"Then I am strong." She moved closer and stood resolutely before him, looking into his eyes. "Florence, I know your character; I know that your word is too sacred to break, but this is—is an unparalleled case, and you must be put under oath." "Judge, instead of administering an oath, you ought to take medicine. Why, I never saw you this way before." She was about to turn away from him, but he took her by the arm. "Look at me. You never saw me this way before. No. In all my experience I have never heard of a man being so situated. I am a novelty of distress. And you must know what my ailment is, but you must take an oath, a sacred oath, not to speak of it to any human being." "But if it is so awful, why should I know it? Tell it to a physician." "It is my duty to tell it to one human being, and you are the one." "Then I will take the oath." "Hold up your right hand." She obeyed him. "You swear never to repeat what I tell you." "Yes, I swear." "By the memory of your mother?" "Yes, by the memory of my mother." "And you hope that the Eternal God may frown upon you if you do not keep your oath?" "Judge, this is awful." "Are you going to back out now? Are you afraid?" "I am not afraid. I hope that the Eternal God may frown upon me if I do not keep my oath." He took her hand, the hand held high, and said to her, "You will keep your oath. It was disagreeable to take it, but the measure was necessary. And now comes the agonizing part of my duty—and I wish I had died before being compelled to discharge it. Florence, you know that I love you." "Yes, sir, I know it—could never have doubted it. But why do you speak of it? What has it to do with—" "Wait. This shall be explained. You must not marry my son." She stepped back from him and from her clear eyes, always so sympathetic, there came a flash of anger. "You are mad, Judge," she said. "I grant it. He drove me mad—he sent me to hell." "And you would drag me there." "I would save you. It is a duty I owe to the memory of your father and to my own love for you. Yes, it is my duty." "And it is my duty," she said, with now the light of sympathy in her eyes, "to send for a doctor." "Wait. You have not heard. Remember you have sworn." "Yes, and I will keep my oath. No, I have not heard. You have told me nothing. You have simply been mad enough to say that we must not marry." The sympathy had gone from her eyes. "You must know that Howard and I have all our lives lived for each other. I owe you nearly everything, I would make almost any sacrifice for you, but when you even intimate—but I will not reproach you," she said, softening again. "You have not told me why," she added, looking into his eyes. "My child, it would break your heart." She straightened and put her hand upon her bosom. "I offer my heart. Break it." "Florence, my son Howard is a thief."