to yield a flash of hope, but nothing more substantial. And now--now
even this must be rubbed out. She was not the kind to ever compromise
with duty, nor to pretend. No love for me, even if it had already
begun to blossom in her secret heart, would make her disloyal to sacred
vows. I knew that, and deep down in my own consciousness, honored her
the more, even while I struggled against the inevitable. Yesterday I
might have spoken the words of passion on my lips, but now they were
sealed, and I dare not even whisper them to myself, yet it was out of
this very depth of impossibility that I came to know love in its
entirety, and realize what Viola Henley already was to me.

But I was never so much a dreamer, as a man of action, and the
necessity of active service forced me to cast aside such thoughts
almost instantly. There was work, and danger, ahead, and I welcomed
both eagerly. This was the way to forget. Aye! and the way to serve.
I felt the revolver in my pocket, took it out and made sure it was in
readiness; then advanced cautiously toward the house. The hall was
empty, and so was the front room. The latter appeared desolate and
grim in its disorder and dirt. My thought centered on that picture of
Judge Henley hanging against the further wall. Perhaps it had not
moved; the supposition that it did might have been an illusion,
produced by some flaw in the mirror opposite, or by a freak of
imagination. Yet I could never be satisfied until I learned absolutely
what was concealed behind that heavy gilded frame. There was mystery
to this house, and perhaps here I had already stumbled upon the secret.
I opened the door leading to the rear, silently, and listened. There
were voices talking at a distance, two women, one a pleasant contralto,
the other cracked and high pitched. The lady was doing her part; I
must do mine. I closed the door gently, and stole over toward the
picture, half afraid of my task, yet nerving myself for the ordeal.