“What are houses and lands after all, before the elemental forces which make life worth while,” he muttered. “I’ve an almost irresistible impulse to knock Steve Hoyle down, seize her in my arms, smother her with kisses and carry her off to some cave on a mountain! To the devil with goods and chattels, houses and lands.” With a start he came down from the clouds of fancy. She had dismissed Steve, taken the Judge’s arm, and was actually going to walk down the aisle through that mob of Negroes and greasy politicians and accompany him to the platform. When they reached the centre of the crowd, seated in semicircle about the covered speaker’s stand, pandemonium broke loose. The Judge received the most remarkable ovation of his life. The throng leaped to their feet and screamed themselves horse. “Keep your house Judge!” yelled a henchman. “Houses were built for patriots, and jails for traitors!” The Judge bowed and again the crowd yelled. Larkin from the platform watched the demonstration with amazement. “I’ve miscalculated. They’re all thieves and scoundrels. I’ve made him a hero.” With a hypocritical smile he seized the Judge’s hand, wrung it heartily, congratulated him, and drew him to the platform. Stella sprang lightly up after him, took a rosebud from her belt, pinned it on her father’s slouchy ill-fitting broadcloth coat, kissed him and amid the cheers of the mob retraced her steps and left the ground with Steve Hoyle. John watched her lift her parasol above her dainty head with smothered curses at his folly. He had unconsciously taken his own hat off and stood bareheaded in the broiling Southern sun of a June day. The bitterness of his mistake stirred him to more dogged persistence. With an effort he turned to the Judge and the Convention--trying in vain to shake off the impression Stella had left. But he found his mind constantly wandering from the scene. Wherever he looked, within or without, he saw the delicate oval face with those great brown eyes smiling as they did the night he met her in the hall of his old home. At length he awoke from his reverie with his eye resting unconsciously on Larkin, the Judge’s opponent. He had never seen him before, though his name had become known in every county of the state. He was a man of more than the average height, of powerful build, high intellectual forehead, a full beard, long, silken, snow white. His hair, also long and white, was inclined to curl at the ends, and a pair of piercing black eyes looked out fearlessly from shaggy brows. He carried himself with instinctive dignity, and his whole appearance proclaimed a bold and powerful leader of men.