was blank, except for a check of pen to indicate that this question had not been omitted, but had been asked of the prisoner, and that for it he had no reply.
That check of the pen surprised Calvin with a pang of pity which he immediately banished by summoning recollection of Adele Ketlar's pale, painted face; yet after he had put the card aside he pulled it before him again and gazed at that pen scratch which set him to counting, in contrast, the known, long line of his fathers.
Calvin appeared before the grand jury on that same afternoon and, before night, he had obtained, as he had promised the judge, a formal indictment from the twenty-three men of the jury who heard the State's evidence, but who were required neither to see Ketlar nor to hear any of his witnesses.
However, they saw one witness for Ketlar, but this was only after they had voted the indictment and had adjourned for the day, when, on their way from the grand jury room, they came upon a slight girl in a blue suit who gazed at them, one by one, with steady and very disconcerting eyes, but who spoke never a word.
"See here," Calvin challenged her, when he came out. "What are you doing here?"
"I've been out here," Joan Daisy defied him, "nearly all the afternoon. I tried to get in when you were talking in there, but that man," she jerked her head toward a guard, "wouldn't let me."
"The indictment is voted," Calvin said, in his slow, satisfied way.
"So I've heard! So we'll have no day after to-morrow in court. Ket's in jail and stays there till you try him—you try him," she repeated, her head lifting and her voice thrilling again, "for his life!"
"Yes," said Calvin, coloring, and swung away. But her small, strong hand caught his wrist and closed tight.
