When she went down to breakfast, the family received her much as the birds had done.  Her coming cheered them also, as if a sunbeam had entered the dark room.  Miss Penelope left off what she was saying about the calamities that must be expected in consequence of the comet’s tail coming loose from its head.  The widow Broadnax relaxed her watch for a moment, as the fair young figure came toward the hearth and stood by her chair, resting a hand on her shoulder.  The judge brightened, without knowing what it was that suddenly heartened him, and David came out of his corner under the stairs, as he never did, unless she was in the room.  Only William held aloof after a formal bow.  At the sight of her, smiling and radiant, the sullen anger within him glowed like a covered fire under a sudden breeze.  She had not been punished enough; her face was far too bright, her manner far too frank.  When she approached him and tried to speak to him in a tone that no one else could hear, he arose, and murmuring a stiff apology moved away, just as he had done every time she had made the attempt.  She flushed and lifted her head, for there was no lack of pride or spirit in her softness.  Yet by and by she could not help looking at him across the table with another soft appeal in her sweet eyes which plead dumbly for old times’ sake.  And after breakfast was over she tried again, knowing that this would be the last opportunity, and yearning with all her loving heart to win back some of the old friendliness that she still prized as a precious thing, which she could not give up for a mere touch of pride.  Such soft persistence is even harder to evade than to resist, and she followed William to the door as he was going away later in the day, and was bravely gathering courage while he looked at her in implacable coldness.

He was not softened by the fact that his hopes were high that morning over what appeared to be the certainty of his receiving the appointment.  There was, he thought, not the slightest doubt if he could manage to secure the influence of one or two other leading citizens.  As it was, there seemed to be little danger of failure, and when he now saw Philip Alston coming, he paused and waited for him to come up, so that he might tell him what he had been doing.  He did not know that he was merely telling Philip Alston how his own orders had been carried out, and there was nothing in that gentleman’s manner to remind him.

William Pressley, accordingly, went on talking with the modest consciousness of having done all that was possible for any man to do, and he said, as they were entering the great room, that he considered his success a mere question of time.

“A mere question of time, and a very short time, too,” repeated Philip Alston, heartily.  “I congratulate you.  I am proud of you.  We are all proud of him—­hey, judge?”

“I hope he knows what he is trying to undertake,” the judge said abruptly, turning a glum look on his nephew.  “I trust, William, that you are realizing the responsibility of this office.  Most men would hesitate to assume it.  I should tremble at the thought.”