The Judge essayed to answer, and could not.  He lifted his hand uncertainly and dropped it, while a thick dew gathered on his temples.  Inarticulate sounds came from between his teeth.

“You will come?” said Joe.

Martin Pike bent his head dazedly; and at that the other turned quickly from him and went away without looking back.

Ariel was in the studio, half an hour later, when Joe was announced by the smiling Mr. Warden.  Ladew was with her, though upon the point of taking his leave, and Joe marked (with a sinking heart) that the young minister’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes very bright.

“It was a magnificent thing you did, Mr. Louden,” he said, offering his hand heartily; “I saw it, and it was even finer in one way than it was plucky.  It somehow straightened things out with such perfect good nature; it made those people feel that what they were doing was ridiculous.”

“So it was,” said Joe.

“Few, under the circumstances, could have acted as if they thought so!  And I hope you’ll let me call upon you, Mr. Louden.”

“I hope you will,” he answered; and then, when the minister had departed, stood looking after him with sad eyes, in which there dwelt obscure meditations.  Ladew’s word of farewell had covered a deep look at Ariel, which was not to be mistaken by Joseph Louden for anything other than what it was:  the clergyman’s secret was an open one, and Joe saw that he was as frank and manly in love as in all other things.  “He’s a good fellow,” he said at last, sighing.  “A good man.”

Ariel agreed.  “And he said more to me than he did to you.”

“Yes, I think it probable,” Joe smiled sorrowfully.

“About you, I mean.”  He had time to fear that her look admitted confusion before she proceeded:  “He said he had never seen anything so fine as your coming down those steps.  Ah, he was right!  But it was harder for me to watch you, I think, than for you to do it, Joe.  I was so horribly afraid—­and the crowd between us—­if we could have got near you—­but we couldn’t—­we—­”

She faltered, and pressed her hand close upon her eyes.

“We?” asked Joe, slowly.  “You mean you and Mr. Ladew?”

“Yes, he was there; but I mean”—­her voice ran into a little laugh with a beatific quaver in it —­“I mean Colonel Flitcroft and Mr. Bradbury and Mr. Buckalew, too—­we were hemmed in together when Mr. Ladew found us—­and, oh, Joe, when that cowardly rush started toward you, those three—­I’ve heard wonderful things in Paris and Naples, cabmen quarrelling and disappointed beggars—­but never anything like them to-day—­”

“You mean they were profane?”

“Oh, magnificently—­and with such inventiveness!  All three begged my pardon afterwards.  I didn’t grant it—­I blessed them!”

“Did they beg Mr. Ladew’s pardon?”

“Ah, Joe!” she reproached him.  “He isn’t a prig.  And he’s had to fight some things that you of all men ought to understand.  He’s only been here a few months, but he told me that Judge Pike has been against him from the start.  It seems that Mr. Ladew is too liberal in his views.  And he told me that if it were not for Judge Pike’s losing influence in the church on account of the Beaver Beach story, the Judge would probably have been able to force him to resign; but now he will stay.”