"Till the day when I am to marry almost in secret, or when you send for me." The Judge was walking up and down. He turned and replied. "I shall not send for you." "Do you still deny us the right to be married in a church?" "You shall never marry her at all with my sanction, and if you marry her without it, you marry out West or in there," he added, waving toward the drawing room. "There must be no guests." "I should like to marry in my father’s house, but on the prairie or in the woods will do as well; it makes no difference." He looked hard at his father, and, after a time, added: "I didn’t think that a man could change so much—be so unnatural." "None of that, sir!" the Judge exclaimed, turning upon him. "It is not for you to call me unnatural." "Father, if I have committed a crime in your eye, why don’t you tell me what it is?" "In my eye! You must have studied long to frame that speech." "But why don’t you tell me?" "Don’t mock me, sir." Howard looked at him, as if trying to study out something in his countenance, in his eye. "May I ask you something?" "Why should you desire my permission since you would pay no attention to my refusal? What is it that you wish to ask?" "May I ask if there has ever been any insanity in our family?" The Judge started. "In our family—in my family there has been something worse than insanity." Howard slowly nodded his head as if admitting a sad fact. "Yes, there has been the death of affection—in your family." "Ah," cried the Judge, "the shrouding of a hope." "The murder of a jovial spirit," said Howard. "Don’t shoot your poisonous arrows at me. Go on, away. Good-bye." He waved his hand. Howard turned toward the door, but halted, faced about and looked at the Judge with troubled tenderness. "Father, I don’t know exactly where I am going, but out in the wilds somewhere to find a place for me and mine. I did not believe—couldn’t have foreseen such a moment as this. It seems to me that my father is gone." He paused, and the Judge stood with his face turned away. "Shall I write to you?" "No," said the Judge, without looking round. Mrs. Elbridge came in and found them standing apart, the Judge still with his back toward Howard. "Howard," she said, "the cab is waiting. Judge, Howard is going away from us." The old man turned slightly, looked at her, nodded his head, said "yes," and walked to the opposite side of the room. Mrs. Elbridge touched her forehead. "You must bear with him," she whispered. "You can see where the trouble lies." "Yes, and it is a sorrowful thought. I can hardly believe it. And to think that he should select me as the object of his contempt." "He will get over it soon and send for you," she said in a low voice. "A disordered mind turns against the loved one—nearly always." Then, advancing toward the old man, she said: "Judge, tell him good-bye."