"Everything is beyond," the young man cried triumphantly. "'The end,' as
you call it, is an end to hope for--it is the beginning. The beginning
of more than you have ever had--with them, with the people you care
about."

The judge turned a ghastly look upon the impetuous, bright face. "If
I believed that, I should be even now perfectly happy. I don't see how
you Christians can ever be sorry when your friends die--it's childish;
anybody ought to be able to wait a few years. But I don't believe it,"
he said heavily, and went on again as if an inertia of speech were
carrying him as an inertia of silence had held him a few minutes before.
"When my wife died a year ago it ended my personal life, but I could
live Jack's life. I was glad in the success and honor of it. Now the
success--" he made a gesture. "And the honor--if I had that, only the
honor of Jack's life left, I think I could finish the years with
dignity. I've not been a bad man--I've done my part and lived as seemed
right. Before I'm old the joy is wiped out and long years left. Why?
It's not reasonable--not logical. With one thing to hold to, with Jack's
good name, I might live. How can I, now? What can I do? A life must have
a _raison d'être._"

"Listen," the clergyman cried again. "You are not judging Jack as fairly
as you would judge a common criminal. You know better than I how often
juries make mistakes--why should you trust this jury to have made none?"

"I didn't trust the jury. I watched as I have never before known how to
watch a case. I felt my mind more clear and alert than common."

"Alert!" he caught at the word. "But alert on the side of