"Yes, he hitched his horse and come in. 'Where's Mose?' he asked. I told him Mose was out in the country.

""Has he talked 'bout us Warwicks?"

"Not a word that I've heard.'

"The young feller stood a moment, then said,

'Tell Mose thet I says not to talk.'

bought a box of cartridges and rode off."

"Back home?"

"No, North."

Then he

"Warwick has seen a lot of trouble in the last year," said Judge Elford, "but through it all he stands as a rock, uncomplaining, firm in the faith of his fathers. A remarkable man, this Warwick. He would have made a typical Calvinist or Puritan, a glorious, psalm-singing soldier of CromIndeed, his well, or a devoted Mohammedan. religious doctrine embodies the fatalism which, to a greater or less degree, is a part of such as these. Poor fellow! how patiently he meets trouble, such as might drive other men to distraction, or to frenzy! First, arrested and forced to take the iron-clad oath, which fact galls him more than we know. Then one of his boys is discovered shot to death down among the Gunpowder hills,

and next the other one is murdered while a prisoner of war. And then-" The judge stopped.

A glance of the eye sped from man to man, at which one less discreet than Judge Elford finished the sentence.

"And then his only daughter ran off with a Northerner whom her father had befriended."

"A sweet girl, too," replied Judge Elford. "I have often visited Warwick and lingered longer than I should, for her face was of that touching beauty which gladdens the eye and brings joy to the heart. I am not in my youth, but yet—' Abruptly a new sentence replaced the half-finished one.

"Mary Warwick has the sweet face of her mother, the noble eye of her father, the winning smile and artless glance, that since, that since—” again the judge stopped.

"Since what, judge?"

"It's a long time back," continued the judge in reverie. "A long time since Mary's mother and I first met. It was just after I came to Stringtown. I was young; she was younger. Fate was against us. I was a poor lawyer, and loved in silence, loved and starved, hoping some day to

And now I,

dare speak the word, but in vain. who have passed through trials enough to squeeze the dross from out one's heart, sorrows enough to leave only the sacred embers from the fires that once stirred my soul, think of Mary Warwick as of one close to her angel mother, who seemed to look back at me when I gazed into Mary's eyes. Men," the judge spoke tenderly, earnestly, holding the sympathetic confidence of all the circle, "men, Mary Warwick has given her love to one whom I do not know; but when I heard that she had turned her face from the old home and had followed her lover to the North-I who make no pretension of religion, but have never forgotten the teachings of my mother, and occasionally repeat yet the simple prayers she taught me when a child—that night kneeled down by my bed and prayed as never had I done since my own lost boy left home for the North. Prayed that back to Mary Warwick might come the love she gave the man who led her out of Kentucky, as earnest love as in silence I gave her mother in the days of old; prayed that to old man Warwick might not come a touch of the sorrow that came back to me from the North by reason of my erring Charley boy."

The head of the judge dropped; his long, white beard was crushed against his breast. Just then the door of the grocery opened, and into the room stepped-Warwick, Preacher Warwick of the

Knobs.

His eye glanced from face to face; so abrupt had been the unexpected entrance of the person under discussion as to startle one and all, if we may except the experienced judge. Rising, he grasped the great hand of Warwick.

"Welcome to Stringtown, Simeon,” was the greeting, "welcome to Stringtown.”

One after another the incomer shook each man by the hand, thoughtlessly squeezing each until the person squirmed, for the closing of the palm of Warwick was like the shutting of a vise. Without taking the proffered seat, he now slipped his arm into that of Judge Elford.

"I would see you alone, judge. May we not go to your home?"

CHAPTER XXI.

WARWICK'S INTERVIEW WITH JUDGE ELFORD.

LEAVING the grocery, Warwick unhitched his horse, slipped the bridle over his arm, and walking side by side in the pike, the two men passed to the modest house of Judge Elford. After hitching the horse to a ring in a post on the outer line of the sidewalk, the judge and his guest entered the room, where the judge turned up the light of a kerosene lamp that burned low on the table.

"Be seated, Simeon," he said, and he opened a cupboard and took out a rosewood chest which held a number of bottles of unique design. Selecting one of the bottles, the judge held it between himself and the light.

"This liquor flowed from the still in 1840. The cask from which this bottle was drawn was lost in a steamboat wreck, and for twelve years the bar