Suddenly it seemed to her that the walls were closing in upon her, that she must get away, get out into the open.

"That's cruel!" she exclaimed.

"At times it is necessary for us to be cruel," said Judge Henderson, virtuously. "If I am cruel, I regret with all my heart that it must be cruelty to one whom so long I have held in such esteem as I do you. We have long known your life, how exquisitely ordered it has been. I have never known before, of course, how much it was wrapped up with this young man's life. I am astonished at what I have learned. It is only my own high standard of honor, my dear--that same standard to which I have unflinchingly adhered at whatever cost it might entail upon me--which enables me to refuse any request that you might make me. Now I am pained and grieved, I am indeed."

A tear stood in the corner of Judge Henderson's eyes. It was an argument which he always had at hand if need were--an argument which had won him perhaps more than one case before a jury. And now he felt himself, as always, the central figure, appealing to a jury, extenuating, explaining, expounding. Moreover, he felt himself misjudged, an injured man. He did not care at the time to divulge any of the plan he but now had confided to Aurora and Anne.

"I have hurt you!" said Miss Julia, impulsively. "Oh, I would never mean to do that." She held out a hand swiftly, in part forgetful of her errand.

He took her hand in both his own--small and white it was, and veined somewhat, ink-stained as to some of the fingers--a hand which rested trembling in his own. (Now, what the angels saw is not for mortals to inquire! "He took my hand in both his own!" wrote Miss Julia in her diary.)

Judge Henderson gallantly clasped the hand and drew it a trifle closer to his bosom. "You believe me, do you not, my dear?" said he. "It grieves me to give you any pain. As for me, it does not matter." He dashed the tear from his eye.

But now Miss Julia's courage failed her. Her double sacrifice for the child and the child's unknown and uncreated father had failed! She limped toward the door. Her great adventure was ended.

But, at least, she had been alone in the presence of the great man whom she had loved these many years. And she had found him in all ways worthy! He was still a hero in her eyes, a great man, a n.o.ble man--yes, she was sure of that.

How must the angels have sighed as Miss Julia stumbled down the stair with this thing in her heart! For, in all her heart, she knew that, had she been young as Aurora Lane once was young, and had such a man as this asked of her anything--anything--she would have given! She would have yielded gladly all she had to yield--she would have given her life into his keeping.... For of such is the kingdom of love, if not the kingdom of heaven. And as to that last let the angels say, who watched poor Miss Julia as she stumbled down the stair.

CHAPTER XVI

HORACE BROOKS, ATTORNEY AT LAW

As for Aurora Lane, at about the time Miss Julia was leaving Judge Henderson's office, she herself was in the office of another lawyer upon the opposite side of the square--the man Henderson hated and feared more than any other human being.

Horace Brooks, after his usual fashion, was spending his Sunday afternoon in his legal chambers. He lived as a bachelor, the sole boarder of a family far out toward the edge of town--a family that had no social standing, but that never became accustomed to the ways of Mr.

Brooks, who came and went, ate, slept, and acted, as one largely in a trance, so occupied was he with thoughts of his business affairs. Never was a soul less concerned with conventions or formalities than he; nor one more absorbed, more concentrated of purpose in large things.

He was sitting now, as often he might have been seen to sit, tilted back in his chair, with his feet on his table, where rested in extreme disorder many volumes of the law, some opened, face-down, others piled in untidy ma.s.ses here and there. Mr. Brooks had no clerk and no partner.

When he cited an authority in his library he left the book where last it was used, and searched for it pellmell if later need arose. This same system applied to every other article of use in the entire office--it was all chance medley, and the pursuit of the desired article was short or long in accordance with the luck of the searcher.

Around him on the floor lay countless burned matches, a pipe or two which scattered tobacco. The floor itself was covered layers deep with the ruins of two Sunday papers--at which form of journalism Horace Brooks openly scoffed, but none the less ruthlessly devoured after his own fashion each Sabbath afternoon.

He sat with his bearded chin sunk in his shirt bosom, his mild blue eye seeing nothing at all, his hands idle in his lap. He was concluding his Sabbath as usually he did, in the midst of the scenes surrounding his daily toil throughout the week. He started at the sound of Aurora Lane's knock on the door.

"Come in!" he called.

He supposed it was some young lawyer from one of the offices down the hall, where struggling students, or clerks from the abstract offices, sometimes brought knotty problems for him to solve. These folk still lived in the rear of their offices--as indeed Horace Brooks but recently had done himself. A disorderly couch still might have been found in the room beyond, fragments of soap, a soiled towel or so, a broken comb, a sidelong mirror--traces of his own humble and arduous beginnings in the law.

But he turned half about now, and dropped his feet to the floor as he heard the rustle of a gown. He sat half leaning forward as Aurora Lane entered. He had small training in the social usages--he did not always rise when a woman entered the room, unless some special reason for that act existed. So he sat for just a time, and looked at her, the fact of her presence seeming slowly to filter into his brain. Then quickly he stood and went forward to her, his rare smile illuminating his homely features.

"Come in," said he. "Will you be seated? Why have you come here?" He was simple and direct of habit.

Aurora Lane looked at him not only with the eyes of a client, but with the eyes of a woman. She saw plainly the quick look of eagerness, the swift hopefulness which came into his eyes.

But she must forestall all that. "Mr. Brooks," said she, "I've come to you for help--I need your professional services."

He sat looking at her gravely for some time, the light in his face slowly fading away. "Help?" said he. "As how?" He was of the plain people, and at times lapsed into the colloquial inelegancies of his early life. But he needed little divination now to know that Aurora Lane came to him for no personal reasons that offered him any hope.

"It's about my boy," said Aurora. "You know--Don."

He nodded slowly. "Yes, I know--the coroner's jury has held him over."

"But he's in jail."

"Yes, they had that right--to hold him for the investigation of the grand jury. And this is a grand jury matter, as you must know. Court opens tomorrow. The grand jury sits tomorrow morning. At least the preliminaries won't take long. But the outlook is bad, Aurora--they mean to get him if they can."

Aurora Lane for a third time that day produced from her shabby pocket book the little worn bill which represented her sole worldly fortune. A flush rose to her temples now as she held it hesitatingly between her fingers.

He saw it very plainly, and caught something of her meaning in the pause. A slow red came also into his own face.

"You'd better keep that for the present," said he slowly after a time.

He pushed her fingers back with the bill. "I know this is professional, but I can't take money from you now--not that money--because I know very well you've got none you can afford to spend. Aurora, there's no use trying to have secrets from me--we know each other too well."

"But what right do you leave me then to come to you?"

"I don't know that you have any right to come to me at all," said he slowly. "I've my own right to decline to deal with you at all in business matters. And you come here on business."

Aurora sank back into her chair. "Then what could I do?" she said faintly.

"Have you tried Henderson?"

"Yes," she said, faintly, and with much reluctance, "I did."

"Why, if you wanted me?"

"I can't tell you that. But I did. He refused to have anything to do with the defense for my boy."

"Very naturally--very naturally. Didn't you know he would before you went to ask him? Couldn't you guess that?--couldn't you have figured out that much for your own self? Didn't you know that man? He's not with the under dog."

"It seems not," said Aurora Lane, wearily. "So I came to you."

"Even after last night?"

"Yes, after last night. At first it was hard to think of it."

"Aurora," said he, "I reckon I'm not a very practical sort of man. If I were--if I were a man like Judge Henderson, say, I'd clamp on the screws right now. I'd try to get you to alter what you said to me last night."

"It wouldn't be like you. You've never yet--in all our lives--done anything like that."

"No? I'm second choice--that's my fate, is it--that's as high as I get?

Yes, I reckon that's about a fair estimate of me--I'm a typical second choice man. I suppose I'll have to accept that fact." And now he laughed uproariously, though none too happily.

"Well, Aurora," said he after a time, "you have broken in here, anyway--just as I broke down your gate last night in my own clumsiness.

Suppose we call it quits. Let's not figure too close on the moving consideration. There's nothing you can give Horace Brooks, attorney at law, in the way of pay. And you need Horace Brooks--_only_ as attorney at law. What can I do for you?'