crushing Trannel.  It could not be said that Breckon was aware of her disapproval, and the judge had no apparent consciousness of it.  He and Breckon tried to make something of each other, but failed, and it all seemed a very defeating sequel to Mrs. Kenton after the triumphal glow of the evening before.  When Lottie rose, she went with her, alleging her wish to see if Boyne had eaten his breakfast.  She confessed, to Breckon’s kind inquiry, that Boyne did not seem very well, and that she had made him take his breakfast in his room, and she did not think it necessary to own, even to so friendly a witness as Mr. Breckon, that Boyne was ashamed to come down, and dreaded meeting Trannel so much that she was giving him time to recover his self-respect and courage.

As soon as she and Lottie were gone Breckon began, rather more formidably than he liked, but helplessly so:  “Judge Kenton, I should be glad of a few moments with you on—­on an important—­on a matter that is important to me.”

“Well,” said the judge, cautiously.  Whatever was coming, he wished to guard himself from the mistake that he had once so nearly fallen into, and that still made him catch his breath to think of.  “How can I be of use to you?”

“I don’t know that you can be of any use—­I don’t know that I ought to speak to you.  But I thought you might perhaps save me from—­save my taking a false step.”

He looked at Kenton as if he would understand, and Kenton supposed that he did.  He said, “My daughter once mentioned your wish to talk with me.”

“Your daughter?” Breckon stared at him in stupefaction.

“Yes; Ellen.  She said you wished to consult me about going back to your charge in New York, when we were on the ship together.  But I don’t know that I’m very competent to give advice in such—­”

“Oh!” Breckon exclaimed, in a tone of immense relief, which did not continue itself in what he went on to say.  “That!  I’ve quite made up my mind to go back.”  He stopped, and then he burst out, “I want to speak with you about her.”  The judge sat steady, still resolute not to give himself away, and the young man scarcely recovered from what had been a desperate plunge in adding:  “I know that it’s usual to speak with her —­with the lady herself first, but—­I don’t know!  The circumstances are peculiar.  You only know about me what you’ve seen of me, and I would rather make my mistakes in the order that seems right to me, although it isn’t just the American way.”

He smiled rather piteously, and the judge said, rather encouragingly, “I don’t quite know whether I follow you.”

Breckon blushed, and sought help in what remained of his coffee.  “The way isn’t easy for me.  But it’s this:  I ask your leave to ask Miss Ellen to marry me.”  The worst was over now, and looked as if it were a relief.  “She is the most beautiful person in the world to me, and the best; but as you know so little of me, I thought it right to get your leave—­to tell you—­to—­to—­That is all.”  He fell back in his chair and looked a at Kenton.