"’But it is so strange," said the old man, sitting down with one arm straight out upon the green baize table; and the wretch with his mind on the game thought that it would be but an ungainly position for a player to take; he ought to sit facing the table with his hands in front of him. "Stranger than truth," said the Judge, and Bodney looked at him with a start. For a moment the game vanished and darkness fell upon the players, but soon a blue curtain was pulled aside, a black face, grim, without a smile, showed glistering behind the glass, the door was opened, and there again were the players in the light, the offensive fellow drawing one card, the regular solemn and confident with a hand that was pat. "Stranger than the strangest truth that I have ever encountered," the Judge went on, turning his back to the table and looking over Bodney’s head at something on the wall. "But I brood too much." "One card," said Bodney, in a thick muse. "What’s that?" The young man started. "Nothing." "You said something about a card." "Yes, sir; it was sent in to me tonight while I was with my sick friend—man wanted to see him on business and insisted upon coming in, and it was all I could do to put him off." "Brood too much," the Judge repeated, after a brief interval of silence. "The mind mildews under any one thing that lies upon it long. A continuous joy might be as poisonous as a grief." He leaned forward with his head in his hands, and talked in a smothered voice. "The sun is coming up," said Bodney. "Don’t you think you’d better lie down?" "You go to bed. Don’t mind me." "Believe I will. I am worn out, and I don’t see how you can stand it as well as you do." "In worry there is a certain sort of strength. Go to bed."