"Judge Maxwell," he began, looking around him from side to side in quick starts, "I must apologize to you for coming into your house in this condition, and for this late call. But I'm here on important business; I ask you to give me a few minutes of your time alone." The judge nodded to Hiram, who closed the door after him. "Take off that wet coat--give me your hat, and sit here," said the judge, pulling a chair around to the fire. The visitor drew off his rubber garment. "Thank you, sir," said he. "My name is Morgan, and I've come over hell's highway, as the man said, to get to Shelbyville tonight." "Not Curtis Morgan?" said Judge Maxwell, lifting his eyes in startled surprise, staying the stream of liquor that he was decanting into a glass. "Yes. You've heard my name before tonight, I see," the visitor said. "Just so," replied the judge, in his studious way. "Drink this, unless you have scruples?" "It looks to me like a life-preserver to a drowning man," said Morgan, with a glimmer of his every-day facetiousness. He drained the glass; the judge motioned for him to sit down. Morgan did so, and stretched his wet feet to the fire. "I've got a story to tell you, Judge Maxwell," said he, again casting his quick, almost fearful look around, "that will sound to you, maybe, like a wild-eyed dream. But I want to tell you right now, it ain't no dream--not by a million miles! I wish it was," he added, with a serious twist of the head. "Go on," said the judge. "I've hurried here, Judge Maxwell, to do what I can in the name of justice and humanity," Morgan said. "That boy, Joe Newbolt, on trial here before you for the murder of old man Chase, is innocent. That boy is telling the truth, Judge, and I'll stake my neck on that. I've got a story to tell you that will clear up all he's holding back, and I'll tell it, if I swing for it!" Morgan was greatly agitated. He stopped there, looking earnestly into the judge's face. "Why have you waited so long?" asked the judge, sternly. Morgan leaned over, clutching at the judge's arm. "Am I too late--is it over--have they convicted him?" he asked. "Yes, it's over," nodded the judge, studying Morgan's face narrowly. "Merciful heavens!" said Morgan, springing to his feet, looking around for his coat and hat. "We must stop this thing before it's too late, Judge--I tell you we must stop it! Isn't there some way--have they convicted Joe?" "Sit down, Morgan, and calm yourself. Hold your feet out to the blaze and dry them," the judge admonished, kindly. "What's happened?" asked Morgan, wildly, not heeding the command. "You shall hear it all in time," promised the judge. "Sit down here and tell me what you've been doing all these weeks. Where have you been?"