“Well, I reckon he’s a conundrum too!” reflected Mr. Saul, as the door swung shut.

In the hall the judge’s steps dragged and his head was bowed.  He was busy with his memories, memories that spanned the desolate waste of years in which he had walked from shame to shame, each blacker than the last.  Then passion shook him.

“Damn him—­may God-for ever damn him 1” he cried under his breath, in a fierce whisper.  A burning mist before his eyes, he shuffled down the hall, down the steps, and into the shaded, trampled space that was known as the court-house yard.  Here he paused irresolutely.  Across the way was the gun-maker’s shop, the weather-beaten sign came within range of his vision, and the dingy white letters on their black ground spelled themselves out.  The words seemed to carry some message, for the judge, with his eyes fixed on the sign as on some beacon of hope, plunged across the dusty road and entered the shop.

At supper that night it was plain to both Mr. Mahaffy and Hannibal that the judge was in a state of mind best described as beatific.  The tenderest consideration, the gentlest courtesy flowed from him as from an unfailing spring; not that he was ever, even in his darkest hours, socially remiss, but there was now a special magnificence to his manner that bred suspicion in Mahaffy’s soul.  When he noted that the judge’s shoes were extremely dusty, this suspicion shaped itself definitely.  He was convinced that on the strength of his prospective fee the judge had gone to Belle Plain, for what purpose Mr. Mahaffy knew only too well.

“It took you some time to get up that abstract, didn’t it, Price?” he presently said, with artful indirection.

“I shall go on with that in the morning, Solomon; my interest was dissipated this evening,” rejoined the judge.

“Looks as though you had devoted a good part of your time to pedestrianism,” suggested Mahaffy.

“Quite right, so I did, Solomon.”

“Were you at Belle Plain?” demanded Mahaffy harshly and with a black scowl.  The judge had agreed to keep away from Belle Plain.

“No, Solomon, you forget our pact.”

“Well, I am glad you remembered it.”

They finished supper, the dishes were cleared away and the candles lighted, when the judge produced a mysterious leather-covered case.  This he placed upon the table and opened, and Mahaffy and Hannibal, who had drawn near, saw with much astonishment that it held a handsome pair of dueling pistols, together with all their necessary paraphernalia.

“Where did you get ’em, Judge?—­Oh, ain’t they beautiful!” cried Hannibal, circling about the table in his excitement.

“My dear lad, they were purchased only a few hours ago,” said the judge quietly, as he began to load them.

“For Heaven’s sake, Price, do be careful!” warned Mahaffy, who had a horror of pistols that extended to no other species of firearm.