That evening when the young men went home there was a great hub-hub in the hall. William had just come in, covered with dust and was blowing like a hippopotamus. "If I live, I’ll kill him; mind what I tell you." "What’s the trouble?" Howard asked. William had been knocked down by a scorcher. *CHAPTER XXII.* *TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE.* At the breakfast table the next morning the Judge paid no attention to Howard, though he knew that his departure was to take place that day. He had striven to be genial when Mrs. Elbridge was present, and for a time had succeeded, but all effort was thrown off now. Howard went to his room to make ready, and his mother went with him. The Judge was walking up and down in his office as they passed his door. Florence entered, and the Judge bowed to her. "Are you going to tell Howard good-bye?" she asked. "That’s easy enough," he answered. "He will come in here to see you before he goes." "How do you know?" "I know because it is not possible for him to prove so unnatural as—" The Judge raised his hand. "Don’t say it, please." She stood looking at him. "Don’t you think you ought to tell him why you have hardened your heart against him?" "I shall tell him nothing." "And is that the part of a true man? Is it not almost inhuman to let him suffer in ignorance?" The Judge raised his hand and looked toward the door. "I tell you, it is to protect her. Can’t you see?" "It is well enough to protect her, but you ought to give him an opportunity to defend himself." "There is no defense. Mind, your oath." "Oh, I am sick of that," she said. "Every time I say a word in his behalf you remind me of a foolish vow. Judge, I am weary of this senseless and insane drama, seeing the others stumble about in the dark while you and I stand in the light. No, you do not stand in the light, I alone am in the light of truth; and if I did not think that the trip out West would be good for him. I would not let him go; I would stop him short with what you have told me and made me swear by the memory of my mother not to repeat. No wonder you put your hand to your head. It must ache. But, there, I won’t reproach you." He had sat down. She went to him and put her hand on his shoulder. He looked up, and then looked down again. "I believe something is going to clear it all up one of these days," she said. He got up and resumed his walk. Howard’s voice came down the hall: "Has the trunk gone yet?" "I think he is coming," she said. "Stay with me, Florence." "No, you must face him, the injured, alone." "I have not injured him; he has injured me." She went out and the Judge stood there waiting for Howard. He came in, more serious now that everything had been made ready. "I am about to start for the West, sir," he said. "I can’t stand it here any longer. You frown at me, and when I beg you to tell me—" "How long do you expect to be gone?" the Judge interrupted.