this hour was the first in which he had ever seen the girl. He heard,
he felt, he sensed the fatal thing. The beautiful voice had lacked some
quality before present. And the thing wanting was something subtle, an
essence, a beautiful ring--the truth. What a hellish thing to make that
pure girl a liar--a perjurer! The heat deep within Shefford kindled to
fire.

"You are not married?" went on Judge Stone.

"No, sir," she answered, faintly.

"Have you ever been married?"

"No, sir."

"Do you expect ever to be married?"

"Oh! No, sir."

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.

Suddenly he seemed to leap forward.

"Unfortunate child! Confess."

That forced her to lift her head and face him, yet still she did not
speak. It was the strength of despair. She could not endure much more.

"Who is your husband?" he thundered at her.

She rose wildly, terror-stricken. It was terror that dominated her, not
of the stern judge, for she took a faltering step toward him, lifting
a shaking hand, but of some one or of some thing far more terrible than
any punishment she could have received in the sentence of a court. Still
she was not proof against the judge's will. She had weakened, and the
terror must have been because of that weakening.

"Who is the Mormon who visits you?" he thundered, relentlessly.

"I--never--knew--his--name.

"But you'd know his face. I'll arrest every Mormon in this country and
bring him before you. You'd know his face?"

"Oh, I wouldn't. I COULDN'T TELL!... _I_--NEVER--SAW HIS FACE--IN THE
LIGHT!"

The tragic beauty of her, the certainty o