t
the notion. So if you would go to her yourself with the suggestion, or
git somebody in whose good sense and judgment you've got due confidence
to go to her and her husband and lay the facts before them, I, fur one,
knowin' a little somethin' of human nature, feel morally sure of the
outcome. Why, I expect she'd welcome the idea; maybe she's already
thinkin' of the same thing and wonderin' how, legally, it kin be done.
And that, ma'am, is what brings me here to your residence to-night. And
I trust you will appreciate the motive which has prompted me and furgive
me if I, who's almost a stranger to you, seem to have meddled in your
affairs without warrant or justification."

He reared back in his chair, a plump hand upon either knee.

Through this the widow had not spoken, or offered to speak. Now that he
had finished, she answered him from the half shadow in which she sat on
the farther side of the sewing machine upon which the lamp burned. There
was no bitterness, he thought, in her words; merely a sense of
resignation to and acceptance of a state of things not of her own
contriving, and not, conceivably, to be of her own undoing.

"Judge," she said, "perhaps you know by hearsay at least that since my
daughter's marriage she has lived apart from us. Neither my husband nor
I ever set foot in the house where she lives. It was her wish"--she
caught herself here, and he, sensing that she was equivocating,
nevertheless inwardly approved of the deceit--"I mean to say that it was
not my wish to go among her friends, who are not my friends, or to
embarrass her in any way. I am proud that in marrying she has done so
well for herself. In thinking of her happiness I shall always try to
find happiness for myself.

"But, judge, you must know this too: She did not come to the--the
funeral. Well, there was a cause for that; she had a reason. But--but
she had not been here for months before that. She--oh, you might as well
hear it if you are to understand--she has never once been here since she
married!

"And so, Judge Priest, I cannot go to her until I am sent for--not under
any circumstances nor for any purpose. If she has her pride, I in my
poor small way have my pride, too, my self-respect. When she needs
me--if ever she does--I'll go to her wherever she may be if I have to
crawl there on my hands and knees. What has gone before will all be
forgotten. But don't you see, sir?--I can't go until she sends for me.
And so, Judge