Aurora Lane's voice was slightly rising. She was fronting him in the last courage of despair. "You'd see that boy perish--you'd let him die? If I thought that was true, I'd be willing to do everything I could to ruin this town. I'd pull the roof down on it if I were strong enough. I'd throw myself away, indeed. I'd curse God--I'd die. Above all, I'd curse you, with my last breath." Anne, in the next room, rooted in the horror of her silence, could not have heard his reply, but almost she might have pictured him, standing white, ghastly, trembling, as he was when he heard these words. "But you can't do it--you can't deny him--he's a human being like yourself--he's part of----Ah, you'll get him free, I know!" Aurora's voice was pleading now. Judge Henderson's own voice was hoarse, unnatural, when at last he got it. "Look at this message," he croaked, in a half whisper; and showed her the crumpled bit of paper which he had held in his own hand. He beckoned to her--yet again--for silence, but she did not understand. "What is it?" asked Aurora. "What do you mean?" "From the state's attorney! I have accepted this retainer. I'm of the prosecution! You have come too late. What can I do?" "Prosecution--what do you mean? Prosecute him--_Don_? Too late--my God! Am I always too late--is it always in all the world for me--too late! Prosecute _him_? What do you _mean_?" The sudden, wailing cry broke from her. Then her voice trailed off into a whisper--a whisper which might have been heard very far--which was heard through the half-closed door which led to the inner room. "Too late!" And at length the long-tried soul of Aurora Lane broke out in a final and uncontrolled rebellion, all bounds down, all restraint forgotten, every instinct at last released of its long fettering: "You disown him--you'd disown your own flesh and blood--you'd let him die! Why, you'd betray your own Master for the price of office and of honor! Oh, I know, I know! The limelight! Publicity! Oh, you Judas!--Ah, Judas! Judas! You, his father! _Your own son!_" Then sobs, deep, convulsive. Came sudden rustling of garments in the adjoining room. The intervening door was flung wide. Anne Oglesby, her face pale, tense, came out into the room where stood these two. "What is this?" she demanded of Judge Henderson. "This is Mrs. Lane? _Don's your son?_" She turned to Aurora inquiringly. "I have heard--I could not help hearing. His father! Don told me his father was dead. What's all this? Tell me!" For a moment they stood apart, three individuals only. Then, slowly, with subtle affiliation of sex, the women drew together, allied against the man. It was Anne who again was first to speak. Her voice was high, clear, cold as ice, with a patrician note which came from somewhere out of the past. "Let me have all this quite plain," said she. "Mrs. Lane said 'flesh and blood!' Mrs. Lane said '_your own son!_' I heard her. What does it mean?"