Nancy had said the meeting was to be at half-past eight, and at quarter-past she started in her waterproof cloak, the hood of which was drawn over her head the better to shield her from the rain, and from observation, too, as she did not care to be recognized by any she chanced to meet. There was little danger of her meeting anyone, for few were abroad that night except the men who had the appointment at the village hall, and no one noticed the slight figure moving rapidly through the street and keeping as much as possible in the shadow until the hall was reached. There was a light shining from the windows and streaming down upon the walk where Louie stood for a moment, trying to gather courage for the trial. “God help me, and give me strength and success,” she said, and then ascended the stairs to the upper hall, which was dimly lighted by a defective gas jet. In a little recess, where he was unobserved, a young man was standing, or, rather, sitting, on a dry-goods box, motionless as a statue, and with a curse in his heart for his own cowardice. He had been there a long time, watching the men as they came up, now half resolving to join them and do Louie’s bidding, and now held back by the fear of his father, with whom there had been a second interview stormier than any which had preceded it. At lunch the judge, who seemed unusually irritable, had said to him: “Did you go to see that Grey girl?” “Yes, sir; I did,” was Herbert’s answer, and his father continued: “More fool you! What did she want?” He hesitated a moment and then replied, “She thought, perhaps, I could do something to quiet the men who are to meet to-night to take steps with regard to her father.” For a moment the judge could not speak. His anger was so great that it brought on a fit of coughing, and the big gulp of claret he had taken was thrown out upon the napkin tucked under his chin. “Strike me on the back, can’t you! and not sit staring at me while I choke to death,” he gasped. Herbert struck him on the back with so good effect that the paroxysm was soon passed, and after two or three sneezes, he began: “Great Peter! Why did you hit me so hard. You nearly broke my spine. Mad, I s’pose, because I asked you about the Grey girl—a pretty kind of modest piece, too, I must say, to think you’d appear as her advocate. I like that! Yes, I do! Did you tell her you’d go? If you did and do go, I’ve told you what’s what, and I mean it, too. Asked you to plead for that wretch, who deserves State’s prison—if ever a feller did!” “So do a great many who are not there,” Herbert answered, adding, “I did not tell her I’d go. It would do no good, but it would be different with you. They would listen to you if you advised them not to arrest Mr. Grey. They would have to take him on a stretcher, he is so ill. I wish you’d go, I know Fred Lansing would if he were here.”