The stranger, his business concluded, swung about on his heel and quitted the office. The judge, his eyes starting from their sockets, stared after him; the very breath died on his lips; speechless and motionless, he was still seeing that tall, spare figure as it had passed before him, but his memories stripped a weight of thirty years from those thin shoulders. At last, heavy-eyed and somber, he glanced about him. Mr. Saul, bending above his desk, was making an entry in one of his ledgers. The judge shuffled to his side.
“Who was that man?” he asked thickly, resting a shaking hand on the clerk's arm.
“That?—Oh, that was Colonel Fentress I was just telling you about.” He looked up from his writing. “Hello! You look like you'd seen a ghost!”
“It's the heat in here—I reckon—” said the judge, and began to mop his face.
“Ever seen the colonel before?” asked Mr. Saul curiously.
“Who is he?”
“Well, sir, he's one of our leading planters, and a mighty fine lawyer.”
“Has he always lived here?”
“No, he came into the county about ten years ago, and bought a place called The Oaks, over toward the river.”
“Has he—has he a family?” The judge appeared to be having difficulty with his speech.