"You dropped it because you were paid to drop it! You traded another man out of his own life's ambition—a better man than you are—that's what you did when you dropped the case. There's nothing more to trade—we've nothing more to pay—but how can you prosecute him—now—when his very life's at stake—when he's charged with murder? The punishment's death! You'd send him to the gallows now—my boy—and yours? You didn't know him then! Is it likely? Don't lie about it—if you didn't know him, why didn't you? Were you so busy looking at your own picture on the wall—so wrapped up in your own ambitions, that you couldn't see anything else? Couldn't you see your own flesh and blood—and mine? What's twenty years? Haven't I lived them, and wouldn't I know him—didn't I—when I saw him? You Judas!"
Motionless, she stood looking at the speechless man before her, until she felt the closer drawing to her of the tall young beauty at her side.
"And you're Anne?" she said, turning to the girl, her own large dark eyes now soft. "I know. He loves you, Don. Has he said good-by to you? Has he said he wasn't worthy of you, because he had—no father? This is his father—Don's father—Judge William Henderson. He'll not deny it. I told Don he mustn't think of you—of all women in the world—just because you are so close to Judge Henderson—Don's father.
"Now you see why I told my boy that lie—I didn't want him ever to know his father—yes, I'd told him his father was dead. And I don't want to seem a worse liar to my own boy—I've been bad enough, the way it is."
She felt Anne Oglesby's arm draw her closer yet, felt the soft warm body of the girl against her own.
"I make only trouble," said Aurora, murmuring. "And you—you're so beautiful. I don't blame him."
"I love him, too!" said Anne Oglesby steadily. "I'm not going to give him up."
Aurora Lane's tears came then.
"You—you two women—" gasped Judge Henderson—"do you know what you're doing here? Do you think I don't suffer, too?" Then Anne saw that every accusation Aurora Lane had made was true and more than true.
"About that trial yesterday"—he turned to Aurora—"I did have some sort of superstitious feeling—I own that—I couldn't account for it—I couldn't explain it. But you had assured me that your—our—er—the child—had died in infancy. I thought—I hoped it was only my own guilty conscience making me see things. I—I have had a conscience. But I knew nothing—we'd not met for years."