Once, emboldened by her remembrance of old days, he spoke of his
father. He hardly noticed at the time that Judith took keen note of
something he said of the old squire's utter separation from his son.
"I was more Percival than Thorne till I was twenty," said he.

"And are you not more Percival than Thorne still?"

He liked to hear her say "Percival" even thus. "Perhaps," he said.
"But it is strange how I've learned to care about Brackenhill--or,
rather, it wasn't learning, it came by instinct--and now no place on
earth seems like home to me except that old house."

Judith, fair and clear-eyed, leaned against the window and looked out
into the twilight. After a pause she spoke: "You are fortunate, Mr.
Thorne. You can look back happily to your life with your father."

The intention of her speech was evident: so was a weariness which
he had sometimes suspected in her voice. He answered her: "And you
cannot?"

"No," she said. "I was wondering just now how many people had reason
to hate the name of Lisle."

Percival was not unconscious of the humorous side of such a remark
when addressed to himself. But Judith looked at him almost as if she
would surprise his thought.

"Don't dwell on such things," he said. "Men in your father's position
speculate, and perhaps hardly know how deeply they are involved, till
nothing but a lucky chance will save them, and it seems impossible to
do anything but go on. At last the end comes, and it is very terrible.
But you can't mend it."

"No," said Judith, "I can't."

"Then don't take up a useless burden when you need all your strength.
You were not to blame in any way."

"No," she said again, "I hope not. But it is hard to be so helpless. I
do not even know their names. I can only feel as if I ought to be more
gentle and more patient with every one, since any one may be--"

"Ah, Miss Lisle," said Percival, "you will pay some of the debts
unawares in something better than coin."

She shook her head, but when she looked up at him there was a half
smile on her lips. As she moved away Percival thought of Sissy's old
talk about heroic women--"Jael, and Judith, and Charlotte Corday." He
felt that this girl would have gone to her death with quiet dignity
had there been need. Godfrey Hammond had called her a plain likeness
of her brother, but Percival had seen at the first glance that her
face was worth infinitely more than Bertie's, even in his boyish
promise; and an artist would ha