‘Who is she?’ demanded the lawyer.
Rust drew himself up; and many who had been watching him, observed that his face had become perfectly corpse-like; his breathing oppressed, and that his eyes seemed starting from their sockets, as he fixed them on the witness.
‘My own flesh and blood,’ muttered he; ‘my own child!’
The girl was sworn; but it was evident that a terrible struggle was going on, and she had to be supported to a chair. The lawyer for the prosecution took down her name, and then asked her a question. He received no answer. He repeated it; but the girl was silent. She held down her head, and seemed half fainting.
‘You must reply,’ said the judge.
The girl raised her eyes, and said, in a low supplicating tone, ‘He’s my father.’
The judge shook his head. ‘It’s a very painful task,’ said he, ‘but there’s no alternative.’
The girl uttered not a word, and the court-room became so hushed that even the hard breathing of the witness was audible.
‘I must have a decided answer,’ said the judge, gravely, yet mildly, for he respected the feelings which dictated her course. ‘Will you answer the question put by the district attorney?’
‘I will not,’ was the firm reply.