Dorothy dried her eyes and told the whole story bravely, beginning with the chance meeting in Mr. Crosswell’s study, and ending by handing her father the two notes received from Brant. The judge read the notes thoughtfully and the lines of anxiety deepened in his face. “You did it for the best, and no one could have foreseen such terrible consequences. It was a most natural thing for you to do, and I am far from reproaching you. But you are right; this complicates the affair most grievously. It makes us in a certain sense responsible, and that without helping to clear up the mystery. If the young man’s purpose was to rescue William--and that seems to be very evident--why under heaven should he spoil a good deed by committing a murder in the very midst of it?” “Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know! But if I hadn’t sent him he wouldn’t have been there!” “No, probably not; but you mustn’t try to carry more than your proper share of the burden. Whatever his motive for killing the man, it must surely go back of Harding’s connection with William.” “If I could only be sure of that!” sighed Dorothy; and then she added hopelessly: “Not that it would make any difference. It is done, and it can never, never be undone.” “Yes, it would make some difference,” said the father reflectively; “not in fact, but in the ethics of the fact. Nevertheless, it would not greatly lessen our responsibility. We must make this young man’s cause our own now, at any cost.” Here spoke the loyal Southern gentleman. “And he can be cleared--you can save him?” she faltered, brightening up a little. But her father shook his head doubtfully at that. “It would be more than any one could promise at present; he is acting very singularly”--and Dorothy’s hopes were slain when the judge told the story of the preliminary examination. When she had heard him through, the horrible suspicion came again and refused to be driven away, but she could not bring herself to speak of it to her father. Will a murderer? Oh, no; anything but that! Not until his daughter had gone away and he had sat down to go thoughtfully over the details again did the judge realize what his championship of Brant would require of him. Then it became evident, with a keen pang of fresh misfortune, that he was bound hand and foot; that any effort made to clear Brant must inevitably result in entangling his own son. As the matter rested, William was free and unsuspected, and George Brant would hang--if the jury so willed. But if by any effort of any one Brant should be proved innocent-- The alternative was as plain as the handwriting on the wall of Belshazzar’s banquet hall, and to the full as appalling.