There are many who say that the beauty of which Dora McDonald was
once so proud has departed entirely. The eyes were heavy, the skin no
longer showed the pink of health, but was a dead white, her figure had
fallen away until she was almost emaciated, but there was a beauty in
her sadness and despair that the triumphant woman never possessed.
She seldom looked at the veniremen, nor did she appear to be following
the questions put to them. Occasionally she glanced at a possible
juror as he stepped up to be sworn, but for the most part she sat with
her head resting on her hand, or looking ahead at some mental vision.
Is it the face of young Webster Guerin she sees, as he lay dead, or
the face of old "Mike" McDonald as he smoothed her hair and loaded her
with caresses? Is it remorse for a crime, or longing and grief for a
dead admirer? Or is it despair for a wasted life, a hopeless future, a
thousand lost opportunities?