Then a troubled cry:
"Oh, judge, are you here?"
"I am here."
"Alone and so dark?"
"I am always alone, and it is always dark. Is there any one with
you?"
"No, sir. Shall I make a light?"
"No light. Is the door quite shut?"
"No, judge."
"Shut it."
There came the sound of a hand fumbling over the panels, then a
quick snap.
"It is shut," she said.
"Don't come any nearer; it is not necessary." A pause, then the
quick question ringing hollow from the darkness, "Why have your
doubts returned? Why are you no longer the woman you were when not
an hour ago and in this very spot you cried, 'I will be Oliver's
advocate!'" Then, as no answer came,--as minutes passed, and still
no answer came, he spoke again and added: "I know that you are ill
and exhausted--broken between duty and sympathy; but you must
answer me, Mrs. Scoville. My affairs won't wait. I must know the
truth and all the truth before this day is over."
"You shall." Her voice sounded hollow too and oh, how weary! "You
allowed the document you showed me to remain a little too long
before my eyes. That last page--need I say it?"
"Say it."
"Shows--shows changes, Judge Ostrander. Some words have been
erased and new ones written in. They are not many, but--"
"I understand. I do not blame you, Deborah." The words came after
a pause and very softly, almost as softly as her own BUT which had
sounded its low knell of doom through the darkness. "Too many
stumbling-blocks in your way, Deborah, too much to combat.
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