"You left the court-room today before I had a chance to speak to you, Mrs. Chase. I wanted to tell you how much I admired your courage in coming forward with the statement that cleared away the doubt and tangles from Joe Newbolt's case. You deserve a great deal of credit, which I am certain the public will not withhold. You are a brave little woman, Ollie Chase." There it was again! Twice in a day she had heard it, from eminent sources each time. The world was not a bleak desert, as she had thought, but a place of kindness and of gentle hearts. "I'm glad you don't blame me," she faltered, not knowing what to make of this unexpected turn in the night's adventure. "A brave little woman!" repeated the judge feelingly. "And I want you to know that I respect and admire you for what you have done." Ollie was silent, but her heart was shouting, leaping, and bounding again in light freedom, as it had lifted that morning when Alice Price had spoken to her in her despair. At last, she said, with earnestness: "I promise you I'll be a good woman, too, from now on, Judge Maxwell, and I'm thankful to you for your kind words." "We turn in here--this is my door," said the judge. Mystified, wondering what the next development of this strange excursion into the night would be, but satisfied in her mind that it meant no ill for her now, Ollie waited while the judge found the keyhole, for which he groped in the dark. "And the matter of the will was all disposed of by the probate judge today, I hear," said the judge, his hand on the door. "Yes, sir." "Then your life is all before you, to make of it what you will," said he, placing his hand on her shoulder, as she stood with him in the dim hall. He opened the study door. The wood on the grate was blazing brightly. Ollie saw someone standing before it, bending slightly forward in the pose of expectation. He was tall and of familiar figure, and the firelight was playing in the tossed curls of his short, fair hair. "In there," said the judge, "if you care to go." Ollie did not stir. Her feet felt rooted to the floor in the wonder and doubt of this strange occurrence. "Ollie!" cried the man at the hearthstone, calling her name imploringly. He came forward, holding out pleading hands. She stood a moment, as if gathering herself to a resolution. A sob rose in her throat, and broke from her lips transformed into a trembling, sharp, glad cry. It was as if she had cast the clot of sorrow from her heart. Then she passed into the room and met him. Judge Maxwell closed the door. CHAPTER XXIII LEST I FORGET Mrs. Newbolt was cutting splints for her new sun-bonnet out of a pasteboard box. She hitched her chair back a little farther into the shadow of the porch, for the impertinent sun was winking on her bright scissors, dazzling her eyes.