and fell on the four-poster where the Judge sat up, gaunt and grizzled as ever. He smiled at his host, and then tried to destroy immediately the effect of the smile.
"Well, Judge," cried the Colonel, taking his hand, "I reckon we talked too much."
"No such thing, Carvel," said the Judge, forcibly, "if you hadn't left the room, your popular sovereignty would have been in rags in two minutes."
Stephen sat down in a corner, unobserved, in expectation of a renewal. But at this moment Miss Virginia swept into the room, very cool in a pink muslin.
"Colonel Carvel," said she, sternly, "I am the doctor's deputy here. I was told to keep the peace at any cost. And if you answer back, out you go, like that!" and she snapped her fingers.
The Colonel laughed. But the Judge, whose mind was on the argument, continued to mutter defiantly until his eye fell upon Stephen.
"Well, sir, well, sir," he said, "you've turned up at last, have you? I send you off with papers for a man, and I get back a piece of yellow paper saying that he's borrowed you. What did he do with you, Mr. Brice?"
"He took me to Freeport, sir, where I listened to the most remarkable speech I ever expect to hear."
"What!" cried the Judge, "so far from Boston?"
Stephen hesitated, uncertain whether to laugh, until he chanced to look at Virginia. She had pursed her lips.
"I was very much surprised, sir," he said.
"Humph!" grunted Mr. Whipple, "and what did you chink of that ruffian, Lincoln?"
"He is the most remarkable man that I have ever met, sir," answered Stephen, with emphasis.
"Humph!"
It seemed as if the grunt this time had in it something of approval. Stephen had doubt as to the propriety of discussing Mr. Lincoln there, and he reddened. Virginia's expression bore a trace of defiance, and Mr. Carvel stood with his feet apart, thoughtfully stroking his goatee. But Mr. Whipple seemed to have no scruples.
"So you admired Lincoln, Mr. Brice?" he went on. "You must agree with that laudatory estimation of him which I read in the Missouri Democrat."
Stephen fidgeted.
"I do, sir, most decidedly," he answered.
"I should hardly expect a conservative Bostonian, of the class which respects property, to have said that. It might possibly be a good thing if more from your town could hear those debates."
"They will read them, sir; I feel confident of it."
At this point the Colonel could contain himself no longer.
"I reckon I might tell the man who wrote that Democrat article a few things, if I could find out who he is," said he.
"Pa!" said Virginia, warningly.
But Stephen had turned a fiery red, "I wrote it, Colonel Carvel," he said.
For a dubious instant of silence Colonel Carvel stared. Then--then he slapped his knees, broke into a storm of laughter, and went out of the room. He left Stephen in a moist state of discomfiture.
The Judge had bolted upright from the pillows.
"You have been neglecting your law, sir," he cried.
"I wrote the article at night," said Stephen, indignantly.
"Then it must have been Sunday night, Mr. Brice."
At this point Virginia hid her face in her handkerchief which trembled visibly. Being a woman, whose ways are unaccountable, the older man took no notice of her. But being a young woman, and a pretty one, Stephen was angry.
"I don't see what right you have to ask me that sir," he said.
"The question is withdrawn, Mr. Brice," said the Judge, "Virginia, you may strike it from the records. And now, sir, tell me something about your trip."
Virginia departed.
An hour later Stephen descended to the veranda, and it was with apprehension that he discerned Mr. Carvel seated under the vines at the far end. Virginia was perched on the railing.
To Stephen's surprise the Colonel rose, and, coming toward him, laid a kindly hand on his shoulder.
"Stephen," said he, "there will be no law until Monday you must stay with us until then. A little rest will do you good."
Stephen was greatly touched.
"Thank you, sir," he said. "I should like to very much. But I can't."
"Nonsense," said the Colonel. "I won't let the Judge interfere."
"It isn't that, sir. I shall have to go by the two o'clock train, I fear."
The Colonel turned to Virginia, who, meanwhile, had sat silently by.
"Jinny," he said, "we must contrive to keep him."
She slid off the railing.
"I'm afraid he is determined, Pa," she answered. "But perhaps Mr. Brice would like to see a little of the place before he goes. It is very primitive," she explained, "not much like yours in the East."
Stephen thanked her, and bowed to the Colonel. And so she led him past the low, crooked outbuildings at the back, where he saw old Uncle Ben busy over the preparation of his dinner, and frisky Rosetta, his daughter, playing with one of the Colonel's setters. Then Virginia took a well-worn path, on each side of which the high grass bent with its load of seed, which entered the wood. Oaks and hickories and walnuts and persimmons spread out in a glade, and the wild grape twisted fantastically around the trunks. All this beauty seemed but a fit setting to the strong girlish figure in the pink frock before him. So absorbed was he in contemplation of this, and in wondering whether indeed she were to marry her cousin, Clarence Colfax, that he did not see the wonders of view unrolling in front of him. She stopped at length beside a great patch of wild race bushes. They were on the edge of the bluff, and in front of them a little rustic summer-house, with seats on its five sides. Here Virginia sat down. But Stephen, going to the edge, stood and marvelled. Far, far below him, down the wooded steep, shot the crystal Meramec, chafing over the shallow gravel beds and tearing headlong at the deep passes.
Beyond, the dimpled green hills rose and fell, and the stream ran indigo and silver. A hawk soared over the water, the only living creature in all that wilderness.
The glory of the place stirred his blood. And when at length he turned, he saw that the girl was watching him.
"It is very beautiful," he said.
Virginia had taken other young men here, and they had looked only upon her. And yet she was not offended. This sincerity now was as new to her as that with which he had surprised her in the Judge's room.
And she was not quite at her ease. A reply to those simple words of his was impossible. At honest Tom Catherwood in the same situation she would have laughed, Clarence never so much as glanced at scenery. Her replies to him were either flippant, or else maternal, as to a child.
A breeze laden with the sweet abundance of that valley stirred her hair. And with that womanly gesture which has been the same through the ages she put up her hand; deftly tucking in the stray wisp behind.
She glanced at the