"No. But a dying declaration has almost as much weight."
"Then, of course, it was the truth! Wouldn't that be perjury or something like that to make a false statement at such a time?"
"Well, you see," the Judge responded, dryly, "Victor De Jarnette was going where he would be in no danger of being tried for perjury—even admitting that it would have been that—which it wouldn't." Then, feeling that he had been a little indiscreet in thus thinking aloud before the wife of his bosom, who did not enjoy quite all his confidence, he added, "I think you are right, my dear. It was a foolish thought in me."
"It certainly was," answered Mrs. Kirtley, pursuing the advantage of this concession to her superior wisdom, "foolish and wild. Of course it was an accident! Why, wasn't the rag there that he had been cleaning the pistol with?"
"It was."
"Well!" triumphantly.
"You are right again. That settles it," said the Judge, chuckling to himself. "You ought to have been a lawyer, my dear, or a detective."
"Oh, I can see a thing when it is self-evident," his wife said, modestly.
The three gentlemen, Mr. De Jarnette, Judge Kirtley, and Mr. Jarvis were in the library when Margaret entered it. The latter, being nearest the door, rose and extended his hand in grave courteous greeting. Mr. De Jarnette—the table between them—bowed; while Judge Kirtley took her affectionately by the hand and drew her to a chair beside him. She was clothed in black relieved by white at neck and wrists. There was something about her slight girlish form and youthful face that made the attorney with the legal document in his hand draw a quick deep breath and give an unnoticed movement of the head as if in protest.
"And are you well?" asked the Judge, patting her hand and smiling re-assuringly into her eyes. There is something very awe-inspiring to a novice in a visit from a lawyer with a legal document in his hand.