"Alone and so dark?"
"I am always alone, and it is always dark. Is there any one with you?"
"No, sir. Shall I make a light?"
"No light. Is the door quite shut?"
"No, judge."
"Shut it."
There came the sound of a hand fumbling over the panels, then a quick snap.
"It is shut," she said.
"Don't come any nearer; it is not necessary." A pause, then the quick question ringing hollow from the darkness, "Why have your doubts returned? Why are you no longer the woman you were when not an hour ago and in this very spot you cried, 'I will be Oliver's advocate!'" Then, as no answer came,—as minutes passed, and still no answer came, he spoke again and added: "I know that you are ill and exhausted—broken between duty and sympathy; but you must answer me, Mrs. Scoville. My affairs won't wait. I must know the truth and all the truth before this day is over."
"You shall." Her voice sounded hollow too and oh, how weary! "You allowed the document you showed me to remain a little too long before my eyes. That last page—need I say it?"