it had come, was gone.  And the man sat there quiet, as he had sat an hour before, and the face which had been leaden was brilliant.  He stirred and glanced about the room as if trying to adjust himself, and his eyes smiled as they rested on the familiar objects, as if for love of them, for pleasure in them.  One might have said that this man had been given back at a blow youth and happiness.  Movement seemed beyond him yet—­he was yet dazed with the newness of a marvel—­but he turned his head and saw the fire and at that put out his hand to it as if to a friend.

The electric bell burred softly again through the house, and the man heard it, and his eyes rested inquiringly on the door of the library.  In a moment another man stood there, of his own age, iron-gray, strong-featured.

“Dick told me I might come,” he said.  “Shall I trouble you?  May I stay with you awhile?”

The judge put out his hand friendlily, a little vaguely, much as he had put it out to the fire.  “Surely,” he said, and the newcomer was all at once aware of his look.  He started.

“You’re not well,” he said.  “You must take something—­whiskey—­Miller——­”

The butler moved in the room making lights here and there, and he came quickly.

“No,” the judge said.  “I don’t want anything—­I don’t need anything.  It’s not as you think.  I’ll tell you about it.”

Miller was gone; Dick’s father waited, his gaze fixed on the judge’s face anxiously, and for moments no word was spoken.  The judge gazed into the fire with the rapt, smiling look which had so startled his brother-in-law.  At length: 

“I don’t know how to tell you,” he said.  “There seem no words.  Something has happened, yet it’s difficult to explain.”

“Something happened?” the other repeated, bewildered but guarded.  “I don’t understand.  Has some one been here?  Is it about—­the trial?”

“No.”  A slight spasm twisted the smiling lines of the man’s mouth, but it was gone and the mouth smiled still.

A horror-struck expression gleamed for a second from the anxious eyes of the brother-in-law, but he controlled it quickly.  He spoke gently.  “Tell me about it—­it will do you good to talk.”

The judge turned from the fire, and at sight of his flushed cheeks and lighted eyes the other shrank back, and the judge saw it.  “You needn’t be alarmed,” he said quietly.  “Nothing is wrong with me.  But something has happened, as I told you, and everything—­is changed.”  His eyes lifted as he spoke and strayed about the room as if considering a change which had come also to the accustomed setting.

A shock of pity flashed from the other, and was mastered at once.  “Can you tell me what has happened?” he urged.  The judge, his face bright with a brightness that was dreadful to the man who watched him, held his hand to the fire, turning it about as if enjoying the warmth.  The other shivered.  There was silence for a minute.  The judge broke it, speaking thoughtfully: