“You have taken to yourself more than your share of my evil fortunes, Elizabeth, dear—­I shall be a poor sort of a fellow if my gratitude does not last to the end of my days!” said North.

The general had shaken hands with the deputy and now crossed the room to Elizabeth and North.

“We shall have to say good night, North.  Can we do anything before we go?” he asked.

“We will come again to-morrow, John,—­won’t we, father?” said Elizabeth, as she gave North her hands.  “And Judge Belknap will be here in the morning!” She spoke with fresh courage and looked her lover straight in the eyes.  Then she turned to the general.

North watched them as they passed out into the night, and even after the door had closed on them he stood where she had left him.  It was only when the little deputy spoke that he roused himself from his reverie.

“Well, John, are you ready now?”

“Yes,” said North.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

AT HIS OWN DOOR

Judge Langham sat in his library before a brisk wood fire with the day’s papers in a heap on the floor beside him.  In repose, the one dominant expression of the judge’s face was pride, an austere pride, which manifested itself even in the most casual intercourse.  Yet no man in Mount Hope combined fewer intimacies with a wider confidence, and his many years of public life had but augmented the universal respect in which he was held.

Now in the ruddy light of his own hearth, but quite divorced from any sentiment or sympathy, the judge was considering the case of John North.  His mind in all its operations was singularly clear and dispassionate; a judicial calm, as though born to the bench, was habitual to him.  It was nothing that his acquaintance with John North dated back to the day John North first donned knee-breeches.

He shaded his face with his hand.  In the long procession of evil-doers who had gone their devious ways through the swinging baize doors of his court, North stalked as the one great criminal.  Unconsciously his glance fixed itself on the hand he had raised to shield his eyes from the light of the blazing logs, and it occurred to him that that hand might yet be called on to sign away a man’s life.

The ringing of his door-bell caused him to start expectantly, and a moment later a maid entered to say that a man and a woman wished to see him.

“Show them in!” said the judge.

And Mr. Shrimplin with all that modesty of demeanor which one of his sensitive nature might be expected to feel in the presence of greatness, promptly insinuated himself into the room.

The little lamplighter was dressed in those respectable garments which in the Shrimplin household were adequately described as his “other suit,” and as if to remove any doubt from the mind of the beholder that he had failed to prepare himself for the occasion, he wore a clean paper collar, but no tie, this latter being an adornment Mr. Shrimplin had not attempted in years.  Close on Shrimplin’s heels came a jaded unkempt woman in a black dress, worn and mended.  On seeing her the judge’s cold scrutiny somewhat relaxed.