But the judge did not want to talk about Ferdie. “So you find her shy? She did not strike us so at Romney. Quiet enough—yes. But very decidedly liking to have her own way.”
Paul dismissed the subject. “I suppose those two scamps, who shot him, got safely away?”
“Yes, they were sure to have run off on the instant; they had the boat they came over in, and before daylight they were miles to the southward probably; I dare say they made for one of the swamps. In the old days we could have tracked them; but it’s not so easy now. And even if we got them we couldn’t string them up.”
“You wouldn’t hang them?”
“By all the gods, I would!” said the planter, bringing his fist down upon the table with a force that belonged to his youth.
“Ferdie may have attacked them first, you know.”
“What difference does that make? Damnation, sir! are they to be allowed to fire upon their masters?”
“They did not fire very well, these two; according to Dr. Knox, the wound is not serious; his despatch this morning says that Ferdie is coming on admirably.”
“Yes, I suppose he is,” said the old man, relapsing into gloom.
“As soon as he is up and about, I am going down there,” Paul went on; “I must see him and have a serious talk. Some new measures must be taken. I don’t think it will be difficult when I have once made him see his danger; he is so extraordinarily intelligent.”