er daughter's funeral barely three hours old, had started
to make her threats good.

While he was considering that, the door of the private office swung
inward, Judge Wilton's hand on the knob. It opened on the middle of a
sentence spoken by Mrs. Brace:

"--tell you, you're a fool if you think you can put me off with that!"

Her gleaming eyes were so furtive and so quick that they traversed the
whole of Wilton's countenance many times, a fiery probe of each separate
feature. The inflections of her voice invested her words with ugliness;
but she did not shriek.

"You bully everybody else, but not me! They don't call you 'Hard Tom
Wilton' for nothing, do they? I know you! I know you, I tell you! I was
down there in the courtroom when you sentenced that man! You had cruelty
in your mind, cruelty on your face. Ugh! And you're cruel to me--and
taking an ungodly pleasure in it! Well, let me tell you, I won't be
broken by it. I want fair dealing, and I'll have it!"

At that moment, facing full toward Hastings, she caught sight of him.
But his presence seemed a matter of no importance to her; it did not
break the stream of her fierce invective. She did not even pause.

He saw at once that her anger of yesterday was as nothing to the
storming rage which shook her now. Every line of her face revealed
malignity. The eyebrows were drawn higher on her forehead, nearer to the
wave of white hair that showed under her black hat. The nostrils dilated
and contracted with indescribable rapidity. The lips, thickened and
rolling back at intervals from her teeth, revealed more distinctly that
animal, exaggerated wetness which had so repelled him.

"You were out there on that lawn!" she pursued, her glance flashing back
to the judge. "You were out there when she was killed! If you try to
tell me you----"

"Stop it! Stop it!" Wilton commanded, and, as he did so, turned his head
to an angle that put Hastings within his field of vision.

The judge, with one hand on the doorknob, had been pressing with the
other against the woman's shoulders, trying to thrust her out of the
room--a move which she resisted by a hanging-back posture that threw her
weight on his arm. He put more strength now into his effort and
succeeded in forcing her clear of the threshold. His eyes were blazing
under the shadow of his heavy, overhanging brows; but there was about
him no suggestion of a loss of self-control.

"I'm glad to see you!" he told Hastings, spe