The Opened Shutters. Clara Louise Burnham

Sylvia so."

      "Then you have been in correspondence with her?" asked the lawyer, and his cold manner appeared to seize an advantage.

      "No, I haven't," responded Martha quickly. "It wasn't till Sam's life was despaired of that she wrote to me, as in duty bound. Of course I answered her; but do you believe, Calvin Trent, before my letter had time to get there—I wasn't very prompt—she wrote again, and said it was all over and some friends were paying her expenses to Boston, and she'd be here on Tuesday."

      Miss Lacey leaned back in her chair and looked desperately for a sign of life in the stony countenance before her.

      "Well?" responded the judge, after a pause.

      "Well, what?" she retorted, in a tense voice. "I've no doubt she's as slipshod—as easy-going, I should say, as her father. The idea of her not waiting for advice from her relatives before she took such a step and came to a strange land uninvited; but she's our flesh and blood, Calvin, and she's in her teens yet. What are you going to do about it?"

      Judge Trent was humped over more defensively than ever. Miss Lacey's nervous tension could not endure the prolonging of the silence with which he met the question.

      "No doubt it comes suddenly on you, Calvin. Still, you say you heard of Sam's death. Did Sylvia write you?"

      "Yes."

      "Did she tell you she was coming to Boston?"

      "Yes."

      "Have you got an idea in this world, Calvin Trent, what she's going to do?"

      "No, have you?"

      It was something to have won a question from him. Miss Martha stirred in her chair.

      "No, I haven't. It is easy to see how her friends thought it would be cheapest to pay her fare here and get her off their hands. Now I thought I'd go to Boston Wednesday morning instead of sending for her to come here, for if she once gets in here it'll be every one's business to nose into our affairs and have something to say." Miss Lacey paused a moment and then added boldly: "And I thought if you would go with me, we could find out just what she has to live on, if anything, and whether she has any plans."

      The humped-over figure continued to gaze silently into space.

      "It would be hypocrisy for me to say I have any affection for an absolute stranger just because she happens to be the child of a brother who never was any comfort to me in this world. With you it may be different," continued Miss Lacey, with what she intended to be adroitness. "Laura was a dear little thing, and you loved her, and this is her child."

      Another pause. It was doubtful what thoughts were behind Judge Trent's half-closed eyes.

      "My affairs aren't any more brilliant and promising as the years go by," pursued Miss Lacey. "You know as well as I do what condition I'm in to adopt Sam's girl."

      She suddenly dashed some bright drops from her lashes. Indignant tears they were, brought there by the apparent futility of her appeals.

      "By the way," said the judge slowly, "that visit of condolence I was intending to make on you was to be one of congratulation as well."

      Martha paused, her handkerchief poised in air.

      "Yes; that unfortunate investment of yours turned out all right after all. At least I secured your principal for you."

      The surprised, glad color came into Martha's face. "How in the world did you manage that, Calvin!" she ejaculated.

      "I'll send you the papers and cash very soon."

      "I don't know how to thank you. I really don't," stammered the visitor.

      She had been very angry with her erstwhile lover a minute ago. The revulsion of feeling bewildered her.

      The judge rose, and she found herself following his example.

      "You haven't told me a word what your judgment is about the girl," she said, rather pitifully.

      He nodded. "Your judgment will be the best. A woman is worth two men in such a case. Carry out your plan, Martha. Interview her, and then we'll see—we'll see."

      He held open the office door for his visitor to pass out, and woman-like her memory flew back. It seemed but yesterday that this man was hanging on her looks, pleading for her love.

      A fleeting glance at his expressionless face as he waited for her to pass him was enough. Again her eyes swept the dingy anteroom. "Good-by, Calvin, it's been a relief to talk to you," she said.

      They shook hands. "If I'd married him," thought Miss Lacey, "that room wouldn't look like that."

      The judge softly closed the door behind her. "There, but for the grace of God," he murmured devoutly, "goes Mrs. Calvin Trent." Then he returned to his desk, put on his hat, and sat down at his work.

      Before long Dunham returned. His employer beckoned him with a long, bony finger.

      The young man's eyes glistened, and he tiptoed forward obediently.

      "What's the matter with you?" uneasily. "She—the lady has gone?"

      "Certainly, Judge. I saw her just now disappearing up the street."

      "Well, listen. I have decided not to go to Boston Wednesday morning. You will go in my place."

      "Yes?"

      "Miss Lacey is going on the same train."

      "Ah," Dunham nodded slowly and with becoming gravity.

      "You will have a seat in the parlor car. She will not have. Martha would think that nonsense; but her errand will be at the same place as yours. My sister married her brother. Both are dead, and they have left a daughter who has come out of the West to Boston to seek us. I suspect there may be a good deal of wool clinging to her."

      "A lamb, of course," murmured Dunham.

      "The disposition of this girl is costing Miss Lacey considerable worry, and me quite as much, although I don't think best to let Martha know it. I intended to go to the hotel to meet her myself; but"—

      The younger man smiled, and the judge saw that he understood.

      "I shall prepare some memoranda for you. What I am ready to buy is peace. You understand? You will be cautious, and not let me in for anything except perhaps immediate expenses. Follow Miss Lacey's lead; but let her lead. Eh?"

      "Certainly, Judge Trent. As I said before, I can manage this with one hand tied behind me. It isn't as if it were the Evans case."

      "The Evans case!" Judge Trent growled scornfully. "The Evans case is a bagatelle to this. Now you see to it that you're wise as a serpent in this matter. First and foremostly, and last and lastly, I won't have that girl in my house. Understand?"

      "Oh, surely. I understand."

      "Let Miss Lacey make the decisions and you be cautious."

      "Ay, ay, Judge," returned Dunham airily.

      CHAPTER III

      A RAILWAY TRIP

      The speculator on a large scale feels no more elated over the rescue of a fortune from anticipated loss than did Miss Lacey in the recovery of her one thousand dollars. In the expansion of ideas which it caused she determined to celebrate by taking a chair in the parlor car for Boston on Wednesday morning.

      John Dunham boarded the train just as it was pulling out of the station, and as he approached his seat suddenly heard himself greeted:—

      "It is Sir Walter," said a pleased voice. "I wasn't sure till you took your hat off."

      The young man paused in the act of hanging up his hat and looked down upon the occupant of the next chair. She was regarding him with interest.

      "Why, good-morning, Miss Lacey," he responded, and perhaps his smile would not have been so