"Oh, judge!" she murmured, bursting into a torrent of tears. "How
you must have suffered to feel so great a relief!" Then she was
still, very still, and waited for him to speak.
"I suffered," he presently proceeded to state, "because of the
knowledge which had come to me of the scandal with which
circumstances threatened us. Oliver had confided to me (after the
trial, mind, not before) the unfortunate fact of his having been
in possession of the stick during those few odd minutes preceding
the murder. He had also told me how he had boasted once, and in a
big crowd, too, of his intention to do Etheridge. He had meant
nothing by the phrase, beyond what any body means who mingles
boasting with temper, but it was a nasty point of corroborative
evidence; and heart-breaking as it was for me to part with him, I
felt that his future career would be furthered by a fresh start in
another town. You see," he continued, a faint blush dyeing his old
cheek ... old in sorrow not in years ... "I am revealing mysteries
of my past life which I have hitherto kept strictly within my own
breast. I cannot do this without shame, because while in the many
serious conversations we have had on this subject, I have always
insisted upon John Scoville's guilt. I have never allowed myself
to admit the least fact which would in any way compromise Oliver.
A cowardly attitude for a judge you will say, and you are right;
but for a father--Mrs. Scoville, I love my boy.
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