She was ashen pale now, quivering all over, with her strong hands clasping the black hood, and she could no longer meet the judge's glance.
“Have you—any—any children?” the judge asked, haltingly. It was a hard question to get out.
“No.”
Judge Stone leaned far over the table, and that his face was purple showed Shefford he was a man. His big fist clenched.
“Girl, you're not going to swear you, too, were visited—over there by men... You're not going to swear that?”
“Oh—no, sir!”
Judge Stone settled back in his chair, and while he wiped his moist face that same foreboding murmur, almost a menace, moaned through the hall.
Shefford was sick in his soul and afraid of himself. He did not know this spirit that flamed up in him. His helplessness was a most hateful fact.
“Come—confess you are a sealed wife,” called her interrogator.
She maintained silence, but shook her head.