The judge, panoplied though he was or thought he was, against all
conceivable attack, winced at this repetition of a question he had
hoped to ignore, and in his anxiety to hide this involuntary
betrayal of weakness, allowed his anger to have full vent, as he
cried out in no measured terms:

"What is the meaning of all this? What are you after? Why are you
raking up these bygones which only make the present condition of
affairs darker and more hopeless? You say that you know some way
of making the match between your daughter and my son feasible and
proper. I say that nothing can do this. Fact--the sternest of
facts is against it. If you found a way, I shouldn't accept it.
Oliver Ostrander, under no circumstances and by means of no
sophistries, can ever marry the daughter of John Scoville. I
should think you would see that for yourself."

"But if John should be proved to have suffered wrongfully? If he
should be shown to have been innocent?"

"Innocent?"

"Yes. I have always had doubts of his guilt, even when
circumstances bore most heavily against him; and now, as I look
back upon the trial and remember certain things, I feel sure that
you had doubts of it, yourself."

His rebuke was quick, instant. With a force and earnestness which
recalled the court-room he replied:

"Madam, your hopes and wishes have misled you. Your husband was a