The early summer nights were short, and so it was near the dawn when the company separated.

The party as a whole had been the most splendid success of the season.

CHAPTER LXII.

FOILED MALICE.

  Through good report and ill report,
    The true man goes his way,
  Nor condescends to pay his court
    To what the vile may say: 
  Aye, be the scandal what they will,
    And whisper what they please,
  They do but fan his glory still
    By whistling up a breeze.

  —­M.F.  Tupper.

The family slept late next day, and the breakfast was put back to the luncheon hour, when at length they all, with one exception, assembled around the table.

“Where is Mr. Worth?” inquired the judge.

“He took a cup of coffee and went to the courthouse at the usual hour, sir,” returned Powers, who was setting the coffee on the table.

“Humph! that hotly contested case of Cobham versus Hanley still in progress, I suppose,” said the judge.

At this moment Sam entered the breakfast room and laid a card on the table before his master.

“Eh?  ‘Lieutenant Springald, U.S.A.’  Who the mischief is he?” said the judge, reading the name on the card.

“The gentleman, sir, says he has called to see you on particular business,” replied Sam.

“This is a pretty time to come on business!  Show him up into my office, Sam.”

The servant withdrew to obey.

The judge addressed himself to his breakfast, and the conversation turned upon the party of the preceding evening.

“I wonder what became of Burghe?  He disappeared very early in the evening,” said Judge Merlin.

“I turned him out of doors,” answered Claudia coolly.

The judge set down his coffee cup and stared at his daughter.

“He deserved it, papa!  And nothing on earth but my sex prevented me from giving him a thrashing as well as a discharge,” said Claudia.

“What has he done?” inquired her father.

Claudia told him the whole.

“Well, my dear, you did right, though I am sorry that there should have been any necessity for dismissing him.  Degenerate son of a noble father, will nothing reform him!” was the comment of the judge.

Mr. Brudenell, who was present, and had heard Claudia’s account, was reflecting bitterly upon the consequences of his own youthful fault of haste, visited so heavily in unjust reproach upon the head of his faultless son.

“Well!” said the judge, rising from the table, “now I will go and see what the deuce is wanted of me by Lieutenant—­Spring—­Spring—­Spring chicken! or whatever his name is!”

He went upstairs and found seated in his office a beardless youth in uniform, who arose and saluted him, saying, as he handed a folded note: 

“I have the honor to be the bearer of a challenge, sir, from my friend and superior officer, Captain Burghe.”