In either case, the stain of the Judge’s blood was on the house of Graham and the Angel of Death stood with drawn sword barring the way of his happiness. He would not seek the hand of Stella with the blood of her father on his own. He would accept the moral responsibility of his father’s act or that of his younger brother. He had reproached himself bitterly that he had neglected to know and teach his high-strung younger brother as he might. The mother dead, his father a hopeless mental invalid, Billy had grown up with no hand to guide his wayward fancy. It was not to be wondered at that he soon recognised no authority save that of his own will.
Stella’s request had brought John face to face with the problems of his father and Billy. He must know the truth before he could answer that letter. Better to strangle the love that was fast swelling in his heart than wait until the hour when the call of love might drown the voice of honour.
He left his office and went at once to his father’s room. The Major was dressed with his habitual care, his linen spotless, his boots carefully polished, his thin white hair brushed straight back from his high forehead. He was seated in his armchair, gently stroking with his chalk-white bony hand his delicate ghostly beard, while delivering to Alfred one of his interminable talks of the old life in the South. At times he forgot the war and the horrors which followed and reenacted the scenes of the past until his former slave, too full to bear more, would stop him tenderly, and get him to change the subject.
“Leave us awhile, Alfred,” John said, on entering.
“Yassah,” the old butler answered, bowing himself out with stately dignity.
John closed the door and drew his chair close to the Major’s.
“Father, I want to ask you something very particular,” he began.
“Well, out with it, you young rascal! You’ve been flying round her long enough. I knew it would come at last. So she’s got you, has she! Well, well, Jennie’s a fine girl, my boy; I danced at her father’s and mother’s wedding. I wish I had more to give you. You’ll have to be content with the lower plantation, and a dozen slaves to start with.”
“Listen, father,” John urged, stopping him with a gentle pressure on his arm. “And try to remember. Have you encountered Butler lately?”