“You will go free on your own recognizance, without bond, until the day after tomorrow,” he bade him. “You will then report yourself to the warden of the state penitentiary at Frankfort. The clerk of this court will hand you certain documents which you will surrender to the warden at the same time that you surrender yourself.” The tall old man at the rail bowed his head to show he understood, but he gave no thanks for the favor vouchsafed him, nor did the other old man on the bench seem to expect any thanks. The clerk's pen, racing across the ruled sheets, squeaked audibly. “This consideration is granted, though, upon one condition,” said the judge, as though a new thought had just come to him. “And that is, that between this time and the time you begin serving your sentence you do not allow a drop of liquor to cross your lips. You promise that?” “I promise that,” said Harper slowly and soberly, like a man taking a solemn oath. No more was said. The clerk filled out the blanks--two of them--and Judge Priest signed them. The clerk took them back from him, folded them inside a long envelope; backed the envelope with certain writings, and handed it over the bar rail to Harper. There wasn't a sound as he stowed it carefully into an inner pocket of his ill-fitting black coat; nor, except for the curiously light tread of his own steps, was there a sound as he, without a look side-wise, passed down the courtroom and out at the doorway. “Mister Clerk,” bade Judge Priest, “adjourn the present term of this court.” As the crowd filed noisily out, old Doctor Lake, who had been a spectator of all that happened, lingered behind and, with a nod and a gesture to the clerk, went round behind the jury-box and entered the door of the judge's private chamber, without knocking. The lone occupant of the room stood by the low, open window, looking out over the green square. He was stuffing the fire-blackened bowl of his corncob pipe with its customary fuel; but his eyes were not on the task, or his fingers trembled--or something; for, though the pipe was already packed to overflowing, he still tamped more tobacco in, wasting the shreddy brown weed upon the floor. “Come in, Lew, and take a chair and set down,” he said. Doctor Lake, however, instead of taking a chair and sitting down, crossed to the window and stood beside him, putting one hand on the judge's arm. “That was pretty hard on old Press, Billy,” said Doctor Lake. Judge Priest was deeply sensitive of all outside criticism pertaining to his official conduct; his life off the bench was another matter. He stiffened under the touch. “Lewis Lake,” he said--sharply for him--“I don't permit even my best friends to discuss my judicial acts.”