Greer sat down to the desk in the library adjoining.

"Address my father, please."

He wrote and handed her the following:

"Hon. E. MARKHAM:

"_Dear Sir_,--I am asked if I have now, or have ever had any business relations of any kind with Barton Ridgeley. I have not, and never had, directly or indirectly, on my own, or on account of others.

"Very respectfully,

"THOS. J. GREER.

"RAVENNA, April 1838."

"May I know why you wish this?" a little gravely; "you've heard something said about something and somebody, by other somebodys or n.o.bodys, perhaps."

"I have. Mr. Ridgeley is away. You have heard of our obligations to him, and I have taken it upon myself to ask you."

"You are a n.o.ble girl, Miss Markham. A man might go through fire for you;" enthusiastically.

"Thank you."

"And now I hope your little heart is at rest."

"It was quite at rest before. I am much obliged, Mr. Greer; and it may not be in my power to make other returns."

"Good morning, Miss Markham."

"Good morning, Mr. Greer."

In the afternoon, as the Judge was in his office, a little springy step came clipping in. "Good afternoon! Papa Judge," and two wonderful arms went about his neck, and two lips to his own.

"Why Julia! you back! How is Sarah?"

"Splendid!"

"Your friend Miss Walters?"

"Oh, she is well. See here, Papa Judge," holding out the Greer note.

The Judge looked at and read it over in amazement.

"Where under the heavens did you get this?"

"Mr. Greer wrote it for me."

"Mr. Greer wrote it for you? I am amazed! no man could have dared to ask him for it! What put this into your head?"

"You almost suspected Bart"--with decidedly damp eyes--"and others did quite, and while in Ravenna I wrote a note to Mr. Greer, who called, and I asked the direct question, and he answered. I asked him to write it and he did, and paid me a handsome compliment besides. Papa Judge, when you want a thing done send me."

"Well, my n.o.ble girl, you deserve a compliment. A girl that can do that can, of course, have a man go through night and storm and flood for her," said the Judge with enthusiasm.

"Mr. Greer said a man should go through fire," said Julia, as if a little hurt.

"And so he may," said the Judge, improving.

"That is for you," said Julia, more gravely, and gave him the note.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

JEFFERSON.

Bart has come well nigh breaking down on my hands two or three times.

I find him unmanageable. He is pitched too high and tuned too nicely for common life; and I am only too glad to get him off out of Newbury, to care much how he went. To say, however, that he went off cheerful and happy, would do the poor fellow injustice. He did his best to show himself that it was all right. But something arose and whispered that it was all wrong. Of course Julia and her love were not for him, and yet in his heart a cry for her would make itself heard.

Didn't he go voluntarily, because he would? Who was to blame? Yet he despised himself as a huge baby, because there was a half conscious feeling of self-pity, a consciousness of injustice, of being beaten.

Then he was lame from, over-exertion, and his heart was sore, and he had to leave his mother and Ed and George. Would it have been better to remain a day or two and meet Julia? He felt that he would certainly break down in her presence, and he had started, and shut her forever out. If she did not stay shut out it would be her own fault. And that was logical.

He got into the stage, and had the front seat, with wide soft cushions, to himself, and drawing his large camlet cloak about him, he would rest and sleep.

Not a bit of it. On the back seat was an old lady and a young one with her; and a man on the middle seat. At Parkers, where they changed horses, they had heard all about it, and had it all delightfully jumbled up. Barton Markham had rescued Miss Ridgeley from a gang of wolves, which had driven her into the Chagrin River, which froze over, etc., but it had all ended happily, and the wedding-day was fixed.

Miss Ridgeley was a lovely girl, but poor; and Bart was a hero, whom the ladies would be glad to see.

The old lady asked Bart if he knew the parties.

"Yes." And he straightened out the tangle of names.

"Was Julia a beauty?"

"Decidedly."

"And Bart?"

Well, he didn't think much of Bart and didn't want to speak of him.

He thought the performance no great shakes, etc. The ladies were offended.

"No matter, Julia would marry him?"

"She would never think of it."

At Hicc.o.x's somebody recognized Bart and told the old lady who he was.