The Judge raised his hand and looked toward the door. "I tell you, it is to protect her. Can't you see?"
"It is well enough to protect her, but you ought to give him an opportunity to defend himself."
"There is no defense. Mind, your oath."
"Oh, I am sick of that," she said. "Every time I say a word in his behalf you remind me of a foolish vow. Judge, I am weary of this senseless and insane drama, seeing the others stumble about in the dark while you and I stand in the light. No, you do not stand in the light, I alone am in the light of truth; and if I did not think that the trip out West would be good for him. I would not let him go; I would stop him short with what you have told me and made me swear by the memory of my mother not to repeat. No wonder you put your hand to your head. It must ache. But, there, I won't reproach you."
He had sat down. She went to him and put her hand on his shoulder. He looked up, and then looked down again. "I believe something is going to clear it all up one of these days," she said. He got up and resumed his walk. Howard's voice came down the hall: "Has the trunk gone yet?"
"I think he is coming," she said.
"Stay with me, Florence."
"No, you must face him, the injured, alone."
"I have not injured him; he has injured me."
She went out and the Judge stood there waiting for Howard. He came in, more serious now that everything had been made ready. "I am about to start for the West, sir," he said. "I can't stand it here any longer. You frown at me, and when I beg you to tell me—"