Chapter 9 HEARD A GONG IN THE ALLEY.

More than once during the night had Mrs. Elbridge looked in upon her husband, to urge upon him the necessity for rest. But he had told her that he had on hand the most important case that ever came to him, declared that the life of a man depended upon his meditation; a new point in law was involved, and it would be a crime to sleep until his work was done. The governor of the state had submitted the question to him. And thus had she been put off, having no cause to doubt him; but now she caught William's alarm.

"My dear," said the Judge, when she approached him, "it seems that both you and my brother are struggling hard to misunderstand me. You know that I have never deceived you-you know that I would tell you if there were anything wrong. It is true that the death of my brother Henry has shocked me greatly-"

"But why don't you tell William? He ought to know. And it is our duty to tell him."

The old man, looking toward the door, held up his hand. "No, he must not be told-nor must anyone else. I have an object."

"But, my dear, I don't see-"

"I know you don't. And I cannot tell you-I can-can merely hint. It is a question of life insurance, and the company must not hear of his death till certain points are settled. William, as you know, while one of the best men in the world, has a slippery tongue. And, besides, he is in no condition now to hear bad news. It is a secret, but he is having trouble with his heart-under treatment. Let us wait till he is stronger."

"But, dear, is that a cause why you should frown so at Howard, and treat him with such contempt?"

He walked away from her, but she followed him and put her hand on his arm. They halted near the safe and stood in silence, he looking at the iron chest, she looking at him. The sound of a peddler's gong came from the alley, and he sprang back from the safe and dropped heavily down upon a chair. Florence was heard talking to someone, and Mrs. Elbridge called her, and at this the old man brightened. Florence was his recourse, his safeguard, and when she came in he greeted her with something of his former heartiness.

"Florence, they are worried about me. Tell them that they have no cause."

The young woman's face was bright with a smile, but it was a light without warmth, a kindly light intended to deceive, not the Judge, but his wife. Mrs. Elbridge looked at her husband and was astonished at the change in him. She could not understand it, but she was not halting to investigate causes. "You are our physician, Florence," she said. "But you must bring your patient under better discipline. He didn't go to bed at all last night."

"Then I shall have to reprimand him. Sir, why do you disobey my orders?"

The old man's attempt at a smile was but a poor pretense, but it deceived the eye of affection. "Because, Doctor, I had a most important case on hand; but it is about worked out now, and I will in the future have more regard for your instructions."

They talked pleasantly for a time, and then Mrs. Elbridge went out, leaving the Judge and Florence in the office; but no sooner was the wife gone than the husband began to droop; and the light of the forced smile faded from the countenance of the young woman. She looked at the Judge and her face was stern. "We are hypocrites for her," she said, nodding toward the door through which Mrs. Elbridge had just passed.

"Yes, to protect the tenderest nature I have ever known. She could not stand such a trouble. It would kill her."

"She would not believe your story."

"Yes, she would. Unlike you, she could not be infatuated with the blindness of her own faith. She loves her son, but she knows me-loves me. She could not doubt my eyes. What," he said, getting up with energy and standing in front of Florence, "you are not debating with yourself whether or not to tell her, are you? Can you, for one moment, forget your oath-an oath as solemn and as binding as any oath ever taken? You, surely, are not forgetting it."

"No, but I ought to. My heart cries for permission to tell Howard. His distress reproaches me."

"But your oath."

"Oh, I shall not forget it, sir," she said, almost savagely. "But, it was not generous of you-not generous."

"What wasn't?"

"Swearing me to secrecy. You took advantage of what you conceive to be my honor, my strength of character; and you would have me break his heart by refusing to marry him. You have a far-reaching cruelty."

"Florence-my daughter, you must not say that. You know why I would keep you from marrying him. Have I been a judge all these years, to find that I am now incapable of pronouncing against my own affections and my own flesh and blood? I am broader than that."

"You mean that you are narrower than that. It is noble to shield those whom we love."

"No, it is selfish. You are a woman, and therefore cannot see justice as a man sees it."

"My eyes may not be clear enough to see justice, but they have never beheld a vision to-"

"Don't, Florence-now, please don't. You know how I held him in my heart; you know that no vision could have driven him out. But it is useless to argue. I have knowledge and you have faith. Knowledge is brightest when the eye is opened wide; faith is strongest when the eye is closed."

And thus she replied: "Ignorant faith may save a soul; knowledge alone might damn it."

"Very good and very orthodox, my child; a saying, though, may be orthodox, and yet but graze the outer edge of truth."

"But if there be so little truth in things orthodox, why should there be such obligation in an oath?"

"Ah, you still have that in your mind. Look at me. I hold you to that oath. Will you keep it?"

"Yes, but if I did not believe that within a short time something might occur to clear this mystery, I would break it in a minute."

"And let your soul be damned?"

"Now, you are orthodox. Yes, I would break it. But I will wait, in the belief that something must occur."

"There is no way too tortuous for a faith to travel," the old man murmured, but then he bethought himself that to encourage waiting was a furtherance of this humane plan of protection, and then he added: "Yes, wait; we never know, of course. Something might occur. But make me a promise, now in addition to your oath-that if, finally, when nothing does occur and you are resolved to break it, that you will first come to me."

"I will make that promise."

Agnes tripped in with a tune on her lips. The Judge wondered why George Bodney had not fallen in love with her. She was bright enough and pretty enough to ensnare the heart of any man. But Bodney was peculiar, and susceptibility to the blandishments of a bewildering eye was not one of his traits; his nature held itself in reserve for a debasing weakness. Agnes asked Florence why everyone seemed to drift unconsciously into that mouldy old office. Florence did not know, but the Judge said that it was attractive to women because it was their nature to find interest in the machinery of man's affairs. Business was the means with which man had established himself as woman's superior, and there was always a mystery in the appliances of his work-shop.

"What nonsense, Mr. Judge," said Agnes. "It is because there is so much freedom in here. You can't soil anything in here-never can in a place where men stay." Howard passed the door, and the Judge's face darkened. Florence looked at him and her eyes were not soft.

"Now, what are you frowning at, Mr. Judge?" said Agnes. "Do you mean that I haven't told the truth?"

"You always tell the truth, Agnes."

"No, I don't. I told Mr. Bradley a fib-a small one, though; a little white mouse of a fib. But you have to tell fibs to a preacher."

"It is the way of life. Fibs to a preacher and lies to a judge," said the old man.

"Lies for a judge," Florence spoke up.

"What's the matter with everybody!" Agnes cried, looking from one to another. "You people talk in riddles to me. I'm not used to it. And, Florence, you are getting to be so sober I don't know what to do with you. You and the Judge are just alike. What's the matter with everybody? Mr. Howard mumbles about the house and Mr. Bodney acts like a man with-with the jerks, whatever that is, for I don't know. There, I'm glad breakfast is ready. Come on, Mr. Judge."