act may wear as
many different hues of right or wrong as the rainbow, according to the
atmosphere in which it is done. It is not safe to say of any man, "He
did evil that good might come." Was the thing that he did, in the first
place, evil? That is the question.

Forgive my asking you to use your mind. It is a thing which no novelist
should expect of his reader, and we will go back at once to Judge Henry
and his meditations about lynching.

He was well aware that if he was to touch at all upon this subject with
the New England girl, he could not put her off with mere platitudes and
humdrum formulas; not, at least, if he expected to do any good. She was
far too intelligent, and he was really anxious to do good. For her sake
he wanted the course of the girl's true love to run more smoothly, and
still more did he desire this for the sake of his Virginian.

"I sent him myself on that business," the Judge reflected uncomfortably.
"I am partly responsible for the lynching. It has brought him one great
unhappiness already through the death of Steve. If it gets running
in this girl's mind, she may--dear me!" the Judge broke off, "what a
nuisance!" And he sighed. For as all men know, he also knew that many
things should be done in this world in silence, and that talking about
them is a mistake.

But when school was out, and the girl gone to her cabin, his mind had
set the subject in order thoroughly, and he knocked at her door, ready,
as he had put it, to sacrifice his character in the cause of true love.

"Well," he said, coming straight to the point, "some dark things have
happened." And when she made no answer to this, he continued: "But you
must not misunderstand us. We're too fond of you for that."

"Judge Henry," said Molly Wood, also coming straight to the point, "have
you come to tell me that you think well of lynching?"

He met her. "Of burning Southern negroes in public, no. Of hanging
Wyoming cattle thieves in private, yes. You perceive there's a
difference, don't you?"

"Not in principle," said the girl, dry and short.

"Oh--dear--me!" slowly exclaimed the Judge. "I am sorry that you cannot
see that, because I think that I can. And I think that you have just
as much sense as I have." The Judge made himself very grave and very
good-humored at the same time. The poor girl was strung to a high pitch,
and spoke harshly in spite of herself.

"What is the difference in principle?" she demanded.

"Well," said