An hour later, Martin Pike, looking forth from the Mansion, saw a man
open the gate, and, passing between the unemotional deer, rapidly
approach the house. He was a thin young fellow, very well dressed in
dark gray, his hair prematurely somewhat silvered, his face prematurely
somewhat lined, and his hat covered a scar such as might have been
caused by a blow from a blunt instrument in the nature of a poker.
He did not reach the door, nor was there necessity for him to ring,
for, before he had set foot on the lowest step, the Judge had hastened
to meet him. Not, however, with any fulsomely hospitable intent; his
hand and arm were raised to execute one of his Olympian gestures, of
the kind which had obliterated the young man upon a certain by-gone
morning.
Louden looked up calmly at the big figure towering above him.
"It won't do, Judge," he said; that was all, but there was a
significance in his manner and a certainty in his voice which caused
the uplifted hand to drop limply; while the look of apprehension which
of late had grown more and more to be Martin Pike's habitual expression
deepened into something close upon mortal anxiety.
"Have you any business to set foot upon my property?" he demanded.
"Yes," answered Joe. "That's why I came."
"What business have you got with me?"
"Enough to satisfy you, I think. But there's one thing I don't want to
do"--Joe glanced at the open door--"and that is to talk about it
here--for your own sake and because I think Miss Tabor should be
present. I called to ask you to come to her house at eight o'clock
to-night."
"You did!" Martin Pike spoke angrily, but not in the bull-bass of yore;
and he kept his voice down, glancing about him nervously as though he
feared that his wife or Mamie might hear. "My accounts with her estate
are closed," he said, harshly. "If she wants anything, let her come
here."