Evening star., 1926-11-30
angry voices. shots, screams. knives

and faith for the faithleSS love who
had betrayed her. This spotless gen.
tleman," this loyal. honest soul who
filled your life for you," this man
whose devotion to you, you assure
us, never wavered" It the mocking
voice ceases for moment, and Fran
ces Hall, her eyes gray as ice, assures
us evenly that such was indeed the
case. If she is keeping something
from us, 1t would be easier for her
and easier for us who hear her. Then
she might say to herself: This is ex-
piation-this Is what / pay for trying
to hold by force what / had lost. BY
this I atone for raising no hand or
voice to save that woman who has
plunged me and mine into a hell Deep
er than we will find when we are
dead. This I can bear, because, un-
willingly, unwittingly I have earned
it,
1t is more tolerable to believe her
guilty than innocent. If we believe
her innocent, we are confronted with
nightmare more unbearable a thou
sand times than those few blood
stained. hideous moments in an Au.
tumn field. We draw back from the
abyss of that belief. A woman loving,
safe, secure. protected-and this har-
ried, hunted, stony-eyed creature star.
ing at us with eyes so tired that she
can hardly raise them
Question of Innocence.
If we believe her innocent, what
snail we think of man and God, who
nave AFFECTED this metamorphosis?
What shall we think of society that
mas made 1t possible, system of JUS
do ~
we believe Frances Hall innocent, we
Will forego thought for a time. We
Will leash imagination like a wild dog;
we Will pray that when we sleep at
hlgnt we may not dream,
Murder Is monstrous-granted this
IS something more monstrous still. In
Inese days we do not contemplate
Haying alive with equanimity.
Senator Simpson has not made it
easy to believe her guilty. He has
fa1led to forge the one little link that
would have made the whole chain
swing together. He has produced not
one lota, shred or atom Of proof that
any word of her husbands treachery
ever reached her. To us, at least, it
seems profoundly unlikely that it
ever had.
Inere was any amount of gossip,
idle as we'll as Industrious, as to the
fact that the rector was seeing too
much OF the little choir singer-but
nothing more sinister. Frances Hall,
however, Is the last woman to whom
these tattlers would have come with
such careless tales. Mrs. Hall, we
think that Mr.. Hall is too Jealous in
selecting hymns with Eleanor''-those
voices do not ring plausibly in our
ears.
Had Seen Them Kiss.
Eleanor's sister had seen her sister
kiss the rector-had been told that
she loved him dearly-Eleanor's sis.
ter would hardly have brought these
tidings to the rector's wife.
Barbara, the chambermaid, four
years before had seen Eleanor slip
from the rectors knee-but we who
have seen and heard the impeccable
Scotch lassie are moved to grim
mirth at the thought of her bringing
news of this to her mistress. The
schoolgirl who came with Minna
Clark on the afternoon of September
IA says that she never left Mrs. Hall
with Mrs. Clark alone for a moment
and that at no time did she give her
anything of any kind. How then did
these letters, If intercepted, reach
her? We also, seeking diligently for
an answer, find none.
There Is no hint in the letters or
diary that Hall or Eleanor Mills be-
lieved that Mrs. Hall had the most
remote knowledge of any kind of
their affair, save for one remark Of
Eleanor's that Mrs. Hall had been
rude to her. Everything else bears
out the conclusion that she would
have been stupefied with surprise at
any hint Of it.
That missing link of evidence Is GO
ing to destroy the whole chain of
Simpsons reasoning-more than Will
lies touching. absurd geniality-more
than Henry's bluff sincerity-more
than Frances Halls frozen calm.
These have been powerful forces to
combat-but not so powerful as that
small, unforged link.
Prosecutor Is Ruthless.
In the meantime, before the chain
breaks, we will take one more look at
the woman pilloried before us-pain-
fully, at McCarter's insistence, raising
her lovely voice so that we may share
her despairing disdain at the ruthless
nature of the prosecutors questions.
She asks no quarter. Her replies
are direct and unequivocal. Some
times they seem touched with the
brevity of Indifference; not once is a
syllable ruled out as unresponsive or
irrelevant. She refuses to be involved
in explanation or debate; there are
the facts, and here are we to draw
our conclusions. She does not need
our sympathy-she does not want it.
Not once does she look to her lawyers
for assistance: not once to the court.
Only, time after time, at the round.
white, non-committal face of the clock
hanging over the courthouse door.
When she looks at it her eyes are
prayers. Seconds pass minutes, hours
these, too, says the clock, will pass.
What does she see beyond the
white face that stares back into her