“No-o-o, sir.”
“Is anybody dead, then?”
“Oh, I hope not, sir; but——” and the meek little widow’s voice broke in a stifled sob. Judge Camden eyed her in silence a moment, then thumped his stick on the floor and made her jump, thus revealing her reddened eyes and grief-stricken countenance.
“Aha! so there is something the matter! Out with it now!” he exclaimed, in his sternest voice.
“Oh, sir—please, it is nothing—only—only—I don’t want to offend, sir—but—I’m troubled over—Violet.”
His grim countenance reddened with anger.
“Troubled over Violet, eh? And why, may I ask?”
“Oh, I don’t know, but I’m afraid she isn’t happy!” and the poor old woman trembled all over.
“Not happy! I don’t see why,” he muttered, grimly. “Wouldn’t you be happy, Mrs. Shirley, if you were young and beautiful and off on your bridal tour with a rich and handsome husband?”
“Not if I didn’t love him, judge,” she quavered, faintly.