, but no matter. That was
all.

"A very pretty letter, my lady Julia," said Bart with a long breath.
"Quite warm. I confess I don't care much for your gratitude--but very
pretty and condescending. And it is kind to advise me that whatever
may have been your estimate of me, your sweet lady mother 'discerned'
differently. What you mean by discriminating is a very pretty little
woman mystery, that I shall never know."

"And now for my Lord Judge:"

"NEWBURY, April 8, 1838.

"BARTON RIDGELEY, ESQ.:

"_My Dear Sir_,--I was disappointed at not finding you at Wilder's,
where your noble exertions had placed my daughter. I was more
disappointed on calling at your mother's the following morning,
hoping to carry you to my house. If anything in my conduct in the
past contributed to these disappointments, I regret it." ("Very manly,
Judge Markham," remarked Bart. "Don't feel uneasy, I should have acted
all the same.") "You saved to us, and to herself, our daughter, and
can better understand our feelings for this great benefit than I can
express them." ("All right Judge, I would not try it further, if I
were you.") "Whoever confers such a benefaction, also confers the
right upon the receiver, not only to express gratitude by words, but
by acts, which shall avail in some substantial way." ("Rather logical,
Judge!") "I shall insist that you permit me to place at your disposal
means to launch you in your profession in a way commensurate with your
talents and deservings." ("Um-m-m.") "I trust you will soon return to
Newbury, or permit me to see you in Jefferson, and when the past
may" ("I don't care about wading the Chagrin, Judge, and helping your
daughter out of the woods was no more than leading out any other
man's daughter, and I don't want to hear more of either. Just let me
alone.") "be atoned for. I need not say that my wife unites with me
in gratitude, and a hearty wish to be permitted to aid you; nor how
anxious we are to learn the details of your finding our daughter, all
of which is a profound mystery to us.

"Sincerely yours,

"EDWARD MARKHAM."

There was a postscript to the Judge's, instead of Julia's, and Bart
looked at it two or three times with indifference, and walked up
and down the room with a sore, angry feeling that he did not care to
understand the source of, nor yet to control. "Very pretty letters!
very well said! Why did they care to say anything to me? When I came
away they might have known--but then