I felt the years slide back, I saw the mask of evil and folly torn away. I was sitting again in a beautiful gown in the Trois Folies in Venice, the wind was blowing the flowers on my table, the water in the canal sounded through the lattice, a man was tearing tablecloths from their places, dishes crashed, and then I saw the fellow's smile fly and his face turn sober, and I heard his voice say, "What are _you_ doing here?" as if he had known me for centuries. Because I knew then, in one look, that John Chalmers and Monty Cranch were one. I had met him for the second time--a wreck of a man--a murderer. But the mystery of a woman's heart--! "Well," I heard Mr. Roddy say, "are we going to hang him?" "No," I cried, like a wild thing. "No, Judge. No! No! No!" "And why not?" he asked, glaring at me. "It's against your oath, sir," I said, like one inspired. "And it's against honor to hang a creature with lies." The Judge thought a long time, struggling with himself, until his face was all drawn, but at last he touched the red-haired reporter on the elbow. "She is right," said he. "The incident is closed." Something in his low voice was so ringing that for a moment none of us spoke, and I could hear the drawn curtains at the window going flap-flap-flap in the breeze. At last the reporter looked at his watch. "Well, Judge," he said, with his freckled smile, "I'm sorry you can't see it my way." "You want to catch your train," the master replied quietly. "It's all right. I have a revolver here in the drawer." "Probably I'm the one he'll want to see, anyway," Mr. Roddy said in his cool, joking way. "Quite a little drama? Good-night, sir." "Good-night," said the Judge, without taking his eyes from the man on the floor. "Good-night, Mr. Roddy." I can remember how the door closed and how we heard the reporter's footsteps go down the walk. Then came the click of the gate and after a minute the toot of the train coming from far away and then the silence of the night. Then out of the silence came the sound of Monty Cranch's breathing, and then the curtains flapped again. But still the Judge stood over the other man, thinking and thinking. Finally I could not stand it any longer; I had to say something. Anything would do. I pointed to the baby, sound asleep as a little kitten in the chair. "Have you seen her?" I asked. "What!" he answered. "How did she come there? You brought her down?" "That isn't Julianna," said I. "It's his!" "His baby!" the Judge cried. "That man's baby!" I nodded without speaking, for then, just as if Monty had heard his name spoken, he rolled over onto his elbow and sat up. First he looked at the Judge and then I saw that his eyes were turning toward me. I felt my spine alive with a thousand needle pricks. "Will he know me?" thought I.