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... It was then,
as once again the horrible injustice of her fate racked
consciousness with its tortures, that the seeds of revolt were
implanted in her heart. The thought of revenge gave to her the
first meager gleam of comfort that had lightened her moods
through many miserable days and nights. Those seeds of revolt
were to be nourished well, were to grow into their flower--a
poison flower, developed through the three years of convict life
to which the judge had sentenced her.
The girl was appalled by the mercilessness of a destiny that had
so outraged right. She was wholly innocent of having done any
wrong. She had struggled through years of privation to keep
herself clean and wholesome, worthy of those gentlefolk from whom
she drew her blood. And earnest effort had ended at last under
an overwhelming accusation--false, yet none the less fatal to
her. This accusation, after soul-wearying delays, had culminated
to-day in conviction. The sentence of the court had been imposed
upon her: that for three years she should be imprisoned.


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