“She hasn’t said,” replied the colonel, suddenly remembering that Diana’s silence was unusual. He looked apprehensively toward the rose garden and saw the flutter of a white dress through an opening in the box hedge. “Kitty,” he added abruptly, “you go over there and see Diana and ask her yourself.” “While Mr. Eaton’s there?” Kitty giggled. “I couldn’t, Colonel Royall; he’d hate me.” The colonel looked reflectively at the young girl sitting in the big chair opposite. She was very pretty and her smile was charming. “I don’t think he’d hate you, my dear,” he remarked dryly, “and I know Diana wants to see you.” Kitty hesitated. “I don’t like to interrupt,” she demurred. “You won’t,” said the colonel, a little viciously. Kitty rose and descended the steps to the lawn, nothing loath; then she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Mr. Trench will be tried immediately,” she said; “the Grand Jury indicted him this morning.” The colonel’s frown of perplexity deepened. “I call it indecent haste,” he said. “Grandpa is to defend him,” said Kitty, “and we’re proud of him. I think Caleb Trench is a real hero, Colonel Royall.” The colonel sighed. “I wish Jacob was,” he thought, but he did not speak. XXII JUDGE HOLLIS was writing in his office. He had been writing five hours and the green shade of his lamp was awry, while his briar-wood had just gone out for the ninety-ninth time. Some one knocked twice on the outer door before he noticed it. Then he shouted: “Come in!” After some fumbling with the lock the door opened, and Zeb Bartlett’s shambling figure lurched into the room. He came in boldly, but cowered as he met the judge’s fierce expression. The old man swung around in his chair and faced him, his great overhanging brows drawn together over glowing eyes, and his lip thrust out. The boy was stricken speechless, and stood hat in hand, feebly rubbing the back of his head. The judge, who hated interruption and loathed incompetence, scowled. “What d’ye want here?” he demanded. Zeb wet his parched lips with his tongue. “I want the law on him,” he mumbled; “I want the law on him!” “What in thunder are you mumbling about?” demanded the old man impatiently; “some one stole your wits?” “It was him did my sister wrong,” Zeb said, his tongue loosed between fear and hate; “it’s him, and I want him punished--now they’ve got him!” Judge Hollis threw the pen that he had been holding suspended into the ink-well. “See here, Zeb,” he said, “if you can tell us who ruined your poor crazed sister, why, by the Lord Harry, I’d like to punish him!” Zeb looked cunning; he edged nearer to the desk. “I can tell you,” he said, “I can tell you right cl’ar off, but--I want him punished!” “May be the worst we can do is to make him take care of the child,” said Judge Hollis. “That won’t do,” said Zeb, “that ain’t enough; he left her to starve, and me to starve--she tole me who it was!”