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The father paused with his sentence unfinished, for his son stood before him suddenly revealed in a strength for which the Judge had never given him credit, and he recognized in his level eyes, tense features, and the sudden set of the square jaw, the Hampden firmness at its best or worst.

“I have nothing to say against her,” said the Judge, with a sudden rush of recollection of Lucy Fielding. “I have no doubt she is in one way all you think her; but she is Wilmer Drayton ‘s daughter. You will never win her.”

“I will win her,” said the young man.

That night Judge Hampden thought deeply over the matter, and before daylight he had despatched a note to Major Drayton making an apology for the words he had used.

Both Judge Hampden and his son went into the army immediately on the outbreak of hostilities. Major Drayton, who to the last opposed Secession bitterly, did not volunteer until after the State had seceded; but then he, also, went in, and later was desperately wounded.

A few nights before they went off to the war, Judge Hampden and his son rode over together to Major Drayton’s to offer the olive-branch of peace in shape of young Oliver and all that he possessed.

Judge Hampden did not go all the way, for he had sworn never to put foot again in Major Drayton’s house so long as he lived, and, moreover, he felt that his son would be the better ambassador alone. Accordingly, he waited in the darkness at the front gate while his son presented himself and laid at Lucy Drayton’s feet what the Judge truly believed was more than had ever been offered to any other woman. He, however, sent the most conciliatory messages to Major Drayton.

“Tell him,” he said, “that I will take down my fence and he shall run the line to suit himself.” He could not have gone further.

The time that passed appeared unending to the Judge waiting in the darkness; but in truth it was not long, for the interview was brief. It was with Major Drayton and not with his daughter.

Major Drayton declined, both on his daughter’s part and on his own, the honor which had been proposed.

At this moment the door opened and Lucy herself appeared. She was a vision of loveliness. Her face was white, but her eyes were steady. If she knew what had occurred, she gave no sign of it in words. She walked straight to her father’s side and took his hand.

“Lucy,” he said, “Mr. Hampden has done us the honor to ask your hand and I have declined it.”

“Yes, papa.” Her eyelids fluttered and her bosom heaved, but she did not move, and Lucy was too much a Drayton to unsay what her father had said, or to undo what he had done.

Oliver Hampden’s eyes did not leave her face. For him the Major had disappeared, and he saw only the girl who stood before him with a face as white as the dress she wore.

“Lucy, I love you. Will you ever care for me? I am going–going away to-morrow, and I shall not see you any more; but I would like to know if there is any hope.” The young man’s voice was strangely calm.

The girl held out her hand to him.

“I will never marry anyone else.”

“I will wait for you all my life,” said the young man.

Bending low, he kissed her hand in the palm, and with a bow to her father, strode from the room.

The Judge, waiting at the gate in the darkness, heard the far-off, monotonous galloping of Oliver’s horse on the hard plantation road. He rode forward to meet him.

“Well!”

It was only a word.

“They declined.”

The father scarcely knew his son’s voice, it was so wretched.

“What! Who declined? Did you see–“

“Both!”

Out in the darkness Judge Hampden broke forth into such a torrent of rage that his son was afraid for his life and had to devote all his attention to soothing him. He threatened to ride straight to Drayton’s house and horsewhip him on the spot. This, however, the young man prevented, and the two rode home together in a silence which was unbroken until they had dismounted at their own gate and given their horses to the waiting servants. As they entered the house, Judge Hampden spoke.