Now indeed was poor Stephen on his feet.  But whether to fly in at the one entrance or out at the other, he was undecided.

“Colonel,” said Mr. Whipple, “is that true?”

“Sir!”
“Mr. Brice!”

It did not seem to Stephen as if he was walking when he went toward the ground glass door.  He opened it.  There was Colonel Carvel seated on the bed, his goatee in his hand.  And there was the Judge leaning forward from his hips, straight as a ramrod.  Fire was darting from beneath his bushy eyebrows.  “Mr. Brice,” said he, “there is one question I always ask of those whom I employ.  I omitted it in your case because I have known your father and your grandfather before you.  What is your opinion, sir, on the subject of holding human beings in bondage?”

The answer was immediate,—­likewise simple.

“I do not believe in it, Mr. Whipple.”

The Judge shot out of his chair like a long jack-in-the box, and towered to his full height.

“Mr. Brice, did you, or did you not, buy a woman at auction to-day?”

“I did, sir.”

Mr. Whipple literally staggered.  But Stephen caught a glimpse of the Colonel’s hand slipping from his chin cover his mouth.

“Good God, sir!” cried the Judge, and he sat down heavily.  “You say that you are an Abolitionist?”

“No, sir, I do not say that.  But it does not need an Abolitionist to condemn what I saw this morning.”

“Are you a slave-owner, sir?” said Mr. Whipple.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then get your coat and hat and leave my office, Mr. Brice.”

Stephen’s coat was on his arm.  He slipped it on, and turned to go.  He was, if the truth were told, more amused than angry.  It was Colonel Carvel’s voice that stopped him.

“Hold on, Judge,” he drawled, “I reckon you haven’t got all the packing out of that case.”

Mr. Whipple locked at him in a sort of stupefaction.  Then he glanced at Stephen.

“Come back here, sir,” he cried.  “I’ll give you hearing.  No man shall say that I am not just.”

Stephen looked gratefully at the Colonel.

“I did not expect one, sir,” he said..

“And you don’t deserve one, sir,” cried the Judge.

“I think I do,” replied Stephen, quietly.

The Judge suppressed something.

“What did you do with this person?” he demanded

“I took her to Miss Crane’s boarding-house,” said Stephen.

It was the Colonel’s turn to explode.  The guffaw which came from hire drowned every other sound.

“Good God!” said the Judge, helplessly.  Again he looked at the Colonel, and this time something very like mirth shivered his lean frame.  “And what do you intend to do with her?” he asked in strange tones.

“To give her freedom, sir, as soon as I can find somebody to go on her bond.”

Again silence.  Mr. Whipple rubbed his nose with more than customary violence, and looked very hard at Mr. Carvel, whose face was inscrutable.  It was a solemn moment.