“The very one. The one Judge Foxwell taught _him_. He got it, I believe, from John Marshall. Don’t think about it, Rhoda. Those old boys lived in different days. Sometimes I think that I’m an anachronism.” He sought to smile at her, but the smile faded before her intensity. “Don’t let a chance word of Laflin’s bother you,” he counselled. “He didn’t know you, of course, as your father’s daughter, or he’d have cut out his tongue before saying what he did.” “It doesn’t matter who said it,” she declared. “It’s not that alone that hurts; it’s the knowledge that I’ve meant so little to you that cuts deep--now. I used to think, Burt, even when I knew that you didn’t love me, that I was giving you something fine and splendid. I let myself believe that the Armond tradition was the beacon which was lighting your way. I thought that if I couldn’t give you anything else, I was at least giving you that torch. And now I find out that the light I was holding for you was only marsh fire. You’ve never needed me!” Her voice rose to accusation. “Oh, yes,” he countered, but he could not put verity into his tone. “No,” she said. “You don’t owe me anything for the playing of the game. I’ve loved that for itself.” “But you thought you were giving me the other----” “And I wasn’t. It’s really a joke, isn’t it? A buccaneer teaching his family the Golden Rule, and the family passing it on!” “It isn’t a joke, Rhoda. I’ve always taken it in the measure of your intention.” “And been sorry for me?” “Yes.” “I’ve never sought pity.” “None of us do.” “It’s funny, isn’t it,” she mused, “that one woman who loved you set you free, so that another woman whom you didn’t love might take away that freedom?” “I’ve had as much freedom as most men,” he said, but his eyes went back to the crumpled missive. Rhoda’s glance, following his, saw its significance. “Read it,” she challenged him. He hesitated an instant, as if doubting his desire to read it before her watchfulness, then drew the letter from its envelope. Pale tracing on common paper met his gaze. “_Burt_,” he read, “_you’re a great man now, and maybe you’ve forgotten me. I’ve never forgotten you. Every morning and every night I’ve prayed for you. Boyce has been good to me, better than I deserved; but oh, Burt, all that my life has been since I left you is just a hope that eternity will bring us together again. I used to believe it would, but I’m getting afraid, now that it’s coming near. Won’t you come to me for just one hour before I go? You told me once that hell wouldn’t keep you if I_----”