the crossings. For neighbor had begun to look coldly
upon neighbor.

Colonel Carvel beheld them from his armchair by the sitting-room window,
and leaned forward with a start. His lips moved as he closed his Bible
reverently and marked his place. At the foot of the stairs he surprised
Jackson by waving him aside, for the Colonel himself flung open the door
and held out his hand to his friend. The Judge released Virginia's arm,
and his own trembled as he gave it.

"Silas," said the Colonel, "Silas, we've missed you."

Virginia stood by, smiling, but her breath came deeply. Had she done
right? Could any good come of it all? Judge Whipple did not go in at the
door--He stood uncompromisingly planted on the threshold, his head flung
back, and actual fierceness in his stare.

"Do you guess we can keep off the subject, Comyn?" he demanded.

Even Mr. Carvel, so used to the Judge's ways, was a bit taken aback by
this question. It set him tugging at his goatee, and his voice was not
quite steady as he answered:

"God knows, Silas. We are human, and we can only try."

Then Mr. Whipple marched in. It lacked a quarter of an hour of
dinner,--a crucial period to tax the resources of any woman. Virginia
led the talk, but oh, the pathetic lameness of it. Her own mind was
wandering when it should not, and recollections she had tried to
strangle had sprung up once more. Only that morning in church she had
lived over again the scene by Mr. Brinsmade's gate, and it was then that
a wayward but resistless impulse to go to the Judge's office had seized
her. The thought of the old man lonely and bitter in his room decided
her. On her knees she prayed that she might save the bond between him
and her father. For the Colonel had been morose on Sundays, and had
taken to reading the Bible, a custom he had not had since she was a
child.

In the dining-room Jackson, bowing and smiling, pulled out the Judge's
chair, and got his customary curt nod as a reward. Virginia carved.

"Oh, Uncle Silas," she cried, "I am so glad that we have a wild turkey.
And you shall have your side-bone." The girl carved deftly, feverishly,
talking the while, aided by that most kind and accomplished of hosts,
her father. In the corner the dreaded skeleton of the subject grinned
sardonically. Were they going to be able to keep it off? There was to be
no help from Judge Whipple, who sat in grim silence. A man who feels
his soul burning is not given to small talk. Vir