as we were richer while he lived!” The rich cadence of the judge’s speech fell sonorously on the silence, and that look of horror which had never quite left Betty’s eyes since they saw Charley Norton fall, rose out of their clear depths again.  The judge, instantly stricken with a sense of the inadequacy of his words, doubled on his spiritual tracks.  “In a round-about way, ma’am, we’re bound to believe in the omnipresence of Providence—­we must think it—­though a body might be disposed to hold that west Tennessee had got out of the line of divine supervision recently.  Let me lead you to a chair, ma’am!”

Hannibal had slipped to Betty’s side and placed his hand in hers.  The judge regarded the pair with great benevolence of expression.  “He would come, and I hadn’t the heart to forbid it.  If I can be of any service to you, ma’am, either in the capacity of a friend—­or professionally—­I trust you will not hesitate to command me—­” The judge backed toward the door.

“Did you walk out, Judge Price?” asked Betty kindly.

“Nothing more than a healthful exercise—­but we will not detain you, ma’am; the pleasure of seeing you is something we had not reckoned on!” The judge’s speech was thick and unctuous with good feeling.  He wished that Mahaffy might have been there to note the reserve and dignity of his deportment.

“But you must let me order luncheon for you,” said Betty.  At least this questionable old man was good to Hannibal.

“I couldn’t think of it, ma’am—­”

“You’ll have a glass of wine, then,” urged Betty hospitably.  For the moment she had lost sight of what was clearly the judge’s besetting sin.

The judge paused abruptly.  He endured a moment of agonizing irresolution.

“On the advice of my physician I dare not touch wine—­gout, ma’am, and liver—­but this restriction does not apply to corn whisky—­in moderation, and as a tonic—­either before meals, immediately after meals or at any time between meals—­always keeping in mind the idea of its tonic properties—­” The judge seemed to mellow and ripen.  This was much better than having the dogs sicked on you!  His manner toward Betty became almost fatherly.  Poor young thing, so lonely and desolate in the midst of all this splendor—­he surreptitiously wiped away a tear, and when little Steve presented himself and was told to bring whisky, audibly smacked his lips—­a whole lot better, surely!

“I am sorry you think you must hurry away, Judge Price,” said Betty.  She still retained the small brown hand Hannibal had thrust into hers.

“The eastern mail gets in to-day, ma’am, and I have reason to think my share of it will be especially heavy, for it brings the bulk of my professional correspondence.”  In ten years the judge had received just one communication by mail—­a bill which had followed him through four states and seven counties.  “I expect my secretary—­” boldly fixing Solomon Mahaffy’s status, “is already dipping into it; an excellent assistant, ma’am, but literary rather than legal.”