Paul was silent. "Don't you think so?" said the judge. "I wasn't there. I don't know what she did." "You're all alike, you young men; she's too much for you," said the judge, with a chuckle. "Why too much? She seems to me very glum and shy. When you say that we are all alike, do you mean that Ferdie didn't admire her, either? Yet Ferdie is liberal in his tastes," said the elder brother, smiling. But the judge did not want to talk about Ferdie. "So you find her shy? She did not strike us so at Romney. Quiet enough--yes. But very decidedly liking to have her own way." Paul dismissed the subject. "I suppose those two scamps, who shot him, got safely away?" "Yes, they were sure to have run off on the instant; they had the boat they came over in, and before daylight they were miles to the southward probably; I dare say they made for one of the swamps. In the old days we could have tracked them; but it's not so easy now. And even if we got them we couldn't string them up." "You wouldn't hang them?" "By all the gods, I would!" said the planter, bringing his fist down upon the table with a force that belonged to his youth. "Ferdie may have attacked them first, you know." "What difference does that make? Damnation, sir! are they to be allowed to fire upon their masters?" "They did not fire very well, these two; according to Dr. Knox, the wound is not serious; his despatch this morning says that Ferdie is coming on admirably." "Yes, I suppose he is," said the old man, relapsing into gloom. "As soon as he is up and about, I am going down there," Paul went on; "I must see him and have a serious talk. Some new measures must be taken. I don't think it will be difficult when I have once made him see his danger; he is so extraordinarily intelligent." "I wish he were dull, then,--dull as an owl!" said the judge, with a long sigh. "Yes, regarded simply as husbands, I dare say the dull may be safer," responded Paul. "But you must excuse me if I cannot look upon Ferdie merely as the husband of your daughter; I expect great things of him yet." "Granddaughter. If her father had lived--my boy Duke--it would have been another story; Duke wouldn't have been a broken old man like me." And the judge leaned his head upon his hand. "I beg your pardon, sir; don't mind my roughness. It's only that I'm fond of Ferdie, and proud of him; he has but that one fault. But I appreciate how you feel about Cicely; we must work together for them both." Paul had risen, and was standing before him with outstretched hand. "Thank you; you mean well," said the judge. He had let his hand be taken, but he did not look up. He felt that he could never really like this man--never.