The trial lengthened out, until it was late in the evening when the Judge summed up. He spoke again of the gravity of the accusation, the dread punishment that must befall the prisoner if her guilt were proved, the weight of evidence against her. For a time he seemed to press her guilt heavily, and the Court was gloomy. The German officers looked grave. One thing happened in the course of his speech which affected the audience profoundly. It was when he spoke of the romantic explanation that had been offered by the prisoner regarding the secret cypher.
"This lady," he said, "asks me to believe that she and her companions were playing a simple girlish game of make-believe. Writing imaginary letters to mythical persons. Were these young ladies—nay, is she—herself—so lacking in woman's charm that she has no living man to love her and needs must write fictitious notes to non-*existent men?"
The President said these words with portentous solemnity. Perhaps only a German could have spoken them. He paused and blinked at the German officers below him. Suddenly into the silence of the court came a ripple of laughter, clear and full of most mirthful significance.
Eileen O'Connor's laugh bewitched the crowded court and there was a roar of laughter in which all the officers joined. By that laugh more even than by her general gaiety, her courage and eloquence, she won her life.
"I said a decade of the rosary to our Blessed Lady," said the Reverend Mother, "and thanked God that this dear child's life would not be taken. I was certain that those men would not condemn her to death. She was acquitted on the charge of espionage, and sentenced to two weeks' imprisonment for smuggling food to prisoners, by a verdict of seven against three. Only when she
