CHAPTER XXII
A SUMMONS OF THE NIGHT
There was a voice of moaning abroad in the night. It sounded as the rainswept through the rocking trees and bent its spears against JudgeMaxwell's study windows; it sighed in his chimney like an old manturning the ashes of spent dreams. It was an unkind night for one to beabroad, for the rain seemed as penetrating as sorrow. Few passed uponthe street beneath the judge's windows where his dim light glowed.
Now and then the sound of hoofs and wheels rose above the wail of thestorm, sharp for a moment as it passed, quickly dimmed, quickly lost. Itwas a night to be beneath one's own roof, beside one's own fire, feelingthe thankfulness for such plain comforts which one passes over in thesunny days.
Judge Maxwell had a fire of hickory wood in his chimney, and a tall,dark bottle on the small stand at his elbow. On the long table at hisother hand stood his shaded lamp, pouring its concentrated beams uponhis papers and books, leaving the corners of the room in shadows. Thejudge sat with his glass in his hand, studying the fire.
All day, since the adjournment of court, the remarkable termination ofand disclosures in the case of State against Newbolt had been flowingthrough his mind; all day, all evening, the white, strong face of thedefendant youth had stood before his eyes. He could not turn from it,nor forget the appeal of those grave, gray eyes.
Never before, in his long and honorable life, had the judge been movedby a case as this had moved him. There was nothing in all his richexperience to equal it. In all his reading----
"_Hum-m-m_," said the judge, reflectively, remembering. He rose slowlyand went to the bookcase nearest the fire. He took down a leather-boundvolume and returned to his chair, where he sat with his legs crossed,supporting the heavy book upon his knee. Reflectively he turned thepages, reflectively he read, shaking his head when he had done.
"No, it is not a parallel," said he. "The matter involved has only aremote similitude. I do not believe the annals of jurisprudence containanother case to compare with that of our own Joe Newbolt."
The judge put the volume back in its place, pausing at the table as hereturned to his chair to turn down the flame of the lamp. It was toobright for the judge's mood; it was inharmonious with the penitentialnight. Almost like a voice, strident and in discord above the sobbingmusic of an orchestra, thought the judge. The firelight was better for amood such as his.
One can see farther back by the soft glow of wood coals, leaning overand looking into them, than under the gleam of the strongest lamp. JudgeMaxwell had a long vista behind him to review, and it seemed to him thatnight that it was a picture with more shadow than gleam. This day'sevents had set him upon the train of retrospection, of moody thought.
He had seen that boy, Joe Newbolt, leap out of the obscurity of his lifeinto the place of heroes, as he would have had his own son do, if hecould have kept him by his side and fashioned his life. But that boy wasgone; long years ago he had left him, and none had come after him tostand in his place. His little, worn books, which he used to sprawl uponthe floor and read, were treasured there on their sacred shelf behindthe bookcase glass. The light had failed out of the eyes which had foundwonders in them, more than thirty years ago.
The lad's mother had followed him; nobody remained to the judge now outof those days of his struggle and slow-mounting hope, save old Hiram,his negro man, a family servitor since the times of slavery, and he wastrembling on the limb to fall.
Yes, that was the way that he would have had his own boy stand, true toa trust, faithful in his honor, even under the beam of the gallows-tree;stand as that lad Joe Newbolt had stood, unschooled though he was ineverything but that deep sense of duty devolving on one born free. Suchnobility was the peculiar birthright of the true American.
Scarcely behind Joe Newbolt stood that hitherto weak woman, Ollie Chase.It called for courage to do what she had done. She had only to keep herpeace, and hide whatever pity she felt and pain she suffered on accountof the lad who stood ready to sacrifice his life for her, to proceedupon her way clean in the eyes of men. She must have endured thetortures of hidden fires through those weeks of uncertainty andsuspense, thought he.
Yes, Ollie Chase had her own nobility; the laurel was due her poor,smirched brow, just as much as it was to Joe Newbolt's lofty forehead.Contrition doubtless played its part in driving her to open confession,and the pain of concealment must have been hard to bear. But there wasan underlying nobility in that woman's heart which had urged her onstronger than all. It is a spark in the breast of even the most debased,thought the judge, which abnegation and sacrifice often kindle into abeautiful flame.
And there was Alice Price, with her fine intuition and sublime faith.What a white soul that strong young woman had, said he; what a beautifuland spotless heart. In that kiss which she had stooped to press on theyoung widow's forehead she had wiped away the difference which Ollie'ssin had set between her and other women. It was an act of generositywithout ostentation, which he doubted whether Alice Price herself wasaware of in its farthest significance. It was the spontaneous act ofwomanly sympathy and unconscious charity.
What Ollie Chase had said to them as they stood before her, JudgeMaxwell did not know, but what was written in their young faces as theyturned from watching her go, the whole world might have read--if it hadbeen as watchful and wise as he. What a fitting mate she was for thatyoung lion, Joe Newbolt, thought the judge; such a mate, indeed, as hewould have chosen for his own son if God had seen fit to give him thattranscendent joy.
Judge Maxwell found himself greatly concerned about Joe Newbolt'sfuture. He wondered what he would make of it if left to go about it inhis own way; what he would make of it if properly armed and encouraged.He followed that speculation a long way down the future, building dimly,but pleasantly, in his dream.
A ring sounded at the front door.
Judge Maxwell did not even withdraw his eyes from the fire. Some lawyerover in one of the other two counties embraced in that circuittelegraphing to ask some favor of delay, or favor of something else. Toask a favor, certainly; lawyers never telegraphed to confer favors. OldHiram, dozing by the kitchen stove, would hear.
Presently old Hiram's shuffling feet sounded along the hall outsideJudge Maxwell's study door. The outer door opened and closed. Old Hiramcame into the judge's room, a candle in his hand.
"There's a man wishin' to see you, judge, sah," he announced.
Judge Maxwell started from his reverie. In the minute that had passedbetween the ring at the door and the entry of Hiram, he had put thevisitor out of his head.
"A gentleman to see me, Hiram? Who is it?"
"No, sah; I don't think he's 'zactly a gentleman, sah. I don't know whohe is; he nevah give me no card, sah, but he's moughty sploshed andblustery lookin'."
"Well--" the judge rose, halting his speech as if thinking of one thingand speaking of another--"fetch him in here, Hiram."
"He's drippin' and drappin' like a leaky pail, sah," said Hiram, shakinghis cottony old head.
"No matter; he'll do no harm, Hiram."
Hiram brought the visitor in. The judge advanced to meet him.
The stranger's rubber coat glistened in the light, and the hat that hecarried in his hand trickled a little stream on the carpet as he crossedthe room. Old Hiram lingered at the door, holding his candle aloft.
The stranger stopped midway between Judge Maxwell and the door, as ifuncertain of his welcome, or conscious just at that moment of hisdrenched and dripping state. He was a tall man and sparely built, andhis light-colored wet hair lay in little ringlets against his temples.His mustache was short and stubby. His garments were splashed with mud,as if he had come a long distance over rough roads. There was a haggardand harried look in the man's eyes; he seemed at the highest pitch ofnervous tension. His lips were set in a grim line, as if he struggled tohold something from utterance. His eyes were wide and wild.
"Judge Maxwell," he began, looking around him from side to side in quickstarts, "I must apologize to
you for coming into your house in thiscondition, and for this late call. But I'm here on important business; Iask you to give me a few minutes of your time alone."
The judge nodded to Hiram, who closed the door after him.
"Take off that wet coat--give me your hat, and sit here," said thejudge, pulling a chair around to the fire.
The visitor drew off his rubber garment.
"Thank you, sir," said he. "My name is Morgan, and I've come over hell'shighway, as the man said, to get to Shelbyville tonight."
"Not Curtis Morgan?" said Judge Maxwell, lifting his eyes in startledsurprise, staying the stream of liquor that he was decanting into aglass.
"Yes. You've heard my name before tonight, I see," the visitor said.
"Just so," replied the judge, in his studious way. "Drink this, unlessyou have scruples?"
"It looks to me like a life-preserver to a drowning man," said Morgan,with a glimmer of his every-day facetiousness. He drained the glass; thejudge motioned for him to sit down. Morgan did so, and stretched his wetfeet to the fire.
"I've got a story to tell you, Judge Maxwell," said he, again castinghis quick, almost fearful look around, "that will sound to you, maybe,like a wild-eyed dream. But I want to tell you right now, it ain't nodream--not by a million miles! I wish it was," he added, with a serioustwist of the head.
"Go on," said the judge.
"I've hurried here, Judge Maxwell, to do what I can in the name ofjustice and humanity," Morgan said. "That boy, Joe Newbolt, on trialhere before you for the murder of old man Chase, is innocent. That boyis telling the truth, Judge, and I'll stake my neck on that. I've got astory to tell you that will clear up all he's holding back, and I'lltell it, if I swing for it!"
Morgan was greatly agitated. He stopped there, looking earnestly intothe judge's face.
"Why have you waited so long?" asked the judge, sternly.
Morgan leaned over, clutching at the judge's arm.
"Am I too late--is it over--have they convicted him?" he asked.
"Yes, it's over," nodded the judge, studying Morgan's face narrowly.
"Merciful heavens!" said Morgan, springing to his feet, looking aroundfor his coat and hat. "We must stop this thing before it's too late,Judge--I tell you we must stop it! Isn't there some way--have theyconvicted Joe?"
"Sit down, Morgan, and calm yourself. Hold your feet out to the blazeand dry them," the judge admonished, kindly.
"What's happened?" asked Morgan, wildly, not heeding the command.
"You shall hear it all in time," promised the judge. "Sit down here andtell me what you've been doing all these weeks. Where have you been?"
"Judge, I've been over in Saint Joe selling books," said Morgan, "andI'll tell you the truth, Judge, I never intended to come back here." Heturned and faced the judge, leaning forward earnestly, his face white.He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. "But I had to come back--I wassent back by--by a voice!"
"Just so," nodded Judge Maxwell.
"You may think it's a pipe-dream, Judge, but it ain't. It's the solemntruth, if I ever told it in my life. I intended to let Joe Newbolt go onand carry what he'd picked up, and then when he was out of the way inthe pen, or worse, maybe, I intended to hunt Ollie up and marry her. Ididn't want that business that Joe Newbolt's been keeping back let outon her, don't you see, Judge? It concerns her and me, Judge; it ain'tthe kind of a story a man's folks would want told around about his wife,you understand?"
The judge nodded.
"All right," said Morgan, wiping his forehead, which was beaded withsweat, "Last night along about ten o'clock I was in my room reading theaccount in the paper of how Joe had refused on the stand yesterday totell anything, and how a young woman had stood up in the court-room andbacked him up and encouraged him in his stand. I was reading alongcomfortable and all right, when I seemed to hear somebody call me by myname.
"I tell you I seemed to hear it, for there wasn't a soul in that roombut myself, Judge. But that voice seemed to sound as close to my ear asif it come out of a telephone. And it was a woman's voice, too, believeme or not, Judge!"
"Yes?" said the judge, encouragingly, still studying Morgan's face,curiously.
"Yes, sir. She repeated my name, 'Curtis Morgan,' just that way. Andthen that voice seemed to say to me, 'Come to Shelbyville; start now,start now!'
"Say, I got out of my chair, all in a cold sweat, for I thought it was acall, and I was slated to pass in my checks right there. I looked undereverything, back of everything in that room, and opened the door andtook a dive down the hall, thinkin' maybe some swift guy was tryin' toput one over. Nobody there. As empty, Judge, I tell you, as the pa'm ofmy hand! But it's no stall about that voice. I heard it, as plain as Iever heard my mother call me, or the teacher speak to me in school.
"I stood there holding onto the back of my chair, my legs as weak underme as if I'd stayed in swimmin' too long. I didn't think anything aboutgoing to Shelbyville, or anywhere else, but hell, I guess, for a minuteor two. I tell you, Judge, I thought it was a call!"
Morgan was sweating again in the recollection of that terribleexperience. He wiped his face, and looked around the room, listened asthe rain splashed against the window, and the wind bent the branches ofthe great trees beside the wall.
"Well?" said Judge Maxwell, leaning forward in his turn, waiting forMorgan's next word.
"I tell you, Judge, I kept hearing that thing in my ear that way, everylittle while, till I threw some things in my grip and started for thedepot. There wasn't any train out last night that'd fetch me withinfifty miles of here. I went back to my room and went to bed. But itdidn't let up on me. Off and on, all night, just about the time I'd dozeoff a little, I'd seem to hear that voice. I went to the depot thismorning, and caught the eight o'clock train out. I'd 'a' made it in hereat two this afternoon if it hadn't been for a washout between here andthe junction that put the trains on this branch out of service.
"I took a rig and I started to drive over. I got caught in the rain andlost the road. I've been miles out of my way, and used up three horses,but I was bound to come. And I'm here to take my medicine."
"I see," said the judge. "Well, Morgan, I think it was the voice ofconscience that you heard, but you're no more to blame than any of us, Isuppose, because you failed to recognize it. Few of us pay enoughattention to it to let it bother us that way."
"Believe me or not, it wasn't any pipe-dream!" said Morgan, so earnestlythat the flippancy of his slangy speech did not seem out of place. "Itwas a woman's voice, but it wasn't the voice of any woman in thisworld!"
"It's a strange experience," said the judge.
"You can call it that!" shuddered Morgan, expressive of the inadequacyof the words. "Anyhow, I don't want to hear it again, and I'm here totake my medicine, and go to the pen if I've got to, Judge."
Judge Maxwell put out his hand, impatiently.
"Don't try to make yourself out a martyr, Morgan," said he. "Youknew--and you know--very well that you hadn't done anything for whichyou could be punished, at least not by a prison sentence."
"Well, I don't know," said Morgan, twisting his head argumentatively, asif to imply that there was more behind his villainy than the judgesupposed, "but I thought when a feller got to foolin' with another man'swife----"
"Oh, pshaw!" cut in the judge. "You're thinking of it as it should be,not as it is. The thing that you're guilty of, let me tell you for yourfuture guidance and peace, is only a misdemeanor in this state, not afelony. In a case like this it ought to be a capital offense. You'veshown that there's something in you by coming back to take yourmedicine, as you say, and voice or no voice, Morgan, I'm going to giveyou credit for that."
"If the devil ever rode a man!" said Morgan.
"No, it was far from that," reproved the judge.
"It got me goin', Judge," said Morgan, scaring up a little jerky laugh,"and it got me goin' _right_! It stuck to me till I got on that trainand headed for this town, and I'll hear the ring of it in my ea
r to mylast--what's that?"
Morgan started to his feet, pale and shaking.
"It was the wind," said the judge.
"Well, I'm here, anyhow, and I came fast as I could," said Morgan,appealingly. "Do you think it'll stick to me, and keep it up?"
"Why should it?" said the judge. "You've done your duty, even thoughwhipped to it."
"If the devil ever whipped a man!" breathed Morgan, "I'm that man."
Judge Maxwell had doubted the man's sanity at first, when he began totalk about the voice. Now he only marveled at this thing, so elusive ofall human science to explain, or human philosophy to define. He recalledan experience of a friend--one who had been for many years courtstenographer--who, in a distant city, had been impelled to seize hispencil on a certain night, and write a message which he seemed to hearplainly dictated into his ear by one in Shelbyville. As soon as the postcould carry a message to the man whose voice the stenographer had heard,he was asked about the telepathic communication. He at once mailed tothe man who had taken it down, more than two thousand miles away, theidentical message, word for word. It had been an experiment, he said.
Perhaps something like that had occurred in Morgan's case, or perhapsthe man merely had dreamed, a recurring dream such as everybody hasexperienced, and the strong impression of his vision had haunted him,and driven him to the act. And perhaps someone of vigorous intellect andstrong will had commanded him. Perhaps--no matter. It was done.
Morgan was there, and the record of justice in the case of state againstNewbolt was about to be made final and complete.
"You say it's all over, Judge," spoke Morgan. "What did they do withJoe?"
"What happened in court today," said Judge Maxwell, rising to his feet,"you would have heard if you had been there. But as you were not, it isnot for me to relate. That is the privilege of another, as the matter ofyour condemnation or acquittal is in other hands than mine."
"I know I acted like a dog," admitted Morgan, sincerely contrite, "bothto Ollie and to Joe. But I'm here to take my medicine, Judge. I thoughta lot of that little woman, and I'd 'a' made a lady of her, too. Thatwas it. Judge; that was at the bottom of this whole business. Ollie andI planned to skip out together, and Joe put his foot in the mess andupset it. That's what the fuss between him and old Isom was over, youcan put that down in your book, Judge. I've got it all lined out, and Ican tell you just----"
"Never mind; I think I understand. You'd have made a lady of her, wouldyou? But that was when she was clean, and unsuspected in the eyes of theworld. How far would your heroism go, Morgan, if you met her in thestreet tonight, bespattered with public scorn, bedraggled with publiccontempt, crushed by the discovery of your mutual sin against that oldman, Isom Chase? Would you take her to your heart then, Morgan? Wouldyou be man enough to step out into the storm of scorn, and shoulder yourpart of the load like a man?"
"If I found her in the lowest ditch I'd take her up, Judge, and I'dmarry her--if she'd have me then!" said Morgan, earnestly. "When a man'scareless and free, Judge, he sees things one way; when he comes up on ashort rope like this, he sees them another."
"You are right, Morgan," said the judge.
He walked the length of the room, hands clasped behind his back, hishead bent in thought. When he came back to the fire he stood a littlewhile before Morgan, looking at him with intent directness, like aphysician sounding for a baffling vagary which lies hidden in thebrain.
There was a question in his face which Morgan could not grasp. It gavehim a feeling of impending trouble. He shifted uneasily in his chair.
"Stay here until I return," commanded the judge. "I shall not be long."
"I'm here to take my medicine," reiterated Morgan, weakly. "I wouldn'tleave if the road was open to me, Judge."
Judge Maxwell went to the door, calling for Hiram. Hiram was not faraway. His candle was still burning; he came bobbing along the hall withit held high so he could look under it, after the manner of one who hadbeen using candles all his life.
"My overcoat, Hiram, and my neck shawl," ordered the judge. He turned toMorgan, who was standing on the hearth.
"Wait for me, I'll not be long away."
"It's a blusterin' and a blowin' mighty bad, Judge. I'll get mycoat----"
"No, no, Hiram; there's something for you to do here. Watch that man;don't let him leave."
"He ain't gwine a-leave, Judge, sah," said Hiram with calm significance.
Hiram held up the great frieze coat, and the judge plunged his arms intoit. Then the old negro adjusted the shawl about his master's shoulders,and tucked the ends of it inside the coat, buttoning that garment overthem, to shield the judge's neck from the driving rain.
The judge turned back into the room to throw another stick on the fire.The lamp was burning low; he reached over to turn up the wick. The flamejumped, faltered, went out.
"Hah, I've turned it out, Morgan. Well, no matter. You'll not need morelight than the fire throws. Make yourself comfortable, Morgan."
With a word to Hiram, the judge opened the door and stepped out into thenight.
On the pavement the wind met him rudely, and the rain drove its coldarrows against his kind old face. Wonderful are the ways of Providence,thought Judge Maxwell, bending his head to bring his broad hat-brim toshield his face, and complete are the accounts of justice when it isgiven that men may see them down to the final word.
The wind laid hold of the judge's coat, and tugged at it like a viciousdog; it raged in the gaunt trees, and split in long sighs upon thegable-ends and eaves. There was nobody abroad. For Shelbyville the hourwas late; Judge Maxwell had the street to himself as he held on hisway.
Past the court-house he fought the wind, and a square beyond that. Therehe turned down a small street, where the force of the blast was broken,looking narrowly about him to right and left at the fronts of houses ashe passed.
Simeon Harrison, Ollie Chase's father, lately had given over hisunprofitable struggle with the soil. He had taken a house near theMethodist church and gone into the business of teaming. He hauled themerchants' goods up from the railroad station, and moved suchinhabitants of Shelbyville as once in a while made a change from oneabode to another.
Sim had come to Shelbyville with a plan for setting up a general liverybusiness, in which ambition he had been encouraged by Ollie's marriageto Isom Chase, to whom he looked, remotely, for financial backing. Butthat had turned out a lean and unprofitable dream.
Since Isom's death Ollie had returned to live with her parents, andSim's prospects had brightened. He had put a big sign in front of hishouse, upon which he had listed the many services which he stood readyto perform for mankind, in consideration of payment therefor. Theyranged from moving trunks to cleaning cisterns, and, by grace of all ofthem, Sim was doing very well.
When Sim Harrison heard of his daughter's public confession of shamefulconduct with her book-agent boarder, he was a highly scornful man. Hescorned her for her weakness in yielding to what he termed the"dally-faddle" of the book-agent, and he doubly scorned her forrepudiating her former testimony. The moral side of the matter wasobscure to him; it made no appeal.
His sense of personal pride and family honor was not touched by hisdaughter's confession of shame, any more than his soul was moved totenderness and warmth for her honest rescue of Joe Newbolt from hisoverhanging peril. He was voluble in his declarations that they would"put the screws" to Ollie on the charge of perjury. Sim would have kepthis own mouth sealed under like circumstances, and it was beyond him tounderstand why his daughter had less discretion than her parent. So hebore down on the solemn declaration that she stood face to face with aprison term for perjury.
Sim had made so much of this that Ollie and her mother were watchingthat night out in fear and trembling, sitting huddled together in alittle room with the peak of the roof in the ceiling, a lamp burningbetween them on the stand. Their arms lay listlessly in their laps, theyturned their heads in quick starts at the sound of every footfall on theboard walk, o
r when the wind swung the loose-jointed gate and flung itagainst its anchorings. They were waiting for the sheriff to come andcarry Ollie away to jail.
In front of Sim Harrison's house there was a little porch, not muchbigger than a hand held slantingly against its weathered side, and inthe shadow of it one who had approached unheard by the anxious watchersthrough the blustering night, stood fumbling for the handle of a bell.But Sim Harrison's door was bald of a bell handle, as it was bare ofpaint, and now a summons sounded on its thin panel, and went roaringthrough the house like a blow on a drum.
Mrs. Harrison looked meaningly at Ollie; Ollie nodded, understandingly.The summons for which they had waited had come. The older woman rose inresigned determination, went below and opened the door.
"It is Judge Maxwell," said the dark figure which stood large andfearful in Mrs. Harrison's sight. "I have come to see Mrs. Chase."
"Yes, sir; I'll call her," said the trembling woman.
Ollie had heard from the top of the stairs. She was descending in thedarkness, softly. She spoke as her mother turned from the door.
"I was expecting you--some of you," said she.
"Very well, then," said Judge Maxwell, wondering if that mysteriousvoice had worked another miracle. "Get your wraps and come with me."
Mrs. Harrison began to groan and wail. Couldn't they let the poor childstay there till morning, under her own mother's roof? It was a wild andterrible night, and Lord knew the poor, beaten, bruised, and weary birdwould not fly away!
"Save your tears, madam, until they are needed," said the judge, notfeeling that he was called upon to explain the purpose of his visit toher.
"I'm ready to go," announced Ollie, hooded and cloaked in the door.
Sim Harrison was stirring about overhead. He came to the top of thestairs with a lamp in his hand, and wanted to know what the rumpus wasabout.
"It's Judge Maxwell--he's come for Ollie!" said his wife, in adespairing wail.
"I knowed it, I knowed it!" declared Sim, with fatalistic resignation,above which there was perhaps a slight note of triumph in seeing his ownprediction so speedily fulfilled.
To Harrison and his wife there was no distinction between the executiveand judicial branches of the law. Judge or sheriff, it was all one tothem, each being equally terrible in their eyes.
"When can she come home, Judge, when can she come back?" appealed Mrs.Harrison, in anguished pleading.
"It rests with her," returned the judge.
He gave Ollie his arm, and they passed together in silence up thestreet. They had proceeded a square before the judge spoke.
"I am calling you on an unusual mission, Mrs. Chase," he said, "but Idid not know a better way than this to go about what I felt it my dutyto do."
"Yes, sir," said she. He could feel her tremble as she lightly touchedhis arm.
They passed the court-house. There was a light in the sheriff's office,but they did not turn in there, and a sigh for that temporary respite,at least, escaped her. The judge spoke again.
"You left the court-room today before I had a chance to speak to you,Mrs. Chase. I wanted to tell you how much I admired your courage incoming forward with the statement that cleared away the doubt andtangles from Joe Newbolt's case. You deserve a great deal of credit,which I am certain the public will not withhold. You are a brave littlewoman, Ollie Chase."
There it was again! Twice in a day she had heard it, from eminentsources each time. The world was not a bleak desert, as she had thought,but a place of kindness and of gentle hearts.
"I'm glad you don't blame me," she faltered, not knowing what to make ofthis unexpected turn in the night's adventure.
"A brave little woman!" repeated the judge feelingly. "And I want you toknow that I respect and admire you for what you have done."
Ollie was silent, but her heart was shouting, leaping, and boundingagain in light freedom, as it had lifted that morning when Alice Pricehad spoken to her in her despair. At last, she said, with earnestness:
"I promise you I'll be a good woman, too, from now on, Judge Maxwell,and I'm thankful to you for your kind words."
"We turn in here--this is my door," said the judge.
Mystified, wondering what the next development of this strange excursioninto the night would be, but satisfied in her mind that it meant no illfor her now, Ollie waited while the judge found the keyhole, for whichhe groped in the dark.
"And the matter of the will was all disposed of by the probate judgetoday, I hear," said the judge, his hand on the door.
"Yes, sir."
"Then your life is all before you, to make of it what you will," saidhe, placing his hand on her shoulder, as she stood with him in the dimhall. He opened the study door. The wood on the grate was blazingbrightly. Ollie saw someone standing before it, bending slightly forwardin the pose of expectation. He was tall and of familiar figure, and thefirelight was playing in the tossed curls of his short, fair hair.
"In there," said the judge, "if you care to go."
Ollie did not stir. Her feet felt rooted to the floor in the wonder anddoubt of this strange occurrence.
"Ollie!" cried the man at the hearthstone, calling her name imploringly.He came forward, holding out pleading hands.
She stood a moment, as if gathering herself to a resolution. A sob rosein her throat, and broke from her lips transformed into a trembling,sharp, glad cry. It was as if she had cast the clot of sorrow from herheart. Then she passed into the room and met him.
Judge Maxwell closed the door.
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