Miss Sophie was very glad when she heard her brother’s step in the hall; not that she was nervous or easily frightened, but there was something in Judge Bascom’s actions, something in the tone of his voice, some suggestion in his words, that gave her uneasiness, and she breathed a sigh of relief when her stalwart brother made his appearance. Francis Underwood greeted his guest cordially—more cordially, Miss Sophie thought, than circumstances warranted; but the beautiful face of Mildred Bascom was not stamped on Miss Sophie’s mind as it was on her brother’s. “I am sorry to put you to any inconvenience,” said the Judge, after they had talked for some time on commonplace topics—“very sorry. I have put the matter off until at last I felt it to be a solemn duty I owed my family to come here. Believe me, sir,” he continued, turning to the young man with some emotion—“believe me, sir, it grieves me to trouble you in the matter, but I could no longer postpone coming here. I think I understand and appreciate your attachment”— “Why, my dear sir,” cried Francis Underwood in his heartiest manner, “it is no trouble at all. No one could be more welcome here. I have often wondered why you have never called before. Don’t talk about trouble and inconvenience.” “I think I understand and appreciate your attachment for the Place,” the Judge went on as though he had not been interrupted, “and it embarrasses me, I assure you, to be compelled to trouble you now.” “Well,” said Francis Underwood, with a hospitable laugh, “if it is no trouble to you, it certainly is none to me. As my neighbors around here say, when I call on them, ‘just make yourself at home.’” Judge Bascom rose from his chair trembling. He seemed suddenly to be laboring under the most intense excitement. “My home?” he almost shrieked—“make myself at home! In God’s name, man, what can you mean? It _is_ my home! It has always been my home! Everything here is mine—every foot of land, every tree, every brick and stone and piece of timber in this house. It is _all_ mine, and I will have it! I have come here to assert my rights!” He panted with passion and excitement as he looked from Francis Underwood to Miss Sophie. He paused, as if daring them to dispute his claims. Miss Sophie, who had a temper of her own, would have given the Judge a piece of her mind, but she saw her brother regarding the old man with a puzzled, pitying expression. Then the truth flashed on her, and for an instant she felt like crying. Francis Underwood approached the Judge and led him gently back to his chair. “Now that you are at home, Judge Bascom,” he said, “you need not worry yourself.” “I tell you it is _mine_!” the Judge went on, beating the arm of his chair with his clenched fist; “it is mine. It has always been mine, and it will always be mine.”