granted. His--has--gone."

He sat down in a wicker rocking-chair and wiped his forehead with the
back of his hand.

"I never thought," he said again. "I didn't see it anywhere. I didn't
look for it. I found Julianna in the middle of the bed."

"Bed!"

[Illustration: IT MUST BE JULIANNA]

That was the only word I had. The light of sunrise had come. The
shouts in the street were far away.

"Why, yes," the Judge said. "I--did--I found--"

He stopped, he walked over to the infant and swept it into his arms. He
took it to the window and held it up to the light as a person looks at a
piece of dressgoods.

"Why, it must be Julianna," he whispered.

Then I heard noises in the back of his throat; he could not catch his
breath at first, and when he did, he gave a low groan that seemed to
have no end. The baby stared up at him and laughed. It was Monty
Cranch's child.

CHAPTER IV

A SUPPRESSION OF THE TRUTH

It was I who took it out of his arms and I who watched him go to the bed
and fall across it face downwards, and hide his eyes like a man who
cannot stand to see the light of day. If Fate ever played a fiendish
trick and punished a square and upright man, it had done it then! I did
not dare to speak to him. I did not dare to move. I laid the happy,
gurgling baby in my lap and sat there till I felt that every joint in my
body had grown tight in its socket.

Once they rapped on the door. The Judge did not move, so I opened it a
crack and motioned them away, and sat down again, watching the light
turn from pink to the glare of full day, and then a path of warm summer
sunlight stretch out across the rug and climb down the wall till it fell
onto a basin of water sitting on the floor, and the reflection jumped up
to dance its jigs on the ceiling.

I heard the Judge move often enough, but I did not know he was on his
feet until I looked up at last, and there he was standing in front of
me, with his wild eyes staring down at the child.

He pointed at the little thing with his long forefinger.

"Julianna," said he.

"You are mad, sir," I cried.

"No," said he. "My wife! It must be done to save her happiness. Yes! To
save her life."

"To save her?" I repeated after him.

"Yes, a lie," he whispered bitterly. "She has not seen the baby for
weeks and weeks."

"She could never know," I cried, understanding what he meant. "That is
true, sir. No one coul