Colina lowered her head. Those near saw her struggling to control a shaken breast, saw two tears steal down her pale cheeks.
"Do you wish to be excused?" asked the judge solicitously.
She shook her head. "One moment," she was understood to whisper.
An attendant handed up a glass of water.
She finally managed to produce her voice again. "She could not speak," she said very low.
"Why?" asked the judge. One would have said the whole room breathed the question.
"They—had mutilated her," whispered Colina. "Her—her tongue—was cut off."
A single low sound of horror was forced from the crowd. The prisoner half rose with a choking cry and collapsed with his head in his arms on the table.
Denholm, as pale as a sheet, flung an arm around his shoulders. Every man connected with the case stared before him as if he beheld the horror with his physical eyes. Colina's self-control escaped her entirely.
She covered her face with her hands and wept like any girl.