s those sheds the night of the murder; I am going to
bend my every energy to learning who that man is, and when I have
discovered his identity--"

"You'll want to see him in North's place, will you?" asked Marshall. The
words came from him in a hoarse whisper and his arm was extended
threateningly toward his father. "You're sure about that? You can't
conceive of the possibility that you'd be glad not to know? You want to
have John North out of his cell and this other man there in his place;
you want to face him day after day in the court room--you're sure?" His
shaking arm continued to menace the judge. "Well, you don't need to find
Montgomery, and you don't need to hound Gilmore; I can tell you more
than they can--"

His bloodshot eyes, fixed and staring, seemed starting from their
sockets.

"The facts you want to know are hidden here!" He struck his hand
savagely against his breast and lurched half-way across the room, then
he swung about and once more faced the judge. "Why haven't you had the
wisdom to keep out of this,--or have you expected to find some one it
would be easier to pronounce sentence on than North? Did you think it
would be Gilmore?"

He scowled down on his father. It was appalling and unnatural, after all
his frightful suffering, his fear, and his remorse which never left him,
that his safety should be jeopardized by his own father! He had only
asked that the law be left to deal with John North, who, he believed,
had so wronged him that no death he could die would atone for the injury
he had done.

Slowly but inexorably the full significance of Marshall's words dawned
on the judge. He had risen from his chair dumb and terror-stricken. For
a moment they stood without speech, each staring into the other's face.
Presently the judge stole to Marshall's side.

"Tell me that I misunderstand you!" he whispered in entreaty, resting a
tremulous hand on his son's arm.

But the latter was bitterly resentful. His father had forced this
confession, from him, he had given him no choice!

"Why should I tell you that now?" he asked, as he roughly shook off his
father's hand.

"Tell me I misunderstand you!" repeated the judge, in a tone of abject
entreaty.

"It's too late!" said Marshall, his voice a mere whisper between parched
lips. He tossed up his arms in a gesture that betokened his utter
weariness of soul. "My God, how I've suffered!" he said chokingly, and
his eyes were wet with the sudden anguish