Aurora did not answer the first part of her question. "I'll tell you where Mr. Brooks' office is," said she—"you see that little stair just across the courthouse yard? Sometimes he spends Sunday afternoon in his office. It's—well—it's hard for me to go over there and ask him."
"Has he—has he—ever been much to you?" asked Anne Oglesby, directly.
"In a way, yes," said Aurora Lane, quite truthfully, but flushing red. "Outside of my own son, he is the only man that's ever raised voice or hand in my defense here in this town. Beyond that—don't ask me."
Anne Oglesby did not ask her beyond that. But when she spoke, there was decision in her tones.
"It is no doubt your duty to go to Mr. Brooks at once. Will he too refuse us?"
Aurora Lane's face remained flushed in spite of herself.
"I don't think he will refuse," said she. "But only Don's danger would ever induce me to ask him for any help. I'll ask him—for Don and you."
Twilight fell, and they still sat silent. There came at last the footfalls on the office stairs, and the two arose in the dim light to face the door.
Judge Henderson entered slowly, hesitatingly. He half started as, looking within the unlightened room, he saw standing silhouetted against the window front the tall, trimly-clad figure of his ward, and at her side, equally tall, the dim, vague outline of Aurora, clad in black. The two stood hand in hand, and for the time made no speech.
"I must go," said Aurora Lane, at length.