the river, were trees without number dressed in the glo-
rious foliage of an American fall.


130 GUILTY?
There were not only all imaginable colors, but all the
shades and tints of each different color, which the most
imaginative artist could conjure forth.
Here and there, and seemingly of richer hue than
ever—probably due to the contrast—stood a poplar,
still draped in its rich dark green verdure.
Around it shone all the shades of yellow and brown
and black, and, in between them, red in all its shifting
tints from the faintest pink to the deepest scarlet.
Down over the very bank hung the willows, dressed
in the palest of green. They first coquettishly waved
their branches over the laughing waters, as if every
leaf had an eye watching its own beauty in the reflec-
tive mirror below. Then again they washed the tips
of their branches in the rippling waves, and allowed
them to be carried away as in complete abandon, till
their elasticity had been tried to its utmost capacity.
Then, with a snap the trees would reclaim them, only
to commence the same play over again the next moment.
And between this richness of verdure and of color—
giving additional life and tone to the picture—twined
the beautiful Minnesota river in a hundred capricious
curves, now this way, then that way, as if it were hunt-
ing for a lost friend and was turning its luminous eye
desperately in all directions for him.
A silver thread in a hundred twists over an undulat-
ing mass of green velvet—was this river.
Up beyond the Hixton Mill, white as the Minnesota
wheat flour, it comes tumbling down the dam like
a young woman in the airiest, fluffiest, white Swiss mus-
lin and tulle. Further down, a little above the old, di-
lapidated excuse for a mill, which ground the Indian
corn for the Aborigines in olden times, but now is rel-


GUILTY? 131
egated into desuetude, it runs in rippling and laughing
rapids—over rocks—under rocks—between rocks, as if
playing hide and seek.
As a big, overgrown child it cajoles and smiles at its
own antics.
You can hear its glad laughter rippling down its
cheek.
Then it suddenly grows steady and sedate. You can
hardly see a ripple on its face. You almost think it
stands still; that it is dead; that its activity is gone;
that it has lost its force; that it only can lie quietly
and lazily between the broad banks and sun itself, and
that all it is good for is to furnish a mirror for the
flying clouds above.
But the Minnesota is deceiving you. It is only the
calm before the storm.
A few feet further down and she dances in mad
wildness over the dam—foaming at the mouth, roaring
and thundering her wildest notes of defiance into the
air, and dashing herself in impotent rage in a thousand
silvery sprays against the rocks below, while the sun
places above her brow a diadem jeweled in all the colors
of the rainbow.
But the river is not mad. The sudden jump was
only an outburst of youthful exuberance.
A few rods below the falls she glides along again
quietly and sedately as a cloistered nun. With a state-
ly sweep she turns around towards the West; lets the
sun's rays dance on her calm and serene face; lets
the passing clouds nod familiarly to their own reflection
on her bosom, and forgets that she ever has been young,
until she reaches Minnesota Falls, nearly two miles be-
low, where the rocks again tempt her into a frolicsome
gambol.


132 GUILTY?
This was the first impression Mrs. Eklund received of
the place where she was going to stand trial for her
life.
This and much more she drank in, until she felt al-
most intoxicated with the glorious beauty of the scenery.
Now her eyes restlessly scanned the little city with a
desire to locate the building, where she was to battle
against the forces of the Commonwealth. They rested
for a moment on a large, white, bright-looking structure
of two stories. Oh, no, it could not be that! Its ex-
terior clearly showed that within its sacred walls the
torch of education burned. Over its precincts hovered
a spirit of benevolence, kindness and knowledge, just
as from the church spires, climbing heavenwards, the
message of “peace on earth and good will towards all
men,” was carried up towards her.
Ah, there her searching glance found what it had been
looking for ! Beyond the pleasant schoolhouse, in the
extreme southwestern part of the town, loomed up a
structure, which must be the court-house. It was built
on stiff, straight lines, looked dark, gloomy, unsym-
pathetic and as if impervious to any impression from
anywhere.
While her eye rested on this building for a few mo-
ments, and many a sad premonition awakened in her
heart, the sun had made a slight move towards the west.
Its rays now touched the windows on the side near-
est to her, and in a moment the gloom disappeared.
Every window in the large building looked as if it had
become suddenly illuminated. The dreary court-house
took on the aspect of a fairy palace.
“I take this as a good omen! Fate could never have
selected such a beautiful place for my trial had it in-


GUILTY? 133
tended that it should bring me misery and despair,”
Mrs. Eklund murmured to herself.
“Fate!” she repeated with bitterness in her voice,
as she was starting the horse down the steep hill.
“Fate!—I forget, it was my lawyer, who selected this
place, not Fate!”
And the same gleam of horror, which once lighted
her eyes on the platform at Willmar Station, again ap-
peared and threw a cloud of wild despair over her
COuntenance.
But when she alighted at the front door of the Com-
mercial Hotel some minutes later, no one could have
read anything but the brightest hope in her beautiful
eyes.


CHAPTER II.
THE LINKS IN THE CHAIN.
THE next morning at nine o’clock the court-room was
packed.
A number of ladies attracted by the peculiar features
of the case, had, by the officers, gallantly been given
seats inside the railing. When Judge Thayer ascended
the bench and the sheriff rapped for order, Mr. Barker
was engaged in an animated conversation with a portly
gentleman, at least a head and a half shorter than him-
self, with round, protruding, rolling eyes, a wabbly
walk and a laughter which sounded as if it had been
stored up in a cellar for a long time. It was Mr. Bel-
lingham, the first assistant attorney general of the
State, who, at the request of the young and inexperi-
enced county attorney, was to take charge of the con-
duct of the State’s case.
He and Mr. Barker were old friends. It was not
the first time they had crossed swords in the legal arena,
and each had great respect for the ability, acumen and
learning of the other.
After court had been duly opened the county attor-
ney formally moved the case of State vs. Marie Eklund
and Harold Steen for trial.
Mr. Barker then notified the court and counsel for the
State that the defendants demanded a separate trial,
and suggested that the State be required to elect which
of the two defendants it would try first.
134


GUILTY! 135
Whereupon the county attorney stated that the
State would first proceed with the trial of the defend.
ant Marie Eklund.
The clerk was ordered by the court to call the jurors
in the case, and the judge appointed three young law-
yers to act as triers, or judges of the qualifications of
the persons challenged by either of the parties.
A battle royal now commenced to determine who
would gain an advantage over the other side in the se-
lection of the jurors.
Mr. Barker had requested Mrs. Eklund to take a seat
close by his side, and had impressed upon her that he
wanted her assistance in this: When a juror was called
she was to look him carefully over, and if her woman’s
instinct told her that he would be unfavorable to her,
she was at once to communicate this fact to her lawyer
by pulling once at his sleeve or coat-tail; if, on the
other hand, she felt in her heart that the person called
would favor her, she was to indicate this in the same
manner, only by two pulls instead of one. If she re-
ceived no impression one way or another, she was to
do nothing at all. But he had let her understand that
she should not wait to communicate her decision until
after he had commenced questioning the juror.
“It is not your judgment I want,” he said. “A woman
has no judgment. At least it is more liable to be wrong
than right, while her instinct is well nigh infallible. It
is your instinct I want, unbiased by any supposed rea.
soning. That is why I want to hear from you before
you have a chance to exercise any reasoning power,
which you may think you have.”
Immediately behind Mr. Barker at the long table
was seated Mr. Thompson with a large bunch of memo-
randa arranged in alphabetical order.


136 GUILTY?
When a juror’s name was called, he would find the
memorandum appertaining to him, and hand it to Mr.
Barker who, after scanning it for a moment, would
commence his examination of the juror, after having
challenged him either for general disqualifications, for
implied bias, or for actual bias, as the case might be,
or, some time, for all three, one after the other.
The memoranda in the hands of Mr. Thompson
showed the result of the investigation by that gentle-
man of each of the fifty persons called to serve as jurors
both on the general panel and on a special venire, made
returnable that morning by order of Judge Thayer, who
had foreseen the necessity of more persons being called
for jurors in this case than the regular panel would
afford.
These memoranda gave exact and detailed informa-
tion on all of the following points: The juror's age, his
present occupation, his former occupation, his financial
ability, his general character for honesty, his nation-
ality, his religion, his politics—whether or not he was
married, whether stubborn and of firm convictions, or
easily led and influenced, whether sympathetic or nar-
row-minded and cold, whether he had ever been a po-
lice officer, sheriff, constable or justice of the peace;
also whether he was generally inclined to favor the
State or the defendant in a criminal case.
There was also a special inquiry as “to whether or
not the juror was a ladies’ man.”
The only time during the proceeding when Mrs. Ek-
lund pulled twice at the lawyer's sleeve, was as a young
Swede seated himself in the box. Mr. Barker looked
at the memorandum with reference to the juror, then at
the juror, then addressed an inquiring look to Mrs. Ek-
lund, who whispered:


GUILTY? 139
4. The first days he had vomited and purged con-
siderably. These symptoms had ceased a day or so be-
fore his death, but until a few hours before his demise
he was continually retching.
5. On Saturday he requested his brother to go for
the doctor, who on his arrival inquired very severely
into what the sick man had eaten.
6. After getting some of the doctor's medicine he
seemed to feel better, and stated that he was hungry.
7. The defendant then prepared some gruel of which
he ate heartily, but after partaking of it the pains came
back with renewed force, and he retched a great deal.
8. No one had given him any medicine or food ex-
cept the defendant since Wednesday.
9. One neighbor testified that one day, in the ab-
sence of Mr. Eklund, he was working at carpentering
on the farm. Immediately after dinner he left defend-
ant and Mr. Steen standing talking together in the liv-
ing room, as he went into the kitchen to light his pipe.
When he returned for his hat a few moments later none
of them were in the room. Steen, who was helping him
at his work, did not put in an appearance for twenty
minutes.
10. Another neighbor testified that defendant at his
house had spoken disparagingly of her husband, whom
she designated as surly, cross and untidy, and com-
pared him with Mr. Steen, whom she praised to the
skies, saying that he was a very nice young man—so
nice about the house that she never saw a nicer young
man, etc. The same witness also testified that he had
observed that defendant’s conduct towards the two men
was very different. When she spoke to the young man
it was always in a nice and sweet voice and with a smile


140 GUILTY?
on her face, while, when she spoke to her husband, it
was in a short and sour tone.
11. The same neighbor testified that when the cor-
oner came to the house, he introduced him to the de-
fendant, and told her that when a person died and there
was a suspicion that he had not died a natural death,
the coroner could have an inquest and examine the body
to see if everything was all right, to which defendant
in an angry manner answered that she defied any one
to touch her husband or cut him open—also that he no-
ticed that she, after a while, gave Steen a wink, and
went out into the kitchen. Soon after Steen left the
living room and walked out into the shed. When he
opened the door, the witness saw defendant standing in
the shed. After a while they both came back the same
way they had gone out, and after that she had no fur-
ther objection to going on with the inquest.
12. Still another witness testified that, while the doc-
tor was at the house, defendant asked the witness if he
had noticed how sharply the doctor had looked at her.
When the witness said that he had, she said, “He mis-
trusts me.”
13. During the last night defendant had asked the
same witness how long he thought Eklund could live.
When he answered, “Not longer than till morning,”
she turned her head around to one side, smiled and
said, “Just what I thought.”
14. After Eklund’s death Sunday morning, Mr.
Steen said that two calves were dead, and that it looked
as if they had been poisoned. Defendant remarked that
he probably had given them their milk from the same
pail “which Eklund has vomited in.”
15. A seemingly perfectly fresh wrapper of a pack-


142 GUILTY?
on Tuesday with cramps and vomiting, after partaking
of a hearty dinner, which he himself had prepared in
his wife’s absence, as she and Mr. Steen were absent all
of Tuesday on an errand to Willmar.
2. That there were no convulsions, and no cramps,
coldness or numbness of the limbs.
3. That there was no trace of blood in the vomit or
discharge.
4. That defendant had asked her brother-in-law to
go after the doctor on Thursday, but that Eklund said
he did not want any doctor.
5. That when Eklund’s brother went for the doctor
on Saturday, it was at the defendant’s request, not at
her husband's, as the witness had claimed in his direct
examination.
6. That the corpse and a black jar, containing some
of the organs removed from the body at the inquest
were, immediately after the inquest, which took place
on Wednesday, removed to a shed along the length of
the house, and remained in that shed until immediately
before the funeral on the following Saturday.
7. That there was a door from this shed leading into
the living room, and one leading outdoors.
8. That there was not, nor had there ever been, any
key or latch of any kind to this outer door, so that the
door could not be locked.
The prosecution had also attempted to show:
1. That before his death Eklund had asked his
brother, in case he should die, to have an autopsy in
order to ascertain the cause of death.
2. That defendant and Steen had continued to re-
side together at the farm since the husband's death, and
did so there reside until their arrest.


GUILTY? -- 145
“In what room?”
“In the living room.”
“Laid out there in the living room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“‘Covered with a cloth ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long did you work there?”
“One Week.’’
“You left, then, on the next Monday?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long did the body remain in the living room?”
‘‘I don’t know.” -
“Do you know what day it was buried?”
“Saturday.”
“Did it remain in the living-room up to the time it
was buried—until they carried it into the shed for the
purpose of burying it?”
“No, they carried it from the house to the shed the
same day that all those men were there—after they had
gone.”
“Do you mean to say the same day the coroner’s in-
quest was held?”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“Do you know whether the shed door was fastened
when the coffin was taken in there?”
‘‘I don’t know.”
“Where did you sleep while you were there?”
“I slept with Mrs. Eklund.”
“Whereabouts, in what room?”
“In her bedroom.”
“Where was her bedroom?”
“Right off from the living room. One door led int
the living room and one into the kitchen.”


GUILTY? 149
“What time of the night was it Mr. Steen was in
the bedroom?”
“After midnight.”
“How long after midnight?”
‘‘I can’t tell.”
“Have you ever met the gentleman sitting behind me
here, Mr. Thompson?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“At our house.”
“When?”
“About three weeks ago.”
“Did he on that occasion talk to you about this
case?”
“Yes.”
“Did you not at that time and place state to Mr.
Thompson that it was between one and two that Mr.
Steen came into Mrs. Eklund's bedroom the first night
you were there?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, was that true?”
‘‘I don’t know.”
“How is that?”
“I had no time.”
“How do you know it was after midnight?”
“Because it was nearly 12 o’clock when we went to
bed.”
“And it was some time after the time you went to
bed that he came into the bedroom?”
“Yes, quite a while.”
“Did you see him come in?”
“No.”
“Did you hear him come in?”


150 GUILTY?
“No.”
“Did you see him go out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What door did he go out through?”
“The kitchen door, I guess.”
“Was there any light in the kitchen?”
“No.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Yes, I am.”
“How long did he stay in the bedroom?”
“An hour, I guess.”
“Did you not tell Mr. Thompson at the time and
place we have spoken of, that he might have been in
there only five minutes?”
“Yes, I guess I did.”
“That is right, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It might have been five minutes and it might have
been an hour?’’
“I guess so.”
“Well, was it one hour or five minutes?”
‘‘I can’t tell.’’
“Was it daylight when he left?”
“Oh, no.”
“It was some time during the middle part of the
night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, Anna, will you tell me, when there were other
persons sleeping in the house, and you could not tell
Mr. Steen by his voice, how could you tell that it was
he, inasmuch as the room was dark?”
“I guess it wasn’t dark.”
‘‘How was that?”


GUILTY? 151
“I guess it was moonlight.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Yes, sir.” -
“As sure of that as anything you have testified to
here?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Barker: General, the Ayer’s Almanac for this
year, which I hand you, I picked up in a drug store
coming up the street this morning. Will you allow
me to introduce it in evidence as part of the cross-ex-
amination of this witness, or will you oblige me to tele-
graph for the observer of the weather bureau? I want
to offer the almanac to show what time the moon rose
and set on the night between the thirteenth and four-
teenth of March this year. I don’t think there can be
any dispute that those matters are correctly given in the
book, although I will not undertake to vouch for the
correctness of other statements in this very interesting
publication.”
Assistant Attorney General: “I don’t suppose there
is any need for you to call the weather bureau man. We
will allow you to introduce the almanac.”
Mr. Barker: “And you admit that the time there giv-
en for the rising and setting of the moon on the night
mentioned is correct?”
Assistant Attorney General: “We do.”
Mr. Barker: “Thank you, General, for your cour-
tesy.”
“May it please the Court, I now offer this book in
evidence as part of the cross-examination of this wit-
ness.”
“Gentlemen of the Jury, this almanac shows, and it
is admitted by the State to be correct, that the moon


152 GUILTY?
on the night between the thirteenth and fourteenth of
March this year rose at 8:14 and set at 11:04 in the
evening.” -
“Anna, had you seen Mr. Steen before this evening?”
“No.”
“You had heard about him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You had heard the neighbors say there was some-
thing between him and Mrs. Eklund?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Something that was not nice?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That they were very fond of each other?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And that they were unduly intimate?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You had heard a good deal about that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you saw Mr. Steen that night, did it strike
you that he was a good-looking fellow?”
‘‘I didn’t look much.”
“I know you didn’t. But you saw enough of him to
see that he was quite a good-looking fellow 7”
“I guess so.”
“You thought he was almost too fine looking a fellow
to be hanging around a married woman, did you not?”
“May be.”
“Well, you really did, did you not, to be honest about
it?”
“I guess so.”
“Do you ever dream, Anna?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Do you remember ever having had a dream so vivid


GUILTY? 153
that after you woke up you had some difficulty to de-
termine whether you had dreamed it, or whether it
really had happened to you?”
“I guess so.”
“Do you often have such vivid dreams?”
“Not so very often.”
“But quite often?”
“Yes.”
“Now, Anna, you really want to tell the truth, don’t
you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t want to tell anything that is not so, just
to hurt Mrs. Eklund, do you?”
“No, I don't.”
“You have not anything against her, have you?”
“No, only what people say. She was good to me.”
“Now, Anna, when you find that you were mistaken,
that there was no moon at all at the time you thought
Mr. Steen had been in Mrs. Eklund's bedroom, and
knowing, as you do, that there was no light there, and
knowing further that you could not tell him by his
voice, what do you honestly think was the fact—that
you saw and heard him in the bedroom that night, or
that you just dreamed it?”
“I guess I just must have dreamed it.”
“You are quite sure that you must have dreamed it,
are you not, and that it never happened at all?”
“Yes, I am.”
The attorneys for the prosecution were so completely
taken back by the turn the evidence of their star wit-
ness had taken in the skillful hands of Mr. Barker, that
they were too dazed to try by further examination to
make the witness retract what she had just stated, and


154 GUILTY?
when Mr. Barker discharged her with a kind “Thank
you, Miss Anna, that is all,” they let her step down
from the stand without any further questioning.
As the witness took her seat in the audience, which
now crowded the capacity of the large court-room to
the utmost, Barker turned around and looked at the
fair defendant with an expression that said as much
as, “I told you I would clear your reputation from
this foul aspersion.” She on her part responded to
him with a look of such deep-felt gratitude as perhaps
never before had been mirrored in those beautiful eyes.


CHAPTER IV.
A FLAW IN THE CHAIN.
Dr. William J. Summer, sworn for the State, on ex-
amination by the attorney general, testified as follows:
, “Where did you reside in March of this year?”
“In Willmar, Minnesota.”
“Are you a professional man?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Of what profession?”
‘‘Doctor of Medicine.’’
“How long have you practised medicine?”
“Something over four years.”
“As a physician and surgeon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Of what school or university are you a graduate?”
“I graduated from Rush Medical College, Chicago, in
1889.”
“Did you know Andrew Eklund in his lifetime?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Were you called professionally to see him in
March?’”
‘‘I Was.”
“Can you give us about the date?” -
“I think it was the eleventh of March. It was Sat-
urday, anyhow.”
“What condition did you find him in?”
“Mr. Eklund was lying on the bed—I should judge
on his side with his legs drawn up-complaining of a
155


GUILTY? 157
I found the pupils about natural. I saw nothing in
the appearance of the body to indicate anything out of
the way. There wasn’t as much distention as there was
the day I was there before.”
“Did you make a post-mortem examination?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did you do?”
“Opened the subject.”
“By cutting him open from the neck down?”
“No, we only opened the abdominal cavity and found
the organs in about the natural position. I saw no in-
dication of any chronic or long-standing disease of the
organs. The peritoneum I found inflamed, more on the
right side. The appearance of the liver was perfectly
natural. We found some slight redness of the stomach
but not enough to indicate that any considerable in-
flammation of the stomach had taken place.”
“Did you take the stomach out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What was done with it?”
“Put into a jar.”
“Do you know where it was left?”
“It was left in the jar by mistake. Generally when
we make a post-mortem we put back all the parts. It
was left out by mistake.”
“In the sitting-room?”
“Where the body was, yes sir.”
‘‘How about the liver?”
“The liver wasn’t detached from the body, only a
piece of it, probably two pounds and a half or so. That
piece, I think, was returned to the body.”
“When you returned that piece of the liver, what
did you do with the body?”


GUILTY? 159
“Isn’t it a fact that in arsenic poisoning there is hard-
ly any fever at all?”
‘‘This is a fact.”
His pulse was high—he had a rapid pulse?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Isn’t it a fact that in cases of arsenical poisoning
the pulse is slow?”
“That is very apt to be the case.”
‘‘You saw what he had vomited?”
“Yes.”
“Was there any indication of blood in it?”
‘‘There was not.’’
“You looked for indication of blood?”
“I did.”
“Isn’t it a fact that in cases of arsenical poisoning
you would expect to find blood to quite an extent in the
vomit?”
“That is very apt to be the case.”
“Often clots of blood?”
“No, not clots, but streaks of blood.”
“You found no perspiration to speak of?”
“No, sir.”
“In cases of arsenical poisoning there is a very
marked cold and clammy perspiration, is there not?”
“Yes, that is considered one of the usual symptoms.”
“There was nothing of that kind here?”
“No.”
“In a case where you suspected poisoning, I suppose
you would inquire whether the patient had had any
cramps in the limbs?”
“I should inquire particularly as to that.”
“Was there anything of that kind?”
“No cramps at all. He complained of nothing ex-
cept pains in the stomach and side.”


160 GUILTY?
“Isn’t inability to pass urine one of the concomitants
of arsenical poisoning?”
“Yes, sir; usually.”
“Was there anything of that kind here?’?”
“He complained of no trouble of that kind.”
“Isn’t it a fact that in cases of arsenical poisoning
the fingers and feet generally get cold and clammy?”
“Not generally, some times.”
‘‘That wasn’t the case here?”
“No.” - -
“The symptoms which we have here mentioned gen-
erally increase in severity as the case goes on, do they
not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I mean in cases of arsenical poisoning?”
“I so understood you.”
“When you first came there, you said your attention
had been called to the fact that somebody suspected
poisoning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“By whom, may I ask?”
“By Mr. Eklund’s brother, who came after me.”
“When you came, it was uppermost in your mind to
find whether this was true?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you made a searching examination for evidence
of that fact?’”
“I did.”
“And the brother and the others were there in com-
pany with the accused?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It has been said that the lady remarked that you
looked at her pretty sharply. Is that a fact?”


GUILTY 7 167
“That is the last you had to do with them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Before delivering these jars to Dr. Bean, did you
box them up?”
“I did.”
“And delivered them boxed?”
“Yes, sir.”
Cross-examination by Mr. Barker:
“At the time of the inquest you took out only the
stomach and a portion of the liver, I understand. You
took only that out of the body at that time?”
“The stomach was taken out.”
“It was put in an open jar?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which you found in the house there?”
“Yes. That jar I got there.”
“You put this stuff, whatever it was, in the jar and
left it in the house, or in the shanty?”
“In the sitting-room.”
“The jar remained open and uncovered for some time
before you left?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There were several people around there—Mons Ek-
lund, John Schultz and others of the neighbors, who
have testified against the defendant in this case?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were busy with the inquest for some time af-
terwards, were you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“After the stomach had been taken out and put in
the jar it was left there in the sitting-room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That is all of the viscera you took away at that
time?”


174 GUILTY?
Dr. B. T. Bean, sworn for the State, examined by the
attorney general, testified as follows:
“Where do you reside?”
“At Willmar, Kandiyohi county, Minnesota.”
“Are you acquainted with the coroner of Kandiyohi
county?”
“I am.’’
“Did he deliver to you—did you hear his evidence?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he deliver to you the jars spoken of by him?”
“He delivered to me a box supposed to contain jars,
I didn’t examine the contents.’’
“A box containing the jars spoken of by him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did you do with that box?”
“Took it to Minneapolis, left it in charge of the
keeper of the cloakroom at the West Hotel, afterwards
came back, got it and took it to Mr. M. E. Mack, a
chemist in St. Paul.’’
“The same box which you received from the cor-
Oner?” -
“Yes, sir.”
“Had the box been disturbed by the keeper of the
cloakroom?’’
“No, not that I could discover.”
“Doctor, what is your profession?”
“Physician and surgeon.”
“How many years have you practised your profes-
Sion?”
“Two or three.”
“Did you know Andrew Eklund?”
“I knew him by sight.”
“Were you present at the post-mortem?”


GUILTY.'" 175
‘‘I Was.”
“State what was done with reference to the stomach
and liver?”
“The stomach was removed at the time of the post-
mortem and placed in a jar together with a portion of
the liver.’’
“What was done with the balance of the liver?”
‘‘The balance of the liver remained in the cadaver.’’
“After the post-mortem examination closed, what
was placed back in the body and left there, and how
was the body secured?”
“There was nothing placed back. The stomach and
that portion of the liver were not returned. Nothing
else was removed entirely from the body. There was
nothing replaced.”
“Where was the jar left?”
“The jar was left in the sitting-room.”
“Under the table on which the body was lying?”
“I don’t know as to that.”
“Was the body enclosed when you left it?”
‘‘It was not.’’
“Was it sewed up?”
‘‘It was.”
“Tell us how it was sewed up?”
“It was sewed with ordinary silk and the thread
broken off at each stitch, part of the way.”
“Were you there when the coroner went back to take
the organs of the dead man with him?” -
‘‘I Was.”
“Did you open the body?”
“I did.”
“Did you find the body in the same condition in
which you left it?” -


176 GUILTY?
“I noticed that the body wasn’t in the room where I
left it. In the body itself I noticed no change.”
“What did you do?” - -
“I re-opened the body, took out the kidneys and the
spleen, placed them in a jar, and handed them to the
coroner.’’ -
“Did you notice any change in any of the organs
which you put in the jar from what they were when
you left them the day of the inquest?”
“I didn’t look for any change, and I didn’t notice
any.”
Cross-examination by Mr. Barker:
“Doctor, parties could have introduced, by means
of a syringe, arsenic into the body after the opening in
the abdomen had been sewed up without your having
known it, or noticed it, when you returned?”
“I have no doubt that they could.”
“What was the weight in your judgment of the por-
tion of the liver, which was removed at the time of the
inquest and then placed in a jar with the stomach?’”
“I should think about two and one-half pounds.”
“What is the average weight of a human liver?”
“About four pounds, I think. It varies.”
“Did you remove the balance of the liver at the time
you accompanied the coroner to the house to take the
viscera. With him?”
‘‘I did not.”
“So that any liver in any of those jars taken to the
chemist by you, must have been that portion of the liver
which was removed at the inquest and placed in the
jar with the stomach?”
“Certainly.”
“Where was the body when you removed the other
organs from it?”


178 GUILTY?
“Yes, sir.”
“When you went to the West Hotel, where did you
leave the box?”
“I did not leave it anywhere. I took a hack and rode
up to the hotel and took the box with me in the cab.
When I came to the hotel I took it to the cloakroom at
once.”
“After leaving it in the cloakroom, when did you
get it back again?”
The next day between one and two o’clock.”
“You then took it on the train again?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where did you put the box this time?”
“I had it with me in the smoking car.”
“Did you have it in the seat with you?”
“Yes, sir.”


CHAPTER VI.
THE CHEMIST.
M. E. Mack, sworn for the State, and examined by
the attorney general, testified as follows:
“Where do you reside?” *
“St. Paul.”
“How long have you resided there?”
“Five years.”
“What is your business?”
“Analytical chemist.”
“How long have you been a chemist?”
“It is nearly nineteen years since I graduated.”
“Where did you graduate?”
“At the University of Heidelberg in Germany.”
“Do you remember seeing the last witness on the
stand some time in March, this year?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where did you see him?”
“I saw him at my office in St. Paul.”
“Did he deliver to you the box with jars in it which
he has described ?’’
“He delivered a box to me with jars in it.”
“The box spoken of by him here?”
‘‘I don’t knoW.’’
‘‘Did he deliver more than one box?’’
“Only one box.”
“He never delivered, at any time, but the one box
to you?”
179


180 GUILTY 7
‘‘That is all.”
“Did you make an analysis of the contents of those
jars?”
“I did, sir.”
“What was the result of your analysis? What, if
any, poisons did you find in the contents of any one
of these jars, and if so, in which of them? State as
near as you can the quantity of the different poisons,
which you found in each of the organs.”
Mr. Barker at this juncture entered an objection,
which he argued at great length and with much earnest-
ness, to the effect that such testimony would be incom-
petent, immaterial and irrelevant, and that no proper
foundation had been laid, and for the further reason
that the State had failed to show that the organs, pre-
tended to have been analyzed, had been kept in such a
manner as to exclude the possibility and even proba-
bility of their being tampered with after the death of
Mr. Eklund, but that the testimony, on the contrary,
showed affirmatively that they had been kept under
such conditions as to allow tampering with the same
on the part of any person with evil disposition, of which
such evil disposition toward the defendant ample evi-
dence had been adduced.
The court, after listening patiently to the argument
of Mr. Barker, which, however, was plainly more in-
tended for effect upon the jury than upon the court, and
without desiring to hear any argument on the part of
the State, overruled the objection on the ground that the
question, whether the viscera could have and possibly
had been tampered with, was a question of fact ex-
clusively for the jury and not for the court to decide.
To this ruling Mr. Barker had an exception entered.


GUILTY.' 181
The witness, after the question had been read to him
by the reporter, answered:
“In the stomach I found over three-fourths of a grain
of arsenic. The greater portion of it I have here in a
vial. In the liver I found a trifle over one and one-half
grains of arsenic. This arsenic I here produce except
such as has been preserved in other forms to show the
processes and results of the different tests I made. I
could not find anything in the spleen nor in the kid-
neys. All the arsenic I found was in the stomach and
liver.’’
“Did you make more than one test for arsenic?”
‘‘I made several.’’
“Have you brought the specimens with you, and are
you prepared to demonstrate to the jury the results of
the different tests you made in your analysis?”
“I am.”
“You may now proceed to describe to the jury the
mode of procedure pursued by you in order to determine
whether there was arsenic in the different organs of a
human body delivered to you by Dr. Bean, and also by
what method you attained knowledge of the exact
amount of arsenic found by you in each organ. You are
at liberty to do so in your own way.”
“Gentlemen of the Jury,” commenced the chemist,
rising to his feet on the witness stand, after arranging
some specimens, vials and little porcelain cups and
saucers on a table near by, “upon receiving the jars I
opened them, separated the different contents, and made
an entry of them in my books. The stomach was al-
ready opened, so all I had to do in order to examine
its appearance and to look for traces of solid arsenic,
was to wash its inner surface in distilled water. I
was unable to discover any solids in this organ.


184 GUILTY? .
senic, and I now produce one such portion of each of
said tubes.
“I then passed hydrogen sulphide gas through other
portions of both tubes and heated them gently, with
the result that the black deposit changed into yellow
arsenic. I here show you tubes with the yellow arsenic.
“I then, simply to confirm the positive results of these
two tests, submitted a part of the liquid from the stom-
ach and the liver to what we sometimes call the liquid
tests, with the most satisfactory corroborative results.
“After having obtained from each of the liquids a
quantity of sulphide of arsenic, and oxidized it with
pure nitric acid, I tested it with ammonio-silver nitrate
and produced a brick-red precipitate of silver arsenate
as should be the case if there had been arsenic in the
Organ.
“The rest of the solution I evaporated with a satur-
ated solution of pure sulphurous acid in water; I then
divided the solution in two parts; I then tested one of
them with ammonio-nitrate of silver and got a canary-
colored yellow precipitate of silver arsenate, turning
dark olive brown on exposure to light. The other I
tested with ammonio-cupric sulphate, and got a light
green precipitate of copper arsenate, or Scheeles green,
as it is called. I have brought all these precipitates with
me, so the jurors can see them for themselves.
“These different tests established beyond peradven-
ture of doubt the presence of arsenic in the two organs
subjected to these tests.
“In order to determine how much arsenic was con-
tained in each organ it was necessary to weigh the par-
ticular organ, which I did before dividing them in the
first place, then to cut off a portion of each of them


GUILTY? 185
and weigh that, then to treat this portion separately, in
reducing it to a liquid state, and in subjecting it to the
process by which all the arsenic in it is precipitated into
arsenous sulphide. The amount of arsenous sulphide so
obtained was then weighed, and the amount of arsenic
in the total portion of the organ analyzed is thereafter
simply a matter of mathematical calculation.”
“And it is from the process which you have just de-
scribed, and which you say you followed in the analysis
of the viscera in this case, that you are able to state
positively that the liver, or portion of liver brought to
you by Dr. Bean, contained one and one-half grains of
arsenic, and the stomach about three-fourths of a grain
of the same poisonous substance?”
“Yes, sir.”
“State whether or not in making your preparations
for your analysis, you did notice anything unnatural
about any one of the human organs delivered to you?”
“I did.”
“State what it was.”
“All of the organs were more or less decomposed.
You might say they were in a putrified state. But in
lifting the liver, or the portion of it furnished me, out
of the jar, I observed on one side of it a well-preserved
spot, while the balance was somewhat decomposed.”
“No, you misunderstand me. That was not what I
had reference to. What I want to know is, whether
you observed anything luminous about the organs, any-
thing to indicate the presence of phosphorus?”
“I did. The process, which was pursued, was by
dialysis. In working after night I noticed an effer-
vescence of the liver and also of the stomach, I believe.
After separating the arsenic, I found traces of phos-


188 GUILTY?
Cross-examination by Mr. Barker:
“How long have you been practising chemistry, pro-
fessor?’’
“Nineteen years this December.”
“Have you made an analysis heretofore of the re-
mains of a man who was said to have been poisoned?”
‘‘Several times.”
“Have you examined for arsenic before?”
‘‘Four times.”
“Have you examined viscera where you have found
arsenic and where death was actually produced by the
poison?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In regard to the phosphorus that you mentioned
here, in what quantities did you find that present?”
“Very modified.”
“It wasn’t much, if anything?”
“It didn’t have the appearance of having been.”
“As a matter of fact, upon decomposition of the hu-
man body, does not such decomposition itself produce
phosphorus?”
“That is the tendency.”
“Did you find any more phosphorus there than you
would naturally think would be the result of the decom-
position of the body?”
“Yes. I hardly think it could be possible that all
that phosphorus came from the decomposition of the
body.”
“So that what you found there suggested to your
mind that it had been introduced into the body?”
“I don’t think so—not before death. It might have
been produced by decomposition and by, for instance,
dropping a match into the jar or something of that
kind.” *


198 GUILTY?
“Ah, gentlemen, let me put the State on the track of
the real murderer in this case.
“That murderer stands not at the bar of justice now.
The real murderer in this case is the cur who cowardly
sought to fasten the noose around this innocent woman’s
neck, who, too great a coward to himself strike the fatal
blow, hides behind the petticoats of the State of Min-
nesota, and attempts to egg our glorious State on to
comrit a judicial murder.
‘‘Let me show you the real murderer in this case!
Follow me and we will find him:
“A lonesome, defenseless woman sits with tear-filled
eyes in a desolate cottage on the Whitefield prairie, her
head bowed under the pains and sorrows of unjust sus-
picions, of foul insinuations, of unwarranted indigni-
ties.
“Having battled the forces of the Commonwealth
alone, without the assistance of any one except Al-
mighty God, the protector of the widows and the or-
phans, she has conquered.
“The malice of her enemies has come to naught.
“But see yonder | Under cover of the black darkness
and the shadows of the night, a human form is sneaking
across the prairie. In one hand he hugs a bottle, filled
with the poison that kills. He steps into the shadows
of a shed, with keyless, latchless door. He pushes the
door open. There is a noise. He hesitates. He is on
the verge of fleeing without accomplishing his hellish
purpose, but he whispers to himself: “It was only the
door creaking on its old, rusty hinges!”
“He lights a match. There is a coffin there. He finds
what he seeks—a black jar. He pulls the cork of the
bottle in his hand, pours the liquid poison into the open
Jar.








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