“I would like to ask this further question,” Ellis resumed, without waiting for her reply. “Were you not at one time in a resort conducted by Madam Cazeau, down on––”
He stopped short. The girl’s eyes were looking straight into his, and they seemed to have pierced his soul. “I am sorry for you,” she said gently, “oh, so sorry! Yes, I was once in that place.”
The man knew not whether to smile in triumph or hide his head in shame. He turned to Hood. But Hood would not look at him. Ames alone met his embarrassed glance, and sent back a command to continue the attack.
Cass again rose and voiced his protest. What possible relation to the issue involved could such testimony have? But the judge bade him sit down, as the counsel for the prosecution doubtless was bringing out facts of greatest importance.
Ellis again cleared his throat and bent to his loathsome task. “Now, Miss Ariza, in reference to your labors to incite the mill hands at Avon to deeds of violence, the public considers 234 that as part of a consistent line of attack upon Mr. Ames, in which you were aiding others from whom you took your orders. May I ask you to cite the motives upon which you acted?”
Cass sank back in abject despair. Ketchim was being forgotten!
“We have not attacked Mr. Ames,” she slowly replied, “but only the things he stands for. But you wouldn’t understand.”
Ellis smiled superciliously. “A militant brand of social uplift, I suppose?”
“No, Mr. Ellis, but just Christianity.”
“H’m. And that is the sort of remedy that anarchists apply to industrial troubles, is it not?”