own eyes, tragic fires of cowed and
rebellious youth. The great man regarded him indifferently for a minute
and then turned rather ostentatiously to his papers again.

"Judge, I've got to speak to you alone."

"You can't just now, son."

"I've got to."

"Why?"

The Judge's kind, drawling voice was not quite as usual, and his blue,
near-sighted eyes were not; they were wistful and deprecating, and
rather tired, a beaten man's eyes, eyes with an irresistible appeal to
the race that is vowed to lost causes, this boy's race. The boy stepped
instinctively closer.

"I don't blame you, sir, but I've got to understand this and know what's
behind it."

"Better go home before you say anything you'll be sorry for, Neil."

"Why did you go back on me?"

"You're taking a sentimental attitude about a business matter. It's
natural enough that you should. I'm sorry for you, son."

"Why----"

The Judge drew himself up a shade straighter in his chair, and met the
boy's insistent challenge with sudden dignity, kindly but judicial,
peculiarly his own, but his flashes of it were not very frequent now.

"Neil," he said deliberately, "I've got nothing to say to you alone.
I've got nothing to say to you at all that Mr. Burr hasn't said. Is that
quite clear to you?"

It was entirely clear. The Judge had left no room for uncertainty or
argument, and the boy did not attempt to argue or even to answer. He
stood looking uncertainly down at the Judge, as if for the moment he
could not see anything in the room quite distinctly, the Judge's face,
with its near-sighted blue eyes and red-gold beard and thinning hair, or
Colonel Everard's clear-cut profile.

"Better go," said the Judge gently.

"I'd better go," the boy repeated mechanically, but he did not move.

Colonel Everard put down his papers deliberately, and favoured him with
a glance, amused and surprised, as if he had not expected to find him
still in the room, and was prepared to forget at once that he was there;
a disconcerting sort of glance, but the boy's brown eyes met it
gallantly, and cleared as they looked. They grew bright and defiant
again, with a little laugh in the depths of them. The ghost of a laugh,
too, lurked in the boy's low voice somewhere.

"You're right, Judge. I'll go. I'm wasting my time here," he said,
"asking you who's back of what you've done to me--when I know. I won't
ask you again, but I'll ask you, I'll ask you both, who's back of
everything t