The
most trusting heart must give way under such a strain. That page
WAS tampered with. I tampered with it myself. I am not expert at
forgery. I had better have left it, as he wrote it." Then after
another silence, he added, with a certain vehemence: "We will
struggle no longer, either you or I. The boy must come home.
Prepare Reuther, or, if you think best, provide a place for her
where she will be safe from the storm which bids fair to wreck us
here. No, don't speak; just ask Mr. Black to return, will you?"
"Judge--"
"I understand. Mr. Black, Deborah."
Slowly she moved away and began to grope for the door. As her hand
fell on the knob she thought she heard a sob in those impenetrable
depths behind her; but when she listened again, all was still;
still as if merciful death and not weary life gave its
significance to the surrounding gloom.
Shuddering, she turned the knob and paused again for rebuff or
command. Neither came; and, realising that having spoken once the
judge would not speak again, she slipped softly away, and the door
swung to after her.
When Mr. Black re-entered the study, it was to find the room
lighted and the judge bent over the table, writing.
"You are going to send for Oliver?" he queried.
The judge hesitated, then motioning Black to sit, said abruptly:
"What is Andrews' attitude in this matter?"
Andrews was Shelby's District Attorney.
Black's answer was like the man.
"I saw him for one minute an hour ago.
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