The Birmingham age-herald., 1916-01-23
CHAPTER II
The Drama of the Law.

MAT HEN the first pale shreds @FMH of dawn rising triumphant W W above the river mists were
 hailed by the days shrill whistles, thin trickle of humanity, deflected from the main current of hurrying workers, began to form idle little pools in the shadow of the grim buildings where the law stages so many tragedies.
 Hourly the pools grew larger. Soon the corridor that led to the courtroom where Mary Page was battling for her life and liberty in the face of over Whelming evidence was filled with the greatest crowd it had ever known.
 From the window of his taxi as it threaded it's way through the heavy traffic, Langdon could catch glimpses of the people outside, and in spite of his confidence in Mary's innocence, his heart sank. He was too good a lawyer not to realize how important a factor public sentiment was.
 He had felt ever since the coroners inquest that there had been note struck not only in the newspapers but by the public itself that declared Mary guilty. There had even been a subtle suggestion that her plea of mot guilty" was no more than mere formality.
 He wondered irritably why it was that this "curbstone jury" as he termed it contemptuously to himself, could not realize that Mary would not have ruined her career in such a fash lon, however much she had loathed Pollock, and whatever the provocation to kill him. It was inconceivable that a girl who had reached the zenith of her career at eleven o'clock and had been hailed as one of the greatest stars of the century, should deliberately fling all that success aside to Wreak her vengeance on man-and watch the dawn come from a cell in the Tombs. As the young lawyer in his cab drew up at the curb, within a hands breadth three women hung over an early edition of an afternoon paper whose haring headlines flung their words like a blow straight into his face:
 LOVERS FIGHT FOR LIFE! Old Sweetheart Defends Mary Page,
 Noted Actress, Charged
 with the Murder
 of
 DAVID POLLOCK
 Another Wooer
 The words bit like acid, and with shudder of aversion Langdon closed his eyes to shut out the ugly sight. The notoriety of it was in truth almost as bitter to him as the awful, overshadoW- ing fear. He hated to think that Mary's name should be dragged in the mud of public gossip-as an actress who had shot millionaire, while just outside the door, with laughter and music and lights. the great world supped and danced He hated the thought that his love for Mary had been smirched and had become spicy morsel to be rolled on the tongues of those hungry for sensation; and there were times when he was even glad that Mary was in prison-for there at least, in spite of it's grim horror, there was a semblance of peace.
 Something of that was in his mind as he fought his way through the crowd that pressed about him, shout ing his name, bombarding him with questions and clinging to his arms in vain effort to hold him long enough to make him tall-to get from him some hint or clue as to what the day might bring forth.
 At the cell door the lawyer paused, and quickly raised his hat. Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes, for Mary was kneelng like little child. her head in her mothers lap, and the elder woman was praying aloud:
 And God give us strength to go through this day, and grant Thy mighty justice to my little girl"
 Justice, dear God. justice!" echoed Mary. and no artistry of the great actress could have given to that simple prayer the poignancy that great faith and great sorrow gave it.
 It was in Langdon's eyes alone that there were tears, for both women were bravely smiling when they greeted him, and not even the ordeal of going into court. not even the breathless, terrify ing moment when she stepped across the threshold and saw that thronged room full of strangers, caused that serenely simple calm to forsake Mary Page.
 The sight of her brought the crowd of spectators surging suddenly to their feet with whispering gasp of excite ment or perhaps of expectancy, but at the first rap of the judges gavel they subsided with a satisfied settling back into their chairs like that of first night audience when the curtain rolls up.
 There have been murderers placed on trial who have never given any out ward evidence of their guilt while they were in court; others, falsely accused, who have shuddered under the shame and infamy of their terrible position, and acted, at moments, as though the crime were indeed upon their heads. But the serenity of Mary was subli- mated into something higher than en-
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