"What, have you turned spiritualist? Is the whole family going to pieces? Howard has ruined himself with French books and John is so snappish that no one can speak to him. Is that the sort of home I’ve found? Give me that cigar sticking out of your packet. You don’t need it. Thank you. A man who believes the stuff you do don’t know whether he’s smoking or not. Is that John, roaring at Howard? I want to tell you that there’s something wrong here. What do you keep holding that thing for? Why, you shake like a sifter at a sawmill. You are all going crazy." *CHAPTER XXI.* *UP THE STAIRS AND DOWN AGAIN.* When Bodney went into the hall he found the Judge walking up and down, waiting for breakfast. His brow was troubled and dark, for Howard had just announced his determination to leave on the following day. He had acknowledged to himself that there was nothing left to hope for, and yet he had continued to hope that it all might be, as Florence believed, a vision, a nightmare, to be relieved by a sudden start. He knew that it was unreasonable thus to hope, but hope was born before reason, and will exist after reason has died of old age. As Bodney approached the old man stood with his hand pressed against his forehead. Bodney’s heart smote him, but his fear was stronger than his remorse. The piece of paper, still in his hand, seemed to burn his palm, as poker money had burned in his pocket; and he felt that he was but a pin hidden under a carpet and that Goyle could find him and thrust him back into obedience. The Judge noticed the grip with which he held the slip of paper. "What have you there, George?" he asked. "A—a—thing cut out of a newspaper." He opened his hand and the Judge looked at the slip of paper. "But why did you grip it that way?" He took the cutting, smoothed it out, and, putting on his glasses, read it. "Ah," he said, handing it back, "that fellow. I have seen him in my sleep—last night. Tell him not to come here again." "It has been some time since he was here." "Don’t apologize for him. Tell him that he must not enter this house again." William came out and saw the Judge hand the cutting to Bodney. "Is it possible, John, that you believe in that nonsense, too?" "I don’t believe in anything," said the Judge. "That’s putting it rather strong," replied William. "That is to say, that when I tell you I elected Governors and Senators, you don’t believe it." Bodney passed on, leaving the brothers walking up and down the hall, shoulder to shoulder. "Did I say that I didn’t believe you? What difference does it make anyway?" "What difference does any man’s record make? If a man isn’t proud of his record, what should he be proud of? You are proud of your decisions—they go to make up your record. I elected Governors, and—" "Why didn’t you elect yourself?"