"Married, or unmarried?" "Temperate?" came the pitiless questions, all answered in a monotone. "Ever convicted before?" "No," said the prisoner in a low voice, but the word sounded to him like a roaring torrent. Then came once more that awful silence. The dread eye of the Judge seared his soul. "Graham, is that the truth?" "Yes, sir." "Are you quite sure?" That merciless question! What had that to do with it? Why should he have to tell them? That was not his crime. He was ready to suffer for what he had done, but not for the past; that was not fair--he had paid for that. He must defend himself. "Yes, sir." "Swear him," said the Judge. The officer took up the soiled Bible and started to place it in Graham's hand. But the hand dropped from it. "No, no, I can't!" he faltered; "I can't--I--I--it is no use," he added huskily. "When were you convicted?" "I served six months for petty larceny in the penitentiary six years ago." "Is that all?" "Yes, sir." "Are you sure?" "Yes, sir." "Quite sure? Think again!" "Yes, sir," almost inaudibly. "Swear him." Again the book was forced toward the unwilling hand, and again it was refused. "Have you no pity--no mercy?" his dark eyes seemed to say. Then they gave way to a look of utter hopelessness. "I served three years in Charlestown for larceny, and was discharged two months ago." "Is that all?" "O, God! Isn't that enough?" suddenly groaned the prisoner. "No, no; it isn't all! It's always been the same old story! Concord, Joliet, Elmira, Springfield, Sing Sing, Charlestown--yes, six times. Twelve years. . . . I'm a _jailbird_." He laughed harshly and rested wearily against the wooden bar. "Have you anything to say why judgment should not be pronounced against you?" "Your Honor, will you hear me?" Graham choked back a dry sob. The Judge slightly inclined his head.