Judith, fair and clear-eyed, leaned against the window and looked out into the twilight. After a pause she spoke: "You are fortunate, Mr. Thorne. You can look back happily to your life with your father." The intention of her speech was evident: so was a weariness which he had sometimes suspected in her voice. He answered her: "And you cannot?" "No," she said. "I was wondering just now how many people had reason to hate the name of Lisle." Percival was not unconscious of the humorous side of such a remark when addressed to himself. But Judith looked at him almost as if she would surprise his thought. "Don't dwell on such things," he said. "Men in your father's position speculate, and perhaps hardly know how deeply they are involved, till nothing but a lucky chance will save them, and it seems impossible to do anything but go on. At last the end comes, and it is very terrible. But you can't mend it." "No," said Judith, "I can't." "Then don't take up a useless burden when you need all your strength. You were not to blame in any way." "No," she said again, "I hope not. But it is hard to be so helpless. I do not even know their names. I can only feel as if I ought to be more gentle and more patient with every one, since any one may be--" "Ah, Miss Lisle," said Percival, "you will pay some of the debts unawares in something better than coin." She shook her head, but when she looked up at him there was a half smile on her lips. As she moved away Percival thought of Sissy's old talk about heroic women--"Jael, and Judith, and Charlotte Corday." He felt that this girl would have gone to her death with quiet dignity had there been need. Godfrey Hammond had called her a plain likeness of her brother, but Percival had seen at the first glance that her face was worth infinitely more than Bertie's, even in his boyish promise; and an artist would have turned from the brother to the sister, justifying Percival.