She moved toward him, her hands uplifted, hope in her face. "A man's mind lies to him, and why not his eyes?" the Judge continued. Florence caught him by the arm and looked appealingly at him. "But your brother, Florence—your brother. He saw him, too."
"What!" she cried, stepping back. "Brother saw him! You didn't tell me that."
"I promised him I would not tell you."
"Ah, you break your promises and expect me to keep mine. I will go this moment and tell his mother."
He caught her arm and poured out a distressful imploration, a prayer. "I would rather you'd stab me," he said, concluding. "I would rather you'd kill us both. But I didn't swear, Florence. You have taken an oath."
"Judge, that is cowardly."
"Yes, it is. I am a coward—but only for her. A bitter word, Florence."
"Yes, forgive me. I didn't mean that. You are not a coward, but you are blind." He held forth his hands. She stepped back, shaking her head.
"All gone," said he, "all respect, all confidence. And you were my daughter."
"I was."