While he was trying to face the necessity of discussing this newest phase of the many-sided problem with becoming stoicism a car overtook them and privacy was at an end. By the time the car had reached the crossing nearest the mission school he had fought and won his battle--the fiercest, and, as it chanced, the most unnecessary, that had ever been thrust upon him--and was ready with an assurance of good faith which was quite as sincere as it was costly. “We mustn’t be discouraged, and we must just go on hoping against hope,” he said, when he took Dorothy’s hand at parting. “It is a most intricate tangle, and I can’t begin to unravel it yet; but you may count on one thing: what one man may do to help Brant will be done. You have told me some things that I didn’t know before, but I shall work all the harder for knowing them. And if--if you think it will do any good, you may tell Isabel that.” After which generous confession of faith he left her and went to his office, being minded to dull the keen edge of the new trouble on the grindstone of hard work. The dulling process was but fairly in train when the door opened to admit Forsyth. “Do you allow a man to trespass on Sunday?” he asked, feeling for the latch of the gate in the counter-railing. “Surely, when the man is as good a friend as you are. Come in and sit down.” “It is about Brant, or I shouldn’t trouble you,” explained the editor, drawing up a chair. “I have been to see him again, and he is more obstinate than ever--if that be possible. He said you were there yesterday, and I came to see if you had been able to do anything with him.” “I wasn’t.” “I was afraid you wouldn’t be. Have you anything new to offer?” “No.” “Well, I have. It is pretty plain to you that Brant will hang, lacking strong counsel, isn’t it?” “Plainer than I wish it were.” “Very good. Now there is just one lawyer in Christendom, so far as I know, whose services he can’t well refuse.” “Who is it?” “Judge Langford,” said the editor, crossing his legs and nursing one knee. “But, good Lord, Forsyth, you are losing your grip! Have you forgotten that the judge is William Langford’s father?” “I have forgotten nothing. From your point of view it would be out of the question, I grant you; but so far as heard from, you are the only person who doesn’t believe Brant did it. Now I am convinced that he did, and the judge is quite as sure that he did; so the difficulties on that side vanish. I don’t see what is to prevent the judge from taking the case, if he chooses to.” “I do. If he should clear Brant it would reopen the entire question as to Will. You know that as well as I do.” “He can’t clear him; nobody can do more than get him a light sentence. But if he could clear him, the boy is well out of it. You were with Jarvis last night, and you helped him make the discovery that the shot was fired in line with the door; that it could not well have been fired from young Langford’s position.” “Yes, but----”