The young woman’s face was bright with a smile, but it was a light without warmth, a kindly light intended to deceive, not the Judge, but his wife. Mrs. Elbridge looked at her husband and was astonished at the change in him. She could not understand it, but she was not halting to investigate causes. "You are our physician, Florence," she said. "But you must bring your patient under better discipline. He didn’t go to bed at all last night." "Then I shall have to reprimand him. Sir, why do you disobey my orders?" The old man’s attempt at a smile was but a poor pretense, but it deceived the eye of affection. "Because, Doctor, I had a most important case on hand; but it is about worked out now, and I will in the future have more regard for your instructions." They talked pleasantly for a time, and then Mrs. Elbridge went out, leaving the Judge and Florence in the office; but no sooner was the wife gone than the husband began to droop; and the light of the forced smile faded from the countenance of the young woman. She looked at the Judge and her face was stern. "We are hypocrites for her," she said, nodding toward the door through which Mrs. Elbridge had just passed. "Yes, to protect the tenderest nature I have ever known. She could not stand such a trouble. It would kill her." "She would not believe your story." "Yes, she would. Unlike you, she could not be infatuated with the blindness of her own faith. She loves her son, but she knows me—loves me. She could not doubt my eyes. What," he said, getting up with energy and standing in front of Florence, "you are not debating with yourself whether or not to tell her, are you? Can you, for one moment, forget your oath—an oath as solemn and as binding as any oath ever taken? You, surely, are not forgetting it." "No, but I ought to. My heart cries for permission to tell Howard. His distress reproaches me." "But your oath." "Oh, I shall not forget it, sir," she said, almost savagely. "But, it was not generous of you—not generous." "What wasn’t?" "Swearing me to secrecy. You took advantage of what you conceive to be my honor, my strength of character; and you would have me break his heart by refusing to marry him. You have a far-reaching cruelty." "Florence—my daughter, you must not say that. You know why I would keep you from marrying him. Have I been a judge all these years, to find that I am now incapable of pronouncing against my own affections and my own flesh and blood? I am broader than that." "You mean that you are narrower than that. It is noble to shield those whom we love." "No, it is selfish. You are a woman, and therefore cannot see justice as a man sees it." "My eyes may not be clear enough to see justice, but they have never beheld a vision to—"