Ruth's father was the last person I had expected to see, for I still held him responsible for all my misfortunes and I believe he was aware of the state of my feelings in the matter, since he had refused to give Jenkins his name, fearing that I might beg to be excused from seeing him. But he had taken me unawares and there was no retreat after my first exclamation.
"Carlton, have they really dared to commit Ruth to jail?" he asked in a voice that trembled with anger and emotion.
I nodded dumbly, and abruptly he sat down and hid his face in his hands, then as abruptly he rose and fell to pacing the room in an agitated manner. Apathetically I watched him. I too had had my siege of walking the floor. It was only fair that he should have his turn.
That he was suffering as I had suffered I divined, but it had no effect upon me beyond rousing a dull wonder and perhaps anger, that he should look no older than when I saw him last, six months ago. But, no, I was wrong. He was still the same spare man with a magnificent head of snow-white hair above a massive brow and a pair of gray eyes, deep-set and penetrating, but sorrow and pain had left their trace, for so I read the meaning of the deep lines that had graven themselves around his mobile mouth and sensitive nostrils.
"Has counsel been appointed to defend her?" Mr. Trenton spoke so low and his voice was so charged with emotion as he sank wearily into my big chair, that his words made no impression on my brain and he was forced to repeat them before I could comprehend sufficiently to answer in the affirmative.
"Mr. Vaughn will arrange for her defense," I added.
"You will be permitted to testify in her behalf?" he inquired.
"No, I'm the chief witness against her," I answered sadly.
"What!" He was absolutely dumbfounded.
"Haven't you read the papers?" I asked him.