"Don't mock me, sir."
Howard looked at him, as if trying to study out something in his countenance, in his eye. "May I ask you something?"
"Why should you desire my permission since you would pay no attention to my refusal? What is it that you wish to ask?"
"May I ask if there has ever been any insanity in our family?"
The Judge started. "In our family—in my family there has been something worse than insanity."
Howard slowly nodded his head as if admitting a sad fact. "Yes, there has been the death of affection—in your family."
"Ah," cried the Judge, "the shrouding of a hope."
"The murder of a jovial spirit," said Howard.
"Don't shoot your poisonous arrows at me. Go on, away. Good-bye." He waved his hand. Howard turned toward the door, but halted, faced about and looked at the Judge with troubled tenderness. "Father, I don't know exactly where I am going, but out in the wilds somewhere to find a place for me and mine. I did not believe—couldn't have foreseen such a moment as this. It seems to me that my father is gone." He paused, and the Judge stood with his face turned away. "Shall I write to you?"
"No," said the Judge, without looking round.