"Well, Margaret," said the Judge, dryly, "I think I will not call you as a witness in this case just yet ... It seems to me that the unsound mind theory might be successful, in spite of what you say. These fits of passion that you speak of—anger is a short-lived madness, you know—the fact that his mother did some unexplained things; and then his unaccountable desertion of you—well, we will see."
"It seems to me," said Margaret, rather timidly, "that the plea that the will is unjust is so much more forcible than any other. Anybody can see that without argument. It is self-evident."
"Very true, but the law recognizes only these two reasons for setting aside a will. Unfortunately the laws of this District permit a man to make just such a will. It remains for us only to prove that he was mentally incapable of making one at all, or, as I said, that he was unduly influenced."
Margaret shook her head and sighed. She did not believe that either could be established.
"Now don't let your fears run away with you, Margaret. Be sensible. Mr. De Jarnette wouldn't harm Philip. It is absurd to think of it."
"Oh, I am afraid! There is no telling what he would do if he ever got hold of him. He must have some object in wanting him. And you know it is no good object."
It was useless to reason with her. Her fears had placed her beyond reason. He went away, promising to see Mr. De Jarnette again.
When he was gone, Margaret went to her room and sat down. Her strength seemed suddenly gone. She could not stand. Her head was dry and burning and her hands like ice. A thousand fears assailed her. A girl of twenty-one, shielded from contact with the world or a knowledge of its wickedness was poorly fitted to cope with such fears. They were unreasonable, of course, but Margaret did not know it.
If she could only get away where he could never find them! or at any rate until Philip was no longer a baby. She might have courage to face it when he was a few years older—but a baby was so helpless! And she looked despairingly at the little form lying there in the unconscious grace of sleep, the soft breath parting rosy lips, and the moist locks clustering in rings on the fair forehead.
"Oh, Mammy Cely," she cried in desperation, "why does he want my baby?"