y hell, it's for a false judge. You once sat on the bench,
yonder--yes. Oh, Judas--worse--you are ten times worse than Judas!--Drag
you down--drag all the town, all the state, all the society down? Why,
yes, I would if I could! I will, I will!"

But, sobbing as she was, and desperate, she felt the light hand of Anne
Oglesby now swiftly patting her shoulder for silence. The girl faced her
guardian with the same light smile on her lips, cool and contemptuous.

"Wait a minute, Uncle," she said. "A moment ago you spoke of our fate
being in your hands, too--of one ruin offset against another. Come now,
you're a trader--you have been all your life, Uncle--it seems you're
always willing to trade in the practice of the law. That's how you've
got up where you are."

Her smile, her words, cut him beyond measure, but he clung to his idea.

"Very well, then. Now, suppose we trade!" He spoke sneeringly, but
inwardly he was trembling, for he knew not what moment Aurora Lane might
publicly make good her threat.

"What can he mean?" Aurora turned to Anne. But Anne, shrewder at the
time, broke in: "Leave him alone. Let him go on."

"Well, now," said Judge Henderson, and actually half began to clear his
throat, so sweet did his new thought appear to him, "as I was
saying--there's no actual indictment yet--there's been no trial--the
coroner has only held him over. Say I'd take on this prosecution,
ostensibly--ostensibly--conditionally--ostensibly--to keep down any
suspicion; and then, later on, after several continuances and delays,
you know, and the disappearance of all the witnesses for the
state--hum!--yes, I'll say it might be done. I'm not sure it couldn't be
done more or less easily, now I come to think of it--I know Reeves, and
I know how much he'd like to be governor of this state--they have to
come downstate every once in a while for available timber.

"So, my dear girl," he turned to Anne in virtuous triumph, "after all,
since this would do two things--save the boy's life and save my
reputation, it might not be discreditable to be what you call a
'trader'!" There really was exultation in his smile.

"What do you want for it?" asked Anne Oglesby coldly. "Where would it
leave Don? In jail indefinitely?"

"I could not state it more precisely! _He looks like me!_ Oh, I'll admit
that--my feeling was right, my conscience was right! He _is_ my son.
But _because_ he is and _because_ he looks like me, he's got to stay in
jail w