The Judge grinned diabolically.  Mrs. Cluyme was as yet too stunned to speak.  Only Stephen’s mother sniffed gunpowder in the air.

“This, Mr. Cluyme,” said the Judge, mildly, “is an age of shifting winds.  It was not long ago,” he added reflectively, “when you and I met in the Planters’ House, and you declared that every drop of Northern blood spilled in Kansas was in a holy cause.  Do you remember it, sir?”

Mr. Cluyme and Mr. Cluyme’s wife alone knew whether he trembled.

“And I repeat that, sir,” he cried, with far too much zeal.  “I repeat it here and now.  And yet I was for the Omnibus Bill, and I am with Mr. Douglas in his local sovereignty.  I am willing to bury my abhorrence of a relic of barbarism, for the sake of union and peace.”

“Well, sir, I am not,” retorted the Judge, like lightning.  He rubbed the red spat on his nose, and pointed a bony finger at Mr. Cluyme.  Many a criminal had grovelled before that finger.  “I, too, am for the Union.  And the Union will never be safe until the greatest crime of modern times is wiped out in blood.  Mind what I say, Mr. Cluyme, in blood, sir,” he thundered.

Poor Mrs. Cluyme gasped.

“But the slave, sir?  Did I not understand you to approve of Mr. Brice’s ownership?”

“As I never approved of any other.  Good night, sir.  Good night, madam.”  But to Mrs. Brice he crossed over and took her hand.  It has been further claimed that he bowed.  This is not certain.

“Good night, madam,” he said.  “I shall call again to pay my respects when you are not occupied.”