“I can scarcely believe you know what you ask, Mr. Forsyth,” said the judge at length, coming slowly back to his chair. “If the circumstances were different, if my own son were not unfortunately involved, I should be the first to volunteer.” “My dear sir, that is precisely the reason why you should volunteer,” said Forsyth firmly. “Bear with me a moment while I show you how the matter presents itself to an unbiassed outsider. Your son absents himself, and, knowing his habits, you and the other members of the family are justly anxious. In response to a request from one of your daughters----” “Pardon me, but how did you learn that? From him?” “No, indeed. I learned it, indirectly, from Miss Dorothy herself. As I was saying, in response to this request my friend undertakes the not unhazardous task of finding and rescuing your son. He does the first, and in trying to do the second he commits a crime which, account for it as you may, would not have been committed at that time and place if Brant had been less willing to help you and yours. Do I make my point of view quite clear?” “Quite.” “Very well. Under such circumstances the least you can do for my friend is to defend him. No one else can do it as well. Your mere presence in court as his counsel may well save his life. Ask yourself the question seriously, Judge Langford, and if your own sense of justice will allow you to refuse, I have nothing more to say.” The judge leaned back in his chair and stared absently at the handful of fire in the grate. Forsyth’s appeal reopened the question which he thought he had settled once for all the day before, and the arguments for and against began once more to marshal themselves for a fiercer conflict. Before the battle began he made one more effort to postpone it. “You ignore the fact that I might end by directing suspicion against my own son, Mr. Forsyth.” “I do. I ignore everything but the question of simple justice and a just man’s obligations.” The fight was on, and the judge left his chair to pace the floor with his hands behind him and his head bowed. Forsyth had told him no new thing. His duty had been clear enough from the moment of Dorothy’s confession. But the frankness of the editor’s appeal; the grave ruthlessness with which he held the responsibility up as something to be decided apart from personal considerations--a thing affecting justice, and honour, and uprightness--this touched him very nearly. But opposed to this his fatherhood rose up in mighty protest pleading as only paternal love can plead for the supremacy over all abstractions of whatsoever kind or degree. The struggle was long and bitter; and seeing the story of it writing itself in deeply graven lines upon the judge’s face as he paced slowly back and forth, Forsyth had to harden his heart more than once while he awaited the outcome. “It is the father against the man, but the man will win,” he said to himself; and as he prophesied, so it came to pass.