Mrs. Elbridge came in and found them standing apart, the Judge still with his back toward Howard. "Howard," she said, "the cab is waiting. Judge, Howard is going away from us."
The old man turned slightly, looked at her, nodded his head, said "yes," and walked to the opposite side of the room. Mrs. Elbridge touched her forehead. "You must bear with him," she whispered. "You can see where the trouble lies."
"Yes, and it is a sorrowful thought. I can hardly believe it. And to think that he should select me as the object of his contempt."
"He will get over it soon and send for you," she said in a low voice. "A disordered mind turns against the loved one—nearly always." Then, advancing toward the old man, she said: "Judge, tell him good-bye."
"I have," replied the old man, standing with his face turned from her. She went to him and, touching his arm, said: "But not in your old way—not as you would have told him good-bye before—before you were ill."
"I am not ill," he said, without turning his eyes toward her. "I never was better in my life."
"But, tell him good-bye, please."
"I tell you I have!" he exclaimed, stamping upon the floor; and turning with his hand uplifted, he cried: "Can't you see—no, you cannot," he broke off, his hand shaking, and slowly falling to his side. "No, you cannot see, must not see. I beg your pardon for speaking so impatiently, but I am worried, Rachel; worried, and—"
"Yes, I know," she said, taking the arm which he had raised from under her gentle touch. "But, you must tell him good-bye."
The Judge struggled against her, though not with violence; the struggle, indeed, was more against himself. She led him toward Howard, who stood looking on, sorrowfully.