ows.

Martha ignored the signs. Let him drum. Let him scowl. "No," she
returned impressively, "we have come to tell you of our failure."

Her manner was trying. It irritated her host still further. "How so?"
he demanded.

She measured him with a severe gaze. "Calvin, you are wearing your
hat," she announced frigidly.

"Eh? Oh! Pardon me." With hasty discomfiture the lawyer deposited his
boon companion on the table.

"Oh! not in all that dust!" implored Miss Lacey.

He blew the vicinity vaguely. "Hannah doesn't do her duty by you!" she
continued.

"Thank heaven, no," responded the judge devoutly.

Dunham was choking as quietly as possible by the mantelpiece, where he
had remained standing despite his host's invitation.

"Say on, Mar--Miss Lacey," said the lawyer. "Do you mean you didn't
find the girl? Make it short, please. Come to the point."

Miss Lacey's spirit arose. A human soul was involved, and no man, be he
lawyer or lover, should browbeat or persuade her.

"Judge Trent," she began emphatically, fixing him with eyes which he
but now perceived were swollen, "don't think to hurry me. I've come
here on serious business. Men call you an eminent lawyer, a brilliant
man. Now we'll see if you are sufficiently able to save your only
sister's only child from an awful future."

Miss Lacey paused with working lips. Judge Trent perceived that she was
deeply moved, and not endeavoring to make the most of an enjoyable
situation. He pushed up his spectacles and looked questioningly at
Dunham.

"You wouldn't come," pursued Miss Martha accusingly; "you wouldn't help
me."

"I sent Dunham with full power."

"What could he do?" retorted Miss Lacey, in grief. "A mere boy like
him, and no relation. Of course, after I had made a complete mess of
it, what was left for him to do when she turned us out, but to come
back with me?"

"You told me to follow Miss Lacey's lead," stated Dunham.

"Your place was there, Calvin. You might have saved the day even after
my blunder."

"Perhaps you will tell me what blunder."

"Why, she was in the parlor curtains, Sylvia was, when we went in,"
Martha's voice trembled, "and I don't suppose, to be fair, that she
thought of eavesdropping."

"No," put in Dunham feelingly, "I've no doubt she was watching for you;
and I can imagine how eager and--and different her face looked then."
His reminiscent tone was earnest, and his employer regarded him with
sudden sharpness.

"So she's