The throng leaped to their feet and screamed themselves horse.
"Keep your house Judge!" yelled a henchman.
"Houses were built for patriots, and jails for traitors!"
The Judge bowed and again the crowd yelled.
Larkin from the platform watched the demonstration with amazement.
"I've miscalculated. They're all thieves and scoundrels. I've made him a hero."
With a hypocritical smile he seized the Judge's hand, wrung it heartily, congratulated him, and drew him to the platform. Stella sprang lightly up after him, took a rosebud from her belt, pinned it on her father's slouchy ill-fitting broadcloth coat, kissed him and amid the cheers of the mob retraced her steps and left the ground with Steve Hoyle.
John watched her lift her parasol above her dainty head with smothered curses at his folly. He had unconsciously taken his own hat off and stood bareheaded in the broiling Southern sun of a June day. The bitterness of his mistake stirred him to more dogged persistence. With an effort he turned to the Judge and the Convention—trying in vain to shake off the impression Stella had left. But he found his mind constantly wandering from the scene. Wherever he looked,
