Daniel stood gazing after her. He found himself, for the moment, unable to move. He watched until the old wagonette, with that slim young figure so erect at the side of it, vanished in a cloud of dust in the distance. It seemed to him that his heart stood still, too, within him. For the first time in his life he felt helpless, he felt physically as if he had been beaten. Why had he been forced to do it? Why, he stormed inwardly, was it his lot to give her the first warning? How she would hate him! Hereafter he would be in the same class with William, she would despise the whole family. He stood there shuddering, and he might have remained there a long time if old Mrs. Payson had not driven past in her new motor-car and shrilled to him that it was a “fine morning,” and she had seen something--he didn’t catch what it was--in the morning paper. It roused him, he straightened himself and walked on, as fast as his limp permitted. Judge Jessup was already at his desk when Daniel opened the door. He growled a greeting, sorting his mail. The judge had a high Roman nose and the kind of chin we associate with Benjamin Franklin. Owing to a formidable growth of eyebrow, his expression was sometimes abnormally fierce. But this morning there was a gleam of triumph in his eye. “We’ve won that Ryan appeal,” he announced in his deep voice. “Judge Loomis handed down his decision just before court adjourned yesterday. Hear about it, Dan?” “Yes, sir.” The judge went on opening his letters, while his young pupil and associate took off his coat, hung it up and sat down at his own desk in his shirt sleeves. He was very pale now and he began to work mechanically, scarcely aware of the older man’s fiery way of disposing of his own business. “Old man Barbour has kicked up another shindy with Allen,” the judge continued. “I reckon we’ll get that case, too. By the way, did you look up that option for Allen?” “Yes, sir.” “Humph!” the judge rubbed his chin and turned his swivel chair slightly. He could see Daniel now sitting at his desk, his white face set and his hands lying idle on a folded sheet of paper. He was staring straight in front of him. The judge prodded again. “Kenslaw wants you to handle his case. I reckon you’d like that, eh?” “I suppose so, sir.” The judge eyed the young man critically. “What’s the matter, Dan? Got the pip?” Daniel, a little startled, smiled and shook his head. “Nothing the matter, Judge.” The judge shrugged, turned to his desk and spread out the morning paper. His eye fell suddenly on that item in the column of personal mention which had already smitten the Carter family. He stared at it a moment in silence. Then he began to whistle softly, and his eyes fixed themselves on a spot at the far end of the tree-shaded street. It was a white guide-post and on it was printed, in large black letters, the magic words: “1½ miles to Denbigh Crossing.” III