“What implacable hate--what iron pride!” he murmured, and swept his hand across his eyes. Absorbed and aloof, he was busy with his thoughts that spanned the waste of years, years that seemed to glide before him in review, each bitter with its hideous memories of shame and defeat. Then from the smoke of these lost battles emerged the lonely figure of the child as he had seen him that June night. His ponderous arm stiffened where it rested on the desk, he straightened up in his chair and his face assumed its customary expression of battered dignity, while a smile at once wistful and tender hovered about his lips. “One other question,” he said. “Until this man Murrell appeared you had no trouble with Bladen? He was content that you should keep the child--your right to Hannibal was never challenged?” “Never, sir. All my troubles began about that time.” “Murrell belongs in these parts,” said the judge. “I'd admire fo' to meet him,” said Yancy quietly. The judge grinned. “I place my professional services at your disposal,” he said. “Yours is a clear case of felonious assault.” “No, it ain't, sir--I look at it this-a-ways; it's a clear case of my giving him the damnedest sort of a body beating!” “Sir,” said the judge, “I'll hold your hat while you are about it!” Hicks had taken his time in responding to the judge's summons, but now his step sounded in the hall and throwing open the door he entered the room. Whether consciously or not he had acquired something of that surly, forbidding manner which was characteristic of his employer. A curt nod of the head was his only greeting. “Will you sit down?” asked the judge. Hicks signified by another movement of the head that he would not. “This is a very dreadful business!” began the judge softly. “Ain't it?” agreed Hicks. “What you got to say to me?” he added petulantly. “Have you started to drag the bayou?” asked the judge. Hicks nodded. “That was your idea?” suggested the judge. “No, it wa'n't,” objected Hicks quickly. “But I said she had been actin' like she was plumb distracted ever since Charley Norton got shot--” “How?” inquired the judge, arching his eyebrows. Hicks was plainly disturbed by the question. “Sort of out of her head. Mr. Ware seen it, too--” “He spoke of it?” “Yes, sir; him and me discussed it together.” The judge regarded Hicks long and intently and in, silence. His magnificent mind was at work. If Betty had been distraught he had not observed any sign of it the previous day. If Ware were better informed as to her true mental state why had he chosen this time to go to Memphis? “I suppose Mr. Ware asked you to keep an eye on Miss Malroy while he was away from home?” said the judge. Hicks, suspicious of the drift of his questioning, made no answer. “I suppose you told the house servants to keep her under observation?” continued the judge. “I don't talk to no niggers,” replied Hicks, “except to give 'em my orders.” “Well, did you give them that order?”