“Now, by the Lord,” resumed the Judge, growing purple in the face, “Bob Thornton, who do you think you be? Didn’t your grandfather make chip baskets all his life over in Wolf Swamp? Wasn’t one of your aunts no better than she should be? Didn’t your uncle die in the poor-house, and your cousin steal a sheep? Answer me that, and then twit Mildred about her parentage. How do you know that she ain’t my own child, hey? Would you swear to it? We are as nigh alike as two peas, everybody says. I tell you, Bobum, you waked up the wrong passenger this time. I planned the marriage, did I, between you and my other Mildred? It’s false, Bob Thornton, and you know it,—but I did approve it. Heaven forgive me, I did encourage her to barter her glorious beauty for money. But you didn’t enjoy her long. She died, and now you would kill the other one,—the little ewe-lamb that has slept in the old man’s bosom so long.” The Judge’s voice was gentler now in its tone, and drawing near to Mildred, he smoothed her nut-brown hair tenderly, oh, so tenderly. “I did not come seeking a quarrel with you,” said Mr. Thornton, who had his own private reasons for not wishing to exasperate the Judge too much. “I came after a promise from Miss Howell. I have succeeded, and knowing that she will keep her word, I will now take my leave——” “No you won’t,” thundered the Judge, leaving Mildred and advancing toward the door, so as effectually to cut off all means of escape. “No you won’t till I’ve had my say out. If Mildred ain’t good enough for your son, your son ain’t good enough for Mildred. Do you hear?” “I am not deaf, sir,” was the cool answer, and the Judge went on: “Even if she hadn’t promised to refuse him, she should do so. I’ve had enough to do with the Thorntons. I hate the whole race, even if I did encourage the boy. I’ve nothing against him in particular except that he’s a Thornton, and maybe I shall get over that in time. No, I won’t, though, hanged if I do. Such a paltry puppy as he’s got for a father. You may all go to the bad; but before you go, pay me what you owe me, Bob Thornton,—pay me what you owe me.” “It isn’t due yet,” faltered Mr. Thornton, who had feared some such demand as this, for the Judge was his heaviest creditor. “Ain’t due, hey?” repeated the Judge. “It will be in just three weeks, and if the money ain’t forthcoming the very day, hanged if I don’t foreclose! I’ll teach you to say Mildred ain’t good enough for your son. Man alive! she’s good enough for the Emperor of France! Get out of my house! What are you waiting for?” and, standing back, he made way for the discomfitted Mr. Thornton to pass out. In the hall the latter paused and glanced toward Mildred as if he would speak to her, while the Judge, divining his thoughts, thundered out: “I’ll see that she keeps her word. She never told a lie yet.” One bitter look of hatred Mr. Thornton cast upon him, and then moved slowly down the walk, hearing, even after he reached the gate, the words: