The Judge spoke in a half—­absent way, and with a shade of regret in his tones; Wallingford noted this with a feeling of concern.

“Let us be friends in the future,” he added, again offering his hand to Wallingford.

“It will be your fault, not mine, if we are not fast fiends, Judge.  I have never forgotten the obligations of my boyhood; and never ceased to regret the alienation you have shown.  To have seemed in your eyes ungrateful, has been a source of pain whenever I saw or thought of you.”

The two men parted, each feeling better for the interview.  A day or two afterwards Wallingford received a note from Judge Bigelow asking him, as a particular favor, to call at his office that evening.  He went, of course.  The Judge was alone, and received him cordially.  But, his countenance soon fell into an expression of more than usual gravity.

“Mr. Wallingford,” he said, after the passage of a few casual observations, “I would like to consult you in strict confidence on some matters in which I have become involved.  I can trust you, of course?”

“As fully as if the business were my own,” was the unhesitating answer.

“So I have believed.  The fact is, Henry, I have become so entangled in this cotton mill business with Squire Floyd, Dewey, and others, that I find myself in a maze of bewildering uncertainty.  The Squire and Ralph are at loggerheads, and seem to me to be getting matters snarled up.  There is no denying the fact that this summary footing of our accounts, as executors, has tended to cripple affairs.  We were working up to the full extent of capital invested, and the absence of a hundred thousand dollars—­or its representative security—­has made financiering a thing of no easy consideration.”

“I am afraid, Judge Bigelow,” said Wallingford, as the old man paused, “that you are in the hands of one who, to gain his own ends, would sacrifice you without a moment’s hesitation.”

“Who?”

“You will permit me to speak plainly, Judge.”

“Say on.  The plain speech of a friend is better than the flatteries of an enemy.”

“I have no faith in Ralph Dewey.”

The two men looked steadily at each other for some moments.

“Over fifteen years’ observation of the man has satisfied me that he possesses neither honor nor humanity.  He is your nephew.  But that does not signify.  We must look at men as they are.”

“His movements have not been to my satisfaction for some time,” said the Judge; speaking as though conviction had to force itself upon his mind.

“You should canvass all he does with the closest care; and if your property lies in any degree at his mercy, change the relation as quickly as possible.”

“Are you not prejudiced against him, Henry?” The Judge spoke in a deprecating tone.

“I believe, sir, that I estimate him at his real value; and I do most earnestly conjure you to set to work at once to disentangle your affairs if seriously involved with his.  If you do not, he will beggar you in your old age, which God forbid!”