threat in his whole bearing, in his manner of addressing her, roused every energy she possessed.
"I tell you," said he, harshly, "if any man had used the word you threw at me yesterday, I would have murdered him; I would have split his skull with the handle of my crop."
"You raised your hand to do it to me," said Judith.
"No!" he exclaimed, violently. "It is false; come here, and let me see if you have the courage, the fearlessness you affect. You women are past-masters of dissembling. Come here; kneel before me and let me raise my stick over you. See; there is lead in the handle, and with one blow I can split your skull and dash the brains over the floor."
Judith remained immovable.
"I thought it—you are afraid."
She shook her head.
He let himself, with some pain, slowly into a chair.
"You are afraid. You know what to expect. Ah! I could fell you and trample on you and break your bones, as I was cast down, trampled on, and broken in my bones—yesterday by you, or through you. Are you afraid?"
She took a step toward him. Then Uncle Zachie waved her back, in great alarm. He caught Judith's attention, and she answered him, "I am not afraid. I gave him a word I should not have given him yesterday. I will show him that I retract it fully." Then she stepped up to Coppinger and sank on her knees before him. He raised his whip, with the loaded handle, brandishing it over her.
"Now I am here," she said, "I again ask your forgiveness, but I protest an apology is due to me."
He threw his stick away. "By heaven, it is!" Then in an altered tone, "Take it so, that I ask your forgiveness. Get up; do not kneel to me. I could not have struck you down had I willed, my arm is stiff. Perhaps you knew it."
He rose with effort to his feet again. Judith drew back to her former position by the piano, two hectic spots of flame were in her cheek, and her eyes were preternaturally bright.
Coppinger looked steadily at her for a while, then he said, "Are you ill I You look as if you were."
"I have had much to go through of late."
