money from me, you said that Nassawongo furnace would enrich this
county and raise the value of my land."

"Yes, Milburn. It was a slow enterprise, but it's coming all right. I
shipped a thousand tons last year."

"Judge Custis," continued the money-lender, "I told you, when you made
the first loan, that I would investigate this ore. I did so years ago.
Specimens were sent by me to Baltimore and tested there. Not content
with that, I have studied the manufacture of iron for myself--the
society of Princess Anne not grudging me plenty of solitude!--and I know
that every ton of iron you make costs more than you get for it. The bog
ore is easy to smelt; but it is corrupted by phosphate of iron and is
barely marketable."

The Judge was sitting with eyes wide open, and paler than before.

"You have found that out?" he whispered. "I did not know it myself until
within this year--so help me God!"

"I knew it before I made you the second loan."

"Why did you not tell me?"

"Because you forbade our relations to be anything but commercial. I was
not bound to betray my knowledge."

"Why did you, then, from a commercial view, lend me large sums of money
again and again?"

"Because," said the money-lender, coolly, "you had other security. You
have a daughter!"

Judge Custis broke from the bed-covers and rushed upon Meshach Milburn.

"Heathen and devil!" he shouted, taking the money-lender by the throat,
"do you dare to mention her as part of your mortgage?"

They struggled together until a powerful pair of hands pinioned the
Judge, and bore him back to his bed. Samson Hat was the man.

"Judge!" he exclaimed, gentle, but firm, "you is a _good_ man, but
not as good as me. Cool off, Judge!"

"I expected this scene," said Meshach Milburn. "It could not have been
avoided. I was bound in conscience and in common-sense to make you the
only proposition which could save you from ruin. For, Judge Custis, you
are a ruined man!"

Overcome with excitement and suspended stimulation, the old Judge fell
back on his pillow and began to sob.

"Give him brandy," said Meshach Milburn, "here is the bottle! He needs
it now."

The wretched gentleman eagerly drank the proffered draught from the
negro's hands. His fury did not revive, and he covered his face with his
palms and moaned piteously.

"Judge Custis," remarked Meshach Milburn, "if the apparent social
distance between us could be lessened by any argument, I might make one.
F