In his closing appeal O’Hara carried the jury back to the point from which he had set out.  With tears in his voice he recounted the scene of the parting between the prisoner and his children.  He drew a harrowing picture of the unhappy fate of wife and children left defenceless and in poverty to become the prey of such men as Rosenblatt.  He drew a vivid picture of that age-long struggle for freedom carried on by the down-trodden peasantry of Russia, and closed with a tremendous appeal to them as fathers, as lovers of liberty, as fair-minded, reasonable men to allow the prisoner the full benefit of the many doubts gathering round the case for the prosecution, and set him free.

It was a magnificent effort.  Never in all his career as a criminal lawyer had O’Hara made so brilliant an attempt to lift a desperate case from the region of despair into that of hope.  The effect of his address was plainly visible upon the jury and, indeed, upon the whole audience in the court room.

The judge’s charge did much to clear the atmosphere, and to bring the jury back to the cold, calm air of Canadian life and feeling; but in the jury room the emotions and passions aroused by O’Hara’s address were kindled again, and the result reflected in no small degree their influence.

The verdict acquitted the prisoner of the charge of manslaughter, but found him guilty on the count of attempted murder.  The verdict, however, was tempered with a strong recommendation to mercy.

“Have you anything to say?” asked the judge before pronouncing sentence.

Kalmar, who had been deeply impressed by the judge’s manner during his charge to the jury, searched his face a moment and then, as if abandoning all hope of mercy, drew himself erect and in his stilted English said:  “Your Excellency, I make no petition for mercy.  Let the criminal make such a plea.  I stand convicted of crime, but I am no criminal.  The traitor, the thief, the liar, the murderer, the criminal, sits there.”  As he spoke the word, he swung sharply about and stood with outstretched arm and finger pointing to Rosenblatt.  “I stand here the officer of vengeance.  I have failed.  Vengeance will not fail.  The day is coming when it will strike.”  Then turning his face toward the group of foreigners at the back of the room he raised his voice and in a high monotone chanted a few sentences in the Russian tongue.

The effect was tremendous.  Every Russian could be picked out by his staring eyes and pallid face.  There was a moment’s silence, then a hissing sound as of the breath drawn sharply inward, followed by a murmur hoarse and inhuman, not good to hear.  Rosenblatt trembled, started to his feet, vainly tried to speak.  His lips refused to frame words, and he sank back speechless.

“What the deuce was he saying?” enquired O’Hara of the Interpreter after the judge had pronounced his solemn sentence.

“He was putting to them,” said the Interpreter in an awed whisper, “the Nihilist oath of death.”