"No matter if he had hair all colors of the rainbow he is not worthy of you, Madame," he blurted out, and Mrs. McVeigh took a step away from him in dismay; in all her knowledge of Judge Clarkson, she had never seen him show quite so intense a dislike for any one. "Why, Judge! What is the matter tonight?" she asked, in despair. "You mean Dr. Delaven; not worthy of me?" "He aspires to your hand," blurted out the Judge, angrily. "Such an ambition is a worthy one; it is one I myself have cherished for years, but you must confess I had the courage to ask your hand in person." "Yes, Judge; but--" "This fellow, on the contrary, has had the affrontery to come to me--to me! with the request that I use my influence in negotiating a matrimonial alliance with you!" Mrs. McVeigh stared at him a moment, and then frankly laughed; she suspected it was some joke planned by Evilena. But the indignation of the Judge was no joke. "Well, Judge, when I contemplate a matrimonial alliance, I can assure you that no one's influence would have quite so much weight as your own;" she had ascended the steps and was laughing; at the top she leaned over and added, "no matter who you employ your eloquence for, Judge;" and with that parting shot she disappeared into the hall, leaving him in puzzled doubt as to her meaning. But the question did not require much consideration. The remembrance of the smile helped clear it up wonderfully. He clasped his hands under his coat tails, threw back his shoulders, walked the length of the veranda and back with head very erect. He was a very fine figure of a man. "The Irishman's case is quashed," he said, nodding emphatically and confidentially to the oleander bush; "the fact that a woman, and that woman a widow, remembers the color of the plaintiff's hair for twenty years, should convince the said plaintiff if he is a man possessed of a legal mind, that his case is still on the calendar. I'll go and ask for the next dance." He had scarcely reached the steps when Judithe saw a flutter of white where the shadows were heaviest under the dense green shrubbery. She glanced about her; no one was in hearing. The veranda, for the instant, was deserted, and past the windows the dancers were moving. The music of stringed instruments and of laughter floated out to her. She saw Masterson in the hallway; he was watching Monroe. She saw Kenneth McVeigh speaking to his mother and glancing around inquiringly; was he looking for her? She realized that her moments alone now would be brief, and she moved swiftly under the trees to where the signal had been made. A man had been lying there flat to the ground. He arose as she approached, and she saw he was dressed in Confederate uniform, and that he wore no beard--it was Pierson. "Why did you leave the place without seeing me again?" she demanded. "This suspense seems to me entirely unnecessary."