Little Steve reappeared bearing a silver tray on which was a decanter and glass.

“Since you insist, ma’am,” the judge poured himself a drink, “my best respects—­” he bowed profoundly.

“If you are quite willing, judge, I think I will keep Hannibal.  Miss Bowen, who has been here—­since—­” her voice broke suddenly.

“I understand, ma’am,” said the judge soothingly.  He gave her a glance of great concern and turned to Hannibal.  “Dear lad, you’ll be very quiet and obedient, and do exactly as Miss Malroy says?  When shall I come for him, ma’am?”

“I’ll send him to you when he is ready to go home.  I am thinking of visiting my friends in North Carolina, and I should like to have him spend as much time as possible with me before I start for the East.”

It had occurred to Betty that she had done little or nothing for the child; probably this would be her last opportunity.

The state of the judge’s feelings was such that with elaborate absence of mind he poured himself a second drink of whisky; and that there should be no doubt the act was one of inadvertence, said again, “My best respects, ma’am,” and bowed as before.  Putting down the glass he backed toward the door.

“I trust you will not hesitate to call upon me if I can be of any use to you, ma’am—­a message will bring me here without a moment’s delay.”  He was rather disappointed that no allusion had been made to his recent activities.  He reasoned correctly that Betty was as yet in ignorance of the somewhat dangerous eminence he had achieved as the champion of law and order.  However, he reflected with satisfaction that Hannibal, in remaining, would admirably serve his ends.

Betty insisted that he should be driven home, and after faintly protesting, the judge gracefully yielded the point, and a few moments later rolled away from Belle Plain behind a pair of sleek-coated bays, with a negro in livery on the box.  He was conscious of a great sense of exaltation.  He felt that he should paralyze Mahaffy.  He even temporarily forgot the blow his hopes had sustained when Betty spoke of returning to North Carolina.  This was life—­broad acres and niggers—­principally to trot after you toting liquor—­and such liquor!—­he lolled back luxuriantly with half-closed eyes.

“Twenty years in the wood if an hour!” he muttered.  “I’d like to have just such a taste in my mouth when I come to die—­and probably she has barrels of it!” he sighed deeply, and searched his soul for words with which adequately to describe that whisky to Mahaffy.

But why not do more than paralyze Solomon—­that would be pleasant but not especially profitable.  The judge came back quickly to the vexed problem of his future.  He desired to make some striking display of Miss Malroy’s courtesy.  He knew that his credit was experiencing the pangs of an early mortality; he was not sensitive, yet for some days he had been sensible of the fact that what he called the commercial class was viewing him with open disfavor, but he must hang on in Raleigh a little longer —­for him it had become the abode of hope.  The judge considered the matter.  At least he could let people see something of that decent respect with which Miss Malroy treated him.