Together we walked back to the buggy. A street lamp, the first one lighted, flashed across the way, and I thought of the coming of Estell. "Get in," said the old gentleman, "and I will drive you to--to your office." And as we drove along he added: "I don't know what to say. But don't think that I attach any blame to you. My daughter's word as to your conduct toward her, your consideration and your gentleness weigh like holy writ. And you know why I have not invited you to the house. But we'll say nothing about that." "No, we can't talk of that, Senator. But there is something I must say. Let the horse walk, please. First let me tell you that I respect you more--love you more, if you will permit me to say it--than any man on the earth. I--" "Don't, don't, Belford," he protested with a catch like a sob in his voice. "Don't." And we drove in silence until we reached a corner near the opera house, and then I requested him to let me get out. He gave me his hand; I gripped it hard, and we parted without a word. CHAPTER XXII. IN THE THICKET. Alone in my room I sat, with the window shades pulled down, waiting for the coming of another day. And for what end? To meet the gaze of vulgar eyes. The tavern bells had rung the supper hour, and doors were closing about the public square. I heard the "haw haw" and the shuffling dance of negroes on the pavement. I heard Washington's step on the stair and I lighted the gas and waited, for now he was not an unwelcome visitor. He tapped at the door like a small bird pecking on a tree. I bade him come in, and as he entered he dropped his hat on the floor. "Don't do that," I commanded, "don't give me any more affectation. You despise your father's dialect but you preserve his tricks of slavish humility." "Humility is more the virtue of the Christian than the trick of the slave, Mr. Belford," he replied. "But tell me why you are so free and simple when you talk to other people and so--pardon me if I use the word theatric--so theatric with me." "Because you rob me of my naturalness and compel me to strut. But let me be natural now. Are you just from the house?" "Yes, I came straight down here." "Had the Senator returned?" "Yes, but he soon went away again--after Mr. Estell came." "Did you see them meet?" "No, I had gone out to help the woman bring in the clothes because it looked like rain." "And did the woman tell you anything about Mrs. Estell?" "That she had locked herself in her room was all." "And you didn't hear any talk between the Senator and Estell?" "Only at the gate when the Senator drove off. Then he said: 'Don't look for me until you see me.' A boy went with him to bring the buggy back." "Where could he have gone?" "To take the train for New Orleans, to look for his man. He had a telegram." "And what did Estell say?" "He swore as the Senator drove. 'By God,' he cried, 'you have gone after the wrong man.' But perhaps I ought not to have told you this."