colour, and on her arms were long gloves such as you see our young ladies wear.  The child did not seem to belong to her, though she held her tightly by the hand.  I mean by that, that its clothes were of a coarser material than hers and perhaps were a little soiled.  If the child wore a hat, I do not remember it.  In age it appeared to be about six—­or that was the impression I received before—­”

The sergeant, who had been watching the speaker very closely, leaned forward with a hasty, inquiring glance expressive of something like consternation.  Was the judge falling again into unconsciousness?  Was he destined to witness in this solitary meeting a return of the phenomenon which had so startled the intruding populace that morning?

No, or if he had been witness to something of the kind, it was for a moment only; for the eyes which had gone blank had turned his way again, and only a disconnected expression which fell from the judge’s lips, showed that his mind had been wandering.

“It’s not the same but another one; that’s all.”

Inconsequent words, but the sergeant meant to remember them, for with their utterance, a change passed over the judge; and his manner, which had been constrained and hurried during his attempted description, became at once more natural, and therefore more courteous.

“Do you think you can find her with such insufficient data?  A woman dressed in purple, leading a little child without any hat?”

“Judge, I not only feel sure that I can find her, but I think she is found already.  Do you remember the old tavern on the Rushville road?  I believe they call it an inn now, or some such fancy name.”

The judge sat quiet, but the sergeant who dared not peer too closely, noticed a sudden constriction in the fingers of the hand with which his host fingered a paper-cutter lying on the table between them.

“The one where—­”

“I respect your hesitation, judge.  Yes, the one run by the man you sentenced—­”

A gesture had stopped him.  He waited respectfully for the judge’s next words.

They came quickly and with stern and solemn emphasis.

“For a hideous and wholly unprovoked crime.  Why do you mention it and—­and his tavern?”

“Because of something I have lately heard in its connection.  You know that the old house has been all made over since that time and run as a place of resort for automobilists in search of light refreshments.  The proprietor’s name is Yardley.  We have nothing against him; the place is highly respectable.  But it harbours a boarder, a permanent one, I believe, who has occasioned no little comment.  No one has ever seen her face; unless it is the landlord’s wife.  She has all her meals served in her room, and when she goes out she wears the purple dress and purple veil you’ve been talking about.  Perhaps she’s your visitor of to-day.  Hadn’t I better find out?”

“Has she a child?  Is she a mother?”