By and by the train stopped suddenly with a jerk and a groan and after one or two attempts to creep a few steps, lay there for a long time. She remembered dimly that some such thing had happened on her way up. She wondered idly if it were a part of every day’s journey? Her impatience leaped ahead anxiously. Oh, if she were only there! At last the train started on again and suddenly she realized that she must plan what she would do when she got there. Should she go home and send for the police, or should she go and try to find Darcy? She had no idea where he lived now, and if he were at home he would probably be in jail unless he had been able to prove that he was innocent. Then suddenly she thought of Judge Peterson. He would know what to do. He was a judge. She would go straight to his house. Afterward she would have to go home and explain her absence and what she was doing, she supposed, but that could take care of itself. She had Darcy now to think about. She had hoped to get the noon train from the city out to Meadow Brook, but when she reached her home city her train was so late that there was no Meadow Brook train till quarter of two. Then her impatience could wait no longer and she called up Judge Peterson’s house. At first she could get no answer, but just as she was about to give up in despair a gruff voice said: “Hello! Dan Peterson at the phone?” “Oh,” said Joyce in a relieved little voice. “Then is the Judge there? I would like to speak to him a moment please.” “No. He isn’t here. He’s over at the court house. Everybody’s over there. I just happened to run home for some papers. Who is this?” “This is Joyce Radway,” Joyce’s voice was all of a tremble. What if she should be too late after all. What if the trial was days ago? “What! Joyce! Oh, _Glory_! Is that really you, Joyce? Where are you? In town? Say, take the ‘L’ and I’ll meet you at Sixty-third Street with the car. You’re wanted here, you certainly are. And say, you there yet? Say, don’t talk to anybody on the way out! Mind that! What’s that? In time? Oh, sure, the nick of time. Couldn’t be better. All right. Get a hustle on. I’ll meet you.” Joyce hung up the receiver and hurried out to the elevated train, her heart beating high with hope. Dan dashed out to his car and rattled over to the court house, sent a note up to the Judge’s desk and waited by the door. The message came up. “Say, Dad: The dead has come to life. Have her here in half an hour. Where do you want me to bring her? Here or over home? Dan.” The message came back with one word written across the back: “Here.” But a light flashed from the eye of father to son as Dan turned to dash out again. Dan almost upset a small, forlorn figure pressed close to the swinging, leathern doors, with woebegone look and white, tear-stained cheeks.