Judge Maxwell had doubted the man’s sanity at first, when he began to talk about the voice. Now he only marveled at this thing, so elusive of all human science to explain, or human philosophy to define. He recalled an experience 351 of a friend–one who had been for many years court stenographer–who, in a distant city, had been impelled to seize his pencil on a certain night, and write a message which he seemed to hear plainly dictated into his ear by one in Shelbyville. As soon as the post could carry a message to the man whose voice the stenographer had heard, he was asked about the telepathic communication. He at once mailed to the man who had taken it down, more than two thousand miles away, the identical message, word for word. It had been an experiment, he said.
Perhaps something like that had occurred in Morgan’s case, or perhaps the man merely had dreamed, a recurring dream such as everybody has experienced, and the strong impression of his vision had haunted him, and driven him to the act. And perhaps someone of vigorous intellect and strong will had commanded him. Perhaps–no matter. It was done.
Morgan was there, and the record of justice in the case of state against Newbolt was about to be made final and complete.
“You say it’s all over, Judge,” spoke Morgan. “What did they do with Joe?”
“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 is not for me to relate. That is the privilege of another, as the matter of your condemnation or acquittal is in other hands than mine.”
“I know I acted like a dog,” admitted Morgan, sincerely contrite, “both to Ollie and to Joe. But I’m here to take my medicine, Judge. I thought a lot of that little woman, and I’d ’a’ made a lady of her, too. That was it. Judge; that was at the bottom of this whole business. Ollie and I planned to skip out together, and Joe put his foot in the mess and upset it. That’s what the fuss between him and old 352 Isom was over, you can put that down in your book, Judge. I’ve got it all lined out, and I can tell you just––”
“Never mind; I think I understand. You’d have made a lady of her, would you? But that was when she was clean, and unsuspected in the eyes of the world. How far would your heroism go, Morgan, if you met her in the street tonight, bespattered with public scorn, bedraggled with public contempt, crushed by the discovery of your mutual sin against that old man, Isom Chase? Would you take her to your heart then, Morgan? Would you be man enough to step out into the storm of scorn, and shoulder your part of the load like a man?”
“If I found her in the lowest ditch I’d take her up, Judge, and I’d marry her–if she’d have me then!” said Morgan, earnestly. “When a man’s careless and free, Judge, he sees things one way; when he comes up on a short 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, his head bent in thought. When he came back to the fire he stood a little while before Morgan, looking at him with intent directness, like a physician sounding for a baffling vagary which lies hidden in the brain.