“Yes, sir,” said she. He could feel her tremble as she lightly touched his arm.
They passed the court-house. There was a light in the sheriff’s office, but they did not turn in there, and a sigh for that temporary respite, at least, escaped her. The judge spoke again.
“You left the court-room today before I had a chance to speak to you, Mrs. Chase. I wanted to tell you how much I admired your courage in coming forward with the statement that cleared away the doubt and tangles from Joe Newbolt’s case. You deserve a great deal of credit, which I am certain the public will not withhold. You are a brave little woman, Ollie Chase.”
There it was again! Twice in a day she had heard it, from eminent sources each time. The world was not a bleak desert, as she had thought, but a place of kindness and of gentle hearts.
“I’m glad you don’t blame me,” she faltered, not knowing what to make of this unexpected turn in the night’s adventure.
“A brave little woman!” repeated the judge feelingly. “And I want you to know that I respect and admire you for what you have done.”
Ollie was silent, but her heart was shouting, leaping, and bounding again in light freedom, as it had lifted that morning when Alice Price had spoken to her in her despair. At last, she said, with earnestness:
“I promise you I’ll be a good woman, too, from now on, Judge Maxwell, and I’m thankful to you for your kind words.”
“We turn in here–this is my door,” said the judge.
Mystified, wondering what the next development of this 358 strange excursion into the night would be, but satisfied in her mind that it meant no ill for her now, Ollie waited while the judge found the keyhole, for which he groped in the dark.