“It's not a common name; you seem to have heard it before?” said the latter.
A spasm of pain passed over the judge's face.
“I—I've heard it. The name is on the rifle, you say?”
“Here on the stock, yes.”
The judge took the gun and examined it in silence.
“Where did you get this rifle, Hannibal?” he at length asked brokenly.
“I fetched it away from the Barony, sir; Mr. Crenshaw said I might have it.”
The judge gave a great start, and a hoarse inarticulate murmur stole from between his twitching lips.
“The Barony—the Barony—what Barony? The Quintard seat in North Carolina, is that what you mean?”
“Yes,” said the boy.