The furious shrieking of a steam-packet's whistle broke in upon them.

"It's another of them hawgs, wantin' all the river!" said Mr. Cavendish, and fled in haste to the steering oar.

During all the long days that followed, Mr. Yancy was forced to own that these t.i.tled friends of his were, despite their social position, uncommon white in their treatment of him. The Earl of Lambeth consorted with him in that fine spirit that recognizes the essential brotherhood of man, while his Lady Countess was, as Yancy observed, on the whole, a person of simple and uncorrupted tastes. She habitually went barefoot, both as a matter of comfort and economy, and she smoked her cob-pipe as did those other ladies of Lincoln County who had married into far less exalted stations than her own. He put these simple survivals down to her native goodness of heart, which would not allow of her succ.u.mbing to mere pride and vainglory, for he no more doubted their narrative than they, doubted it themselves, which was not at all.

CHAPTER XIX. THE JUDGE SEES A GHOST

Charley Norton's good offices did not end when he had furnished judge Price with a house, for Betty required of him that he should supply that gentleman with legal business as well. When she pointed out the necessity of this, Norton demurred. He had no very urgent need of a lawyer, and had the need existed, Sloc.u.m Price would not have been his choice. Betty knit her brows.

"He must have a chance; perhaps if people knew you employed him it would give them confidence--you must realize this, Charley; it isn't enough that he has a house--he can't wear it nor eat it!"

"And fortunately he can't drink it, either. I don't want to discourage you, but his looks are all against him, Betty. If you take too great an interest in his concerns I am afraid you are going to have him permanently on your hands."

"Haven't you some little sc.r.a.p of business that really doesn't matter much, Charley? You might try him--just to please me--" she persisted coaxingly.

"Well, there's land I'm buying--I suppose I could get him to look up the t.i.tle, I know it's all right anyhow," said Norton, after a pause.

Thus it happened that judge Price, before he had been three days in Raleigh, received a civil note from Mr. Norton asking him to search the t.i.tle to a certain timber tract held by one Joseph Quaid; a communication the effect of which was out of all proportion to the size of the fee involved. The judge, powerfully excited, told Mahaffy he was being understood and appreciated; that the tide of prosperity was clearly setting his way; that intelligent foresight, not chance, had determined him when he selected Raleigh instead of Memphis. Thereafter he spoke of Charley Norton only as "My client," and exalted him for his breeding, wealth and position, refusing to admit that any man in the county was held in quite the same esteem. All of which moved Mahaffy to flashes of grim sarcasm.

The immediate result of Norton's communication had been to send the judge up the street to the courthouse. He would show his client that he could be punctual and painstaking. He should have his abstract of t.i.tle without delay; moreover, he had in mind a scholarly effort entirely worthy of himself. The dull facts should be illuminated with an occasional striking phrase. He considered that it would doubtless be of interest to Mr. Norton, in this connection, to know something, too, of mediaeval land tenure, ancient Roman and modern English. He proposed artfully to pander to his client's literary tastes--a.s.suming that he had such tastes. But above all, this abstract must be entirely explanatory of himself, since its final purpose was to remove whatever doubts his mere appearance might have bred in Mr. Norton's mind.

"If my pocket could just be brought to stand the strain of new clothes before the next sitting of court, I might reasonably hope for a share of the pickings," thought the judge.

Entering the court-house, he found himself in a narrow hall. On his right was the jury-room, and on his left the county clerk's office, stuffy little holes, each lighted by a single window. Beyond, and occupying the full width of the building, was the court-room, with its hard, wooden benches and its staring white walls. Advancing to the door, which stood open, the judge surveyed the room with the greatest possible satisfaction. He could fancy it echoing to that eloquence of which he felt himself to be the master. He would show the world, yet, what was in him, and especially Solomon Mahaffy, who clearly had not taken his measure.

Turning away from the agreeable picture his mind had conjured up, he entered the county clerk's office. He was already known to this official, whose name was Saul, and he now greeted him with a pleasant air of patronage. Mr. Saul removed his feet from the top of his desk and motioned his visitor to a chair; at the same time he hospitably thrust forward a square box filled with sawdust. It was plain he labored under the impression that the judge's call was of an unprofessional character.

"A little matter of business brings me here, sir," began the judge, with a swelling chest and mellow accents. "No, sir, I'll not be seated--another time I'll share your leisure if I may--now I am in some haste to look up a t.i.tle for my client, Mr. Norton."

"What Norton?" asked Mr. Saul, when he had somewhat recovered from the effect of this announcement.

"Mr. Charles Norton, of Thicket Point," said the judge.

"I reckon you mean that timber tract of old Joe Quaid's." Mr. Saul viewed the judge's ruinous exterior with a glance of respectful awe, for clearly a man who could triumph over such a handicap must possess uncommon merit of some sort. "So you're looking after Charley Norton's business for him, are you?" he added.

"He's a client of mine. We have mutual friends, sir--I refer to Miss Malroy," the judge vouchsafed to explain.

"You're naming our best people, sir, when you name the Malroys and the Nortons; they are pretty much in a cla.s.s by themselves," said Mr. Saul, whose awe of the judge was momentarily increasing.

"I don't underestimate the value of a social endors.e.m.e.nt, sir, but I've never stood on that," observed the judge. "I've come amongst you unheralded, but I expect you to find me out. Now, sir, if you'll be good enough, I'll glance at the record."

Mr. Saul scrambled up out of the depths of his chair and exerted himself in the judge's behalf.

"This is what you want, sir. Better take the ledger to the window, the light in here ain't much." He drew forward a chair as he spoke, and the judge, seating himself, began to polish his spectacles with great deliberation. He felt that he had reached a crisis in his career, and was disposed to linger over the hope that was springing up in his heart.

"How does the docket for the next term of court stand?" he inquired.

"Pretty fair, sir," said Mr. Saul.

"Any litigation of unusual interest in prospect?" The judge was fitting his gla.s.ses to the generous arch of his nose, a feature which nicely indexed its owner's habits.

"No, sir, just the ordinary run of cases."

"I hoped to hear you say different."

"You've set on the bench, sir?" suggested Mr. Saul.

"In one of the eastern counties, but my inclination has never been toward the judiciary. My temperament, sir, is distinctly aggressive--and each one according to the gifts with which G.o.d has been graciously pleased to endow him! I am frank to say, however, that my decisions have received their meed of praise from men thoroughly competent to speak on such matters." He was turning the leaves of the ledger as he spoke.

Suddenly the movement of his hand was arrested.

"Found it?" asked Mr. Saul. But the judge gave him no answer; absorbed and aloof he was staring down at the open pages of the book. "Found the entry?" repeated Mr. Saul.

"Eh?--what's that? No--" he appeared to hesitate. "Who is this man Quintard?" The question cost him an effort, that was plain.

"He's the owner of a hundred-thousand-acre tract in this and ab.u.t.ting counties," said Mr. Saul.

The judge continued to stare down at the page.

"Is he a resident of the county?" he asked, at length.

"No, he lives back yonder in North Carolina."

"A hundred thousand acres!" the judge muttered thoughtfully.

"There or thereabouts--yes, sir."

"Who has charge of the land?"

"Colonel Fentress; he was old General Ware's law partner. I've heard it was the general who got this man Quintard to make the investment, but that was before my time in these parts."

The judge lapsed into a heavy, brooding silence.

A step sounded in the narrow hall. An instant later the door was pushed open, and grateful for any interruption that would serve to take Mr.

Saul's attention from himself, the judge abruptly turned his back on the clerk and began to examine the record before him. Engrossed in this, he was at first scarcely aware of the conversation that was being carried on within a few feet of him. Insensibly, however, the cold, level tones of the voice that was addressing itself to Mr. Saul quickened the beat of his pulse, the throb of his heart, and struck back through the years to a day from which he reckoned time. The heavy, calf-bound volume in his hand shook like a leaf in a gale. He turned slowly, as if in dread of what he might see.

What he saw was a man verging on sixty, lean and dark, with thin, shaven cheeks of a bluish cast above the jaw, and a strongly aquiline profile.

Long, black locks swept the collar of his coat, while his tall, spare figure was habited in sleek broadcloth and spotless linen. For a moment the judge seemed to struggle with doubt and uncertainty, then his face went a ghastly white and the book slipped from his nerveless fingers to the window ledge.

The stranger, his business concluded, swung about on his heel and quitted the office. The judge, his eyes starting from their sockets, stared after him; the very breath died on his lips; speechless and motionless, he was still seeing that tall, spare figure as it had pa.s.sed before him, but his memories stripped a weight of thirty years from those thin shoulders. At last, heavy-eyed and somber, he glanced about him. Mr. Saul, bending above his desk, was making an entry in one of his ledgers. The judge shuffled to his side.

"Who was that man?" he asked thickly, resting a shaking hand on the clerk's arm.

"That?--Oh, that was Colonel Fentress I was just telling you about." He looked up from his writing. "h.e.l.lo! You look like you'd seen a ghost!"

"It's the heat in here--I reckon--" said the judge, and began to mop his face.