Then at length he paused before his father, and once more they looked deep into each other's eyes, and the little space between was for both as an open grave filled with dead things--hopes, ambitions, future days and months and years--days and months and years when they should be for ever mindful of his crime! For henceforth they were to dwell in the chill of this direful shadow that would tower above all the concerns of life whether great or small; that would add despair to every sorrow, and take the very soul and substance from every joy.
The judge dropped into his chair, but his wavering glance still searched his son's face for some sign that should tell him, not what he already knew but what he hoped might be,--that Marshall was either drunk or crazed; but he only saw there the reflection of his own terror.

He buried his head in his hands and bitter age-worn sobs shook his bent shoulders.

After a moment of sullen waiting for him to recover, Marshall approached and touched him on the arm.
"Father--" he whispered gently.
The judge glanced up.
"It's a lie, Marshall!" But Marshall only stared at him until the judge again covered his face with his hands.
When he glanced up a few moments later, he found himself alone.

Marshall had stolen from the room..