As soon as she and Lottie were gone Breckon began, rather more formidably than he liked, but helplessly so: "Judge Kenton, I should be glad of a few moments with you on--on an important--on a matter that is important to me.""Well," said the judge, cautiously. Whatever was coming, he wished to guard himself from the mistake that he had once so nearly fallen into, and that still made him catch his breath to think of. "How can I be of use to you?""I don't know that you can be of any use--I don't know that I ought to speak to you. But I thought you might perhaps save me from--save my taking a false step."He looked at Kenton as if he would understand, and Kenton supposed that he did. He said, "My daughter once mentioned your wish to talk with me.""Your daughter?" Breckon stared at him in stupefaction.
"Yes; Ellen. She said you wished to consult me about going back to your charge in New York, when we were on the ship together. But I don't know that I'm very competent to give advice in such--""Oh!" Breckon exclaimed, in a tone of immense relief, which did not continue itself in what he went on to say. "That! I've quite made up my mind to go back." He stopped, and then be burst out, "I want to speak with you about her." The judge sat steady, still resolute not to give himself away, and the young man scarcely recovered from what had been a desperate plunge in adding: "I know that it's usual to speak with her--with the lady herself first, but--I don't know! The circumstances are peculiar. You only know about me what you've seen of me, and I would rather make my mistakes in the order that seems right to me, although it isn't just the American way."He smiled rather piteously, and the judge said, rather encouragingly, "I don't quite know whether I follow you."Breckon blushed, and sought help in what remained of his coffee. "The way isn't easy for me. But it's this: I ask your leave to ask Miss Ellen to marry me." The worst was over now, and looked as if it were a relief.
"She is the most beautiful person in the world to me, and the best;but as you know so little of me, I thought it right to get your leave--to tell you--to--to-- That is all." He fell back in his chair and looked a at Kenton.
"It is unusual," the judge began.
"Yes, Yes; I know that. And for that reason I speak first to you. I'll be ruled by you implicitly.""I don't mean that,"Kenton said. "I would have expected that you would speak to her first. But I get your point of view, and I must say I think you're right. I think you are behaving--honorably. I wish that every one was like you. But I can't say anything now. I must talk with her mother. My daughter's life has not been happy. I can't tell you. But as far as I am concerned, and I think Mrs. Kenton, too, I would be glad --We like you Mr. Breckon. We think you are a good man.
"Oh, thank you. I'm not so sure--"
"We'd risk it. But that isn't all. Will you excuse me if I don't say anything more just yet--and if I leave you?""Why, certainly." The judge had risen and pushed back his chair, and Breckon did the same. "And I shall--hear from you?""Why, certainly," said the judge in his turn.
"It isn't possible that you put him off!" his wife reproached him, when he told what had passed between him and Breckon. "Oh, you couldn't have let him think that we didn't want him for her! Surely you didn't!""Will you get it into your head," he flamed back, "that he hasn't spoken to Ellen yet, and I couldn't accept him till she had?""Oh yes. I forgot that." Mrs. Kenton struggled with the fact, in the difficulty of realizing so strange an order of procedure. "I suppose it's his being educated abroad that way. But, do go back to him, Rufus, and tell him that of course--""I will do nothing of the kind, Sarah! What are you thinking of?""Oh, I don't know what I'm thinking of! I must see Ellen, I suppose.
I'll go to her now. Oh, dear, if she doesn't--if she lets such a chance slip through her fingers-- But she's quite likely to, she's so obstinate!
I wonder what she'll want us to do."
She fled to her daughter's room and found Boyne there, sitting beside his sister's bed, giving her a detailed account of his adventure of the day before, up to the moment Mr. Breckon met him, in charge of the detectives. Up to that moment, it appeared to Boyne, as nearly as he could recollect, that he had not broken down, but had behaved himself with a dignity which was now beginning to clothe his whole experience.
In the retrospect, a quiet heroism characterized his conduct, and at the moment his mother entered the room he was questioning Ellen as to her impressions of his bearing when she first saw him in the grasp of the detectives.
His mother took him by the arm, and said, "I want to speak with Ellen, Boyne," and put him out of the door.
Then she came back and sat down in his chair. "Ellen. Mr. Breckon has been speaking to your father. Do you know what about?""About his going back to New York?" the girl suggested.
Her mother kept her patience with difficulty. "No, not about that.
