to friendly counsel, or heed the solemn warning. Where was he now?
This question recurred over and over again. He had left the bar-
room with Judge Lyman and Green early in the evening, and had not
made his appearance since. Who and what was Green? And Judge
Lyman, was he a man of principle? One with whom it was safe to
trust a youth like Willy Hammond?

While I mused thus, the bar-room door opened, and a man past the
prime of life, with a somewhat florid face, which gave a strong
relief to the gray, almost white hair that, suffered to grow
freely, was pushed back, and lay in heavy masses on his coat
collar, entered with a hasty step. He was almost venerable in
appearance; yet there was in his dark, quick eyes the brightness
of unquenched loves, the fires of which were kindled at the altars
of selfishness and sensuality. This I saw at a glance. There was a
look of concern on his face, as he threw his eyes around the bar-
room; and he seemed disappointed, I thought, at finding it empty.

"Is Simon Slade here?"

As I answered in the negative, Mrs. Slade entered through the door
that opened from the yard, and stood behind the counter.

"Ah, Mrs. Slade! Good evening, madam!" he said.

"Good evening, Judge Hammond."

"Is your husband at home?"

"I believe he is," answered Mrs. Slade. "I think he is somewhere