Here and there in the crowd was a
red Falin, but not a Tolliver was in sight, and Rufe Tolliver sat
alone. The clerk called the Court to order after the fashion since
the days before Edward the Confessor--except that he asked God to
save a commonwealth instead of a king--and the prosecuting
attorney rose:
"Next witness, may it please your Honour": and as the clerk got to
his feet with a slip of paper in his hand and bawled out a name,
Hale wheeled with a thumping heart. The crowd vibrated, turned
heads, gave way, and through the human aisle walked June Tolliver
with the sheriff following meekly behind. At the railing-gate she
stopped, head uplifted, face pale and indignant; and her eyes
swept past Hale as if he were no more than a wooden image, and
were fixed with proud inquiry on the Judge's face. She was bare-
headed, her bronze hair was drawn low over her white brow, her
gown was of purple home-spun, and her right hand was clenched
tight about the chased silver handle of a riding whip, and in
eyes, mouth, and in every line of her tense figure was the mute
question: "Why have you brought ME here?"
"Here, please," said the Judge gently, as though he were about to
answer that question, and as she passed Hale she seemed to swerve
her skirts aside that they might not touch him.
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