And, as day followed day, Jeff let it appear--as a vital part of his plan--in his speech, his manner, his haggard looks, that danger, suspense and confinement were telling upon him, that he was worried and harassed, that he was losing his nerve. These things appeared slowly, lest he should seem to weaken too soon and too easily. Chapter VII “And when ’e downs ’is ’ead and ’umps ’is back, ye cawn’t remain, y’ know!” --_Beresford on the Bronco._ “My iron-headed friend,” said the Judge--“and I use the word in more senses than one--you have now had ample time for deliberation. I have given you the opportunity to choose--life----” No menace, no violence, could have left an impression so strong, so dreadful in its finality, as this brief ellipsis, the casual, light-hearted manner. “----at no slight risk to myself. Because, the admiration, the liking which I have professed to you is real and sincere enough, though, perhaps, none of the deepest. I will be quite frank with you, Mr. Bransford; that liking, that admiration has grown with our acquaintance. A weakness; I admit it; it would be with a real regret that I should speak the word to cut that acquaintance short. I will be so much further frank with you as to say that I fancy I can sufficiently steel myself to speak that word should you again refuse good counsel. This may be the last of our pleasant meetings. For the last time, in the words of your favorite writer: ‘Under which king, Bezonian? Speak, or die!’” Jeff’s hands gripped visibly at his chair-arms, so that the Judge observed it--as was intended--and smiled. But Jeff gave his answer quietly: “I can’t do it. If you had killed Tillotson outright I might, to save my life, keep silence and let you go unpunished. But I can’t do this.” “You mean you won’t,” said the Judge acidly. “I mean that I can’t,” said Jeff. “I would if I could, but I can’t.” “By Heavens, I believe you will stick to it!” said the Judge, greatly disappointed. “Had you couched your refusal in some swelling phrase--and I can think of a dozen sonorous platitudes to fit the case--I might yet have hopes of you. I believe, sir, that you are a stubborn fellow. The man is nothing to you!” “The man is much to me,” returned Jeff. “He is innocent.” “So, I believe, are you. How will it help him for you to die? And so obscurely, too! I think,” said the Judge gently, flicking at his cuff, “that you mentioned a wife? Yes? And children? Two, I think. Two boys?” His elbows were upon the table, his white hands were extended upon the table, he held his head a little to one side and contemplated his fingers as they played a little tune there, quite as if it were a piano. Jeff’s face worked; he rose and paced the floor. Mac, by the door, regarded him with something very like compassion in his hard face. The Judge watched him with feline amusement.