Fox stirred uneasily in his chair, his color deepening. “I didn’t intend you to know it at all, judge,” he said, almost with an air of diffidence; “I presume I owe my betrayal to Berkman. However, I want to assure you—since it is known—that you can have all the time you desire; I consider it a good investment!”
The judge’s spectacles grew misty and he took them off hurriedly and wiped them, his thin hands shaking as he did it. “I thank you for your confidence,” he said quietly, when he could speak; “you’ll get it—every cent.”
“I know it. I tell you I consider it a good investment, the best I ever made,” Fox retorted smiling; “I’m not usually so judicious in my ventures.”
The old man tried to force an answering smile but he failed, his head sank on his breast and his hands, lying on the carved arms of his great chair, still trembled. Fox looked at him in some anxiety, half afraid that the excitement and relief had been too much, and bitterly indignant that his secret had been betrayed. It had been a difficult matter for him to take up the mortgage, for he was by no means a rich man, but he had vowed in his heart to save Rose her home, the home that he knew she loved so well, and half the joy of doing it had been to do it without her knowledge; but it seemed impossible to keep a secret which, from its very nature, must be shared with others.
The change in the old face opposite was alarmingly sharp.
“My dear judge, you are too indisposed for business; let me ring for assistance,” Fox exclaimed, with real concern.
But the judge protested. “Sir, I’m better to-day than I have been for a year,” he said, a slight break in his voice; “I see my way clear, I’ll be able to save this property, I—” he broke off and passed his handkerchief over his eyes; there was a moment’s painful silence, then he held out his hand. “God bless you, Fox!” he broke out suddenly, “it was killing me to lose it—”
They shook hands. Fox had risen and his face was colorless. “Don’t tell her, judge,” he said abruptly.
The old man started and was about to speak but, meeting the other’s eye, refrained. Many things came into his mind, among them a memory of Rose’s face at Mrs. O’Neal’s ball. It was a bitter moment; no man was good enough for her, and this man had been too much talked about! Yet the child’s happiness was near his heart.
With a certain reluctance Fox turned at last to go, and as he did so his glance passed through the open window into the garden. “I can reach the gate by this path, can I not?” he asked, moving toward it.