is room:

"Dahling," she said as she closed the door, "that Kenyon Adams was over
here, appealing to me for his brother, Grant."

"Well?" asked the Judge contemptuously.

"You have him where we want him now, dahling," she answered. "If you
refuse him his freedom, the mob will get him. And oh, oh, oh," she cried
passionately, "I hope they'll hang him, hang him, higher'n Haman. That
will take the tuck out of the old Nesbit cat and that other, his--his
sweetheart, to have her daughter marrying the brother of a man who was
hanged! That'll bring them down."

A flash across the Judge's face told the woman where her emotion was
leading her. It angered her.

"So that holds you, does it? That binds the hands of the Judge, does it?
This wonderful daughter, who snubs him on the street--she mustn't marry
the brother of a man who was hanged!" Margaret laughed, and the Judged
glowered in rage until the scar stood white upon his purple brow.

"Dahling," she leered, "remember our little discussion of Kenyon Adams's
parentage that night! Maybe our dear little girl is going to marry the
son, the son," she repeated wickedly, "of a man who was hanged!"

He stepped toward her crying: "For God's sake, quit! Quit!"

"Oh, I hope he'll hang. I hope he'll hang and you've got to hang him!
You've got to hang him!" she mocked exultingly.

The man turned in rage. He feared the powerful, physical creature before
him. He had never dared to strike her. He wormed past her and ran
slinking down the hall and out of the door--out from the temple of love,
which he had builded--somewhat upon sand perhaps, but still the temple
of love. A rather sad place it was, withal, in which to rest the weary
bones of the hunter home from the hills, after a lifelong ride to hounds
in the primrose hunt.

He stood for a moment upon the steps of the veranda, while his heart
pumped the bile of hate through him; and suddenly hearing a soft
footfall, he turned his head quickly, and saw Lila--his daughter. As he
turned toward her in the twilight it struck him like a blow in the face
that she in some way symbolized all that he had always longed for--his
unattainable ideal; for she seemed young--immortally young, and sweet.
The grace of maidenhood shone from her and she turned an eager but
infinitely wistful face up to his, and for a second the picture of the
slim, white-clad figure, enveloping and radiating the gentle eagerness
of a beautiful soul, came to him like the