ominent people were quietly
let into the secret of the coming event, and the assurance with which
the matter was put left little room for doubt.

* * * * *

John Baronet sat in his office looking out on the leafless trees of the
courthouse yard and down the street to where the Neosho was glittering
coldly. It was a gray day, and the sharp chill in the air gave hint of
coming rough weather.

Down the street came Cris Mead on his way to the bank, silent Cris,
whose business sense and moral worth helped to make Springvale. He saw
my father at the window, and each waved the other a military salute.
Presently Father Le Claire, almost a stranger to Springvale now, came up
the street with Dr. Hemingway, but neither of them looked toward the
courthouse. Other folks went up and down unnoted, until Marjie passed by
with her music roll under her arm. Her dark blue coat and scarlet cap
made a rich bit of color on the gray street, and her fair face with the
bloom of health on her cheek, her springing step, and her quiet grace,
made her a picture good to see. John Baronet rose and stood at the
window watching her. She lifted her eyes and smiled a pleasant
good-morning greeting and went on her way. Some one entered the room,
and with the picture of Marjie still in his eyes, he turned to see
Lettie Conlow. She was flashily dressed, and a handsome new fur cape was
clasped about her shoulders. Self-possession, the lifetime habit of the
lawyer and judge, kept his countenance impassive. He bade her a
courteous good-morning and gave her a chair, but the story he had
already read in her face made him sick at heart. He knew the ways of the
world, of civil courts, of men, and of some women; so he waited to see
what turn affairs would take. His manner, however, had that habitual
dignified kindliness that bound people to him, and made them trust him
even when he was pitted with all his strength against their cause.

Lettie had boasted much of what she could do. She had refused all of
O'mie's well-meant counsel, and she had been friends with envy and
hatred so long that they had become her masters.

It must have been a strange combination of events that could take her
now to the man upon whom she would so willingly have brought sorrow and
disgrace. But a passionate, wilful nature such as hers knows little of
consistency or control.

"Judge Baronet," Lettie began in a voice not like the bold belligerent
Lettie