Judge Truax looked at the paper on his desk for some seconds, and raised his head, coughing as he did so.  “It lies—­” Judge Truax began, and then stopped, and began again, in a more certain tone:  “It lies at the discretion of this Court to sentence the prisoner to a term of imprisonment for two years, or for an indefinite period, or for life.  Owing to—­On account of certain circumstances which were—­have arisen—­this sentence is suspended.  This court stands adjourned.”

As he finished he sprang out of his chair impulsively, and with a quick authoritative nod to the young District Attorney, came quickly down the steps of the platform.  Young Harvey met him at the foot with wide-open eyes.

The older man hesitated, and placed his hand upon the District Attorney’s shoulder.  “Harry,” he said.  His voice was shaken, and his hand trembled on the arm of his protege, for he was an old man and easily moved.  “Harry, my boy,” he said, “do you think you could go to Austin and repeat the speech that man made to the Governor?”

The boy orator laughed, and took one of the older man’s hands in one of his and pressed it quickly.  “I’d like d——­d well to try,” he said.

THE OTHER WOMAN

Young Latimer stood on one of the lower steps of the hall stairs, leaning with one hand on the broad railing and smiling down at her.  She had followed him from the drawing-room and had stopped at the entrance, drawing the curtains behind her, and making, unconsciously, a dark background for her head and figure.  He thought he had never seen her look more beautiful, nor that cold, fine air of thorough breeding about her which was her greatest beauty to him, more strongly in evidence.

“Well, sir,” she said, “why don’t you go?”

He shifted his position slightly and leaned more comfortably upon the railing, as though he intended to discuss it with her at some length.

“How can I go,” he said, argumentatively, “with you standing there—­looking like that?”

“I really believe,” the girl said, slowly, “that he is afraid; yes, he is afraid.  And you always said,” she added, turning to him, “you were so brave.”

“Oh, I am sure I never said that,” exclaimed the young man, calmly.  “I may be brave, in fact, I am quite brave, but I never said I was.  Some one must have told you.”

“Yes, he is afraid,” she said, nodding her head to the tall clock across the hall, “he is temporizing and trying to save time.  And afraid of a man, too, and such a good man who would not hurt any one.”

“You know a bishop is always a very difficult sort of a person,” he said, “and when he happens to be your father, the combination is just a bit awful.  Isn’t it now?  And especially when one means to ask him for his daughter.  You know it isn’t like asking him to let one smoke in his study.”

“If I loved a girl,” she said, shaking her head and smiling up at him, “I wouldn’t be afraid of the whole world; that’s what they say in books, isn’t it?  I would be so bold and happy.”