"True."
He remained looking at her, brooding over something in his mind. She perplexed him; he wondered at her. He could not comprehend the spirit that was in her, that sustained a delicate little frame, and made her defy him.
His eyes wandered round the room, and he signed to Uncle Zachie to give him his stick again.
"What is that?" said he, pointing to the miniature on the stand for music, where Mr. Menaida had put it, over a sheet of the music he had been playing, or attempting to play.
"It is my son, Oliver," said Uncle Zachie.
"Why is it there? Has she been looking at it? Let me see it."
Mr. Menaida hesitated, but presently handed it to the redoubted Captain, with nervous twitches in his face. "I value it highly—my only child."
Coppinger looked at it, with a curl of his lips; then handed it back to Mr. Menaida.
"Why is it here?"
"I brought it here to show it her. I am very proud of my son," said Uncle Zachie.
Coppinger was in an irritable mood, captious about trifles. Why did he ask questions about this little picture? Why look suspiciously at Judith as he did so—suspiciously and threateningly?
"Do you play on the piano? " asked Coppinger. "When the evil spirit was on Saul, David struck the harp and sent the spirit away. Let me hear how you can touch the notes. It may do me good. Heaven knows it is not often I have the leisure, or the occasion, or am in the humor for music. I would hear what you can do."
Judith looked at Uncle Zachie.
"I cannot play," she said; "that is to say, I can play, but not now, and on this piano."
But Mr. Menaida interfered and urged her to play. He was afraid of Coppinger.
She seated herself on the music-stool and considered for a moment. The miniature was again on the stand. Coppinger put out his stick and thrust it off, and it would have fallen had not Judith caught it. She gave it to Mr. Menaida, who hastily carried it into the adjoining room, where the sight of it might no longer irritate the Captain.
