That afternoon Judge Price walked out to Belle Plain.  Solomon Mahaffy had known that this was a civility Betty Malroy could by no means escape.  He had been conscious of the judge’s purpose from the moment it existed in the germ state, and he had striven to divert him, but his striving had been in vain, for though the judge valued Mr. Mahaffy because of certain sterling qualities which he professed to discern beneath the hard crust that made up the external man, he was not disposed to accept him as his mentor in nice matters of taste and gentlemanly feeling.  He owed it to himself personally to tender his sympathy.  Miss Malroy must have heard something of the honorable part he had played; surely she could not be in ignorance of the fact that the lawless element, dreading his further activities, had threatened him.  She must know, too, about that reward of five thousand dollars.  Certainly her grief could not blind her to the fact that he had met the situation with a largeness of public spirit that was an impressive lesson to the entire community.’

These were all points over which he and Mahaffy had wrangled, and he felt that his friend, in seeking to keep him away from Belle Plain, was standing squarely in his light.  He really could not understand Solomon or his objections.  He pointed out that Norton had probably left a will—­no one knew yet—­probably his estate would go to his intended wife—­what more likely?  He understood Norton had cousins somewhere in middle Tennessee—­there was the attractive possibility of extended litigation.  Miss Malroy needed a strong, clear brain to guide her past those difficulties his agile fancy assembled in her path.  He beamed on his friend with a wide sunny smile.

“You mean she needs a lawyer, Price?” insinuated Mahaffy.

“That slap at me, Solomon, is unworthy of you.  Just name some one, will you, who has shown an interest comparable to mine?  I may say I have devoted my entire energy to her affairs, and with disinterestedness.  I have made myself felt.  Will you mention who else these cutthroats have tried to browbeat and frighten?  They know that my theories and conclusions are a menace to them!  I got ’em in a panic, sir—­presently some fellow will lose his nerve and light out for the tall timber—­and it will be just Judge Slocum Price who’s done the trick—­no one else!”

“Are you looking for some one to take a pot shot at you?” inquired Mahaffy sourly.

“Your remark uncovers my fondest hope, Solomon—­I’d give five years of my life just to be shot at—­that would round out the episode of the letter nicely;” again the judge beamed on Mahaffy with that wide and sunny smile of his.

“Why don’t you let the boy go alone, Price?” suggested Mahaffy.  He lacked that sense of sublime confidence in the judge’s tact and discretion of which the judge, himself, entertained never a doubt.

“I shall not obtrude myself, Solomon; I shall merely walk out to Belle Plain and leave a civil message.  I know what’s due Miss Malroy in her bereaved state—­she has sustained no ordinary loss, and in no ordinary fashion.  She has been the center of a striking and profoundly moving tragedy!  I would give a good deal to know if my late client left a will—­”