But there was something more to follow. "You can hope that you may, and I will hope that you may not," she said. Goyle bowed, and looked at her, admiringly. "Miss Needle-tongue," he said. "But you catch me." Bodney told him to come on, but he lingered a moment longer. "May I tell you good-bye?" he said, and she replied that she hoped so. As the two men were going out the Judge came in. Goyle glanced at him, but Bodney averted his eyes. The old man’s face smote him with reproach. *CHAPTER V.* *SHE SAID THAT SHE WAS STRONG.* Agnes, accustomed to joke with the Judge, now looked at him in astonishment; his face was haggard and his eyes appeared hot with suffering. But he had not forgotten his dignified courtesy. He bowed to her, bade her good morning, as if he had not seen her earlier in the day, said that he was looking for Florence, and asked if she would please find her, that he desired to see her—alone. Agnes went out at once to find Florence, wondering what could have happened to throw so serious a cast upon the countenance of the Judge; and, left alone, the old man walked slowly up and down the room, talking to himself. "I don’t know how to tell her, but she must know of it. It is my duty to tell her." He paused, looked toward the door, and continued: "I am striving to master my heart by smothering it; I must be the master of a dead heart." He paused again and resumed his walk. "Yesterday the world was a laugh, but today it is a groan. I wonder if he saw me. No, and toward him I must bear the burden of silence. A mother’s heart would see the accusation in his face, and I must protect her. To keep her shielded is now my only duty in life. That decadent book! It was a seed of degeneracy. Ah, come in," he said, as Florence appeared at the door. Howard had called her eyes the searchlights of sympathy; and she turned those lights upon the old man’s face as she came into the room, slowly approaching him. "Did you send for me—father?" "Father," he repeated with a catch in his breath that sounded like a sob. "My dear, it comes sweet from your lips, but it falls upon me with reproach." He stood with bowed head, and Florence put her hand on his arm. "What is the matter, father? Why, you need a doctor. Let me call—" "No!" came from him like a cry of pain, as he stepped back from her. "You must call no one. Wait a moment. Oh, I’ve got iron in me—but it is cold, Florence—cold. Wait a moment. Wait." She stood looking at him, wondering, striving to catch some possible forecast of what might follow, but in his face there was no light save the dull hue of agony. Gradually he became calmer, and then he said: "I am going to tell you something; it is my duty." "Yes, sir, I am listening." "But are you strong enough to hear what I have to say?" "Does it take strength to hear?" "In your case—yes."