Insensibly, the woman in her responded to this evidence of an
undying sorrow, and modulating her voice, she went on, with just a
touch of the subtle fascination which made her always listened to:
"Your feeling for Mr. Etheridge was well known. THEN WHY SUCH
MAGNANIMITY TOWARDS THE MAN WHO STOOD ON TRIAL FOR
KILLING HIM?"
Unaccustomed to be questioned, though living in an atmosphere of
continual yes and no, he stared at the veiled features of one who
so dared, as if he found it hard to excuse such presumption. But
he answered her nevertheless, and with decided emphasis:
"Possibly because his victim was my friend and lifelong companion.
A judge fears his own prejudices."
"Possibly; but you had another reason, judge; a reason which
justified you in your own eyes at the time and which justifies you
in mine now and always. Am I not right? This is no court-room; the
case is one of the past; it can never be reopened; the prisoner is
dead. Answer me then, as one sorrowing mortal replies to another,
hadn't you another reason?"
The judge, panoplied though he was or thought he was, against all
conceivable attack, winced at this repetition of a question he had
hoped to ignore, and in his anxiety to hide this involuntary
betrayal of weakness, allowed his anger to have full vent, as he
cried out in no measured terms:
"What is the meaning of all this? What are you after? Why are you
raking up these bygones which only make the present condition of
affairs darker and more hopeless? You say that you know some way
of making the match between your daughter and my son feasible and
proper.
Pages:
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76