THE HOUSE BEHIND THE CEDARS

BY

CHARLES W. CHESNUTT

CONTENTS

 I A STRANGER FROM SOUTH CAROLINA II AN EVENING VISIT III THE OLD JUDGE IV DOWN THE RIVER V THE TOURNAMENT VI THE QUEEN OF LOVE AND BEAUTY VII 'MID NEW SURROUNDINGS VIII THE COURTSHIP IX DOUBTS AND FEARS X THE DREAM XI A LETTER AND A JOURNEY XII TRYON GOES TO PATESVILLE XIII AN INJUDICIOUS PAYMENT XIV A LOYAL FRIEND XV MINE OWN PEOPLE XVI THE BOTTOM FALLS OUT XVII TWO LETTERS XVIII UNDER THE OLD REGIME XIX GOD MADE US ALL XX DIGGING UP ROOTS XXI A GILDED OPPORTUNITY XXII IMPERATIVE BUSINESS XXIII THE GUEST OF HONOR XXIV SWING YOUR PARTNERS XXV BALANCE ALL XXVI THE SCHOOLHOUSE IN THE WOODS XXVII AN INTERESTING ACQUAINTANCE XXVIII THE LOST KNIFE XXIX PLATO EARNS HALF A DOLLAR XXX AN UNUSUAL HONOR XXXI IN DEEP WATERS XXXII THE POWER OF LOVE XXXIII A MULE AND A CART

THE HOUSE BEHIND THE CEDARS

I

A STRANGER FROM SOUTH CAROLINA

Time touches all things with destroying hand; and if he seem now andthen to bestow the bloom of youth, the sap of spring, it is but a briefmockery, to be surely and swiftly followed by the wrinkles of old age, the dry leaves and bare branches of winter. And yet there are placeswhere Time seems to linger lovingly long after youth has departed, andto which he seems loath to bring the evil day. Who has not known someeven-tempered old man or woman who seemed to have drunk of the fountainof youth? Who has not seen somewhere an old town that, having longsince ceased to grow, yet held its own without perceptible decline?

Some such trite reflection--as apposite to the subject as most randomreflections are--passed through the mind of a young man who came out ofthe front door of the Patesville Hotel about nine o'clock one finemorning in spring, a few years after the Civil War, and started downFront Street toward the market-house. Arriving at the town late theprevious evening, he had been driven up from the steamboat in acarriage, from which he had been able to distinguish only the shadowyoutlines of the houses along the street; so that this morning walk washis first opportunity to see the town by daylight. He was dressed in asuit of linen duck--the day was warm--a panama straw hat, and patentleather shoes. In appearance he was tall, dark, with straight, black, lustrous hair, and very clean-cut, high-bred features. When he pausedby the clerk's desk on his way out, to light his cigar, the day clerk, who had just come on duty, glanced at the register and read the lastentry:--

 "'JOHN WARWICK, CLARENCE, SOUTH CAROLINA. '

"One of the South Ca'lina bigbugs, I reckon--probably in cotton, orturpentine. " The gentleman from South Carolina, walking down thestreet, glanced about him with an eager look, in which curiosity andaffection were mingled with a touch of bitterness. He saw little thatwas not familiar, or that he had not seen in his dreams a hundred timesduring the past ten years. There had been some changes, it is true, some melancholy changes, but scarcely anything by way of addition orimprovement to counterbalance them. Here and there blackened anddismantled walls marked the place where handsome buildings once hadstood, for Sherman's march to the sea had left its mark upon the town. The stores were mostly of brick, two stories high, joining one anotherafter the manner of cities. Some of the names on the signs werefamiliar; others, including a number of Jewish names, were quiteunknown to him. 

A two minutes' walk brought Warwick--the name he had registered under, and as we shall call him--to the market-house, the central feature ofPatesville, from both the commercial and the picturesque points ofview. Standing foursquare in the heart of the town, at theintersection of the two main streets, a "jog" at each street cornerleft around the market-house a little public square, which at this hourwas well occupied by carts and wagons from the country and empty draysawaiting hire. Warwick was unable to perceive much change in themarket-house. Perhaps the surface of the red brick, long unpainted, had scaled off a little more here and there. There might have been aslight accretion of the moss and lichen on the shingled roof. But thetall tower, with its four-faced clock, rose as majestically anduncompromisingly as though the land had never been subjugated. Was itso irreconcilable, Warwick wondered, as still to peal out the curfewbell, which at nine o'clock at night had clamorously warned allnegroes, slave or free, that it was unlawful for them to be abroadafter that hour, under penalty of imprisonment or whipping? Was theold constable, whose chief business it had been to ring the bell, stillalive and exercising the functions of his office, and had age lessenedor increased the number of times that obliging citizens performed thisduty for him during his temporary absences in the company of convivialspirits? A few moments later, Warwick saw a colored policeman in theold constable's place--a stronger reminder than even the burnedbuildings that war had left its mark upon the old town, with which Timehad dealt so tenderly. 

The lower story of the market-house was open on all four of its sidesto the public square. Warwick passed through one of the wide brickarches and traversed the building with a leisurely step. He looked invain into the stalls for the butcher who had sold fresh meat twice aweek, on market days, and he felt a genuine thrill of pleasure when herecognized the red bandana turban of old Aunt Lyddy, the ancient negrowoman who had sold him gingerbread and fried fish, and told him weirdtales of witchcraft and conjuration, in the old days when, as an idleboy, he had loafed about the market-house. He did not speak to her, however, or give her any sign of recognition. He threw a glance towarda certain corner where steps led to the town hall above. On thisstairway he had once seen a manacled free negro shot while being takenupstairs for examination under a criminal charge. Warwick recalledvividly how the shot had rung out. He could see again the livid lookof terror on the victim's face, the gathering crowd, the resultingconfusion. The murderer, he recalled, had been tried and sentenced toimprisonment for life, but was pardoned by a merciful governor afterserving a year of his sentence. As Warwick was neither a prophet northe son of a prophet, he could not foresee that, thirty years later, even this would seem an excessive punishment for so slight amisdemeanor. 

Leaving the market-house, Warwick turned to the left, and kept on hiscourse until he reached the next corner. After another turn to theright, a dozen paces brought him in front of a small weather-beatenframe building, from which projected a wooden sign-board bearing theinscription:--

 ARCHIBALD STRAIGHT, LAWYER. 

He turned the knob, but the door was locked. Retracing his steps past avacant lot, the young man entered a shop where a colored man wasemployed in varnishing a coffin, which stood on two trestles in themiddle of the floor. Not at all impressed by the melancholysuggestiveness of his task, he was whistling a lively air with greatgusto. Upon Warwick's entrance this effusion came to a sudden end, andthe coffin-maker assumed an air of professional gravity. 

"Good-mawnin', suh, " he said, lifting his cap politely. 

"Good-morning, " answered Warwick. "Can you tell me anything aboutJudge Straight's office hours?"

"De ole jedge has be'n a little onreg'lar sence de wah, suh; but hegin'ally gits roun' 'bout ten o'clock er so. He's be'n kin' er feeblefer de las' few yeahs. An' I reckon, " continued the undertakersolemnly, his glance unconsciously seeking a row of fine casketsstanding against the wall, --"I reckon he'll soon be goin' de way er allde earth. 'Man dat is bawn er 'oman hath but a sho't time ter lib, an'is full er mis'ry. He cometh up an' is cut down lack as a flower. ''De days er his life is three-sco' an' ten'--an' de ole jedge is libbedmo' d'n dat, suh, by five yeahs, ter say de leas'. "

"'Death, '" quoted Warwick, with whose mood the undertaker's remarkswere in tune, "'is the penalty that all must pay for the crime ofliving. '"

"Dat 's a fac', suh, dat 's a fac'; so dey mus'--so dey mus'. An' denall de dead has ter be buried. An' we does ou' sheer of it, suh, wedoes ou' sheer. We conduc's de obs'quies er all de bes' w'ite folks erde town, suh. "

Warwick left the undertaker's shop and retraced his steps until he hadpassed the lawyer's office, toward which he threw an affectionateglance. A few rods farther led him past the old black Presbyterianchurch, with its square tower, embowered in a stately grove; past theCatholic church, with its many crosses, and a painted wooden figure ofSt. James in a recess beneath the gable; and past the old JeffersonHouse, once the leading hotel of the town, in front of which politicalmeetings had been held, and political speeches made, and political hardcider drunk, in the days of "Tippecanoe and Tyler too. "

The street down which Warwick had come intersected Front Street at asharp angle in front of the old hotel, forming a sort of flatiron blockat the junction, known as Liberty Point, --perhaps because slaveauctions were sometimes held there in the good old days. Just beforeWarwick reached Liberty Point, a young woman came down Front Streetfrom the direction of the market-house. When their paths converged, Warwick kept on down Front Street behind her, it having been alreadyhis intention to walk in this direction. 

Warwick's first glance had revealed the fact that the young woman wasstrikingly handsome, with a stately beauty seldom encountered. As hewalked along behind her at a measured distance, he could not helpnoting the details that made up this pleasing impression, for his mindwas singularly alive to beauty, in whatever embodiment. The girl'sfigure, he perceived, was admirably proportioned; she was evidently atthe period when the angles of childhood were rounding into thepromising curves of adolescence. Her abundant hair, of a dark andglossy brown, was neatly plaited and coiled above an ivory column thatrose straight from a pair of gently sloping shoulders, clearly outlinedbeneath the light muslin frock that covered them. He could see thatshe was tastefully, though not richly, dressed, and that she walkedwith an elastic step that revealed a light heart and the vigor ofperfect health. Her face, of course, he could not analyze, since hehad caught only the one brief but convincing glimpse of it. 

The young woman kept on down Front Street, Warwick maintaining hisdistance a few rods behind her. They passed a factory, a warehouse ortwo, and then, leaving the brick pavement, walked along on motherearth, under a leafy arcade of spreading oaks and elms. Their way lednow through a residential portion of the town, which, as they advanced, gradually declined from staid respectability to poverty, open andunabashed. Warwick observed, as they passed through the respectablequarter, that few people who met the girl greeted her, and that someothers whom she passed at gates or doorways gave her no sign ofrecognition; from which he inferred that she was possibly a visitor inthe town and not well acquainted. 

Their walk had continued not more than ten minutes when they crossed acreek by a wooden bridge and came to a row of mean houses standingflush with the street. At the door of one, an old black woman hadstooped to lift a large basket, piled high with laundered clothes. Thegirl, as she passed, seized one end of the basket and helped the oldwoman to raise it to her head, where it rested solidly on the cushionof her head-kerchief. During this interlude, Warwick, though he hadslackened his pace measurably, had so nearly closed the gap betweenhimself and them as to hear the old woman say, with the dulcet negrointonation:--

"T'anky', honey; de Lawd gwine bless you sho'. You wuz alluz a goodgal, and de Lawd love eve'ybody w'at he'p de po' ole nigger. You gwineter hab good luck all yo' bawn days. "

"I hope you're a true prophet, Aunt Zilphy, " laughed the girl inresponse. 

The sound of her voice gave Warwick a thrill. It was soft and sweet andclear--quite in harmony with her appearance. That it had a faintsuggestiveness of the old woman's accent he hardly noticed, for thecurrent Southern speech, including his own, was rarely without a touchof it. The corruption of the white people's speech was oneelement--only one--of the negro's unconscious revenge for his owndebasement. 

The houses they passed now grew scattering, and the quarter of the townmore neglected. Warwick felt himself wondering where the girl might begoing in a neighborhood so uninviting. When she stopped to pull ahalf-naked negro child out of a mudhole and set him upon his feet, hethought she might be some young lady from the upper part of the town, bound on some errand of mercy, or going, perhaps, to visit an oldservant or look for a new one. Once she threw a backward glance atWarwick, thus enabling him to catch a second glimpse of a singularlypretty face. Perhaps the young woman found his presence in theneighborhood as unaccountable as he had deemed hers; for, finding hisglance fixed upon her, she quickened her pace with an air of startledtimidity. 

"A woman with such a figure, " thought Warwick, "ought to be able toface the world with the confidence of Phryne confronting her judges. "

By this time Warwick was conscious that something more than mere graceor beauty had attracted him with increasing force toward this youngwoman. A suggestion, at first faint and elusive, of somethingfamiliar, had grown stronger when he heard her voice, and became moreand more pronounced with each rod of their advance; and when shestopped finally before a gate, and, opening it, went into a yard shutoff from the street by a row of dwarf cedars, Warwick had alreadydiscounted in some measure the surprise he would have felt at seeingher enter there had he not walked down Front Street behind her. Therewas still sufficient unexpectedness about the act, however, to give hima decided thrill of pleasure. 

"It must be Rena, " he murmured. "Who could have dreamed that she wouldblossom out like that? It must surely be Rena!"

He walked slowly past the gate and peered through a narrow gap in thecedar hedge. The girl was moving along a sanded walk, toward a gray, unpainted house, with a steep roof, broken by dormer windows. Thetrace of timidity he had observed in her had given place to the moreassured bearing of one who is upon his own ground. The garden walkswere bordered by long rows of jonquils, pinks, and carnations, inclosing clumps of fragrant shrubs, lilies, and roses already inbloom. Toward the middle of the garden stood two fine magnolia-trees, with heavy, dark green, glistening leaves, while nearer the house twomighty elms shaded a wide piazza, at one end of which a honeysucklevine, and at the other a Virginia creeper, running over a woodenlattice, furnished additional shade and seclusion. On dark or wintrydays, the aspect of this garden must have been extremely sombre anddepressing, and it might well have seemed a fit place to hide someguilty or disgraceful secret. But on the bright morning when Warwickstood looking through the cedars, it seemed, with its green frame andcanopy and its bright carpet of flowers, an ideal retreat from thefierce sunshine and the sultry heat of the approaching summer. 

The girl stooped to pluck a rose, and as she bent over it, her profilewas clearly outlined. She held the flower to her face with along-drawn inhalation, then went up the steps, crossed the piazza, opened the door without knocking, and entered the house with the air ofone thoroughly at home. 

"Yes, " said the young man to himself, "it's Rena, sure enough. "

The house stood on a corner, around which the cedar hedge turned, continuing along the side of the garden until it reached the line ofthe front of the house. The piazza to a rear wing, at right angles tothe front of the house, was open to inspection from the side street, which, to judge from its deserted look, seemed to be but little used. Turning into this street and walking leisurely past the back yard, which was only slightly screened from the street by a china-tree, Warwick perceived the young woman standing on the piazza, facing anelderly woman, who sat in a large rocking-chair, plying a pair ofknitting-needles on a half-finished stocking. Warwick's walk led himwithin three feet of the side gate, which he felt an almostirresistible impulse to enter. Every detail of the house and gardenwas familiar; a thousand cords of memory and affection drew himthither; but a stronger counter-motive prevailed. With a great efforthe restrained himself, and after a momentary pause, walked slowly onpast the house, with a backward glance, which he turned away when hesaw that it was observed. 

Warwick's attention had been so fully absorbed by the house behind thecedars and the women there, that he had scarcely noticed, on the otherside of the neglected by-street, two men working by a large openwindow, in a low, rude building with a clapboarded roof, directlyopposite the back piazza occupied by the two women. Both the men werebusily engaged in shaping barrel-staves, each wielding a sharp-edgeddrawing-knife on a piece of seasoned oak clasped tightly in a woodenvise. 

"I jes' wonder who dat man is, an' w'at he 's doin' on dis street, "observed the younger of the two, with a suspicious air. He had noticedthe gentleman's involuntary pause and his interest in the oppositehouse, and had stopped work for a moment to watch the stranger as hewent on down the street. 

"Nev' min' 'bout dat man, " said the elder one. "You 'ten' ter yo' wukan' finish dat bairl-stave. You spen's enti'ely too much er yo' timestretchin' yo' neck atter other people. An' you need n' 'sturb yo'se'f'bout dem folks 'cross de street, fer dey ain't yo' kin', an' you'rewastin' yo' time both'in' yo' min' wid 'em, er wid folks w'at comes onde street on account of 'em. Look sha'p now, boy, er you'll git datstave trim' too much. "

The younger man resumed his work, but still found time to throw aslanting glance out of the window. The gentleman, he perceived, stoodfor a moment on the rotting bridge across the old canal, and thenwalked slowly ahead until he turned to the right into Back Street, afew rods farther on. 

II

AN EVENING VISIT

Toward evening of the same day, Warwick took his way down Front Streetin the gathering dusk. By the time night had spread its mantle over theearth, he had reached the gate by which he had seen the girl of hismorning walk enter the cedar-bordered garden. He stopped at the gateand glanced toward the house, which seemed dark and silent and deserted. 

"It's more than likely, " he thought, "that they are in the kitchen. Ireckon I'd better try the back door. "

But as he drew cautiously near the corner, he saw a man's figureoutlined in the yellow light streaming from the open door of a smallhouse between Front Street and the cooper shop. Wishing, for reasonsof his own, to avoid observation, Warwick did not turn the corner, butwalked on down Front Street until he reached a point from which hecould see, at a long angle, a ray of light proceeding from the kitchenwindow of the house behind the cedars. 

"They are there, " he muttered with a sigh of relief, for he had fearedthey might be away. "I suspect I'll have to go to the front door, after all. No one can see me through the trees. "

He retraced his steps to the front gate, which he essayed to open. There was apparently some defect in the latch, for it refused to work. Warwick remembered the trick, and with a slight sense of amusement, pushed his foot under the gate and gave it a hitch to the left, afterwhich it opened readily enough. He walked softly up the sanded path, tiptoed up the steps and across the piazza, and rapped at the frontdoor, not too loudly, lest this too might attract the attention of theman across the street. There was no response to his rap. He put hisear to the door and heard voices within, and the muffled sound offootsteps. After a moment he rapped again, a little louder than before. 

There was an instant cessation of the sounds within. He rapped a thirdtime, to satisfy any lingering doubt in the minds of those who he feltsure were listening in some trepidation. A moment later a ray of lightstreamed through the keyhole. 

"Who's there?" a woman's voice inquired somewhat sharply. 

"A gentleman, " answered Warwick, not holding it yet time to revealhimself. "Does Mis' Molly Walden live here?"

"Yes, " was the guarded answer. "I'm Mis' Walden. What's yo'rbusiness?"

"I have a message to you from your son John. "

A key clicked in the lock. The door opened, and the elder of the twowomen Warwick had seen upon the piazza stood in the doorway, peeringcuriously and with signs of great excitement into the face of thestranger. 

"You 've got a message from my son, you say?" she asked with tremulousagitation. "Is he sick, or in trouble?"

"No. He's well and doing well, and sends his love to you, and hopesyou've not forgotten him. "

"Fergot him? No, God knows I ain't fergot him! But come in, sir, an'tell me somethin' mo' about him. "

Warwick went in, and as the woman closed the door after him, he threw aglance round the room. On the wall, over the mantelpiece, hung a steelengraving of General Jackson at the battle of New Orleans, and, on theopposite wall, a framed fashion-plate from "Godey's Lady's Book. " Inthe middle of the room an octagonal centre-table with a single leg, terminating in three sprawling feet, held a collection of curiouslyshaped sea-shells. There was a great haircloth sofa, somewhat the worsefor wear, and a well-filled bookcase. The screen standing before thefireplace was covered with Confederate bank-notes of variousdenominations and designs, in which the heads of Jefferson Davis andother Confederate leaders were conspicuous. 

 "Imperious Caesar, dead, and turned to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away, "

murmured the young man, as his eye fell upon this specimen ofdecorative art. 

The woman showed her visitor to a seat. She then sat down facing himand looked at him closely. "When did you last see my son?" she asked. 

"I've never met your son, " he replied. 

Her face fell. "Then the message comes through you from somebody else?"

"No, directly from your son. "

She scanned his face with a puzzled look. This bearded younggentleman, who spoke so politely and was dressed so well, surely--no, it could not be! and yet--

Warwick was smiling at her through a mist of tears. An electric sparkof sympathy flashed between them. They rose as if moved by oneimpulse, and were clasped in each other's arms. 

"John, my John! It IS John!"

"Mother--my dear old mother!"

"I didn't think, " she sobbed, "that I'd ever see you again. "

He smoothed her hair and kissed her. "And are you glad to see me, mother?"

"Am I glad to see you? It's like the dead comin' to life. I thoughtI'd lost you forever, John, my son, my darlin' boy!" she answered, hugging him strenuously. 

"I couldn't live without seeing you, mother, " he said. He meant it, too, or thought he did, although he had not seen her for ten years. 

"You've grown so tall, John, and are such a fine gentleman! And youARE a gentleman now, John, ain't you--sure enough? Nobody knows theold story?"

"Well, mother, I've taken a man's chance in life, and have tried tomake the most of it; and I haven't felt under any obligation to spoilit by raking up old stories that are best forgotten. There are the dearold books: have they been read since I went away?"

"No, honey, there's be'n nobody to read 'em, excep' Rena, an' she don'ttake to books quite like you did. But I've kep' 'em dusted clean, an'kep' the moths an' the bugs out; for I hoped you'd come back some day, an' knowed you'd like to find 'em all in their places, jus' like youleft 'em. "

"That's mighty nice of you, mother. You could have done no more if youhad loved them for themselves. But where is Rena? I saw her on thestreet to-day, but she didn't know me from Adam; nor did I guess it wasshe until she opened the gate and came into the yard. "

"I've be'n so glad to see you that I'd fergot about her, " answered themother. "Rena, oh, Rena!"

The girl was not far away; she had been standing in the next room, listening intently to every word of the conversation, and only keptfrom coming in by a certain constraint that made a brother whom she hadnot met for so many years seem almost as much a stranger as if he hadnot been connected with her by any tie. 

"Yes, mamma, " she answered, coming forward. 

"Rena, child, here's yo'r brother John, who's come back to see us. Tell 'im howdy. "

As she came forward, Warwick rose, put his arm around her waist, drewher toward him, and kissed her affectionately, to her evidentembarrassment. She was a tall girl, but he towered above her in quite aprotecting fashion; and she thought with a thrill how fine it would beto have such a brother as this in the town all the time. How proud shewould be, if she could but walk up the street with such a brother byher side! She could then hold up her head before all the world, oblivious to the glance of pity or contempt. She felt a verypronounced respect for this tall gentleman who held her blushing facebetween his hands and looked steadily into her eyes. 

"You're the little sister I used to read stories to, and whom Ipromised to come and see some day. Do you remember how you cried whenI went away?"

"It seems but yesterday, " she answered. "I've still got the dime yougave me. "

He kissed her again, and then drew her down beside him on the sofa, where he sat enthroned between the two loving and excited women. Noking could have received more sincere or delighted homage. He was aman, come into a household of women, --a man of whom they were proud, and to whom they looked up with fond reverence. For he was not only ason, --a brother--but he represented to them the world from whichcircumstances had shut them out, and to which distance lent even morethan its usual enchantment; and they felt nearer to this far-off worldbecause of the glory which Warwick reflected from it. 

"You're a very pretty girl, " said Warwick, regarding his sisterthoughtfully. "I followed you down Front Street this morning, andscarcely took my eyes off you all the way; and yet I didn't know you, and scarcely saw your face. You improve on acquaintance; to-night, Ifind you handsomer still. "

"Now, John, " said his mother, expostulating mildly, "you'll spile her, if you don't min'. "

The girl was beaming with gratified vanity. What woman would not findsuch praise sweet from almost any source, and how much more so fromthis great man, who, from his exalted station in the world, must surelyknow the things whereof he spoke! She believed every word of it; sheknew it very well indeed, but wished to hear it repeated and itemizedand emphasized. 

"No, he won't, mamma, " she asserted, "for he's flattering me. He talksas if I was some rich young lady, who lives on the Hill, "--the Hill wasthe aristocratic portion of the town, --"instead of a poor. "

"Instead of a poor young girl, who has the hill to climb, " replied herbrother, smoothing her hair with his hand. Her hair was long andsmooth and glossy, with a wave like the ripple of a summer breeze uponthe surface of still water. It was the girl's great pride, and hadbeen sedulously cared for. "What lovely hair! It has just the wavethat yours lacks, mother. "

"Yes, " was the regretful reply, "I've never be'n able to git that waveout. But her hair's be'n took good care of, an' there ain't nary galin town that's got any finer. "

"Don't worry about the wave, mother. It's just the fashionable ripple, and becomes her immensely. I think my little Albert favors his AuntRena somewhat. "

"Your little Albert!" they cried. "You've got a child?"

"Oh, yes, " he replied calmly, "a very fine baby boy. "

They began to purr in proud contentment at this information, and mademinute inquiries about the age and weight and eyes and nose and otherimportant details of this precious infant. They inquired more coldlyabout the child's mother, of whom they spoke with greater warmth whenthey learned that she was dead. They hung breathless on Warwick'swords as he related briefly the story of his life since he had left, years before, the house behind the cedars--how with a stout heart andan abounding hope he had gone out into a seemingly hostile world, andmade fortune stand and deliver. His story had for the women the charmof an escape from captivity, with all the thrill of a pirate's tale. With the whole world before him, he had remained in the South, the landof his fathers, where, he conceived, he had an inalienable birthright. By some good chance he had escaped military service in the Confederatearmy, and, in default of older and more experienced men, hadundertaken, during the rebellion, the management of a large estate, which had been left in the hands of women and slaves. He had filledthe place so acceptably, and employed his leisure to such advantage, that at the close of the war he found himself--he was modest enough tothink, too, in default of a better man--the husband of the orphandaughter of the gentleman who had owned the plantation, and who hadlost his life upon the battlefield. Warwick's wife was of good family, and in a more settled condition of society it would not have been easyfor a young man of no visible antecedents to win her hand. A year ortwo later, he had taken the oath of allegiance, and had been admittedto the South Carolina bar. Rich in his wife's right, he had been ableto practice his profession upon a high plane, without the worry ofsordid cares, and with marked success for one of his age. 

"I suppose, " he concluded, "that I have got along at the bar, aselsewhere, owing to the lack of better men. Many of the good lawyerswere killed in the war, and most of the remainder were disqualified;while I had the advantage of being alive, and of never having been inarms against the government. People had to have lawyers, and they gaveme their business in preference to the carpet-baggers. Fortune, youknow, favors the available man. "

His mother drank in with parted lips and glistening eyes the story ofhis adventures and the record of his successes. As Rena listened, thenarrow walls that hemmed her in seemed to draw closer and closer, asthough they must crush her. Her brother watched her keenly. He hadbeen talking not only to inform the women, but with a deeper purpose, conceived since his morning walk, and deepened as he had followed, during his narrative, the changing expression of Rena's face and notedher intense interest in his story, her pride in his successes, and theoccasional wistful look that indexed her self-pity so completely. 

"An' I s'pose you're happy, John?" asked his mother. 

"Well, mother, happiness is a relative term, and depends, I imagine, upon how nearly we think we get what we think we want. I have had mychance and haven't thrown it away, and I suppose I ought to be happy. But then, I have lost my wife, whom I loved very dearly, and who lovedme just as much, and I'm troubled about my child. "

"Why?" they demanded. "Is there anything the matter with him?"

"No, not exactly. He's well enough, as babies go, and has a goodenough nurse, as nurses go. But the nurse is ignorant, and not alwayscareful. A child needs some woman of its own blood to love it and lookafter it intelligently. "

Mis' Molly's eyes were filled with tearful yearning. She would havegiven all the world to warm her son's child upon her bosom; but sheknew this could not be. 

"Did your wife leave any kin?" she asked with an effort. 

"No near kin; she was an only child. "

"You'll be gettin' married again, " suggested his mother. 

"No, " he replied; "I think not. "

Warwick was still reading his sister's face, and saw the spark of hopethat gleamed in her expressive eye. 

"If I had some relation of my own that I could take into the house withme, " he said reflectively, "the child might be healthier and happier, and I should be much more at ease about him. "

The mother looked from son to daughter with a dawning apprehension anda sudden pallor. When she saw the yearning in Rena's eyes, she threwherself at her son's feet. 

"Oh, John, " she cried despairingly, "don't take her away from me!Don't take her, John, darlin', for it'd break my heart to lose her!"

Rena's arms were round her mother's neck, and Rena's voice was soundingin her ears. "There, there, mamma! Never mind! I won't leave you, mamma--dear old mamma! Your Rena'll stay with you always, and never, never leave you. "

John smoothed his mother's hair with a comforting touch, patted herwithered cheek soothingly, lifted her tenderly to her place by hisside, and put his arm about her. 

"You love your children, mother?"

"They're all I've got, " she sobbed, "an' they cos' me all I had. Whenthe las' one's gone, I'll want to go too, for I'll be all alone in theworld. Don't take Rena, John; for if you do, I'll never see her again, an' I can't bear to think of it. How would you like to lose yo'r onechild?"

"Well, well, mother, we'll say no more about it. And now tell me allabout yourself, and about the neighbors, and how you got through thewar, and who's dead and who's married--and everything. "

The change of subject restored in some degree Mis' Molly's equanimity, and with returning calmness came a sense of other responsibilities. 

"Good gracious, Rena!" she exclaimed. "John 's be'n in the house anhour, and ain't had nothin' to eat yet! Go in the kitchen an' spread aclean tablecloth, an' git out that 'tater pone, an' a pitcher o' thatlas' kag o' persimmon beer, an' let John take a bite an' a sip. "

Warwick smiled at the mention of these homely dainties. "I thought ofyour sweet-potato pone at the hotel to-day, when I was at dinner, andwondered if you'd have some in the house. There was never any likeyours; and I've forgotten the taste of persimmon beer entirely. "

Rena left the room to carry out her hospitable commission. Warwick, taking advantage of her absence, returned after a while to the formersubject. 

"Of course, mother, " he said calmly, "I wouldn't think of taking Renaaway against your wishes. A mother's claim upon her child is a highand holy one. Of course she will have no chance here, where our storyis known. The war has wrought great changes, has put the bottom railon top, and all that--but it hasn't wiped THAT out. Nothing but deathcan remove that stain, if it does not follow us even beyond the grave. Here she must forever be--nobody! With me she might have got out intothe world; with her beauty she might have made a good marriage; and, ifI mistake not, she has sense as well as beauty. "

"Yes, " sighed the mother, "she's got good sense. She ain't as quick asyou was, an' don't read as many books, but she's keerful an'painstakin', an' always tries to do what's right. She's be'n thinkin'about goin' away somewhere an' tryin' to git a school to teach, ersomethin', sence the Yankees have started 'em everywhere for po' whitefolks an' niggers too. But I don't like fer her to go too fur. "

"With such beauty and brains, " continued Warwick, "she could leave thistown and make a place for herself. The place is already made. She hasonly to step into my carriage--after perhaps a little preparation--andride up the hill which I have had to climb so painfully. It would be agreat pleasure to me to see her at the top. But of course it isimpossible--a mere idle dream. YOUR claim comes first; her duty chainsher here. "

"It would be so lonely without her, " murmured the mother weakly, "an' Ilove her so--my las' one!"

"No doubt--no doubt, " returned Warwick, with a sympathetic sigh; "ofcourse you love her. It's not to be thought of for a moment. It's apity that she couldn't have a chance here--but how could she! I hadthought she might marry a gentleman, but I dare say she'll do as wellas the rest of her friends--as well as Mary B. , for instance, whomarried--Homer Pettifoot, did you say? Or maybe Billy Oxendine mightdo for her. As long as she has never known any better, she'll probablybe as well satisfied as though she married a rich man, and lived in afine house, and kept a carriage and servants, and moved with the bestin the land. "

The tortured mother could endure no more. The one thing she desiredabove all others was her daughter's happiness. Her own life had notbeen governed by the highest standards, but about her love for herbeautiful daughter there was no taint of selfishness. The life her sonhad described had been to her always the ideal but unattainable life. Circumstances, some beyond her control, and others for which she washerself in a measure responsible, had put it forever and inconceivablybeyond her reach. It had been conquered by her son. It beckoned toher daughter. The comparison of this free and noble life with thesordid existence of those around her broke down the last barrier ofopposition. 

"O Lord!" she moaned, "what shall I do with out her? It'll be lonely, John--so lonely!"

"You'll have your home, mother, " said Warwick tenderly, accepting theimplied surrender. "You'll have your friends and relatives, and theknowledge that your children are happy. I'll let you hear from usoften, and no doubt you can see Rena now and then. But you must lether go, mother, --it would be a sin against her to refuse. "

"She may go, " replied the mother brokenly. "I'll not stand in herway--I've got sins enough to answer for already. "

Warwick watched her pityingly. He had stirred her feelings to unwonteddepths, and his sympathy went out to her. If she had sinned, she hadbeen more sinned against than sinning, and it was not his part to judgeher. He had yielded to a sentimental weakness in deciding upon thistrip to Patesville. A matter of business had brought him within aday's journey of the town, and an over-mastering impulse had compelledhim to seek the mother who had given him birth and the old town wherehe had spent the earlier years of his life. No one would haveacknowledged sooner than he the folly of this visit. Men who haveelected to govern their lives by principles of abstract right andreason, which happen, perhaps, to be at variance with what societyconsiders equally right and reasonable, should, for fear ofcomplications, be careful about descending from the lofty heights oflogic to the common level of impulse and affection. Many years before, Warwick, when a lad of eighteen, had shaken the dust of the town fromhis feet, and with it, he fondly thought, the blight of hisinheritance, and had achieved elsewhere a worthy career. But duringall these years of absence he had cherished a tender feeling for hismother, and now again found himself in her house, amid the familiarsurroundings of his childhood. His visit had brought joy to hismother's heart, and was now to bring its shrouded companion, sorrow. His mother had lived her life, for good or ill. A wider door was opento his sister--her mother must not bar the entrance. 

"She may go, " the mother repeated sadly, drying her tears. "I'll giveher up for her good. "

"The table 's ready, mamma, " said Rena, coming to the door. 

The lunch was spread in the kitchen, a large unplastered room at therear, with a wide fireplace at one end. Only yesterday, it seemed toWarwick, he had sprawled upon the hearth, turning sweet potatoes beforethe fire, or roasting groundpeas in the ashes; or, more often, reading, by the light of a blazing pine-knot or lump of resin, some volume fromthe bookcase in the hall. From Bulwer's novel, he had read the storyof Warwick the Kingmaker, and upon leaving home had chosen it for hisown. He was a new man, but he had the blood of an old race, and hewould select for his own one of its worthy names. Overhead loomed thesame smoky beams, decorated with what might have been, from allappearances, the same bunches of dried herbs, the same strings ofonions and red peppers. Over in the same corner stood the samespinning-wheel, and through the open door of an adjoining room he sawthe old loom, where in childhood he had more than once thrown theshuttle. The kitchen was different from the stately dining-room of theold colonial mansion where he now lived; but it was homelike, and itwas familiar. The sight of it moved his heart, and he felt for themoment a sort of a blind anger against the fate which made it necessarythat he should visit the home of his childhood, if at all, like a thiefin the night. But he realized, after a moment, that the thought waspure sentiment, and that one who had gained so much ought not tocomplain if he must give up a little. He who would climb the heightsof life must leave even the pleasantest valleys behind. 

"Rena, " asked her mother, "how'd you like to go an' pay yo'r brotherJohn a visit? I guess I might spare you for a little while. "

The girl's eyes lighted up. She would not have gone if her mother hadwished her to stay, but she would always have regarded this as the lostopportunity of her life. 

"Are you sure you don't care, mamma?" she asked, hoping and yetdoubting. 

"Oh, I'll manage to git along somehow or other. You can go an' staytill you git homesick, an' then John'll let you come back home. "

But Mis' Molly believed that she would never come back, except, likeher brother, under cover of the night. She must lose her daughter aswell as her son, and this should be the penance for her sin. That herchildren must expiate as well the sins of their fathers, who had sinnedso lightly, after the manner of men, neither she nor they couldforesee, since they could not read the future. 

The next boat by which Warwick could take his sister away left early inthe morning of the next day but one. He went back to his hotel withthe understanding that the morrow should be devoted to getting Renaready for her departure, and that Warwick would visit the householdagain the following evening; for, as has been intimated, there wereseveral reasons why there should be no open relations between the finegentleman at the hotel and the women in the house behind the cedars, who, while superior in blood and breeding to the people of theneighborhood in which they lived, were yet under the shadow of somecloud which clearly shut them out from the better society of the town. Almost any resident could have given one or more of these reasons, ofwhich any one would have been sufficient to most of them; and to someof them Warwick's mere presence in the town would have seemed a boldand daring thing. 

III

THE OLD JUDGE

On the morning following the visit to his mother, Warwick visited theold judge's office. The judge was not in, but the door stood open, andWarwick entered to await his return. There had been fewer changes inthe office, where he had spent many, many hours, than in the townitself. The dust was a little thicker, the papers in the pigeon-holesof the walnut desk were a little yellower, the cobwebs in the corners alittle more aggressive. The flies droned as drowsily and the murmur ofthe brook below was just as audible. Warwick stood at the rear windowand looked out over a familiar view. Directly across the creek, on thelow ground beyond, might be seen the dilapidated stone foundation ofthe house where once had lived Flora Macdonald, the Jacobite refugee, the most romantic character of North Carolina history. Old JudgeStraight had had a tree cut away from the creek-side opposite hiswindow, so that this historic ruin might be visible from his office;for the judge could trace the ties of blood that connected himcollaterally with this famous personage. His pamphlet on FloraMacdonald, printed for private circulation, was highly prized by thoseof his friends who were fortunate enough to obtain a copy. To the leftof the window a placid mill-pond spread its wide expanse, and to theright the creek disappeared under a canopy of overhanging trees. 

A footstep sounded in the doorway, and Warwick, turning, faced the oldjudge. Time had left greater marks upon the lawyer than upon hisoffice. His hair was whiter, his stoop more pronounced; when he spoketo Warwick, his voice had some of the shrillness of old age; and in hishand, upon which the veins stood out prominently, a decided tremor wasperceptible. 

"Good-morning, Judge Straight, " said the young man, removing his hatwith the graceful Southern deference of the young for the old. 

"Good-morning, sir, " replied the judge with equal courtesy. 

"You don't remember me, I imagine, " suggested Warwick. 

"Your face seems familiar, " returned the judge cautiously, "but Icannot for the moment recall your name. I shall be glad to have yourefresh my memory. "

"I was John Walden, sir, when you knew me. "

The judge's face still gave no answering light of recognition. 

"Your old office-boy, " continued the younger man. 

"Ah, indeed, so you were!" rejoined the judge warmly, extending hishand with great cordiality, and inspecting Warwick more closely throughhis spectacles. "Let me see--you went away a few years before the war, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir, to South Carolina. "

"Yes, yes, I remember now! I had been thinking it was to the North. So many things have happened since then, that it taxes an old man'smemory to keep track of them all. Well, well! and how have you beengetting along?"

Warwick told his story in outline, much as he had given it to hismother and sister, and the judge seemed very much interested. 

"And you married into a good family?" he asked. 

"Yes, sir. "

"And have children?"

"One. "

"And you are visiting your mother?"

"Not exactly. I have seen her, but I am stopping at a hotel. "

"H'm! Are you staying long?"

"I leave to-morrow. "

"It's well enough. I wouldn't stay too long. The people of a smalltown are inquisitive about strangers, and some of them have longmemories. I remember we went over the law, which was in your favor; butcustom is stronger than law--in these matters custom IS law. It was agreat pity that your father did not make a will. Well, my boy, I wishyou continued good luck; I imagined you would make your way. "

Warwick went away, and the old judge sat for a moment absorbed inreflection. "Right and wrong, " he mused, "must be eternal verities, but our standards for measuring them vary with our latitude and ourepoch. We make our customs lightly; once made, like our sins, theygrip us in bands of steel; we become the creatures of our creations. By one standard my old office-boy should never have been born. Yet heis a son of Adam, and came into existence in the way ordained by Godfrom the beginning of the world. In equity he would seem to be entitledto his chance in life; it might have been wiser, though, for him toseek it farther afield than South Carolina. It was too near home, eventhough the laws were with him. "

IV

DOWN THE RIVER

Neither mother nor daughter slept a great deal during the night ofWarwick's first visit. Mis' Molly anointed her sacrifice with tears andcried herself to sleep. Rena's emotions were more conflicting; she wassorry to leave her mother, but glad to go with her brother. The merejourney she was about to make was a great event for the two women tocontemplate, to say nothing of the golden vision that lay beyond, forneither of them had ever been out of the town or its vicinity. 

The next day was devoted to preparations for the journey. Rena'sslender wardrobe was made ready and packed in a large valise. Towardssunset, Mis' Molly took off her apron, put on her slat-bonnet, --she wasever the pink of neatness, --picked her way across the street, which wasmuddy from a rain during the day, traversed the foot-bridge thatspanned the ditch in front of the cooper shop, and spoke first to theelder of the two men working there. 

"Good-evenin', Peter. "

"Good-evenin', ma'm, " responded the man briefly, and not relaxing atall the energy with which he was trimming a barrel-stave. 

Mis' Molly then accosted the younger workman, a dark-brown young man, small in stature, but with a well-shaped head, an expressive forehead, and features indicative of kindness, intelligence, humor, andimagination. "Frank, " she asked, "can I git you to do somethin' fer mesoon in the mo'nin'?"

"Yas 'm, I reckon so, " replied the young man, resting his hatchet onthe chopping-block. "W'at is it, Mis' Molly?"

"My daughter 's goin' away on the boat, an' I 'lowed you would n' min'totin' her kyarpet-bag down to the w'arf, onless you'd ruther haul itdown on yo'r kyart. It ain't very heavy. Of co'se I'll pay you feryo'r trouble. "

"Thank y', ma'm, " he replied. He knew that she would not pay him, forthe simple reason that he would not accept pay for such a service. "Isshe gwine fur?" he asked, with a sorrowful look, which he could notentirely disguise. 

"As fur as Wilmin'ton an' beyon'. She'll be visitin' her brother John, who lives in--another State, an' wants her to come an' see him. "

"Yas 'm, I'll come. I won' need de kyart--I'll tote de bag. 'Boutw'at time shill I come over?"

"Well, 'long 'bout seven o'clock or half pas'. She's goin' on the OldNorth State, an' it leaves at eight. "

Frank stood looking after Mis' Molly as she picked her way across thestreet, until he was recalled to his duty by a sharp word from hisfather. 

"'Ten' ter yo' wuk, boy, 'ten' ter yo' wuk. You 're wastin' yo'time--wastin' yo' time!"

Yes, he was wasting his time. The beautiful young girl across thestreet could never be anything to him. But he had saved her life once, and had dreamed that he might render her again some signal service thatmight win her friendship, and convince her of his humble devotion. ForFrank was not proud. A smile, which Peter would have regarded ascondescending to a free man, who, since the war, was as good as anybodyelse; a kind word, which Peter would have considered offensivelypatronizing; a piece of Mis' Molly's famous potato pone from Rena'shands, --a bone to a dog, Peter called it once;--were ample rewards forthe thousand and one small services Frank had rendered the two womenwho lived in the house behind the cedars. 

Frank went over in the morning a little ahead of the appointed time, and waited on the back piazza until his services were required. 

"You ain't gwine ter be gone long, is you, Miss Rena?" he inquired, when Rena came out dressed for the journey in her best frock, withbroad white collar and cuffs. 

Rena did not know. She had been asking herself the same question. Allsorts of vague dreams had floated through her mind during the last fewhours, as to what the future might bring forth. But she detected theanxious note in Frank's voice, and had no wish to give this faithfulfriend of the family unnecessary pain. 

"Oh, no, Frank, I reckon not. I'm supposed to be just going on a shortvisit. My brother has lost his wife, and wishes me to come and staywith him awhile, and look after his little boy. "

"I'm feared you'll lack it better dere, Miss Rena, " replied Franksorrowfully, dropping his mask of unconcern, "an' den you won't comeback, an' none er yo' frien's won't never see you no mo'. "

"You don't think, Frank, " asked Rena severely, "that I would leave mymother and my home and all my friends, and NEVER come back again?"

"Why, no 'ndeed, " interposed Mis' Molly wistfully, as she hoveredaround her daughter, giving her hair or her gown a touch here andthere; "she'll be so homesick in a month that she'll be willin' to walkhome. "

"You would n' never hafter do dat, Miss Rena, " returned Frank, with adisconsolate smile. "Ef you ever wanter come home, an' can't git backno other way, jes' let ME know, an' I'll take my mule an' my kyart an'fetch you back, ef it's from de een' er de worl'. "

"Thank you, Frank, I believe you would, " said the girl kindly. "You'rea true friend, Frank, and I'll not forget you while I'm gone. "

The idea of her beautiful daughter riding home from the end of theworld with Frank, in a cart, behind a one-eyed mule, struck Mis' Mollyas the height of the ridiculous--she was in a state of excitement wheretears or laughter would have come with equal ease--and she turned awayto hide her merriment. Her daughter was going to live in a fine house, and marry a rich man, and ride in her carriage. Of course a negrowould drive the carriage, but that was different from riding with onein a cart. 

When it was time to go, Mis' Molly and Rena set out on foot for theriver, which was only a short distance away. Frank followed with thevalise. There was no gathering of friends to see Rena off, as mighthave been the case under different circumstances. Her departure hadsome of the characteristics of a secret flight; it was as importantthat her destination should not be known, as it had been that herbrother should conceal his presence in the town. 

Mis' Molly and Rena remained on the bank until the steamer announced, with a raucous whistle, its readiness to depart. Warwick was seen fora moment on the upper deck, from which he greeted them with a smile anda slight nod. He had bidden his mother an affectionate farewell theevening before. Rena gave her hand to Frank. 

"Good-by, Frank, " she said, with a kind smile; "I hope you and mammawill be good friends while I'm gone. "

The whistle blew a second warning blast, and the deck hands prepared todraw in the gang-plank. Rena flew into her mother's arms, and then, breaking away, hurried on board and retired to her state-room, fromwhich she did not emerge during the journey. The window-blinds wereclosed, darkening the room, and the stewardess who came to ask if sheshould bring her some dinner could not see her face distinctly, butperceived enough to make her surmise that the young lady had beenweeping. 

"Po' chile, " murmured the sympathetic colored woman, "I reckon some erher folks is dead, er her sweetheart 's gone back on her, er e'se she'shad some kin' er bad luck er 'nuther. W'ite folks has deir troublesjes' ez well ez black folks, an' sometimes feels 'em mo', 'cause deyain't ez use' ter 'em. "

Mis' Molly went back in sadness to the lonely house behind the cedars, henceforth to be peopled for her with only the memory of those she hadloved. She had paid with her heart's blood another installment on theShylock's bond exacted by society for her own happiness of the past andher children's prospects for the future. 

The journey down the sluggish river to the seaboard in theflat-bottomed, stern-wheel steamer lasted all day and most of thenight. During the first half-day, the boat grounded now and then upona sand-bank, and the half-naked negro deck-hands toiled with ropes andpoles to release it. Several times before Rena fell asleep that night, the steamer would tie up at a landing, and by the light of huge pinetorches she watched the boat hands send the yellow turpentine barrelsdown the steep bank in a long string, or pass cord-wood on board fromhand to hand. The excited negroes, their white teeth and eyeballsglistening in the surrounding darkness to which their faces formed norelief; the white officers in brown linen, shouting, swearing, andgesticulating; the yellow, flickering torchlight over all, --made up ascene of which the weird interest would have appealed to a more blasetraveler than this girl upon her first journey. 

During the day, Warwick had taken his meals in the dining-room, withthe captain and the other cabin passengers. It was learned that he wasa South Carolina lawyer, and not a carpet-bagger. Such credentials wereunimpeachable, and the passengers found him a very agreeable travelingcompanion. Apparently sound on the subject of negroes, Yankees, andthe righteousness of the lost cause, he yet discussed these themes in alofty and impersonal manner that gave his words greater weight than ifhe had seemed warped by a personal grievance. His attitude, in fact, piqued the curiosity of one or two of the passengers. 

"Did your people lose any niggers?" asked one of them. 

"My father owned a hundred, " he replied grandly. 

Their respect for his views was doubled. It is easy to moralize aboutthe misfortunes of others, and to find good in the evil that theysuffer;--only a true philosopher could speak thus lightly of his ownlosses. 

When the steamer tied up at the wharf at Wilmington, in the earlymorning, the young lawyer and a veiled lady passenger drove in the samecarriage to a hotel. After they had breakfasted in a private room, Warwick explained to his sister the plan he had formed for her future. Henceforth she must be known as Miss Warwick, dropping the old namewith the old life. He would place her for a year in a boarding-schoolat Charleston, after which she would take her place as the mistress ofhis house. Having imparted this information, he took his sister for adrive through the town. There for the first time Rena saw great ships, which, her brother told her, sailed across the mighty ocean to distantlands, whose flags he pointed out drooping lazily at the mast-heads. The business portion of the town had "an ancient and fishlike smell, "and most of the trade seemed to be in cotton and naval stores andproducts of the sea. The wharves were piled high with cotton bales, and there were acres of barrels of resin and pitch and tar and spiritsof turpentine. The market, a long, low, wooden structure, in the middleof the principal street, was filled with a mass of people of allshades, from blue-black to Saxon blonde, gabbling and gesticulatingover piles of oysters and clams and freshly caught fish of varied hue. By ten o'clock the sun was beating down so fiercely that the glitter ofthe white, sandy streets dazzled and pained the eyes unaccustomed toit, and Rena was glad to be driven back to the hotel. The travelersleft together on an early afternoon train. 

Thus for the time being was severed the last tie that bound Rena to hernarrow past, and for some time to come the places and the people whohad known her once were to know her no more. 

Some few weeks later, Mis' Molly called upon old Judge Straight withreference to the taxes on her property. 

"Your son came in to see me the other day, " he remarked. "He seems tohave got along. "

"Oh, yes, judge, he's done fine, John has; an' he's took his sisteraway with him. "

"Ah!" exclaimed the judge. Then after a pause he added, "I hope shemay do as well. "

"Thank you, sir, " she said, with a curtsy, as she rose to go. "We'vealways knowed that you were our friend and wished us well. "

The judge looked after her as she walked away. Her bearing had a touchof timidity, a shade of affectation, and yet a certain pathetic dignity. 

"It is a pity, " he murmured, with a sigh, "that men cannot select theirmothers. My young friend John has builded, whether wisely or not, verywell; but he has come back into the old life and carried away a part ofit, and I fear that this addition will weaken the structure. "

V

THE TOURNAMENT

The annual tournament of the Clarence Social Club was about to begin. The county fairground, where all was in readiness, sparkled with theyouth and beauty of the town, standing here and there under the treesin animated groups, or moving toward the seats from which the pageantmight be witnessed. A quarter of a mile of the race track, to rightand left of the judges' stand, had been laid off for the lists. Opposite the grand stand, which occupied a considerable part of thisdistance, a dozen uprights had been erected at measured intervals. Projecting several feet over the track from each of these uprights wasan iron crossbar, from which an iron hook depended. Between theuprights stout posts were planted, of such a height that their topscould be easily reached by a swinging sword-cut from a mounted riderpassing upon the track. The influence of Walter Scott was strong uponthe old South. The South before the war was essentially feudal, andScott's novels of chivalry appealed forcefully to the feudal heart. During the month preceding the Clarence tournament, the localbookseller had closed out his entire stock of "Ivanhoe, " consisting offive copies, and had taken orders for seven copies more. Thetournament scene in this popular novel furnished the model after whichthese bloodless imitations of the ancient passages-at-arms wereconducted, with such variations as were required to adapt them to adifferent age and civilization. 

The best people gradually filled the grand stand, while the poorerwhite and colored folks found seats outside, upon what would now beknown as the "bleachers, " or stood alongside the lists. The knights, masquerading in fanciful costumes, in which bright-colored garments, gilt paper, and cardboard took the place of knightly harness, weremounted on spirited horses. Most of them were gathered at one end ofthe lists, while others practiced their steeds upon the unoccupiedportion of the race track. 

The judges entered the grand stand, and one of them, after looking athis watch, gave a signal. Immediately a herald, wearing a bright yellowsash, blew a loud blast upon a bugle, and, big with the importance ofhis office, galloped wildly down the lists. An attendant on horsebackbusied himself hanging upon each of the pendent hooks an iron ring, ofsome two inches in diameter, while another, on foot, placed on top ofeach of the shorter posts a wooden ball some four inches through. 

"It's my first tournament, " observed a lady near the front of the grandstand, leaning over and addressing John Warwick, who was seated in thesecond row, in company with a very handsome girl. "It is somewhatdifferent from Ashby-de-la-Zouch. "

"It is the renaissance of chivalry, Mrs. Newberry, " replied the younglawyer, "and, like any other renaissance, it must adapt itself to newtimes and circumstances. For instance, when we build a Greek portico, having no Pentelic marble near at hand, we use a pine-tree, one ofnature's columns, which Grecian art at its best could only copy andidealize. Our knights are not weighted down with heavy armor, but muchmore appropriately attired, for a day like this, in costumes thatrecall the picturesqueness, without the discomfort, of the old knightlyharness. For an iron-headed lance we use a wooden substitute, withwhich we transfix rings instead of hearts; while our trusty blades hewtheir way through wooden blocks instead of through flesh and blood. Itis a South Carolina renaissance which has points of advantage over thetournaments of the olden time. "

"I'm afraid, Mr. Warwick, " said the lady, "that you're the least bitheretical about our chivalry--or else you're a little too deep for me. "

"The last would be impossible, Mrs. Newberry; and I'm sure our chivalryhas proved its valor on many a hard-fought field. The spirit of athing, after all, is what counts; and what is lacking here? We havethe lists, the knights, the prancing steeds, the trial of strength andskill. If our knights do not run the physical risks ofAshby-de-la-Zouch, they have all the mental stimulus. Wounded vanitywill take the place of wounded limbs, and there will be broken hopes inlieu of broken heads. How many hearts in yonder group of gallanthorsemen beat high with hope! How many possible Queens of Love andBeauty are in this group of fair faces that surround us!"

The lady was about to reply, when the bugle sounded again, and theherald dashed swiftly back upon his prancing steed to the waiting groupof riders. The horsemen formed three abreast, and rode down the listsin orderly array. As they passed the grand stand, each was consciousof the battery of bright eyes turned upon him, and each gave by hisbearing some idea of his ability to stand fire from such weapons. Onehorse pranced proudly, another caracoled with grace. One riderfidgeted nervously, another trembled and looked the other way. Eachhorseman carried in his hand a long wooden lance and wore at his side acavalry sabre, of which there were plenty to be had since the war, atsmall expense. Several left the ranks and drew up momentarily besidethe grand stand, where they took from fair hands a glove or a flower, which was pinned upon the rider's breast or fastened upon his hat--aribbon or a veil, which was tied about the lance like a pennon, but farenough from the point not to interfere with the usefulness of theweapon. 

As the troop passed the lower end of the grand stand, a horse, excitedby the crowd, became somewhat unmanageable, and in the effort to curbhim, the rider dropped his lance. The prancing animal reared, broughtone of his hoofs down upon the fallen lance with considerable force, and sent a broken piece of it flying over the railing opposite thegrand stand, into the middle of a group of spectators standing there. The flying fragment was dodged by those who saw it coming, but broughtup with a resounding thwack against the head of a colored man in thesecond row, who stood watching the grand stand with an eager andcurious gaze. He rubbed his head ruefully, and made a good-naturedresponse to the chaffing of his neighbors, who, seeing no great harmdone, made witty and original remarks about the advantage of beingblack upon occasions where one's skull was exposed to danger. Findingthat the blow had drawn blood, the young man took out a red bandanahandkerchief and tied it around his head, meantime letting his eye roamover the faces in the grand stand, as though in search of some one thathe expected or hoped to find there. 

The knights, having reached the end of the lists, now turned and rodeback in open order, with such skillful horsemanship as to evoke a stormof applause from the spectators. The ladies in the grand stand wavedtheir handkerchiefs vigorously, and the men clapped their hands. Thebeautiful girl seated by Warwick's side accidentally let a littlesquare of white lace-trimmed linen slip from her hand. It flutteredlightly over the railing, and, buoyed up by the air, settled slowlytoward the lists. A young rider in the approaching rear rank saw thehandkerchief fall, and darting swiftly forward, caught it on the pointof his lance ere it touched the ground. He drew up his horse and madea movement as though to extend the handkerchief toward the lady, whowas blushing profusely at the attention she had attracted by hercarelessness. The rider hesitated a moment, glanced interrogatively atWarwick, and receiving a smile in return, tied the handkerchief aroundthe middle of his lance and quickly rejoined his comrades at the headof the lists. 

The young man with the bandage round his head, on the benches acrossthe lists, had forced his way to the front row and was leaning againstthe railing. His restless eye was attracted by the fallinghandkerchief, and his face, hitherto anxious, suddenly lit up withanimation. 

"Yas, suh, yas, suh, it's her!" he muttered softly. "It's Miss Rena, sho's you bawn. She looked lack a' angel befo', but now, up dere'mongs' all dem rich, fine folks, she looks lack a whole flock erangels. Dey ain' one er dem ladies w'at could hol' a candle ter her. I wonder w'at dat man's gwine ter do wid her handkercher? I s'posehe's her gent'eman now. I wonder ef she'd know me er speak ter me efshe seed me? I reckon she would, spite er her gittin' up so in deworl'; fer she wuz alluz good ter ev'ybody, an' dat let even ME in, " heconcluded with a sigh. 

"Who is the lady, Tryon?" asked one of the young men, addressing theknight who had taken the handkerchief. 

"A Miss Warwick, " replied the knight pleasantly, "Miss Rowena Warwick, the lawyer's sister. "

"I didn't know he had a sister, " rejoined the first speaker. "I envyyou your lady. There are six Rebeccas and eight Rowenas of my ownacquaintance in the grand stand, but she throws them all into theshade. She hasn't been here long, surely; I haven't seen her before. "

"She has been away at school; she came only last night, " returned theknight of the crimson sash, briefly. He was already beginning to feela proprietary interest in the lady whose token he wore, and did notcare to discuss her with a casual acquaintance. 

The herald sounded the charge. A rider darted out from the group andgalloped over the course. As he passed under each ring, he tried tocatch it on the point of his lance, --a feat which made the managementof the horse with the left hand necessary, and required a true eye anda steady arm. The rider captured three of the twelve rings, knockedthree others off the hooks, and left six undisturbed. Turning at theend of the lists, he took the lance with the reins in the left hand anddrew his sword with the right. He then rode back over the course, cutting at the wooden balls upon the posts. Of these he clove one intwain, to use the parlance of chivalry, and knocked two others offtheir supports. His performance was greeted with a liberal measure ofapplause, for which he bowed in smiling acknowledgment as he took hisplace among the riders. 

Again the herald's call sounded, and the tourney went forward. Riderafter rider, with varying skill, essayed his fortune with lance andsword. Some took a liberal proportion of the rings; others merelyknocked them over the boundaries, where they were collected by agilelittle negro boys and handed back to the attendants. A balking horsecaused the spectators much amusement and his rider no little chagrin. 

The lady who had dropped the handkerchief kept her eye upon the knightwho had bound it round his lance. "Who is he, John?" she asked thegentleman beside her. 

"That, my dear Rowena, is my good friend and client, George Tryon, ofNorth Carolina. If he had been a stranger, I should have said that hetook a liberty; but as things stand, we ought to regard it as acompliment. The incident is quite in accord with the customs ofchivalry. If George were but masked and you were veiled, we shouldhave a romantic situation, --you the mysterious damsel in distress, hethe unknown champion. The parallel, my dear, might not be so hard todraw, even as things are. But look, it is his turn now; I'll wagerthat he makes a good run. "

"I'll take you up on that, Mr. Warwick, " said Mrs. Newberry frombehind, who seemed to have a very keen ear for whatever Warwick said. 

Rena's eyes were fastened on her knight, so that she might lose nosingle one of his movements. As he rode down the lists, more than onewoman found him pleasant to look upon. He was a tall, fair young man, with gray eyes, and a frank, open face. He wore a slight mustache, andwhen he smiled, showed a set of white and even teeth. He was mountedon a very handsome and spirited bay mare, was clad in a picturesquecostume, of which velvet knee-breeches and a crimson scarf were themost conspicuous features, and displayed a marked skill inhorsemanship. At the blast of the bugle his horse started forward, and, after the first few rods, settled into an even gallop. Tryon'slance, held truly and at the right angle, captured the first ring, thenthe second and third. His coolness and steadiness seemed not at alldisturbed by the applause which followed, and one by one the remainingrings slipped over the point of his lance, until at the end he hadtaken every one of the twelve. Holding the lance with its booty ofcaptured rings in his left hand, together with the bridle rein, he drewhis sabre with the right and rode back over the course. His horse movedlike clockwork, his eye was true and his hand steady. Three of thewooden balls fell from the posts, split fairly in the middle, whilefrom the fourth he sliced off a goodly piece and left the remainderstanding in its place. 

This performance, by far the best up to this point, and barely escapingperfection, elicited a storm of applause. The rider was not so wellknown to the townspeople as some of the other participants, and hisname passed from mouth to mouth in answer to numerous inquiries. Thegirl whose token he had worn also became an object of renewed interest, because of the result to her in case the knight should prove victor inthe contest, of which there could now scarcely be a doubt; for butthree riders remained, and it was very improbable that any one of themwould excel the last. Wagers for the remainder of the tourney stoodanywhere from five, and even from ten to one, in favor of the knight ofthe crimson sash, and when the last course had been run, his backerswere jubilant. No one of those following him had displayed anythinglike equal skill. 

The herald now blew his bugle and declared the tournament closed. Thejudges put their heads together for a moment. The bugle sounded again, and the herald announced in a loud voice that Sir George Tryon, havingtaken the greatest number of rings and split the largest number ofballs, was proclaimed victor in the tournament and entitled to theflowery chaplet of victory. 

Tryon, having bowed repeatedly in response to the liberal applause, advanced to the judges' stand and received the trophy from the hands ofthe chief judge, who exhorted him to wear the garland worthily, and toyield it only to a better man. 

"It will be your privilege, Sir George, " announced the judge, "as thechief reward of your valor, to select from the assembled beauty ofClarence the lady whom you wish to honor, to whom we will all do homageas the Queen of Love and Beauty. "

Tryon took the wreath and bowed his thanks. Then placing the trophy onthe point of his lance, he spoke earnestly for a moment to the herald, and rode past the grand stand, from which there was another outburst ofapplause. Returning upon his tracks, the knight of the crimson sashpaused before the group where Warwick and his sister sat, and loweredthe wreath thrice before the lady whose token he had won. 

"Oyez! Oyez!" cried the herald; "Sir George Tryon, the victor in thetournament, has chosen Miss Rowena Warwick as the Queen of Love andBeauty, and she will be crowned at the feast to-night and receive thedevoirs of all true knights. "

The fair-ground was soon covered with scattered groups of thespectators of the tournament. In one group a vanquished knightexplained in elaborate detail why it was that he had failed to win thewreath. More than one young woman wondered why some one of the homeyoung men could not have taken the honors, or, if the stranger must winthem, why he could not have selected some belle of the town as Queen ofLove and Beauty instead of this upstart girl who had blown into thetown over night, as one might say. 

Warwick and his sister, standing under a spreading elm, held a littlecourt of their own. A dozen gentlemen and several ladies had sought anintroduction before Tryon came up. 

"I suppose John would have a right to call me out, Miss Warwick, " saidTryon, when he had been formally introduced and had shaken hands withWarwick's sister, "for taking liberties with the property and name of alady to whom I had not had an introduction; but I know John so wellthat you seemed like an old acquaintance; and when I saw you, andrecalled your name, which your brother had mentioned more than once, Ifelt instinctively that you ought to be the queen. I entered my nameonly yesterday, merely to swell the number and make the occasion moreinteresting. These fellows have been practicing for a month, and I hadno hope of winning. I should have been satisfied, indeed, if I hadn'tmade myself ridiculous; but when you dropped your handkerchief, I felta sudden inspiration; and as soon as I had tied it upon my lance, victory perched upon my saddle-bow, guided my lance and sword, andrings and balls went down before me like chaff before the wind. Oh, itwas a great inspiration, Miss Warwick!"

Rena, for it was our Patesville acquaintance fresh fromboarding-school, colored deeply at this frank and fervid flattery, andcould only murmur an inarticulate reply. Her year of instruction, while distinctly improving her mind and manners, had scarcely preparedher for so sudden an elevation into a grade of society to which she hadhitherto been a stranger. She was not without a certain courage, however, and her brother, who remained at her side, helped her over themost difficult situations. 

"We'll forgive you, George, " replied Warwick, "if you'll come home toluncheon with us. "

"I'm mighty sorry--awfully sorry, " returned Tryon, with evident regret, "but I have another engagement, which I can scarcely break, even by thecommand of royalty. At what time shall I call for Miss Warwick thisevening? I believe that privilege is mine, along with the other honorsand rewards of victory, --unless she is bound to some one else. "

"She is entirely free, " replied Warwick. "Come as early as you like, and I'll talk to you until she's ready. "

Tryon bowed himself away, and after a number of gentlemen and a fewladies had paid their respects to the Queen of Love and Beauty, andreceived an introduction to her, Warwick signaled to the servant whohad his carriage in charge, and was soon driving homeward with hissister. No one of the party noticed a young negro, with a handkerchiefbound around his head, who followed them until the carriage turned intothe gate and swept up the wide drive that led to Warwick's doorstep. 

"Well, Rena, " said Warwick, when they found themselves alone, "you havearrived. Your debut into society is a little more spectacular than Ishould have wished, but we must rise to the occasion and make the mostof it. You are winning the first fruits of your opportunity. You arethe most envied woman in Clarence at this particular moment, and, unless I am mistaken, will be the most admired at the ball to-night. "

VI

THE QUEEN OF LOVE AND BEAUTY

Shortly after luncheon, Rena had a visitor in the person of Mrs. Newberry, a vivacious young widow of the town, who proffered herservices to instruct Rena in the etiquette of the annual ball. 

"Now, my dear, " said Mrs. Newberry, "the first thing to do is to getyour coronation robe ready. It simply means a gown with a long train. You have a lovely white waist. Get right into my buggy, and we'll godown town to get the cloth, take it over to Mrs. Marshall's, and haveher run you up a skirt this afternoon. "

Rena placed herself unreservedly in the hands of Mrs. Newberry, whointroduced her to the best dressmaker of the town, a woman of muchexperience in such affairs, who improvised during the afternoon a gownsuited to the occasion. Mrs. Marshall had made more than a dozen balldresses during the preceding month; being a wise woman andunderstanding her business thoroughly, she had made each one of them sothat with a few additional touches it might serve for the Queen of Loveand Beauty. This was her first direct order for the specific garment. 

Tryon escorted Rena to the ball, which was held in the principal publichall of the town, and attended by all the best people. The championstill wore the costume of the morning, in place of evening dress, savethat long stockings and dancing-pumps had taken the place ofriding-boots. Rena went through the ordeal very creditably. Her shynesswas palpable, but it was saved from awkwardness by her native grace andgood sense. She made up in modesty what she lacked in aplomb. Hermonths in school had not eradicated a certain self-consciousness bornof her secret. The brain-cells never lose the impressions of youth, andRena's Patesville life was not far enough removed to have lost itsdistinctness of outline. Of the two, the present was more of a dream, the past was the more vivid reality. At school she had learnedsomething from books and not a little from observation. She had beenable to compare herself with other girls, and to see wherein sheexcelled or fell short of them. With a sincere desire for improvement, and a wish to please her brother and do him credit, she had sought tomake the most of her opportunities. Building upon a foundation ofinnate taste and intelligence, she had acquired much of theself-possession which comes from a knowledge of correct standards ofdeportment. She had moreover learned without difficulty, for it suitedher disposition, to keep silence when she could not speak to advantage. A certain necessary reticence about the past added strength to anatural reserve. Thus equipped, she held her own very well in thesomewhat trying ordeal of the ball, at which the fiction of queenshipand the attendant ceremonies, which were pretty and graceful, made herthe most conspicuous figure. Few of those who watched her move witheasy grace through the measures of the dance could have guessed hownearly her heart was in her mouth during much of the time. 

"You're doing splendidly, my dear, " said Mrs. Newberry, who hadconstituted herself Rena's chaperone. 

"I trust your Gracious Majesty is pleased with the homage of yourdevoted subjects, " said Tryon, who spent much of his time by her sideand kept up the character of knight in his speech and manner. 

"Very much, " replied the Queen of Love and Beauty, with a somewhattired smile. It was pleasant, but she would be glad, she thought, whenit was all over. 

"Keep up your courage, " whispered her brother. "You are not only queen, but the belle of the ball. I am proud of you. A dozen women herewould give a year off the latter end of life to be in your shoesto-night. "

Rena felt immensely relieved when the hour arrived at which she couldtake her departure, which was to be the signal for the breaking-up ofthe ball. She was driven home in Tryon's carriage, her brotheraccompanying them. The night was warm, and the drive homeward underthe starlight, in the open carriage, had a soothing effect upon Rena'sexcited nerves. The calm restfulness of the night, the cool bluedepths of the unclouded sky, the solemn croaking of the frogs in adistant swamp, were much more in harmony with her nature than thecrowded brilliancy of the ball-room. She closed her eyes, and, leaningback in the carriage, thought of her mother, who she wished might haveseen her daughter this night. A momentary pang of homesickness piercedher tender heart, and she furtively wiped away the tears that came intoher eyes. 

"Good-night, fair Queen!" exclaimed Tryon, breaking into her reverie asthe carriage rolled up to the doorstep, "and let your loyal subjectkiss your hand in token of his fealty. May your Majesty never abdicateher throne, and may she ever count me her humble servant and devotedknight. "

"And now, sister, " said Warwick, when Tryon had been driven away, "nowthat the masquerade is over, let us to sleep, and to-morrow take up theserious business of life. Your day has been a glorious success!"

He put his arm around her and gave her a kiss and a brotherly hug. 

"It is a dream, " she murmured sleepily, "only a dream. I am Cinderellabefore the clock has struck. Good-night, dear John. "

"Good-night, Rowena. "

VII

'MID NEW SURROUNDINGS

Warwick's residence was situated in the outskirts of the town. It wasa fine old plantation house, built in colonial times, with a statelycolonnade, wide verandas, and long windows with Venetian blinds. Itwas painted white, and stood back several rods from the street, in acharming setting of palmettoes, magnolias, and flowering shrubs. Renahad always thought her mother's house large, but now it seemed crampedand narrow, in comparison with this roomy mansion. The furniture wasold-fashioned and massive. The great brass andirons on the wide hearthstood like sentinels proclaiming and guarding the dignity of thefamily. The spreading antlers on the wall testified to a mighty hunterin some past generation. The portraits of Warwick's wife'sancestors--high featured, proud men and women, dressed in the fashionsof a bygone age--looked down from tarnished gilt frames. It was allvery novel to her, and very impressive. When she ate off china, withsilver knives and forks that had come down as heirlooms, escapingsomehow the ravages and exigencies of the war time, --Warwick told herafterwards how he had buried them out of reach of friend or foe, --shethought that her brother must be wealthy, and she felt very proud ofhim and of her opportunity. The servants, of whom there were severalin the house, treated her with a deference to which her eight months inschool had only partly accustomed her. At school she had been one ofmany to be served, and had herself been held to obedience. Here, forthe first time in her life, she was mistress, and tasted the sweets ofpower. 

The household consisted of her brother and herself, a cook, a coachman, a nurse, and her brother's little son Albert. The child, with a fineinstinct, had put out his puny arms to Rena at first sight, and she hadclasped the little man to her bosom with a motherly caress. She hadalways loved weak creatures. Kittens and puppies had ever found awelcome and a meal at Rena's hands, only to be chased away by Mis'Molly, who had had a wider experience. No shiftless poor white, nohalf-witted or hungry negro, had ever gone unfed from Mis' Molly'skitchen door if Rena were there to hear his plaint. Little Albert waspale and sickly when she came, but soon bloomed again in the sunshineof her care, and was happy only in her presence. Warwick foundpleasure in their growing love for each other, and was glad to perceivethat the child formed a living link to connect her with his home. 

"Dat chile sutt'nly do lub Miss Rena, an' dat's a fac', sho 's youbawn, " remarked 'Lissa the cook to Mimy the nurse one day. "You'll getyo' nose put out er j'int, ef you don't min'. "

"I ain't frettin', honey, " laughed the nurse good-naturedly. She wasnot at all jealous. She had the same wages as before, and her laborswere materially lightened by the aunt's attention to the child. Thisgave Mimy much more time to flirt with Tom the coachman. 

It was a source of much gratification to Warwick that his sister seemedto adapt herself so easily to the new conditions. Her gracefulmovements, the quiet elegance with which she wore even the simplestgown, the easy authoritativeness with which she directed the servants, were to him proofs of superior quality, and he felt correspondinglyproud of her. His feeling for her was something more than brotherlylove, --he was quite conscious that there were degrees in brotherlylove, and that if she had been homely or stupid, he would never havedisturbed her in the stagnant life of the house behind the cedars. There had come to him from some source, down the stream of time, a rillof the Greek sense of proportion, of fitness, of beauty, which isindeed but proportion embodied, the perfect adaptation of means toends. He had perceived, more clearly than she could have appreciatedit at that time, the undeveloped elements of discord between Rena andher former life. He had imagined her lending grace and charm to hisown household. Still another motive, a purely psychological one, hadmore or less consciously influenced him. He had no fear that thefamily secret would ever be discovered, --he had taken his precautionstoo thoroughly, he thought, for that; and yet he could not but feel, attimes, that if peradventure--it was a conceivable hypothesis--it shouldbecome known, his fine social position would collapse like a house ofcards. Because of this knowledge, which the world around him did notpossess, he had felt now and then a certain sense of loneliness; andthere was a measure of relief in having about him one who knew hispast, and yet whose knowledge, because of their common interest, wouldnot interfere with his present or jeopardize his future. For he hadalways been, in a figurative sense, a naturalized foreigner in theworld of wide opportunity, and Rena was one of his old compatriots, whom he was glad to welcome into the populous loneliness of his adoptedcountry. 

VIII

THE COURTSHIP

In a few weeks the echoes of the tournament died away, and Rena's lifesettled down into a pleasant routine, which she found much morecomfortable than her recent spectacular prominence. Her queenship, while not entirely forgiven by the ladies of the town, had gained forher a temporary social prominence. Among her own sex, Mrs. Newberryproved a warm and enthusiastic friend. Rumor whispered that the livelyyoung widow would not be unwilling to console Warwick in the lonelinessof the old colonial mansion, to which his sister was a most excellentmedium of approach. Whether this was true or not it is unnecessary toinquire, for it is no part of this story, except as perhaps indicatingwhy Mrs. Newberry played the part of the female friend, without whom nowoman is ever launched successfully in a small and conservativesociety. Her brother's standing gave her the right of social entry;the tournament opened wide the door, and Mrs. Newberry performed theceremony of introduction. Rena had many visitors during the monthfollowing the tournament, and might have made her choice from among adozen suitors; but among them all, her knight of the handkerchief foundmost favor. 

George Tryon had come to Clarence a few months before upon businessconnected with the settlement of his grandfather's estate. A rathercomplicated litigation had grown up around the affair, various phasesof which had kept Tryon almost constantly in the town. He had placedmatters in Warwick's hands, and had formed a decided friendship for hisattorney, for whom he felt a frank admiration. Tryon was onlytwenty-three, and his friend's additional five years, supplemented by acertain professional gravity, commanded a great deal of respect fromthe younger man. When Tryon had known Warwick for a week, he had beenready to swear by him. Indeed, Warwick was a man for whom most peopleformed a liking at first sight. To this power of attraction he owedmost of his success--first with Judge Straight, of Patesville, thenwith the lawyer whose office he had entered at Clarence, with the womanwho became his wife, and with the clients for whom he transactedbusiness. Tryon would have maintained against all comers that Warwickwas the finest fellow in the world. When he met Warwick's sister, thefoundation for admiration had already been laid. If Rena had proved tobe a maiden lady of uncertain age and doubtful personal attractiveness, Tryon would probably have found in her a most excellent lady, worthy ofall respect and esteem, and would have treated her with profounddeference and sedulous courtesy. When she proved to be a young andhandsome woman, of the type that he admired most, he was capable of anydegree of infatuation. His mother had for a long time wanted him tomarry the orphan daughter of an old friend, a vivacious blonde, whoworshiped him. He had felt friendly towards her, but had shrunk frommatrimony. He did not want her badly enough to give up his freedom. The war had interfered with his education, and though fairly wellinstructed, he had never attended college. In his own opinion, heought to see something of the world, and have his youthful fling. Later on, when he got ready to settle down, if Blanche were still inthe humor, they might marry, and sink to the humdrum level of other oldmarried people. The fact that Blanche Leary was visiting his motherduring his unexpectedly long absence had not operated at all to hastenhis return to North Carolina. He had been having a very good time atClarence, and, at the distance of several hundred miles, was safe forthe time being from any immediate danger of marriage. 

With Rena's advent, however, he had seen life through differentglasses. His heart had thrilled at first sight of this tall girl, withthe ivory complexion, the rippling brown hair, and the inscrutableeyes. When he became better acquainted with her, he liked to thinkthat her thoughts centred mainly in himself; and in this he was not farwrong. He discovered that she had a short upper lip, and what seemedto him an eminently kissable mouth. After he had dined twice atWarwick's, subsequently to the tournament, --his lucky choice of Renahad put him at once upon a household footing with the family, --hisviews of marriage changed entirely. It now seemed to him the duty, aswell as the high and holy privilege of a young man, to marry andmanfully to pay his debt to society. When in Rena's presence, he couldnot imagine how he had ever contemplated the possibility of marriagewith Blanche Leary, --she was utterly, entirely, and hopelessly unsuitedto him. For a fair man of vivacious temperament, this stately darkgirl was the ideal mate. Even his mother would admit this, if shecould only see Rena. To win this beautiful girl for his wife would bea worthy task. He had crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty; since thenshe had ascended the throne of his heart. He would make her queen ofhis home and mistress of his life. 

To Rena this brief month's courtship came as a new education. Not onlyhad this fair young man crowned her queen, and honored her above allthe ladies in town; but since then he had waited assiduously upon her, had spoken softly to her, had looked at her with shining eyes, and hadsought to be alone with her. The time soon came when to touch his handin greeting sent a thrill through her frame, --a time when she listenedfor his footstep and was happy in his presence. He had been boldenough at the tournament; he had since become somewhat bashful andconstrained. He must be in love, she thought, and wondered how soon hewould speak. If it were so sweet to walk with him in the garden, oralong the shaded streets, to sit with him, to feel the touch of hishand, what happiness would it not be to hear him say that he lovedher--to bear his name, to live with him always. To be thus loved andhonored by this handsome young man, --she could hardly believe itpossible. He would never speak--he would discover her secret andwithdraw. She turned pale at the thought, --ah, God! something wouldhappen, --it was too good to be true. The Prince would never try on theglass slipper. 

Tryon first told his love for Rena one summer evening on their way homefrom church. They were walking in the moonlight along the quietstreet, which, but for their presence, seemed quite deserted. 

"Miss Warwick--Rowena, " he said, clasping with his right hand the handthat rested on his left arm, "I love you! Do you--love me?"

To Rena this simple avowal came with much greater force than a moreformal declaration could have had. It appealed to her own simplenature. Indeed, few women at such a moment criticise the form in whichthe most fateful words of life--but one--are spoken. Words, whilepleasant, are really superfluous. Her whispered "Yes" spoke volumes. 

They walked on past the house, along the country road into which thestreet soon merged. When they returned, an hour later, they foundWarwick seated on the piazza, in a rocking-chair, smoking a fragrantcigar. 

"Well, children, " he observed with mock severity, "you are late ingetting home from church. The sermon must have been extremely long. "

"We have been attending an after-meeting, " replied Tryon joyfully, "andhave been discussing an old text, 'Little children, love one another, 'and its corollary, 'It is not good for man to live alone. ' John, I amthe happiest man alive. Your sister has promised to marry me. Ishould like to shake my brother's hand. "

Never does one feel so strongly the universal brotherhood of man aswhen one loves some other fellow's sister. Warwick sprang from hischair and clasped Tryon's extended hand with real emotion. He knew ofno man whom he would have preferred to Tryon as a husband for hissister. 

"My dear George--my dear sister, " he exclaimed, "I am very, very glad. I wish you every happiness. My sister is the most fortunate of women. "

"And I am the luckiest of men, " cried Tryon. 

"I wish you every happiness, " repeated Warwick; adding, with a touch ofsolemnity, as a certain thought, never far distant, occurred to him, "Ihope that neither of you may ever regret your choice. "

Thus placed upon the footing of an accepted lover, Tryon's visits tothe house became more frequent. He wished to fix a time for themarriage, but at this point Rena developed a strange reluctance. 

"Can we not love each other for a while?" she asked. "To be engaged isa pleasure that comes but once; it would be a pity to cut it too short. "

"It is a pleasure that I would cheerfully dispense with, " he replied, "for the certainty of possession. I want you all to myself, and all thetime. Things might happen. If I should die, for instance, before Imarried you"--

"Oh, don't suppose such awful things, " she cried, putting her hand overhis mouth. 

He held it there and kissed it until she pulled it away. 

"I should consider, " he resumed, completing the sentence, "that my lifehad been a failure. "

"If I should die, " she murmured, "I should die happy in the knowledgethat you had loved me. "

"In three weeks, " he went on, "I shall have finished my business inClarence, and there will be but one thing to keep me here. When shallit be? I must take you home with me. "

"I will let you know, " she replied, with a troubled sigh, "in a weekfrom to-day. "

"I'll call your attention to the subject every day in the mean time, "he asserted. "I shouldn't like you to forget it. "

Rena's shrinking from the irrevocable step of marriage was due to asimple and yet complex cause. Stated baldly, it was the consciousnessof her secret; the complexity arose out of the various ways in which itseemed to bear upon her future. Our lives are so bound up with thoseof our fellow men that the slightest departure from the beaten pathinvolves a multiplicity of small adjustments. It had not beendifficult for Rena to conform her speech, her manners, and in a measureher modes of thought, to those of the people around her; but when thisreadjustment went beyond mere externals and concerned the vital issuesof life, the secret that oppressed her took on a more serious aspect, with tragic possibilities. A discursive imagination was not one of hercharacteristics, or the danger of a marriage of which perfect franknesswas not a condition might well have presented itself before her hearthad become involved. Under the influence of doubt and fear acting uponlove, the invisible bar to happiness glowed with a lambent flame thatthreatened dire disaster. 

"Would he have loved me at all, " she asked herself, "if he had knownthe story of my past? Or, having loved me, could he blame me now forwhat I cannot help?"

There were two shoals in the channel of her life, upon either of whichher happiness might go to shipwreck. Since leaving the house behindthe cedars, where she had been brought into the world without her ownknowledge or consent, and had first drawn the breath of life by theinvoluntary contraction of certain muscles, Rena had learned, in ashort time, many things; but she was yet to learn that the innocentsuffer with the guilty, and feel the punishment the more keenly becauseunmerited. She had yet to learn that the old Mosaic formula, "The sinsof the fathers shall be visited upon the children, " was graven moreindelibly upon the heart of the race than upon the tables of Sinai. 

But would her lover still love her, if he knew all? She had read someof the novels in the bookcase in her mother's hall, and others atboarding-school. She had read that love was a conqueror, that neitherlife nor death, nor creed nor caste, could stay his triumphant course. Her secret was no legal bar to their union. If Rena could forget thesecret, and Tryon should never know it, it would be no obstacle totheir happiness. But Rena felt, with a sinking of the heart, thathappiness was not a matter of law or of fact, but lay entirely withinthe domain of sentiment. We are happy when we think ourselves happy, and with a strange perversity we often differ from others with regardto what should constitute our happiness. Rena's secret was the worm inthe bud, the skeleton in the closet. 

"He says that he loves me. He DOES love me. Would he love me, if heknew?" She stood before an oval mirror brought from France by one ofWarwick's wife's ancestors, and regarded her image with a coldlycritical eye. She was as little vain as any of her sex who are endowedwith beauty. She tried to place herself, in thus passing upon her ownclaims to consideration, in the hostile attitude of society toward herhidden disability. There was no mark upon her brow to brand her asless pure, less innocent, less desirable, less worthy to be loved, thanthese proud women of the past who had admired themselves in this oldmirror. 

"I think a man might love me for myself, " she murmured pathetically, "and if he loved me truly, that he would marry me. If he would notmarry me, then it would be because he didn't love me. I'll tell Georgemy secret. If he leaves me, then he does not love me. "

But this resolution vanished into thin air before it was fullyformulated. The secret was not hers alone; it involved her brother'sposition, to whom she owed everything, and in less degree the future ofher little nephew, whom she had learned to love so well. She had thechoice of but two courses of action, to marry Tryon or to dismiss him. The thought that she might lose him made him seem only more dear; tothink that he might leave her made her sick at heart. In one week shewas bound to give him an answer; he was more likely to ask for it attheir next meeting. 

IX

DOUBTS AND FEARS

Rena's heart was too heavy with these misgivings for her to keep themto herself. On the morning after the conversation with Tryon in whichshe had promised him an answer within a week, she went into herbrother's study, where he usually spent an hour after breakfast beforegoing to his office. He looked up amiably from the book before him andread trouble in her face. 

"Well, Rena, dear, " he asked with a smile, "what's the matter? Isthere anything you want--money, or what? I should like to haveAladdin's lamp--though I'd hardly need it--that you might have no wishunsatisfied. "

He had found her very backward in asking for things that she needed. Generous with his means, he thought nothing too good for her. Hersuccess had gratified his pride, and justified his course in taking herunder his protection. 

"Thank you, John. You give me already more than I need. It issomething else, John. George wants me to say when I will marry him. Iam afraid to marry him, without telling him. If he should find outafterwards, he might cast me off, or cease to love me. If he did notknow it, I should be forever thinking of what he would do if he SHOULDfind it out; or, if I should die without his having learned it, Ishould not rest easy in my grave for thinking of what he would havedone if he HAD found it out. "

Warwick's smile gave place to a grave expression at this somewhatcomprehensive statement. He rose and closed the door carefully, lestsome one of the servants might overhear the conversation. Moreliberally endowed than Rena with imagination, and not without a vein ofsentiment, he had nevertheless a practical side that outweighed themboth. With him, the problem that oppressed his sister had been in themain a matter of argument, of self-conviction. Once persuaded that hehad certain rights, or ought to have them, by virtue of the laws ofnature, in defiance of the customs of mankind, he had promptly soughtto enjoy them. This he had been able to do by simply concealing hisantecedents and making the most of his opportunities, with notroublesome qualms of conscience whatever. But he had alreadyperceived, in their brief intercourse, that Rena's emotions, while lesseasily stirred, touched a deeper note than his, and dwelt upon it withgreater intensity than if they had been spread over the larger field towhich a more ready sympathy would have supplied so many points ofaccess;--hers was a deep and silent current flowing between the narrowwalls of a self-contained life, his the spreading river that ranthrough a pleasant landscape. Warwick's imagination, however, enabledhim to put himself in touch with her mood and recognize its bearingsupon her conduct. He would have preferred her taking the practicalpoint of view, to bring her round to which he perceived would be amatter of diplomacy. 

"How long have these weighty thoughts been troubling your small head?"he asked with assumed lightness. 

"Since he asked me last night to name our wedding day. "

"My dear child, " continued Warwick, "you take too tragic a view oflife. Marriage is a reciprocal arrangement, by which the contractingparties give love for love, care for keeping, faith for faith. It is amatter of the future, not of the past. What a poor soul it is that hasnot some secret chamber, sacred to itself; where one can file away thethings others have no right to know, as well as things that one himselfwould fain forget! We are under no moral obligation to inflict uponothers the history of our past mistakes, our wayward thoughts, oursecret sins, our desperate hopes, or our heartbreaking disappointments. Still less are we bound to bring out from this secret chamber the dustyrecord of our ancestry. 

 'Let the dead past bury its dead. '

George Tryon loves you for yourself alone; it is not your ancestorsthat he seeks to marry. "

"But would he marry me if he knew?" she persisted. 

Warwick paused for reflection. He would have preferred to argue thequestion in a general way, but felt the necessity of satisfying herscruples, as far as might be. He had liked Tryon from the verybeginning of their acquaintance. In all their intercourse, which hadbeen very close for several months, he had been impressed by the youngman's sunny temper, his straightforwardness, his intellectual honesty. Tryon's deference to Warwick as the elder man had very naturally provedan attraction. Whether this friendship would have stood the test ofutter frankness about his own past was a merely academic speculationwith which Warwick did not trouble himself. With his sister thequestion had evidently become a matter of conscience, --a difficultsubject with which to deal in a person of Rena's temperament. 

"My dear sister, " he replied, "why should he know? We haven't askedhim for his pedigree; we don't care to know it. If he cares for ours, he should ask for it, and it would then be time enough to raise thequestion. You love him, I imagine, and wish to make him happy?"

It is the highest wish of the woman who loves. The enamored man seekshis own happiness; the loving woman finds no sacrifice too great forthe loved one. The fiction of chivalry made man serve woman; the factof human nature makes woman happiest when serving where she loves. 

"Yes, oh, yes, " Rena exclaimed with fervor, clasping her handsunconsciously. "I'm afraid he'd be unhappy if he knew, and it wouldmake me miserable to think him unhappy. "

"Well, then, " said Warwick, "suppose we should tell him our secret andput ourselves in his power, and that he should then conclude that hecouldn't marry you? Do you imagine he would be any happier than he isnow, or than if he should never know?"

Ah, no! she could not think so. One could not tear love out of one'sheart without pain and suffering. 

There was a knock at the door. Warwick opened it to the nurse, whostood with little Albert in her arms. 

"Please, suh, " said the girl, with a curtsy, "de baby 's be'n oryin'an' frettin' fer Miss Rena, an' I 'lowed she mought want me ter fetch'im, ef it wouldn't 'sturb her. "

"Give me the darling, " exclaimed Rena, coming forward and taking thechild from the nurse. "It wants its auntie. Come to its auntie, blessits little heart!"

Little Albert crowed with pleasure and put up his pretty mouth for akiss. Warwick found the sight a pleasant one. If he could but quiethis sister's troublesome scruples, he might erelong see her fondlingbeautiful children of her own. Even if Rena were willing to risk herhappiness, and he to endanger his position, by a quixotic frankness, the future of his child must not be compromised. 

"You wouldn't want to make George unhappy, " Warwick resumed when thenurse retired. "Very well; would you not be willing, for his sake, tokeep a secret--your secret and mine, and that of the innocent child inyour arms? Would you involve all of us in difficulties merely tosecure your own peace of mind? Doesn't such a course seem just theleast bit selfish? Think the matter over from that point of view, andwe'll speak of it later in the day. I shall be with George all themorning, and I may be able, by a little management, to find out hisviews on the subject of birth and family, and all that. Some men arevery liberal, and love is a great leveler. I'll sound him, at anyrate. "

He kissed the baby and left Rena to her own reflections, to which hispresentation of the case had given a new turn. It had never beforeoccurred to her to regard silence in the light of self-sacrifice. Ithad seemed a sort of sin; her brother's argument made of it a virtue. It was not the first time, nor the last, that right and wrong had beena matter of view-point. 

Tryon himself furnished the opening for Warwick's proposed examination. The younger man could not long remain silent upon the subject uppermostin his mind. "I am anxious, John, " he said, "to have Rowena name thehappiest day of my life--our wedding day. When the trial in EdgecombeCounty is finished, I shall have no further business here, and shall beready to leave for home. I should like to take my bride with me, andsurprise my mother. "

Mothers, thought Warwick, are likely to prove inquisitive about theirsons' wives, especially when taken unawares in matters of suchimportance. This seemed a good time to test the liberality of Tryon'sviews, and to put forward a shield for his sister's protection. 

"Are you sure, George, that your mother will find the surpriseagreeable when you bring home a bride of whom you know so little andyour mother nothing at all?"

Tryon had felt that it would be best to surprise his mother. She wouldneed only to see Rena to approve of her, but she was so far prejudicedin favor of Blanche Leary that it would be wisest to present theargument after having announced the irrevocable conclusion. Renaherself would be a complete justification for the accomplished deed. 

"I think you ought to know, George, " continued Warwick, without waitingfor a reply to his question, "that my sister and I are not of an oldfamily, or a rich family, or a distinguished family; that she can bringyou nothing but herself; that we have no connections of which you couldboast, and no relatives to whom we should be glad to introduce you. You must take us for ourselves alone--we are new people. "

"My dear John, " replied the young man warmly, "there is a great deal ofnonsense about families. If a man is noble and brave and strong, if awoman is beautiful and good and true, what matters it about his or herancestry? If an old family can give them these things, then it isvaluable; if they possess them without it, then of what use is it, except as a source of empty pride, which they would be better without?If all new families were like yours, there would be no advantage inbelonging to an old one. All I care to know of Rowena's family is thatshe is your sister; and you'll pardon me, old fellow, if I add that shehardly needs even you, --she carries the stamp of her descent upon herface and in her heart. "

"It makes me glad to hear you speak in that way, " returned Warwick, delighted by the young man's breadth and earnestness. 

"Oh, I mean every word of it, " replied Tryon. "Ancestors, indeed, forRowena! I will tell you a family secret, John, to prove how little Icare for ancestors. My maternal great-great-grandfather, a hundred andfifty years ago, was hanged, drawn, and quartered for stealing cattleacross the Scottish border. How is that for a pedigree? Behold in methe lineal descendant of a felon!"

Warwick felt much relieved at this avowal. His own statement had nottouched the vital point involved; it had been at the best but ahalf-truth; but Tryon's magnanimity would doubtless protect Rena fromany close inquiry concerning her past. It even occurred to Warwick fora moment that he might safely disclose the secret to Tryon; but anappreciation of certain facts of history and certain traits of humannature constrained him to put the momentary thought aside. It was agreat relief, however, to imagine that Tryon might think lightly ofthis thing that he need never know. 

"Well, Rena, " he said to his sister when he went home at noon: "I'vesounded George. "

"What did he say?" she asked eagerly. 

"I told him we were people of no family, and that we had no relativesthat we were proud of. He said he loved you for yourself, and wouldnever ask you about your ancestry. "

"Oh, I am so glad!" exclaimed Rena joyfully. This report left her veryhappy for about three hours, or until she began to analyze carefullyher brother's account of what had been said. Warwick's statement hadnot been specific, --he had not told Tryon THE thing. George's reply, in turn, had been a mere generality. The concrete fact that oppressedher remained unrevealed, and her doubt was still unsatisfied. 

Rena was occupied with this thought when her lover next came to seeher. Tryon came up the sanded walk from the gate and spoke pleasantlyto the nurse, a good-looking yellow girl who was seated on the frontsteps, playing with little Albert. He took the boy from her arms, andshe went to call Miss Warwick. 

Rena came out, followed by the nurse, who offered to take the child. 

"Never mind, Mimy, leave him with me, " said Tryon. 

The nurse walked discreetly over into the garden, remaining withincall, but beyond the hearing of conversation in an ordinary tone. 

"Rena, darling, " said her lover, "when shall it be? Surely you won'task me to wait a week. Why, that's a lifetime!"

Rena was struck by a brilliant idea. She would test her lover. Lovewas a very powerful force; she had found it the greatest, grandest, sweetest thing in the world. Tryon had said that he loved her; he hadsaid scarcely anything else for several weeks, surely nothing elseworth remembering. She would test his love by a hypothetical question. 

"You say you love me, " she said, glancing at him with a sadthoughtfulness in her large dark eyes. "How much do you love me?"

"I love you all one can love. True love has no degrees; it is all ornothing!"

"Would you love me, " she asked, with an air of coquetry that masked herconcern, pointing toward the girl in the shrubbery, "if I were Albert'snurse yonder?"

"If you were Albert's nurse, " he replied, with a joyous laugh, "hewould have to find another within a week, for within a week we shouldbe married. "

The answer seemed to fit the question, but in fact, Tryon's mind andRena's did not meet. That two intelligent persons should each attach adifferent meaning to so simple a form of words as Rena's question wasthe best ground for her misgiving with regard to the marriage. Butlove blinded her. She was anxious to be convinced. She interpreted themeaning of his speech by her own thought and by the ardor of hisglance, and was satisfied with the answer. 

"And now, darling, " pleaded Tryon, "will you not fix the day that shallmake me happy? I shall be ready to go away in three weeks. Will yougo with me?"

"Yes, " she answered, in a tumult of joy. She would never need to tellhim her secret now. It would make no difference with him, so far asshe was concerned; and she had no right to reveal her brother's secret. She was willing to bury the past in forgetfulness, now that she knew itwould have no interest for her lover. 

X

THE DREAM

The marriage was fixed for the thirtieth of the month, immediatelyafter which Tryon and his bride were to set out for North Carolina. Warwick would have liked it much if Tryon had lived in South Carolina;but the location of his North Carolina home was at some distance fromPatesville, with which it had no connection by steam or rail, andindeed lay altogether out of the line of travel to Patesville. Renahad no acquaintance with people of social standing in North Carolina;and with the added maturity and charm due to her improvedopportunities, it was unlikely that any former resident of Patesvillewho might casually meet her would see in the elegant young matron fromSouth Carolina more than a passing resemblance to a poor girl who hadonce lived in an obscure part of the old town. It would of course benecessary for Rena to keep away from Patesville; save for her mother'ssake, she would hardly be tempted to go back. 

On the twentieth of the month, Warwick set out with Tryon for thecounty seat of the adjoining county, to try one of the lawsuits whichhad required Tryon's presence in South Carolina for so long a time. Their destination was a day's drive from Clarence, behind a good horse, and the trial was expected to last a week. 

"This week will seem like a year, " said Tryon ruefully, the eveningbefore their departure, "but I'll write every day, and shall expect aletter as often. "

"The mail goes only twice a week, George, " replied Rena. 

"Then I shall have three letters in each mail. "

Warwick and Tryon were to set out in the cool of the morning, after anearly breakfast. Rena was up at daybreak that she might preside at thebreakfast-table and bid the travelers good-by. 

"John, " said Rena to her brother in the morning, "I dreamed last nightthat mother was ill. "

"Dreams, you know, Rena, " answered Warwick lightly, "go by contraries. Yours undoubtedly signifies that our mother, God bless her simple soul!is at the present moment enjoying her usual perfect health. She wasnever sick in her life. "

For a few months after leaving Patesville with her brother, Rena hadsuffered tortures of homesickness; those who have felt it know thepang. The severance of old ties had been abrupt and complete. At theschool where her brother had taken her, there had been nothing torelieve the strangeness of her surroundings--no schoolmate from her owntown, no relative or friend of the family near by. Even thecompensation of human sympathy was in a measure denied her, for Renawas too fresh from her prison-house to doubt that sympathy would failbefore the revelation of the secret the consciousness of whichoppressed her at that time like a nightmare. It was not strange thatRena, thus isolated, should have been prostrated by homesickness forseveral weeks after leaving Patesville. When the paroxysm had passed, there followed a dull pain, which gradually subsided into a resignationas profound, in its way, as had been her longing for home. She loved, she suffered, with a quiet intensity of which her outward demeanor gaveno adequate expression. From some ancestral source she had derived astrain of the passive fatalism by which alone one can submituncomplainingly to the inevitable. By the same token, when once a thinghad been decided, it became with her a finality, which only someextraordinary stress of emotion could disturb. She had acquiesced inher brother's plan; for her there was no withdrawing; her homesicknesswas an incidental thing which must be endured, as patiently as mightbe, until time should have brought a measure of relief. 

Warwick had made provision for an occasional letter from Patesville, byleaving with his mother a number of envelopes directed to his address. She could have her letters written, inclose them in these envelopes, and deposit them in the post-office with her own hand. Thus the placeof Warwick's residence would remain within her own knowledge, and hissecret would not be placed at the mercy of any wandering Patesvillianwho might perchance go to that part of South Carolina. By this simplemeans Rena had kept as closely in touch with her mother as Warwick hadconsidered prudent; any closer intercourse was not consistent withtheir present station in life. 

The night after Warwick and Tryon had ridden away, Rena dreamed againthat her mother was ill. Better taught people than she, in regionsmore enlightened than the South Carolina of that epoch, are disturbedat times by dreams. Mis' Molly had a profound faith in them. If God, in ancient times, had spoken to men in visions of the night, whateasier way could there be for Him to convey his meaning to people ofall ages? Science, which has shattered many an idol and destroyed manya delusion, has made but slight inroads upon the shadowy realm ofdreams. For Mis' Molly, to whom science would have meant nothing andpsychology would have been a meaningless term, the land of dreams wascarefully mapped and bounded. Each dream had some specialsignificance, or was at least susceptible of classification under somesignificant head. Dreams, as a general rule, went by contraries; but adream three times repeated was a certain portent of the thing defined. Rena's few years of schooling at Patesville and her months atCharleston had scarcely disturbed these hoary superstitions which lurkin the dim corners of the brain. No lady in Clarence, perhaps, wouldhave remained undisturbed by a vivid dream, three times repeated, ofsome event bearing materially upon her own life. 

The first repetition of a dream was decisive of nothing, for two dreamsmeant no more than one. The power of the second lay in the suspense, the uncertainty, to which it gave rise. Two doubled the chance of athird. The day following this second dream was an anxious one forRena. She could not for an instant dismiss her mother from herthoughts, which were filled too with a certain self-reproach. She hadleft her mother alone; if her mother were really ill, there was no oneat home to tend her with loving care. This feeling grew in force, until by nightfall Rena had become very unhappy, and went to bed withthe most dismal forebodings. In this state of mind, it is notsurprising that she now dreamed that her mother was lying at the pointof death, and that she cried out with heart-rending pathos:--

"Rena, my darlin', why did you forsake yo'r pore old mother? Come backto me, honey; I'll die ef I don't see you soon. "

The stress of subconscious emotion engendered by the dream was powerfulenough to wake Rena, and her mother's utterance seemed to come to herwith the force of a fateful warning and a great reproach. Her motherwas sick and needed her, and would die if she did not come. She feltthat she must see her mother, --it would be almost like murder to remainaway from her under such circumstances. 

After breakfast she went into the business part of the town andinquired at what time a train would leave that would take her towardPatesville. Since she had come away from the town, a railroad had beenopened by which the long river voyage might be avoided, and, makingallowance for slow trains and irregular connections, the town ofPatesville could be reached by an all-rail route in about twelve hours. Calling at the post-office for the family mail, she found there aletter from her mother, which she tore open in great excitement. It waswritten in an unpracticed hand and badly spelled, and was in effect asfollows:--

MY DEAR DAUGHTER, --I take my pen in hand to let you know that I am notvery well. I have had a kind of misery in my side for two weeks, withpalpitations of the heart, and I have been in bed for three days. I'mfeeling mighty poorly, but Dr. Green says that I'll get over it in afew days. Old Aunt Zilphy is staying with me, and looking after thingstolerably well. I hope this will find you and John enjoying goodhealth. Give my love to John, and I hope the Lord will bless him andyou too. Cousin Billy Oxendine has had a rising on his neck, and hashad to have it lanced. Mary B. Has another young one, a boy this time. Old man Tom Johnson was killed last week while trying to whip black JimBrown, who lived down on the Wilmington Road. Jim has run away. Therehas been a big freshet in the river, and it looked at one time as ifthe new bridge would be washed away. 

Frank comes over every day or two and asks about you. He says to tellyou that he don't believe you are coming back any more, but you are toremember him, and that foolishness he said about bringing you back fromthe end of the world with his mule and cart. He's very good to me, andbrings over shavings and kindling-wood, and made me a new well-bucketfor nothing. It's a comfort to talk to him about you, though I haven'ttold him where you are living. 

I hope this will find you and John both well, and doing well. I shouldlike to see you, but if it's the Lord's will that I shouldn't, I shallbe thankful anyway that you have done what was the best for yourselvesand your children, and that I have given you up for your own good. 

 Your affectionate mother, MARY WALDEN. 

Rena shed tears over this simple letter, which, to her excitedimagination, merely confirmed the warning of her dream. At the date ofits writing her mother had been sick in bed, with the symptoms of aserious illness. She had no nurse but a purblind old woman. Threedays of progressive illness had evidently been quite sufficient toreduce her parent to the condition indicated by the third dream. Thethought that her mother might die without the presence of any one wholoved her pierced Rena's heart like a knife and lent wings to her feet. She wished for the enchanted horse of which her brother had read to herso many years before on the front piazza of the house behind thecedars, that she might fly through the air to her dying mother's side. She determined to go at once to Patesville. 

Returning home, she wrote a letter to Warwick inclosing their mother'sletter, and stating that she had dreamed an alarming dream for threenights in succession; that she had left the house in charge of theservants and gone to Patesville; and that she would return as soon asher mother was out of danger. 

To her lover she wrote that she had been called away to visit asick-bed, and would return very soon, perhaps by the time he got backto Clarence. These letters Rena posted on her way to the train, whichshe took at five o'clock in the afternoon. This would bring her toPatesville early in the morning of the following day. 

XI

A LETTER AND A JOURNEY

War has been called the court of last resort. A lawsuit may with equalaptness be compared to a battle--the parallel might be drawn veryclosely all along the line. First we have the casus belli, the causeof action; then the various protocols and proclamations and generalorders, by way of pleas, demurrers, and motions; then the preliminaryskirmishes at the trial table; and then the final struggle, in whichmight is quite as likely to prevail as right, victory most oftenresting with the strongest battalions, and truth and justice not seldomoverborne by the weight of odds upon the other side. 

The lawsuit which Warwick and Tryon had gone to try did not, however, reach this ultimate stage, but, after a three days' engagement, resulted in a treaty of peace. The case was compromised and settled, and Tryon and Warwick set out on their homeward drive. They stopped ata farm-house at noon, and while at table saw the stage-coach from thetown they had just left, bound for their own destination. In themail-bag under the driver's seat were Rena's two letters; they had beendelivered at the town in the morning, and immediately remailed toClarence, in accordance with orders left at the post-office the eveningbefore. Tryon and Warwick drove leisurely homeward through the pines, all unconscious of the fateful squares of white paper moving along theroad a few miles before them, which a mother's yearning and adaughter's love had thrown, like the apple of discord, into the narrowcircle of their happiness. 

They reached Clarence at four o'clock. Warwick got down from the buggyat his office. Tryon drove on to his hotel, to make a hasty toiletbefore visiting his sweetheart. 

Warwick glanced at his mail, tore open the envelope addressed in hissister's handwriting, and read the contents with something like dismay. She had gone away on the eve of her wedding, her lover knew not where, to be gone no one knew how long, on a mission which could not befrankly disclosed. A dim foreboding of disaster flashed across hismind. He thrust the letter into his pocket, with others yet unopened, and started toward his home. Reaching the gate, he paused a moment andthen walked on past the house. Tryon would probably be there in a fewminutes, and he did not care to meet him without first having had theopportunity for some moments of reflection. He must fix upon some lineof action in this emergency. 

Meanwhile Tryon had reached his hotel and opened his mail. The letterfrom Rena was read first, with profound disappointment. He had reallymade concessions in the settlement of that lawsuit--had yielded severalhundred dollars of his just dues, in order that he might get back toRena three days earlier. Now he must cool his heels in idleness for atleast three days before she would return. It was annoying, to say theleast. He wished to know where she had gone, that he might follow herand stay near her until she should be ready to come back. He might askWarwick--no, she might have had some good reason for not havingmentioned her destination. She had probably gone to visit some of thepoor relations of whom her brother had spoken so frankly, and she woulddoubtless prefer that he should not see her amid any surroundings butthe best. Indeed, he did not know that he would himself care toendanger, by suggestive comparisons, the fine aureole of superioritythat surrounded her. She represented in her adorable person and herpure heart the finest flower of the finest race that God had evermade--the supreme effort of creative power, than which there could beno finer. The flower would soon be his; why should he care to dig upthe soil in which it grew?

Tryon went on opening his letters. There were several bills andcirculars, and then a letter from his mother, of which he broke theseal:--

MY DEAREST GEORGE, --This leaves us well. Blanche is still with me, andwe are impatiently awaiting your return. In your absence she seemsalmost like a daughter to me. She joins me in the hope that yourlawsuits are progressing favorably, and that you will be with us soon. . . . 

On your way home, if it does not keep you away from us too long, wouldit not be well for you to come by way of Patesville, and find outwhether there is any prospect of our being able to collect our claimagainst old Mr. Duncan McSwayne's estate? You must have taken thepapers with you, along with the rest, for I do not find them here. Things ought to be settled enough now for people to realize on some oftheir securities. Your grandfather always believed the note was good, and meant to try to collect it, but the war interfered. He said to me, before he died, that if the note was ever collected, he would use themoney to buy a wedding present for your wife. Poor father! he is deadand gone to heaven; but I am sure that even there he would be happierif he knew the note was paid and the money used as he intended. 

If you go to Patesville, call on my cousin, Dr. Ed. Green, and tell himwho you are. Give him my love. I haven't seen him for twenty years. He used to be very fond of the ladies, a very gallant man. He candirect you to a good lawyer, no doubt. Hoping to see you soon, Your loving mother, ELIZABETH TRYON. 

P. S. Blanche joins me in love to you. 

This affectionate and motherly letter did not give Tryon unalloyedsatisfaction. He was glad to hear that his mother was well, but he hadhoped that Blanche Leary might have finished her visit by this time. The reasonable inference from the letter was that Blanche meant toawait his return. Her presence would spoil the fine romantic flavor ofthe surprise he had planned for his mother; it would never do to exposehis bride to an unannounced meeting with the woman whom he had tacitlyrejected. There would be one advantage in such a meeting: thecomparison of the two women would be so much in Rena's favor that hismother could not hesitate for a moment between them. The situation, however, would have elements of constraint, and he did not care toexpose either Rena or Blanche to any disagreeable contingency. Itwould be better to take his wife on a wedding trip, and notify hismother, before he returned home, of his marriage. In the extremelyimprobable case that she should disapprove his choice after having seenhis wife, the ice would at least have been broken before his arrival athome. 

"By Jove!" he exclaimed suddenly, striking his knee with his hand, "whyshouldn't I run up to Patesville while Rena's gone? I can leave hereat five o'clock, and get there some time to-morrow morning. I cantransact my business during the day, and get back the day afterto-morrow; for Rena might return ahead of time, just as we did, and Ishall want to be here when she comes; I'd rather wait a year for alegal opinion on a doubtful old note than to lose one day with my love. The train goes in twenty minutes. My bag is already packed. I'll justdrop a line to George and tell him where I've gone. "

He put Rena's letter into his breast pocket, and turning to his trunk, took from it a handful of papers relating to the claim in reference towhich he was going to Patesville. These he thrust into the same pocketwith Rena's letter; he wished to read both letter and papers while onthe train. It would be a pleasure merely to hold the letter before hiseyes and look at the lines traced by her hand. The papers he wished tostudy, for the more practical purpose of examining into the merits ofhis claim against the estate of Duncan McSwayne. 

When Warwick reached home, he inquired if Mr. Tryon had called. 

"No, suh, " answered the nurse, to whom he had put the question; "heain't be'n here yet, suh. "

Warwick was surprised and much disturbed. 

"De baby 's be'n cryin' for Miss Rena, " suggested the nurse, "an' Is'pec' he'd like to see you, suh. Shall I fetch 'im?"

"Yes, bring him to me. "

He took the child in his arms and went out upon the piazza. Severalporch pillows lay invitingly near. He pushed them toward the stepswith his foot, sat down upon one, and placed little Albert uponanother. He was scarcely seated when a messenger from the hotel cameup the walk from the gate and handed him a note. At the same moment heheard the long shriek of the afternoon train leaving the station on theopposite side of the town. 

He tore the envelope open anxiously, read the note, smiled a sicklysmile, and clenched the paper in his hand unconsciously. There wasnothing he could do. The train had gone; there was no telegraph toPatesville, and no letter could leave Clarence for twenty-four hours. The best laid schemes go wrong at times--the stanchest ships aresometimes wrecked, or skirt the breakers perilously. Life is a sea, full of strange currents and uncharted reefs--whoever leaves thetraveled path must run the danger of destruction. Warwick was alawyer, however, and accustomed to balance probabilities. 

"He may easily be in Patesville a day or two without meeting her. Shewill spend most of her time at mother's bedside, and he will beoccupied with his own affairs. "

If Tryon should meet her--well, he was very much in love, and he hadspoken very nobly of birth and blood. Warwick would have preferred, nevertheless, that Tryon's theories should not be put to thisparticular test. Rena's scruples had so far been successfullycombated; the question would be opened again, and the situationunnecessarily complicated, if Tryon should meet Rena in Patesville. 

"Will he or will he not?" he asked himself. He took a coin from hispocket and spun it upon the floor. "Heads, he sees her; tails, he doesnot. "

The coin spun swiftly and steadily, leaving upon the eye the impressionof a revolving sphere. Little Albert, left for a moment to his owndevices, had crept behind his father and was watching the whirling diskwith great pleasure. He felt that he would like to possess thisinteresting object. The coin began to move more slowly, and waswabbling to its fall, when the child stretched forth his chubby fistand caught it ere it touched the floor. 

XII

TRYON GOES TO PATESVILLE

Tryon arrived in the early morning and put up at the Patesville Hotel, a very comfortable inn. After a bath, breakfast, and a visit to thebarbershop, he inquired of the hotel clerk the way to the office of Dr. Green, his mother's cousin. 

"On the corner, sir, " answered the clerk, "by the market-house, justover the drugstore. The doctor drove past here only half an hour ago. You'll probably catch him in his office. "

Tryon found the office without difficulty. He climbed the stair, butfound no one in except a young colored man seated in the outer office, who rose promptly as Tryon entered. 

"No, suh, " replied the man to Tryon's question, "he ain't hyuh now. He's gone out to see a patient, suh, but he'll be back soon. Won't youset down in de private office an' wait fer 'im, suh?"

Tryon had not slept well during his journey, and felt somewhatfatigued. Through the open door of the next room he saw an invitingarmchair, with a window at one side, and upon the other a table strewnwith papers and magazines. 

"Yes, " he answered, "I'll wait. "

He entered the private office, sank into the armchair, and looked outof the window upon the square below. The view was mildly interesting. The old brick market-house with the tower was quite picturesque. On awagon-scale at one end the public weighmaster was weighing a load ofhay. In the booths under the wide arches several old negro women werefrying fish on little charcoal stoves--the odor would have beenappetizing to one who had not breakfasted. On the shady side stoodhalf a dozen two-wheeled carts, loaded with lightwood and drawn bydiminutive steers, or superannuated army mules branded on the flankwith the cabalistic letters "C. S. A. , " which represented a vanisheddream, or "U. S. A. , " which, as any negro about the market-house wouldhave borne witness, signified a very concrete fact. Now and then alady or gentleman passed with leisurely step--no one ever hurried inPatesville--or some poor white sandhiller slouched listlessly alongtoward store or bar-room. 

Tryon mechanically counted the slabs of gingerbread on the nearestmarket-stall, and calculated the cubical contents of several of themeagre loads of wood. Having exhausted the view, he turned to thetable at his elbow and picked up a medical journal, in which he readfirst an account of a marvelous surgical operation. Turning the leavesidly, he came upon an article by a Southern writer, upon the perennialrace problem that has vexed the country for a century. The writermaintained that owing to a special tendency of the negro blood, howeverdiluted, to revert to the African type, any future amalgamation of thewhite and black races, which foolish and wicked Northern negrophilespredicted as the ultimate result of the new conditions confronting theSouth, would therefore be an ethnological impossibility; for thesmallest trace of negro blood would inevitably drag down the superiorrace to the level of the inferior, and reduce the fair Southland, already devastated by the hand of the invader, to the frightful levelof Hayti, the awful example of negro incapacity. To forefend theirbeloved land, now doubly sanctified by the blood of her devoted sonswho had fallen in the struggle to maintain her liberties and preserveher property, it behooved every true Southron to stand firm against theabhorrent tide of radicalism, to maintain the supremacy and purity ofhis all-pervading, all-conquering race, and to resist by everyavailable means the threatened domination of an inferior and degradedpeople, who were set to rule hereditary freemen ere they had themselvesscarce ceased to be slaves. 

When Tryon had finished the article, which seemed to him awell-considered argument, albeit a trifle bombastic, he threw the bookupon the table. Finding the armchair wonderfully comfortable, andfeeling the fatigue of his journey, he yielded to a drowsy impulse, leaned his head on the cushioned back of the chair, and fell asleep. According to the habit of youth, he dreamed, and pursuant to his ownindividual habit, he dreamed of Rena. They were walking in themoonlight, along the quiet road in front of her brother's house. Theair was redolent with the perfume of flowers. His arm was around herwaist. He had asked her if she loved him, and was awaiting her answerin tremulous but confident expectation. She opened her lips to speak. The sound that came from them seemed to be:--

"Is Dr. Green in? No? Ask him, when he comes back, please, to call atour house as soon as he can. "

Tryon was in that state of somnolence in which one may dream and yet beaware that one is dreaming, --the state where one, during a dream, dreams that one pinches one's self to be sure that one is not dreaming. He was therefore aware of a ringing quality about the words he had justheard that did not comport with the shadowy converse of a dream--anincongruity in the remark, too, which marred the harmony of the vision. The shock was sufficient to disturb Tryon's slumber, and he struggledslowly back to consciousness. When fully awake, he thought he heard alight footfall descending the stairs. 

"Was there some one here?" he inquired of the attendant in the outeroffice, who was visible through the open door. 

"Yas, suh, " replied the boy, "a young cullud 'oman wuz in jes' now, axin' fer de doctuh. "

Tryon felt a momentary touch of annoyance that a negro woman shouldhave intruded herself into his dream at its most interesting point. Nevertheless, the voice had been so real, his imagination hadreproduced with such exactness the dulcet tones so dear to him, that heturned his head involuntarily and looked out of the window. He couldjust see the flutter of a woman's skirt disappearing around the corner. 

A moment later the doctor came bustling in, --a plump, rosy man of fiftyor more, with a frank, open countenance and an air of genial goodnature. Such a doctor, Tryon fancied, ought to enjoy a wide popularity. His mere presence would suggest life and hope and healthfulness. 

"My dear boy, " exclaimed the doctor cordially, after Tryon hadintroduced himself, "I'm delighted to meet you--or any one of the oldblood. Your mother and I were sweethearts, long ago, when we both worepinafores, and went to see our grandfather at Christmas; and I met hermore than once, and paid her more than one compliment, after she hadgrown to be a fine young woman. You're like her! too, but not quite sohandsome--you've more of what I suppose to be the Tryon favor, though Inever met your father. So one of old Duncan McSwayne's notes went sofar as that? Well, well, I don't know where you won't find them. Oneof them turned up here the other day from New York. 

"The man you want to see, " he added later in the conversation, "is oldJudge Straight. He's getting somewhat stiff in the joints, but heknows more law, and more about the McSwayne estate, than any other twolawyers in town. If anybody can collect your claim, Judge Straightcan. I'll send my boy Dave over to his office. Dave, " he called tohis attendant, "run over to Judge Straight's office and see if he'sthere. 

"There was a freshet here a few weeks ago, " he want on, when thecolored man had departed, "and they had to open the flood-gates and letthe water out of the mill pond, for if the dam had broken, as it didtwenty years ago, it would have washed the pillars from under thejudge's office and let it down in the creek, and"--

"Jedge Straight ain't in de office jes' now, suh, " reported thedoctor's man Dave, from the head of the stairs. 

"Did you ask when he'd be back?"

"No, suh, you didn't tell me ter, suh. "

"Well, now, go back and inquire. 

"The niggers, " he explained to Tryon, "are getting mighty triflingsince they've been freed. Before the war, that boy would have beenaround there and back before you could say Jack Robinson; now, the lazyrascal takes his time just like a white man. "

Dave returned more promptly than from his first trip. "JedgeStraight's dere now, suh, " he said. "He's done come in. "

"I'll take you right around and introduce you, " said the doctor, running on pleasantly, like a babbling brook. "I don't know whetherthe judge ever met your mother or not, but he knows a gentleman when hesees one, and will be glad to meet you and look after your affair. Seeto the patients, Dave, and say I'll be back shortly, and don't forgetany messages left for me. Look sharp, now! You know your failing!"

They found Judge Straight in his office. He was seated by the rearwindow, and had fallen into a gentle doze--the air of Patesville wasconducive to slumber. A visitor from some bustling city might haverubbed his eyes, on any but a market-day, and imagined the whole townasleep--that the people were somnambulists and did not know it. Thejudge, an old hand, roused himself so skillfully, at the sound ofapproaching footsteps, that his visitors could not guess but that hehad been wide awake. He shook hands with the doctor, and acknowledgedthe introduction to Tryon with a rare old-fashioned courtesy, which theyoung man thought a very charming survival of the manners of a past andhappier age. 

"No, " replied the judge, in answer to a question by Dr. Green, "I nevermet his mother; I was a generation ahead of her. I was at school withher father, however, fifty years ago--fifty years ago! No doubt thatseems to you a long time, young gentleman?"

"It is a long time, sir, " replied Tryon. "I must live more than twiceas long as I have in order to cover it. "

"A long time, and a troubled time, " sighed the judge. "I could wishthat I might see this unhappy land at peace with itself before I die. Things are in a sad tangle; I can't see the way out. But the worstenemy has been slain, in spite of us. We are well rid of slavery. "

"But the negro we still have with us, " remarked the doctor, "for herecomes my man Dave. What is it, Dave?" he asked sharply, as the negrostuck his head in at the door. 

"Doctuh Green, " he said, "I fuhgot ter tell you, suh, dat dat young'oman wuz at de office agin jes' befo' you come in, an' said fer you togo right down an' see her mammy ez soon ez you could. "

"Ah, yes, and you've just remembered it! I'm afraid you're entirelytoo forgetful for a doctor's office. You forgot about old Mrs. Latimer, the other day, and when I got there she had almost choked todeath. Now get back to the office, and remember, the next time youforget anything, I'll hire another boy; remember that! That boy'shead, " he remarked to his companions, after Dave had gone, "reminds meof nothing so much as a dried gourd, with a handful of cowpeas rattlingaround it, in lieu of gray matter. An old woman out in Redbank got afishbone in her throat, the other day, and nearly choked to deathbefore I got there. A white woman, sir, came very near losing her lifebecause of a lazy, trifling negro!"

"I should think you would discharge him, sir, " suggested Tryon. 

"What would be the use?" rejoined the doctor. "All negroes are alike, except that now and then there's a pretty woman along the border-line. Take this patient of mine, for instance, --I'll call on her afterdinner, her case is not serious, --thirty years ago she would have madeany man turn his head to look at her. You know who I mean, don't you, judge?"

"Yes. I think so, " said the judge promptly. "I've transacted a littlebusiness for her now and then. "

"I don't know whether you've seen the daughter or not--I'm sure youhaven't for the past year or so, for she's been away. But she's intown now, and, by Jove, the girl is really beautiful. And I'm a judgeof beauty. Do you remember my wife thirty years ago, judge?"

"She was a very handsome woman, Ed, " replied the other judicially. "IfI had been twenty years younger, I should have cut you out. "

"You mean you would have tried. But as I was saying, this girl is abeauty; I reckon we might guess where she got some of it, eh, Judge?Human nature is human nature, but it's a d--d shame that a man shouldbeget a child like that and leave it to live the life open for a negro. If she had been born white, the young fellows would be tumbling overone another to get her. Her mother would have to look after her prettyclosely as things are, if she stayed here; but she disappearedmysteriously a year or two ago, and has been at the North, I'm told, passing for white. She'll probably marry a Yankee; he won't know anybetter, and it will serve him right--she's only too white for them. She has a very striking figure, something on the Greek order, statelyand slow-moving. She has the manners of a lady, too--a beautifulwoman, if she is a nigger!"

"I quite agree with you, Ed, " remarked the judge dryly, "that themother had better look closely after the daughter. "

"Ah, no, judge, " replied the other, with a flattered smile, "myadmiration for beauty is purely abstract. Twenty-five years ago, whenI was younger"--

"When you were young, " corrected the judge. 

"When you and I were younger, " continued the doctoringeniously, --"twenty-five years ago, I could not have answered formyself. But I would advise the girl to stay at the North, if she can. She's certainly out of place around here. "

Tryon found the subject a little tiresome, and the doctor's enthusiasmnot at all contagious. He could not possibly have been interested in acolored girl, under any circumstances, and he was engaged to be marriedto the most beautiful white woman on earth. To mention a negro womanin the same room where he was thinking of Rena seemed little short ofprofanation. His friend the doctor was a jovial fellow, but it wassurely doubtful taste to refer to his wife in such a conversation. Hewas very glad when the doctor dropped the subject and permitted him togo more into detail about the matter which formed his business inPatesville. He took out of his pocket the papers concerning theMcSwayne claim and laid them on the judge's desk. 

"You'll find everything there, sir, --the note, the contract, and somecorrespondence that will give you the hang of the thing. Will you beable to look over them to-day? I should like, " he added a littlenervously, "to go back to-morrow. "

"What!" exclaimed Dr. Green vivaciously, "insult our town by stayingonly one day? It won't be long enough to get acquainted with our youngladies. Patesville girls are famous for their beauty. But perhapsthere's a loadstone in South Carolina to draw you back? Ah, you changecolor! To my mind there's nothing finer than the ingenuous blush ofyouth. But we'll spare you if you'll answer one question--is itserious?"

"I'm to be married in two weeks, sir, " answered Tryon. The statementsounded very pleasant, in spite of the slight embarrassment caused bythe inquiry. 

"Good boy!" rejoined the doctor, taking his arm familiarly--they wereboth standing now. "You ought to have married a Patesville girl, butyou people down towards the eastern counties seldom come this way, andwe are evidently too late to catch you. "

"I'll look your papers over this morning, " said the judge, "and when Icome from dinner will stop at the court house and examine the recordsand see whether there's anything we can get hold of. If you'll drop inaround three or four o'clock, I may be able to give you an opinion. "

"Now, George, " exclaimed the doctor, "we'll go back to the office for aspell, and then I'll take you home with me to luncheon. "

Tryon hesitated. 

"Oh, you must come! Mrs. Green would never forgive me if I didn'tbring you. Strangers are rare birds in our society, and when they comewe make them welcome. Our enemies may overturn our institutions, andtry to put the bottom rail on top, but they cannot destroy our Southernhospitality. There are so many carpet-baggers and other social vermincreeping into the South, with the Yankees trying to force the niggerson us, that it's a genuine pleasure to get acquainted with another realSouthern gentleman, whom one can invite into one's house without fearof contamination, and before whom one can express his feelings freelyand be sure of perfect sympathy. "

XIII

AN INJUDICIOUS PAYMENT

When Judge Straight's visitors had departed, he took up the paperswhich had been laid loosely on the table as they were taken out ofTryon's breast-pocket, and commenced their perusal. There was a notefor five hundred dollars, many years overdue, but not yet outlawed bylapse of time; a contract covering the transaction out of which thenote had grown; and several letters and copies of letters modifying theterms of the contract. The judge had glanced over most of the papers, and was getting well into the merits of the case, when he unfolded aletter which read as follows:--

MY DEAREST GEORGE, --I am going away for about a week, to visit thebedside of an old friend, who is very ill, and may not live. Do not bealarmed about me, for I shall very likely be back by the time you are. 

 Yours lovingly, ROWENA WARWICK. 

The judge was unable to connect this letter with the transaction whichformed the subject of his examination. Age had dimmed his perceptionssomewhat, and it was not until he had finished the letter, and read itover again, and noted the signature at the bottom a second time, thathe perceived that the writing was in a woman's hand, that the ink wascomparatively fresh, and that the letter was dated only a couple ofdays before. While he still held the sheet in his hand, it dawned uponhim slowly that he held also one of the links in a chain of possibletragedy which he himself, he became uncomfortably aware, had had a handin forging. 

"It is the Walden woman's daughter, as sure as fate! Her name is Rena. Her brother goes by the name of Warwick. She has come to visit hersick mother. My young client, Green's relation, is her lover--isengaged to marry her--is in town, and is likely to meet her!"

The judge was so absorbed in the situation thus suggested that he laidthe papers down and pondered for a moment the curious problem involved. He was quite aware that two races had not dwelt together, side by side, for nearly three hundred years, without mingling their blood in greateror less degree; he was old enough, and had seen curious things enough, to know that in this mingling the current had not always flowed in onedirection. Certain old decisions with which he was familiar; oldscandals that had crept along obscure channels; old facts that had cometo the knowledge of an old practitioner, who held in the hollow of hishand the honor of more than one family, made him know that there wasdark blood among the white people--not a great deal, and that very muchdiluted, and, so long as it was sedulously concealed or vigorouslydenied, or lost in the mists of tradition, or ascribed to a foreign oran aboriginal strain, having no perceptible effect upon the racial type. 

Such people were, for the most part, merely on the ragged edge of thewhite world, seldom rising above the level of overseers, orslave-catchers, or sheriff's officers, who could usually be relied uponto resent the drop of black blood that tainted them, and with the zealof the proselyte to visit their hatred of it upon the unfortunateblacks that fell into their hands. One curse of negro slavery was, andone part of its baleful heritage is, that it poisoned the fountains ofhuman sympathy. Under a system where men might sell their own childrenwithout social reprobation or loss of prestige, it was not surprisingthat some of them should hate their distant cousins. There were not inPatesville half a dozen persons capable of thinking Judge Straight'sthoughts upon the question before him, and perhaps not another whowould have adopted the course he now pursued toward this anomalousfamily in the house behind the cedars. 

"Well, here we are again, as the clown in the circus remarks, " murmuredthe judge. "Ten years ago, in a moment of sentimental weakness and ofquixotic loyalty to the memory of an old friend, --who, by the way, hadnot cared enough for his own children to take them away from the South, as he might have done, or to provide for them handsomely, as he perhapsmeant to do, --I violated the traditions of my class and stepped fromthe beaten path to help the misbegotten son of my old friend out of theslough of despond, in which he had learned, in some strange way, thathe was floundering. Ten years later, the ghost of my good deed returnsto haunt me, and makes me doubt whether I have wrought more evil thangood. I wonder, " he mused, "if he will find her out?"

The judge was a man of imagination; he had read many books and hadpersonally outlived some prejudices. He let his mind run on thevarious phases of the situation. 

"If he found her out, would he by any possibility marry her?"

"It is not likely, " he answered himself. "If he made the discoveryhere, the facts would probably leak out in the town. It is somethingthat a man might do in secret, but only a hero or a fool would doopenly. "

The judge sighed as he contemplated another possibility. He had livedfor seventy years under the old regime. The young man was agentleman--so had been the girl's father. Conditions were changed, buthuman nature was the same. Would the young man's love turn to disgustand repulsion, or would it merely sink from the level of worship tothat of desire? Would the girl, denied marriage, accept anything less?Her mother had, --but conditions were changed. Yes, conditions werechanged, so far as the girl was concerned; there was a possible futurefor her under the new order of things; but white people had not changedtheir opinion of the negroes, except for the worse. The general beliefwas that they were just as inferior as before, and had, moreover, beenspoiled by a disgusting assumption of equality, driven into their thickskulls by Yankee malignity bent upon humiliating a proud thoughvanquished foe. 

If the judge had had sons and daughters of his own, he might not havedone what he now proceeded to do. But the old man's attitude towardsociety was chiefly that of an observer, and the narrow stream ofsentiment left in his heart chose to flow toward the weaker party inthis unequal conflict, --a young woman fighting for love and opportunityagainst the ranked forces of society, against immemorial tradition, against pride of family and of race. 

"It may be the unwisest thing I ever did, " he said to himself, turningto his desk and taking up a quill pen, "and may result in more harmthan good; but I was always from childhood in sympathy with the underdog. There is certainly as much reason in my helping the girl as theboy, for being a woman, she is less able to help herself. "

He dipped his pen into the ink and wrote the following lines:--

MADAM, --If you value your daughter's happiness, keep her at home forthe next day or two. 

This note he dried by sprinkling it with sand from a box near at hand, signed with his own name, and, with a fine courtesy, addressed to "Mrs. Molly Walden. " Having first carefully sealed it in an envelope, hestepped to the open door, and spied, playing marbles on the street nearby, a group of negro boys, one of whom the judge called by name. 

"Here, Billy, " he said, handing the boy the note, "take this to Mis'Molly Walden. Do you know where she lives--down on Front Street, inthe house behind the cedars?"

"Yas, suh, I knows de place. "

"Make haste, now. When you come back and tell me what she says, I'llgive you ten cents. On second thoughts, I shall be gone to lunch, sohere's your money, " he added, handing the lad the bit of soiled paperby which the United States government acknowledged its indebtedness tothe bearer in the sum of ten cents. 

Just here, however, the judge made his mistake. Very few mortals canspare the spring of hope, the motive force of expectation. The boykept the note in his hand, winked at his companions, who had gatheredas near as their awe of the judge would permit, and started down thestreet. As soon as the judge had disappeared, Billy beckoned to hisfriends, who speedily overtook him. When the party turned the cornerof Front Street and were safely out of sight of Judge Straight'soffice, the capitalist entered the grocery store and invested hisunearned increment in gingerbread. When the ensuing saturnalia wasover, Billy finished the game of marbles which the judge hadinterrupted, and then set out to execute his commission. He had nearlyreached his objective point when he met upon the street a young whitelady, whom he did not know, and for whom, the path being narrow at thatpoint, he stepped out into the gutter. He reached the house behind thecedars, went round to the back door, and handed the envelope to Mis'Molly, who was seated on the rear piazza, propped up by pillows in acomfortable rocking-chair. 

"Laws-a-massy!" she exclaimed weakly, "what is it?"

"It's a lettuh, ma'm, " answered the boy, whose expanding nostrils hadcaught a pleasant odor from the kitchen, and who was therefore in nohurry to go away. 

"Who's it fur?" she asked. 

"It's fuh you, ma'm, " replied the lad. 

"An' who's it from?" she inquired, turning the envelope over and over, and examining it with the impotent curiosity of one who cannot read. 

"F'm ole Jedge Straight, ma'm. He tole me ter fetch it ter you. Isyou got a roasted 'tater you could gimme, ma'm?"

"Shorely, chile. I'll have Aunt Zilphy fetch you a piece of 'taterpone, if you'll hol' on a minute. "

She called to Aunt Zilphy, who soon came hobbling out of the kitchenwith a large square of the delicacy, --a flat cake made of mashed sweetpotatoes, mixed with beaten eggs, sweetened and flavored to suit thetaste, and baked in a Dutch oven upon the open hearth. 

The boy took the gratuity, thanked her, and turned to go. Mis' Mollywas still scanning the superscription of the letter. "I wonder, " shemurmured, "what old Judge Straight can be writin' to me about. Oh, boy!"

"Yas 'm, " answered the messenger, looking back. 

"Can you read writin'?"

"No 'm. "

"All right. Never mind. "

She laid the letter carefully on the chimney-piece of the kitchen. "Ireckon it's somethin' mo' 'bout the taxes, " she thought, "or maybesomebody wants to buy one er my lots. Rena'll be back terreckly, an'she kin read it an' find out. I'm glad my child'en have be'n to school. They never could have got where they are now if they hadn't. "

XIV

A LOYAL FRIEND

Mention has been made of certain addressed envelopes which JohnWarwick, on the occasion of his visit to Patesville, had left with hisilliterate mother, by the use of which she might communicate with herchildren from time to time. On one occasion, Mis' Molly, having had aletter written, took one of these envelopes from the chest where shekept her most valued possessions, and was about to inclose the letterwhen some one knocked at the back door. She laid the envelope andletter on a table in her bedroom, and went to answer the knock. Thewind, blowing across the room through the open windows, picked up theenvelope and bore it into the street. Mis' Molly, on her return, missed it, looked for it, and being unable to find it, took anotherenvelope. An hour or two later another gust of wind lifted the bit ofpaper from the ground and carried it into the open door of the coopershop. Frank picked it up, and observing that it was clean and unused, read the superscription. In his conversations with Mis' Molly, whichwere often about Rena, --the subject uppermost in both their minds, --hehad noted the mystery maintained by Mis' Molly about her daughter'swhereabouts, and had often wondered where she might be. Frank was anintelligent fellow, and could put this and that together. The envelopewas addressed to a place in South Carolina. He was aware, from somecasual remark of Mis' Molly's, that Rena had gone to live in SouthCarolina. Her son's name was John--that he had changed his last namewas more than likely. Frank was not long in reaching the conclusionthat Rena was to be found near the town named on the envelope, which hecarefully preserved for future reference. 

For a whole year Frank had yearned for a smile or a kind word from theonly woman in the world. Peter, his father, had rallied him somewhatupon his moodiness after Rena's departure. 

"Now 's de time, boy, fer you ter be lookin' roun' fer some nice gal eryo' own color, w'at'll 'preciate you, an' won't be 'shamed er you. You're wastin' time, boy, wastin' time, shootin' at a mark outer yo'range. "

But Frank said nothing in reply, and afterwards the old man, who wasnot without discernment, respected his son's mood and was silent inturn; while Frank fed his memory with his imagination, and by theirjoint aid kept hope alive. 

Later an opportunity to see her presented itself. Business in thecooper shop was dull. A barrel factory had been opened in the town, and had well-nigh paralyzed the cooper's trade. The best mechaniccould hardly compete with a machine. One man could now easily do thework of Peter's shop. An agent appeared in town seeking laborers forone of the railroads which the newly organized carpet-bag governmentswere promoting. Upon inquiry Frank learned that their destination wasnear the town of Clarence, South Carolina. He promptly engaged himselffor the service, and was soon at work in the neighborhood of Warwick'shome. There he was employed steadily until a certain holiday, uponwhich a grand tournament was advertised to take place in a neighboringtown. Work was suspended, and foremen and laborers attended thefestivities. 

Frank had surmised that Rena would be present on such an occasion. Hehad more than guessed, too, that she must be looked for among the whitepeople rather than among the black. Hence the interest with which hehad scanned the grand stand. The result has already been recounted. Hehad recognized her sweet face; he had seen her enthroned among theproudest and best. He had witnessed and gloried in her triumph. Hehad seen her cheek flushed with pleasure, her eyes lit up with smiles. He had followed her carriage, had made the acquaintance of Mimy thenurse, and had learned all about the family. When finally he left theneighborhood to return to Patesville, he had learned of Tryon'sattentions, and had heard the servants' gossip with reference to themarriage, of which they knew the details long before the principals hadapproached the main fact. Frank went away without having received onesmile or heard one word from Rena; but he had seen her: she was happy;he was content in the knowledge of her happiness. She was doubtlesssecure in the belief that her secret was unknown. Why should he, byrevealing his presence, sow the seeds of doubt or distrust in thegarden of her happiness? He sacrificed the deepest longing of afaithful heart, and went back to the cooper shop lest perchance shemight accidentally come upon him some day and suffer the shock which hehad sedulously spared her. 

"I would n' want ter skeer her, " he mused, "er make her feel bad, an'dat's w'at I'd mos' lackly do ef she seed me. She'll be better off widme out'n de road. She'll marry dat rich w'ite gent'eman, --he won'tnever know de diffe'nce, --an' be a w'ite lady, ez she would 'a' be'n, ef some ole witch had n' changed her in her cradle. But maybe sometime she'll 'member de little nigger w'at use' ter nuss her w'en shewoz a chile, an' fished her out'n de ole canal, an' would 'a' died ferher ef it would 'a' done any good. "

Very generously too, and with a fine delicacy, he said nothing to Mis'Molly of his having seen her daughter, lest she might be disquieted bythe knowledge that he shared the family secret, --no great mystery now, this pitiful secret, but more far-reaching in its consequences than anyblood-curdling crime. The taint of black blood was the unpardonablesin, from the unmerited penalty of which there was no escape except byconcealment. If there be a dainty reader of this tale who scorns alie, and who writes the story of his life upon his sleeve for all theworld to read, let him uncurl his scornful lip and come down from thepedestal of superior morality, to which assured position and wideopportunity have lifted him, and put himself in the place of Rena andher brother, upon whom God had lavished his best gifts, and from whomsociety would have withheld all that made these gifts valuable. Toundertake what they tried to do required great courage. Had theypossessed the sneaking, cringing, treacherous character traditionallyascribed to people of mixed blood--the character which the blessedinstitutions of a free slave-holding republic had been well adapted tofoster among them; had they been selfish enough to sacrifice to theirambition the mother who gave them birth, society would have beenplacated or humbugged, and the voyage of their life might have been oneof unbroken smoothness. 

When Rena came back unexpectedly at the behest of her dream, Frankheard again the music of her voice, felt the joy of her presence andthe benison of her smile. There was, however, a subtle difference inher bearing. Her words were not less kind, but they seemed to comefrom a remoter source. She was kind, as the sun is warm or the rainrefreshing; she was especially kind to Frank, because he had been goodto her mother. If Frank felt the difference in her attitude, heascribed it to the fact that she had been white, and had taken onsomething of the white attitude toward the negro; and Frank, with anequal unconsciousness, clothed her with the attributes of the superiorrace. Only her drop of black blood, he conceived, gave him the rightto feel toward her as he would never have felt without it; and if Renaguessed her faithful devotee's secret, the same reason saved hisworship from presumption. A smile and a kind word were little enoughto pay for a life's devotion. 

On the third day of Rena's presence in Patesville, Frank was driving upFront Street in the early afternoon, when he nearly fell off his cartin astonishment as he saw seated in Dr. Green's buggy, which wasstanding in front of the Patesville Hotel, the young gentleman who hadwon the prize at the tournament, and who, as he had learned, was tomarry Rena. Frank was quite certain that she did not know of Tryon'spresence in the town. Frank had been over to Mis' Molly's in themorning, and had offered his services to the sick woman, who hadrapidly become convalescent upon her daughter's return. Mis' Molly hadspoken of some camphor that she needed. Frank had volunteered to getit. Rena had thanked him, and had spoken of going to the drugstoreduring the afternoon. It was her intention to leave Patesville on thefollowing day. 

"Ef dat man sees her in dis town, " said Frank to himself, "dere'll betrouble. She don't know HE'S here, an' I'll bet he don't know SHE'Shere. "

Then Frank was assailed by a very strong temptation. If, as hesurmised, the joint presence of the two lovers in Patesville was a merecoincidence, a meeting between them would probably result in thediscovery of Rena's secret. 

"If she's found out, " argued the tempter, "she'll come back to hermother, and you can see her every day. "

But Frank's love was not of the selfish kind. He put temptation aside, and applied the whip to the back of his mule with a vigor thatastonished the animal and moved him to unwonted activity. In anunusually short space of time he drew up before Mis' Molly's back gate, sprang from the cart, and ran up to Mis' Molly on the porch. 

"Is Miss Rena here?" he demanded breathlessly. 

"No, Frank; she went up town 'bout an hour ago to see the doctor an'git me some camphor gum. "

Frank uttered a groan, rushed from the house, sprang into the cart, andgoaded the terrified mule into a gallop that carried him back to themarket house in half the time it had taken him to reach Mis' Molly's. 

"I wonder what in the worl 's the matter with Frank, " mused Mis' Molly, in vague alarm. "Ef he hadn't be'n in such a hurry, I'd 'a' axed himto read Judge Straight's letter. But Rena'll be home soon. "

When Frank reached the doctor's office, he saw Tryon seated in thedoctor's buggy, which was standing by the window of the drugstore. Frank ran upstairs and asked the doctor's man if Miss Walden had beenthere. 

"Yas, " replied Dave, "she wuz here a little w'ile ago, an' said she wuzgwine downstairs ter de drugsto'. I would n' be s'prise' ef you'd fin'her dere now. "

XV

MINE OWN PEOPLE

The drive by which Dr. Green took Tryon to his own house led up FrontStreet about a mile, to the most aristocratic portion of the town, situated on the hill known as Haymount, or, more briefly, "The Hill. "The Hill had lost some of its former glory, however, for the blight ofa four years' war was everywhere. After reaching the top of thiswooded eminence, the road skirted for some little distance the brow ofthe hill. Below them lay the picturesque old town, a mass of vividgreen, dotted here and there with gray roofs that rose above thetree-tops. Two long ribbons of streets stretched away from the Hill tothe faint red line that marked the high bluff beyond the river at thefarther side of the town. The market-house tower and the slenderspires of half a dozen churches were sharply outlined against the greenbackground. The face of the clock was visible, but the hours couldhave been read only by eyes of phenomenal sharpness. Around themstretched ruined walls, dismantled towers, and crumblingearthworks--footprints of the god of war, one of whose temples hadcrowned this height. For many years before the rebellion a Federalarsenal had been located at Patesville. Seized by the state troops uponthe secession of North Carolina, it had been held by the Confederatesuntil the approach of Sherman's victorious army, whereupon it wasevacuated and partially destroyed. The work of destruction begun bythe retreating garrison was completed by the conquerors, and now onlyruined walls and broken cannon remained of what had once been the chiefornament and pride of Patesville. 

The front of Dr. Green's spacious brick house, which occupied anideally picturesque site, was overgrown by a network of clinging vines, contrasting most agreeably with the mellow red background. A low brickwall, also overrun with creepers, separated the premises from thestreet and shut in a well-kept flower garden, in which Tryon, who knewsomething of plants, noticed many rare and beautiful specimens. 

Mrs. Green greeted Tryon cordially. He did not have the doctor'smemory with which to fill out the lady's cheeks or restore the lustreof her hair or the sparkle of her eyes, and thereby justify herhusband's claim to be a judge of beauty; but her kind-heartedhospitality was obvious, and might have made even a plain woman seemhandsome. She and her two fair daughters, to whom Tryon was dulypresented, looked with much favor upon their handsome young kinsman;for among the people of Patesville, perhaps by virtue of the prevalenceof Scottish blood, the ties of blood were cherished as things of value, and never forgotten except in case of the unworthy--an exception, bythe way, which one need hardly go so far to seek. 

The Patesville people were not exceptional in the weaknesses andmeannesses which are common to all mankind, but for some of the finersocial qualities they were conspicuously above the average. Kindness, hospitality, loyalty, a chivalrous deference to women, --all thesethings might be found in large measure by those who saw Patesville withthe eyes of its best citizens, and accepted their standards ofpolitics, religion, manners, and morals. 

The doctor, after the introductions, excused himself for a moment. Mrs. Green soon left Tryon with the young ladies and went to look afterluncheon. Her first errand, however, was to find the doctor. 

"Is he well off, Ed?" she asked her husband. 

"Lots of land, and plenty of money, if he is ever able to collect it. He has inherited two estates. "

"He's a good-looking fellow, " she mused. "Is he married?"

"There you go again, " replied her husband, shaking his forefinger ather in mock reproach. "To a woman with marriageable daughters all roadslead to matrimony, the centre of a woman's universe. All men must besized up by their matrimonial availability. No, he isn't married. "

"That's nice, " she rejoined reflectively. "I think we ought to ask himto stay with us while he is in town, don't you?"

"He's not married, " rejoined the doctor slyly, "but the next bestthing--he's engaged. "

"Come to think of it, " said the lady, "I'm afraid we wouldn't have theroom to spare, and the girls would hardly have time to entertain him. But we'll have him up several times. I like his looks. I wish you hadsent me word he was coming; I'd have had a better luncheon. "

"Make him a salad, " rejoined the doctor, "and get out a bottle of thebest claret. Thank God, the Yankees didn't get into my wine cellar!The young man must be treated with genuine Southern hospitality, --evenif he were a Mormon and married ten times over. "

"Indeed, he would not, Ed, --the idea! I'm ashamed of you. Hurry backto the parlor and talk to him. The girls may want to primp a littlebefore luncheon; we don't have a young man every day. "

"Beauty unadorned, " replied the doctor, "is adorned the most. Myprofession qualifies me to speak upon the subject. They are the twohandsomest young women in Patesville, and the daughters of the mostbeautiful"--

"Don't you dare to say the word, " interrupted Mrs. Green, with placidgood nature. "I shall never grow old while I am living with a big boylike you. But I must go and make the salad. "

At dinner the conversation ran on the family connections and theirvarying fortunes in the late war. Some had died upon the battlefield, and slept in unknown graves; some had been financially ruined by theirfaith in the "lost cause, " having invested their all in the securitiesof the Confederate Government. Few had anything left but land, andland without slaves to work it was a drug in the market. 

"I was offered a thousand acres, the other day, at twenty-five cents anacre, " remarked the doctor. "The owner is so land-poor that he can'tpay the taxes. They have taken our negroes and our liberties. It maybe better for our grandchildren that the negroes are free, but it'sconfoundedly hard on us to take them without paying for them. They mayexalt our slaves over us temporarily, but they have not broken ourspirit, and cannot take away our superiority of blood and breeding. Intime we shall regain control. The negro is an inferior creature; Godhas marked him with the badge of servitude, and has adjusted hisintellect to a servile condition. We will not long submit to hisdomination. I give you a toast, sir: The Anglo-Saxon race: may itremain forever, as now, the head and front of creation, never yieldingits rights, and ready always to die, if need be, in defense of itsliberties!"

"With all my heart, sir, " replied Tryon, who felt in this company athrill of that pleasure which accompanies conscious superiority, --"withall my heart, sir, if the ladies will permit me. "

"We will join you, " they replied. The toast was drunk with greatenthusiasm. 

"And now, my dear George, " exclaimed the doctor, "to change one goodsubject for another, tell us who is the favored lady?"

"A Miss Rowena Warwick, sir, " replied Tryon, vividly conscious of fourpairs of eyes fixed upon him, but, apart from the momentaryembarrassment, welcoming the subject as the one he would most like tospeak upon. 

"A good, strong old English name, " observed the doctor. 

"The heroine of 'Ivanhoe'!" exclaimed Miss Harriet. 

"Warwick the Kingmaker!" said Miss Mary. "Is she tall and fair, anddignified and stately?"

"She is tall, dark rather than fair, and full of tender grace and sweethumility. "

"She should have been named Rebecca instead of Rowena, " rejoined MissMary, who was well up in her Scott. 

"Tell us something about her people, " asked Mrs. Green, --to whichinquiry the young ladies looked assent. 

In this meeting of the elect of his own class and kin Warwick felt acertain strong illumination upon the value of birth and blood. FindingRena among people of the best social standing, the subsequentintimation that she was a girl of no family had seemed a small matterto one so much in love. Nevertheless, in his present company he felt adecided satisfaction in being able to present for his future wife aclean bill of social health. 

"Her brother is the most prominent lawyer of Clarence. They live in afine old family mansion, and are among the best people of the town. "

"Quite right, my boy, " assented the doctor. "None but the best are goodenough for the best. You must bring her to Patesville some day. Butbless my life!" he exclaimed, looking at his watch, "I must be going. Will you stay with the ladies awhile, or go back down town with me?"

"I think I had better go with you, sir. I shall have to see JudgeStraight. "

"Very well. But you must come back to supper, and we'll have a fewfriends in to meet you. You must see some of the best people. "

The doctor's buggy was waiting at the gate. As they were passing thehotel on their drive down town, the clerk came out to the curbstone andcalled to the doctor. 

"There's a man here, doctor, who's been taken suddenly ill. Can youcome in a minute?"

"I suppose I'll have to. Will you wait for me here, George, or willyou drive down to the office? I can walk the rest of the way. "

"I think I'll wait here, doctor, " answered Tryon. "I'll step up to myroom a moment. I'll be back by the time you're ready. "

It was while they were standing before the hotel, before alighting fromthe buggy, that Frank Fowler, passing on his cart, saw Tryon and setout as fast as he could to warn Mis' Molly and her daughter of hispresence in the town. 

Tryon went up to his room, returned after a while, and resumed his seatin the buggy, where he waited fifteen minutes longer before the doctorwas ready. When they drew up in front of the office, the doctor's manDave was standing in the doorway, looking up the street with an anxiousexpression, as though struggling hard to keep something upon his mind. 

"Anything wanted, Dave?" asked the doctor. 

"Dat young 'oman's be'n heah ag'in, suh, an' wants ter see you bad. She's in de drugstore dere now, suh. Bless Gawd!" he added to himselffervently, "I 'membered dat. Dis yer recommemb'ance er mine is gwineter git me inter trouble ef I don' look out, an' dat's a fac', sho'. "

The doctor sprang from the buggy with an agility remarkable in a man ofsixty. "Just keep your seat, George, " he said to Tryon, "until I havespoken to the young woman, and then we'll go across to Straight's. Or, if you'll drive along a little farther, you can see the girl throughthe window. She's worth the trouble, if you like a pretty face. "

Tryon liked one pretty face; moreover, tinted beauty had never appealedto him. More to show a proper regard for what interested the doctorthan from any curiosity of his own, he drove forward a few feet, untilthe side of the buggy was opposite the drugstore window, and thenlooked in. 

Between the colored glass bottles in the window he could see a youngwoman, a tall and slender girl, like a lily on its stem. She stoodtalking with the doctor, who held his hat in his hand with as muchdeference as though she were the proudest dame in town. Her face waspartly turned away from the window, but as Tryon's eye fell upon her, he gave a great start. Surely, no two women could be so much alike. The height, the graceful droop of the shoulders, the swan-like poise ofthe head, the well-turned little ear, --surely, no two women could havethem all identical! But, pshaw! the notion was absurd, it was merelythe reflex influence of his morning's dream. 

She moved slightly; it was Rena's movement. Surely he knew the gown, and the style of hair-dressing! She rested her hand lightly on theback of a chair. The ring that glittered on her finger could be noneother than his own. 

The doctor bowed. The girl nodded in response, and, turning, left thestore. Tryon leaned forward from the buggy-seat and kept his eye fixedon the figure that moved across the floor of the drugstore. As she cameout, she turned her face casually toward the buggy, and there could nolonger be any doubt as to her identity. 

When Rena's eyes fell upon the young man in the buggy, she saw a faceas pale as death, with starting eyes, in which love, which once hadreigned there, had now given place to astonishment and horror. Shestood a moment as if turned to stone. One appealing glance shegave, --a look that might have softened adamant. When she saw that itbrought no answering sign of love or sorrow or regret, the color fadedfrom her cheek, the light from her eye, and she fell fainting to theground. 

XVI

THE BOTTOM FALLS OUT

The first effect of Tryon's discovery was, figuratively speaking, toknock the bottom out of things for him. It was much as if a boat onwhich he had been floating smoothly down the stream of pleasure hadsunk suddenly and left him struggling in deep waters. The fullrealization of the truth, which followed speedily, had for the momentreversed his mental attitude toward her, and love and yearning hadgiven place to anger and disgust. His agitation could hardly haveescaped notice had not the doctor's attention, and that of the crowdthat quickly gathered, been absorbed by the young woman who had fallen. During the time occupied in carrying her into the drugstore, restoringher to consciousness, and sending her home in a carriage, Tryon hadtime to recover in some degree his self-possession. When Rena had beentaken home, he slipped away for a long walk, after which he called atJudge Straight's office and received the judge's report upon the matterpresented. Judge Straight had found the claim, in his opinion, a goodone; he had discovered property from which, in case the claim wereallowed, the amount might be realized. The judge, who had already beeninformed of the incident at the drugstore, observed Tryon'spreoccupation and guessed shrewdly at its cause, but gave no sign. Tryon left the matter of the note unreservedly in the lawyer's hands, with instructions to communicate to him any further developments. 

Returning to the doctor's office, Tryon listened to that genialgentleman's comments on the accident, his own concern in which he, by agreat effort, was able to conceal. The doctor insisted upon hisreturning to the Hill for supper. Tryon pleaded illness. The doctorwas solicitous, felt his pulse, examined his tongue, pronounced himfeverish, and prescribed a sedative. Tryon sought refuge in his roomat the hotel, from which he did not emerge again until morning. 

His emotions were varied and stormy. At first he could see nothing butthe fraud of which he had been made the victim. A negro girl had beenfoisted upon him for a white woman, and he had almost committed theunpardonable sin against his race of marrying her. Such a step, hefelt, would have been criminal at any time; it would have been the mostodious treachery at this epoch, when his people had been subjugated andhumiliated by the Northern invaders, who had preached negro equalityand abolished the wholesome laws decreeing the separation of the races. But no Southerner who loved his poor, downtrodden country, or his race, the proud Anglo-Saxon race which traced the clear stream of its bloodto the cavaliers of England, could tolerate the idea that even indistant generations that unsullied current could be polluted by theblood of slaves. The very thought was an insult to the white people ofthe South. For Tryon's liberality, of which he had spoken so nobly andso sincerely, had been confined unconsciously, and as a matter ofcourse, within the boundaries of his own race. The Southern mind, indiscussing abstract questions relative to humanity, makes always, consciously or unconsciously, the mental reservation that theconclusions reached do not apply to the negro, unless they can be madeto harmonize with the customs of the country. 

But reasoning thus was not without effect upon a mind by naturereasonable above the average. Tryon's race impulse and social prejudicehad carried him too far, and the swing of the mental pendulum broughthis thoughts rapidly back in the opposite direction. Tossing uneasilyon the bed, where he had thrown himself down without undressing, theair of the room oppressed him, and he threw open the window. The coolnight air calmed his throbbing pulses. The moonlight, streamingthrough the window, flooded the room with a soft light, in which heseemed to see Rena standing before him, as she had appeared thatafternoon, gazing at him with eyes that implored charity andforgiveness. He burst into tears, --bitter tears, that strained hisheartstrings. He was only a youth. She was his first love, and he hadlost her forever. She was worse than dead to him; for if he had seenher lying in her shroud before him, he could at least have cherishedher memory; now, even this consolation was denied him. 

The town clock--which so long as it was wound up regularly reckednothing of love or hate, joy or sorrow--solemnly tolled out the hour ofmidnight and sounded the knell of his lost love. Lost she was, asthough she had never been, as she had indeed had no right to be. Heresolutely determined to banish her image from his mind. See her againhe could not; it would be painful to them both; it could be productiveof no good to either. He had felt the power and charm of love, and noordinary shook could have loosened its hold; but this catastrophe, which had so rudely swept away the groundwork of his passion, hadstirred into new life all the slumbering pride of race and ancestrywhich characterized his caste. How much of this sensitive superioritywas essential and how much accidental; how much of it was due to theever-suggested comparison with a servile race; how much of it wasignorance and self-conceit; to what extent the boasted purity of hisrace would have been contaminated by the fair woman whose image filledhis memory, --of these things he never thought. He was not influencedby sordid considerations; he would have denied that his course wascontrolled by any narrow prudence. If Rena had been white, pure white(for in his creed there was no compromise), he would have braved anydanger for her sake. Had she been merely of illegitimate birth, hewould have overlooked the bar sinister. Had her people been simplypoor and of low estate, he would have brushed aside mere worldlyconsiderations, and would have bravely sacrificed convention for love;for his liberality was not a mere form of words. But the one objectionwhich he could not overlook was, unhappily, the one that applied to theonly woman who had as yet moved his heart. He tried to be angry withher, but after the first hour he found it impossible. He was a man oftoo much imagination not to be able to put himself, in some measure atleast, in her place, --to perceive that for her the step which hadplaced her in Tryon's world was the working out of nature's great lawof self-preservation, for which he could not blame her. But for thesheerest accident, --no, rather, but for a providentialinterference, --he would have married her, and might have gone to thegrave unconscious that she was other than she seemed. 

The clock struck the hour of two. With a shiver he closed the window, undressed by the moonlight, drew down the shade, and went to bed. Hefell into an unquiet slumber, and dreamed again of Rena. He must learnto control his waking thoughts; his dreams could not be curbed. In thatrealm Rena's image was for many a day to remain supreme. He dreamed ofher sweet smile, her soft touch, her gentle voice. In all her fairyoung beauty she stood before him, and then by some hellish magic shewas slowly transformed into a hideous black hag. With agonized eyes hewatched her beautiful tresses become mere wisps of coarse wool, wrappedround with dingy cotton strings; he saw her clear eyes grow bloodshot, her ivory teeth turn to unwholesome fangs. With a shudder he awoke, tofind the cold gray dawn of a rainy day stealing through the window. 

He rose, dressed himself, went down to breakfast, then entered thewriting-room and penned a letter which, after reading it over, he toreinto small pieces and threw into the waste basket. A second shared thesame fate. Giving up the task, he left the hotel and walked down toDr. Green's office. 

"Is the doctor in?" he asked of the colored attendant. 

"No, suh, " replied the man; "he's gone ter see de young cullud gal w'atfainted w'en de doctah was wid you yistiddy. "

Tryon sat down at the doctor's desk and hastily scrawled a note, stating that business compelled his immediate departure. He thankedthe doctor for courtesies extended, and left his regards for theladies. Returning to the hotel, he paid his bill and took a hack forthe wharf, from which a boat was due to leave at nine o'clock. 

As the hack drove down Front Street, Tryon noted idly the houses thatlined the street. When he reached the sordid district in the lowerpart of the town, there was nothing to attract his attention until thecarriage came abreast of a row of cedar-trees, beyond which could beseen the upper part of a large house with dormer windows. Before thegate stood a horse and buggy, which Tryon thought he recognized as Dr. Green's. He leaned forward and addressed the driver. 

"Can you tell me who lives there?" Tryon asked, pointing to the house. 

"A callud 'oman, suh, " the man replied, touching his hat. "Mis' MollyWalden an' her daughter Rena. "

The vivid impression he received of this house, and the spectre thatrose before him of a pale, broken-hearted girl within its gray walls, weeping for a lost lover and a vanished dream of happiness, did notargue well for Tryon's future peace of mind. Rena's image was not tobe easily expelled from his heart; for the laws of nature are higherand more potent than merely human institutions, and upon anything likea fair field are likely to win in the long ran. 

XVII

TWO LETTERS

Warwick awaited events with some calmness and some philosophy, --hecould hardly have had the one without the other; and it required muchphilosophy to make him wait a week in patience for information upon asubject in which he was so vitally interested. The delay pointed todisaster. Bad news being expected, delay at least put off the evil day. At the end of the week he received two letters, --one addressed in hisown hand writing and postmarked Patesville, N. C. ; the other in thehandwriting of George Tryon. He opened the Patesville letter, whichran as follows:--

MY DEAR SON, --Frank is writing this letter for me. I am not well, but, thank the Lord, I am better than I was. 

Rena has had a heap of trouble on account of me and my sickness. If Icould of dreamt that I was going to do so much harm, I would of diedand gone to meet my God without writing one word to spoil my girl'schances in life; but I didn't know what was going to happen, and I hopethe Lord will forgive me. 

Frank knows all about it, and so I am having him write this letter forme, as Rena is not well enough yet. Frank has been very good to me andto Rena. He was down to your place and saw Rena there, and never saida word about it to nobody, not even to me, because he didn't want to doRena no harm. Frank is the best friend I have got in town, because hedoes so much for me and don't want nothing in return. (He tells me notto put this in about him, but I want you to know it. )

And now about Rena. She come to see me, and I got better right away, for it was longing for her as much as anything else that made me sick, and I was mighty mizzable. When she had been here three days and wasgoing back next day, she went up town to see the doctor for me, andwhile she was up there she fainted and fell down in the street, and Dr. Green sent her home in his buggy and come down to see her. He couldn'ttell what was the matter with her, but she has been sick ever since andout of her head some of the time, and keeps on calling on somebody bythe name of George, which was the young white man she told me she wasgoing to marry. It seems he was in town the day Rena was took sick, for Frank saw him up street and run all the way down here to tell me, so that she could keep out of his way, while she was still up townwaiting for the doctor and getting me some camphor gum for my camphorbottle. Old Judge Straight must have knowed something about it, for hesent me a note to keep Rena in the house, but the little boy he sent itby didn't bring it till Rena was already gone up town, and, as Icouldn't read, of course I didn't know what it said. Dr. Green heardRena running on while she was out of her head, and I reckon he musthave suspicioned something, for he looked kind of queer and went awaywithout saying nothing. Frank says she met this man on the street, andwhen he found out she wasn't white, he said or done something thatbroke her heart and she fainted and fell down. 

I am writing you this letter because I know you will be worrying aboutRena not coming back. If it wasn't for Frank, I hardly know how Icould write to you. Frank is not going to say nothing about Rena'spassing for white and meeting this man, and neither am I; and I don'tsuppose Judge Straight will say nothing, because he is our good friend;and Dr. Green won't say nothing about it, because Frank says Dr. Green's cook Nancy says this young man named George stopped with himand was some cousin or relation to the family, and they wouldn't wantpeople to know that any of their kin was thinking about marrying acolored girl, and the white folks have all been mad since J. B. Thompson married his black housekeeper when she got religion andwouldn't live with him no more. 

All the rest of the connection are well. I have just been in to seehow Rena is. She is feeling some better, I think, and says give youher love and she will write you a letter in a few days, as soon as sheis well enough. She bust out crying while she was talking, but Ireckon that is better than being out of her head. I hope this may findyou well, and that this man of Rena's won't say nor do nothing downthere to hurt you. He has not wrote to Rena nor sent her no word. Ireckon he is very mad. 

 Your affectionate mother, MARY WALDEN. 

This letter, while confirming Warwick's fears, relieved his suspense. He at least knew the worst, unless there should be something still moredisturbing in Tryon's letter, which he now proceeded to open, and whichran as follows:--

JOHN WARWICK, ESQ. 

Dear Sir, --When I inform you, as you are doubtless informed ere thereceipt of this, that I saw your sister in Patesville last week andlearned the nature of those antecedents of yours and hers at which youhinted so obscurely in a recent conversation, you will not be surprisedto learn that I take this opportunity of renouncing any pretensions toMiss Warwick's hand, and request you to convey this message to her, since it was through you that I formed her acquaintance. I thinkperhaps that few white men would deem it necessary to make anexplanation under the circumstances, and I do not know that I need saymore than that no one, considering where and how I met your sister, would have dreamed of even the possibility of what I have learned. Imight with justice reproach you for trifling with the most sacredfeelings of a man's heart; but I realize the hardship of your positionand hers, and can make allowances. I would never have sought to knowthis thing; I would doubtless have been happier had I gone through lifewithout finding it out; but having the knowledge, I cannot ignore it, as you must understand perfectly well. I regret that she should bedistressed or disappointed, --she has not suffered alone. 

I need scarcely assure you that I shall say nothing about this affair, and that I shall keep your secret as though it were my own. Personally, I shall never be able to think of you as other than a whiteman, as you may gather from the tone of this letter; and while I cannotmarry your sister, I wish her every happiness, and remain, Yours very truly, GEORGE TRYON. 

Warwick could not know that this formal epistle was the last of a dozenthat Tryon had written and destroyed during the week since the meetingin Patesville, --hot, blistering letters, cold, cutting letters, scornful, crushing letters. Though none of them was sent, except thislast, they had furnished a safety-valve for his emotions, and had lefthim in a state of mind that permitted him to write the foregoing. 

And now, while Rena is recovering from her illness, and Tryon from hislove, and while Fate is shuffling the cards for another deal, a fewwords may be said about the past life of the people who lived in therear of the flower garden, in the quaint old house beyond the cedars, and how their lives were mingled with those of the men and women aroundthem and others that were gone. For connected with our kind we mustbe; if not by our virtues, then by our vices, --if not by our services, at least by our needs. 

XVIII

UNDER THE OLD REGIME

For many years before the civil war there had lived, in the old housebehind the cedars, a free colored woman who went by the name of MollyWalden--her rightful name, for her parents were free-born and legallymarried. She was a tall woman, straight as an arrow. Her complexionin youth was of an old ivory tint, which at the period of this story, time had darkened measurably. Her black eyes, now faded, had oncesparkled with the fire of youth. High cheek-bones, straight blackhair, and a certain dignified reposefulness of manner pointed to anaboriginal descent. Tradition gave her to the negro race. Doubtlessshe had a strain of each, with white blood very visibly predominatingover both. In Louisiana or the West Indies she would have been calleda quadroon, or more loosely, a creole; in North Carolina, where finedistinctions were not the rule in matters of color, she wassufficiently differentiated when described as a bright mulatto. 

Molly's free birth carried with it certain advantages, even in theSouth before the war. Though degraded from its high estate, and shornof its choicest attributes, the word "freedom" had nevertheless acheerful sound, and described a condition that left even to coloredpeople who could claim it some liberty of movement and some control oftheir own persons. They were not citizens, yet they were not slaves. No negro, save in books, ever refused freedom; many of them ranfrightful risks to achieve it. Molly's parents were of the class, morenumerous in North Carolina than elsewhere, known as "old issue freenegroes, " which took its rise in the misty colonial period, when racelines were not so closely drawn, and the population of North Carolinacomprised many Indians, runaway negroes, and indentured white servantsfrom the seaboard plantations, who mingled their blood with greatfreedom and small formality. Free colored people in North Carolinaexercised the right of suffrage as late as 1835, and some of them, inspite of galling restrictions, attained to a considerable degree ofprosperity, and dreamed of a still brighter future, when the growingtyranny of the slave power crushed their hopes and crowded the freepeople back upon the black mass just beneath them. Mis' Molly's fatherhad been at one time a man of some means. In an evil hour, with anoverweening confidence in his fellow men, he indorsed a note for awhite man who, in a moment of financial hardship, clapped his coloredneighbor on the back and called him brother. Not poverty, but wealth, is the most potent leveler. In due time the indorser was called upon tomeet the maturing obligation. This was the beginning of a series offinancial difficulties which speedily involved him in ruin. He diedprematurely, a disappointed and disheartened man, leaving his family indire poverty. 

His widow and surviving children lived on for a little while at thehouse he had owned, just outside of the town, on one of the maintraveled roads. By the wayside, near the house, there was a famous deepwell. The slim, barefoot girl, with sparkling eyes and voluminoushair, who played about the yard and sometimes handed water in a gourdto travelers, did not long escape critical observation. A gentlemandrove by one day, stopped at the well, smiled upon the girl, and saidkind words. He came again, more than once, and soon, while scarcelymore than a child in years, Molly was living in her own house, hers bydeed of gift, for her protector was rich and liberal. Her mothernevermore knew want. Her poor relations could always find a meal inMolly's kitchen. She did not flaunt her prosperity in the world'sface; she hid it discreetly behind the cedar screen. Those who wishedcould know of it, for there were few secrets in Patesville; those whochose could as easily ignore it. There were few to trouble themselvesabout the secluded life of an obscure woman of a class which had norecognized place in the social economy. She worshiped the ground uponwhich her lord walked, was humbly grateful for his protection, andquite as faithful as the forbidden marriage vow could possibly havemade her. She led her life in material peace and comfort, and with acertain amount of dignity. Of her false relation to society she wasnot without some vague conception; but the moral point involved was soconfused with other questions growing out--of slavery and caste as tocause her, as a rule, but little uneasiness; and only now and then, inthe moments of deeper feeling that come sometimes to all who live andlove, did there break through the mists of ignorance and prejudicesurrounding her a flash of light by which she saw, so far as she wascapable of seeing, her true position, which in the clear light of truthno special pleading could entirely justify. For she was free, she hadnot the slave's excuse. With every inducement to do evil and fewincentives to do well, and hence entitled to charitable judgment, sheyet had freedom of choice, and therefore could not wholly escape blame. Let it be said, in further extenuation, that no other woman lived inneglect or sorrow because of her. She robbed no one else. For whatlife gave her she returned an equivalent; and what she did not pay, herchildren settled to the last farthing. 

Several years before the war, when Mis' Molly's daughter Rena was a fewyears old, death had suddenly removed the source of their prosperity. 

The household was not left entirely destitute. Mis' Molly owned herhome, and had a store of gold pieces in the chest beneath her bed. Asmall piece of real estate stood in the name of each of the children, the income from which contributed to their maintenance. Largerexpectations were dependent upon the discovery of a promised will, which never came to light. Mis' Molly wore black for several yearsafter this bereavement, until the teacher and the preacher, followingclose upon the heels of military occupation, suggested to the coloredpeople new standards of life and character, in the light of which Mis'Molly laid her mourning sadly and shamefacedly aside. She had eaten ofthe fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. After the war she formed the habitof church-going, and might have been seen now and then, with herdaughter, in a retired corner of the gallery of the white Episcopalchurch. Upon the ground floor was a certain pew which could be seenfrom her seat, where once had sat a gentleman whose pleasures had notinterfered with the practice of his religion. She might have had abetter seat in a church where a Northern missionary would have preacheda sermon better suited to her comprehension and her moral needs, butshe preferred the other. She was not white, alas! she was shut outfrom this seeming paradise; but she liked to see the distant glow ofthe celestial city, and to recall the days when she had basked in itsradiance. She did not sympathize greatly with the new era opened upfor the emancipated slaves; she had no ideal love of liberty; she wasno broader and no more altruistic than the white people around her, towhom she had always looked up; and she sighed for the old days, becauseto her they had been the good days. Now, not only was her king dead, but the shield of his memory protected her no longer. 

Molly had lost one child, and his grave was visible from the kitchenwindow, under a small clump of cedars in the rear of the two-acre lot. For even in the towns many a household had its private cemetery inthose old days when the living were close to the dead, and ghosts werenot the mere chimeras of a sick imagination, but real thoughunsubstantial entities, of which it was almost disgraceful not to haveseen one or two. Had not the Witch of Endor called up the shade ofSamuel the prophet? Had not the spirit of Mis' Molly's dead sonappeared to her, as well as the ghostly presence of another she hadloved?

In 1855, Mis' Molly's remaining son had grown into a tall, slender ladof fifteen, with his father's patrician features and his mother'sIndian hair, and no external sign to mark him off from the white boyson the street. He soon came to know, however, that there was adifference. He was informed one day that he was black. He denied theproposition and thrashed the child who made it. The scene was repeatedthe next day, with a variation, --he was himself thrashed by a largerboy. When he had been beaten five or six times, he ceased to argue thepoint, though to himself he never admitted the charge. His playmatesmight call him black; the mirror proved that God, the Father of all, had made him white; and God, he had been taught, made nomistakes, --having made him white, He must have meant him to be white. 

In the "hall" or parlor of his mother's house stood a quaintly carvedblack walnut bookcase, containing a small but remarkable collection ofbooks, which had at one time been used, in his hours of retreat andrelaxation from business and politics, by the distinguished gentlemanwho did not give his name to Mis' Molly's children, --to whom it wouldhave been a valuable heritage, could they have had the right to bearit. Among the books were a volume of Fielding's complete works, infine print, set in double columns; a set of Bulwer's novels; acollection of everything that Walter Scott--the literary idol of theSouth--had ever written; Beaumont and Fletcher's plays, cheek by jowlwith the history of the virtuous Clarissa Harlowe; the Spectator andTristram Shandy, Robinson Crusoe and the Arabian Nights. On thesesecluded shelves Roderick Random, Don Quixote, and Gil Blas for a longtime ceased their wanderings, the Pilgrim's Progress was suspended, Milton's mighty harmonies were dumb, and Shakespeare reigned over asilent kingdom. An illustrated Bible, with a wonderful Apocrypha, wasflanked on one side by Volney's Ruins of Empire and on the other byPaine's Age of Reason, for the collector of the books had been a man ofcatholic taste as well as of inquiring mind, and no one who could havecriticised his reading ever penetrated behind the cedar hedge. Ahistory of the French Revolution consorted amiably with a homespunchronicle of North Carolina, rich in biographical notices ofdistinguished citizens and inscriptions from their tombstones, uponreading which one might well wonder why North Carolina had not long agoeclipsed the rest of the world in wealth, wisdom, glory, and renown. On almost every page of this monumental work could be found the mostardent panegyrics of liberty, side by side with the slavery statisticsof the State, --an incongruity of which the learned author wasdeliciously unconscious. 

When John Walden was yet a small boy, he had learned all that could betaught by the faded mulatto teacher in the long, shiny black frockcoat, whom local public opinion permitted to teach a handful of freecolored children for a pittance barely enough to keep soul and bodytogether. When the boy had learned to read, he discovered the library, which for several years had been without a reader, and found in it theportal of a new world, peopled with strange and marvelous beings. Lyingprone upon the floor of the shaded front piazza, behind the fragrantgarden, he followed the fortunes of Tom Jones and Sophia; he wept overthe fate of Eugene Aram; he penetrated with Richard the Lion-heart intoSaladin's tent, with Gil Blas into the robbers' cave; he flew throughthe air on the magic carpet or the enchanted horse, or tied withSindbad to the roc's leg. Sometimes he read or repeated the simplerstories to his little sister, sitting wide-eyed by his side. When hehad read all the books, --indeed, long before he had read them all, --hetoo had tasted of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge: contentment tookits flight, and happiness lay far beyond the sphere where he was born. The blood of his white fathers, the heirs of the ages, cried out forits own, and after the manner of that blood set about getting theobject of its desire. 

Near the corner of Mackenzie Street, just one block north of thePatesville market-house, there had stood for many years before the war, on the verge of the steep bank of Beaver Creek, a small frame officebuilding, the front of which was level with the street, while the rearrested on long brick pillars founded on the solid rock at the edge ofthe brawling stream below. Here, for nearly half a century, ArchibaldStraight had transacted legal business for the best people ofNorthumberland County. Full many a lawsuit had he won, lost, orsettled; many a spendthrift had he saved from ruin, and not a fewfamilies from disgrace. Several times honored by election to thebench, he had so dispensed justice tempered with mercy as to win thehearts of all good citizens, and especially those of the poor, theoppressed, and the socially disinherited. The rights of the humblestnegro, few as they might be, were as sacred to him as those of theproudest aristocrat, and he had sentenced a man to be hanged for themurder of his own slave. An old-fashioned man, tall and spare offigure and bowed somewhat with age, he was always correctly clad in along frock coat of broadcloth, with a high collar and a black stock. Courtly in address to his social equals (superiors he had none), he waskind and considerate to those beneath him. He owned a few domesticservants, no one of whom had ever felt the weight of his hand, and forwhose ultimate freedom he had provided in his will. In thelong-drawn-out slavery agitation he had taken a keen interest, ratheras observer than as participant. As the heat of controversy increased, his lack of zeal for the peculiar institution led to his defeat for thebench by a more active partisan. His was too just a mind not toperceive the arguments on both sides; but, on the whole, he had stoodby the ancient landmarks, content to let events drift to a conclusionhe did not expect to see; the institutions of his fathers wouldprobably last his lifetime. 

One day Judge Straight was sitting in his office reading a recentlypublished pamphlet, --presenting an elaborate pro-slavery argument, based upon the hopeless intellectual inferiority of the negro, and thephysical and moral degeneration of mulattoes, who combined the worstqualities of their two ancestral races, --when a barefooted boy walkedinto the office, straw hat in hand, came boldly up to the desk at whichthe old judge was sitting, and said as the judge looked up through hisgold-rimmed glasses, --

"Sir, I want to be a lawyer!"

"God bless me!" exclaimed the judge. "It is a singular desire, from asingular source, and expressed in a singular way. Who the devil areyou, sir, that wish so strange a thing as to become alawyer--everybody's servant?"

"And everybody's master, sir, " replied the lad stoutly. 

"That is a matter of opinion, and open to argument, " rejoined thejudge, amused and secretly flattered by this tribute to his profession, "though there may be a grain of truth in what you say. But what is yourname, Mr. Would-be-lawyer?"

"John Walden, sir, " answered the lad. 

"John Walden?--Walden?" mused the judge. "What Walden can that be? Doyou belong in town?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Humph! I can't imagine who you are. It's plain that you are a lad ofgood blood, and yet I don't know whose son you can be. What is yourfather's name?"

The lad hesitated, and flushed crimson. 

The old gentleman noted his hesitation. "It is a wise son, " hethought, "that knows his own father. He is a bright lad, and will havethis question put to him more than once. I'll see how he will answerit. "

The boy maintained an awkward silence, while the old judge eyed himkeenly. 

"My father's dead, " he said at length, in a low voice. "I'm Mis' MollyWalden's son. " He had expected, of course, to tell who he was, ifasked, but had not foreseen just the form of the inquiry; and while hehad thought more of his race than of his illegitimate birth, herealized at this moment as never before that this question too would bealways with him. As put now by Judge Straight, it made him wince. Hehad not read his father's books for nothing. 

"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the judge in genuine surprise at thisanswer; "and you want to be a lawyer!" The situation was so much worsethan he had suspected that even an old practitioner, case-hardened byyears of life at the trial table and on the bench, was startled for amoment into a comical sort of consternation, so apparent that a ladless stout-hearted would have weakened and fled at the sight of it. 

"Yes, sir. Why not?" responded the boy, trembling a little at theknees, but stoutly holding his ground. 

"He wants to be a lawyer, and he asks me why not!" muttered the judge, speaking apparently to himself. He rose from his chair, walked acrossthe room, and threw open a window. The cool morning air brought withit the babbling of the stream below and the murmur of the mill near by. He glanced across the creek to the ruined foundation of an old house onthe low ground beyond the creek. Turning from the window, he lookedback at the boy, who had remained standing between him and the door. At that moment another lad came along the street and stopped oppositethe open doorway. The presence of the two boys in connection with thebook he had been reading suggested a comparison. The judge knew thelad outside as the son of a leading merchant of the town. The merchantand his wife were both of old families which had lived in the communityfor several generations, and whose blood was presumably of the pureststrain; yet the boy was sallow, with amorphous features, thin shanks, and stooping shoulders. The youth standing in the judge's office, onthe contrary, was straight, shapely, and well-grown. His eye wasclear, and he kept it fixed on the old gentleman with a look in whichthere was nothing of cringing. He was no darker than many a white boybronzed by the Southern sun; his hair and eyes were black, and hisfeatures of the high-bred, clean-cut order that marks the patriciantype the world over. What struck the judge most forcibly, however, wasthe lad's resemblance to an old friend and companion and client. Herecalled a certain conversation with this old friend, who had said tohim one day:

"Archie, I'm coming in to have you draw my will. There are somechildren for whom I would like to make ample provision. I can't givethem anything else, but money will make them free of the world. "

The judge's friend had died suddenly before carrying out this goodintention. The judge had taken occasion to suggest the existence ofthese children, and their father's intentions concerning them, to thedistant relatives who had inherited his friend's large estate. Theyhad chosen to take offense at the suggestion. One had thought it inshocking bad taste; another considered any mention of such a subject aninsult to his cousin's memory. A third had said, with flashing eyes, that the woman and her children had already robbed the estate ofenough; that it was a pity the little niggers were not slaves--thatthey would have added measurably to the value of the property. JudgeStraight's manner indicated some disapproval of their attitude, and thesettlement of the estate was placed in other hands than his. Now, thisson, with his father's face and his father's voice, stood before hisfather's friend, demanding entrance to the golden gate of opportunity, which society barred to all who bore the blood of the despised race. 

As he kept on looking at the boy, who began at length to grow somewhatembarrassed under this keen scrutiny, the judge's mind reverted tocertain laws and judicial decisions that he had looked up once or twicein his lifetime. Even the law, the instrument by which tyranny rivetedthe chains upon its victims, had revolted now and then against thesenseless and unnatural prejudice by which a race ascribing itssuperiority to right of blood permitted a mere suspicion of servileblood to outweigh a vast preponderance of its own. 

"Why, indeed, should he not be a lawyer, or anything else that a manmight be, if it be in him?" asked the judge, speaking rather to himselfthan to the boy. "Sit down, " he ordered, pointing to a chair on theother side of the room. That he should ask a colored lad to be seatedin his presence was of itself enough to stamp the judge as eccentric. "You want to be a lawyer, " he went on, adjusting his spectacles. "Youare aware, of course, that you are a negro?"

"I am white, " replied the lad, turning back his sleeve and holding outhis arm, "and I am free, as all my people were before me. "

The old lawyer shook his head, and fixed his eyes upon the lad with aslightly quizzical smile. "You are black. " he said, "and you are notfree. You cannot travel without your papers; you cannot secureaccommodations at an inn; you could not vote, if you were of age; youcannot be out after nine o'clock without a permit. If a white manstruck you, you could not return the blow, and you could not testifyagainst him in a court of justice. You are black, my lad, and you arenot free. Did you ever hear of the Dred Scott decision, delivered bythe great, wise, and learned Judge Taney?"

"No, sir, " answered the boy. 

"It is too long to read, " rejoined the judge, taking up the pamphlet hehad laid down upon the lad's entrance, "but it says in substance, asquoted by this author, that negroes are beings 'of an inferior order, and altogether unfit to associate with the white race, either in socialor political relations; in fact, so inferior that they have no rightswhich the white man is bound to respect, and that the negro may justlyand lawfully be reduced to slavery for his benefit. ' That is the lawof this nation, and that is the reason why you cannot be a lawyer. "

"It may all be true, " replied the boy, "but it don't apply to me. Itsays 'the negro. ' A negro is black; I am white, and not black. "

"Black as ink, my lad, " returned the lawyer, shaking his head. "'Onetouch of nature makes the whole world kin, ' says the poet. Somewhere, sometime, you had a black ancestor. One drop of black blood makes thewhole man black. "

"Why shouldn't it be the other way, if the white blood is so muchsuperior?" inquired the lad. 

"Because it is more convenient as it is--and more profitable. "

"It is not right, " maintained the lad. 

"God bless me!" exclaimed the old gentleman, "he is invading the fieldof ethics! He will be questioning the righteousness of slavery next!I'm afraid you wouldn't make a good lawyer, in any event. Lawyers goby the laws--they abide by the accomplished fact; to them, whatever is, is right. The laws do not permit men of color to practice law, andpublic sentiment would not allow one of them to study it. "

"I had thought, " said the lad, "that I might pass for white. There arewhite people darker than I am. "

"Ah, well, that is another matter; but"--

The judge stopped for a moment, struck by the absurdity of his arguingsuch a question with a mulatto boy. He really must be falling intopremature dotage. The proper thing would be to rebuke the lad for hispresumption and advise him to learn to take care of horses, or makeboots, or lay bricks. But again he saw his old friend in the lad'sface, and again he looked in vain for any sign of negro blood. Theleast earmark would have turned the scale, but he could not find it. 

"That is another matter, " he repeated. "Here you have started asblack, and must remain so. But if you wish to move away, and sink yourpast into oblivion, the case might be different. Let us see what thelaw is; you might not need it if you went far enough, but it is wellenough to be within it--liberty is sweeter when founded securely on thelaw. "

He took down a volume bound in legal calf and glanced through it. "Thecolor line is drawn in North Carolina at four generations removed fromthe negro; there have been judicial decisions to that effect. Iimagine that would cover your case. But let us see what South Carolinamay say about it, " he continued, taking another book. "I think the lawis even more liberal there. Ah, this is the place:--

"'The term mulatto, '" he read, "'is not invariably applicable to everyadmixture of African blood with the European, nor is one having all thefeatures of a white to be ranked with the degraded class designated bythe laws of this State as persons of color, because of some remotetaint of the negro race. Juries would probably be justified in holdinga person to be white in whom the admixture of African blood did notexceed one eighth. And even where color or feature are doubtful, it isa question for the jury to decide by reputation, by reception intosociety, and by their exercise of the privileges of the white man, aswell as by admixture of blood. '"

"Then I need not be black?" the boy cried, with sparkling eyes. 

"No, " replied the lawyer, "you need not be black, away from Patesville. You have the somewhat unusual privilege, it seems, of choosing betweentwo races, and if you are a lad of spirit, as I think you are, it willnot take you long to make your choice. As you have all the features ofa white man, you would, at least in South Carolina, have simply toassume the place and exercise the privileges of a white man. Youmight, of course, do the same thing anywhere, as long as no one knewyour origin. But the matter has been adjudicated there in severalcases, and on the whole I think South Carolina is the place for you. They're more liberal there, perhaps because they have many more blacksthan whites, and would like to lessen the disproportion. "

"From this time on, " said the boy, "I am white. "

"Softly, softly, my Caucasian fellow citizen, " returned the judge, chuckling with quiet amusement. "You are white in the abstract, beforethe law. You may cherish the fact in secret, but I would not adviseyou to proclaim it openly just yet. You must wait until you goaway--to South Carolina. "

"And can I learn to be a lawyer, sir?" asked the lad. 

"It seems to me that you ought to be reasonably content for one daywith what you have learned already. You cannot be a lawyer until youare white, in position as well as in theory, nor until you aretwenty-one years old. I need an office boy. If you are willing tocome into my office, sweep it, keep my books dusted, and stay here whenI am out, I do not care. To the rest of the town you will be myservant, and still a negro. If you choose to read my books when no oneis about and be white in your own private opinion, I have no objection. When you have made up your mind to go away, perhaps what you have readmay help you. But mum 's the word! If I hear a whisper of this fromany other source, out you go, neck and crop! I am willing to help youmake a man of yourself, but it can only be done under the rose. "

For two years John Walden openly swept the office and surreptitiouslyread the law books of old Judge Straight. When he was eighteen, heasked his mother for a sum of money, kissed her good-by, and went outinto the world. When his sister, then a pretty child of seven, criedbecause her big brother was going away, he took her up in his arms, gave her a silver dime with a hole in it for a keepsake, hugged herclose, and kissed her. 

"Nev' min', sis, " he said soothingly. "Be a good little gal, an' someo' these days I'll come back to see you and bring you somethin' fine. "

In after years, when Mis' Molly was asked what had become of her son, she would reply with sad complacency, --

"He's gone over on the other side. "

As we have seen, he came back ten years later. 

Many years before, when Mis' Molly, then a very young woman, had takenup her residence in the house behind the cedars, the gentlemanheretofore referred to had built a cabin on the opposite corner, inwhich he had installed a trusted slave by the name of Peter Fowler andhis wife Nancy. Peter was a good mechanic, and hired his time from hismaster with the provision that Peter and his wife should do certainwork for Mis' Molly and serve as a sort of protection for her. Incourse of time Peter, who was industrious and thrifty, saved enoughmoney to purchase his freedom and that of his wife and their one child, and to buy the little house across the street, with the cooper shopbehind it. After they had acquired their freedom, Peter and Nancy didno work for Mis' Molly save as they were paid for it, and as a rulepreferred not to work at all for the woman who had been practicallytheir mistress; it made them seem less free. Nevertheless, the twohouseholds had remained upon good terms, even after the death of theman whose will had brought them together, and who had remained Peter'spatron after he had ceased to be his master. There was no intimateassociation between the two families. Mis' Molly felt herselfinfinitely superior to Peter and his wife, --scarcely less superior thanher poor white neighbors felt themselves to Mis' Molly. Mis' Mollyalways meant to be kind, and treated Peter and Nancy with a certaingood-natured condescension. They resented this, never openly oroffensively, but always in a subconscious sort of way, even when theydid not speak of it among themselves--much as they had resented hermistress-ship in the old days. For after all, they argued, in spite ofher airs and graces, her white face and her fine clothes, was she not anegro, even as themselves? and since the slaves had been freed, was notone negro as good as another?

Peter's son Frank had grown up with little Rena. He was several yearsolder than she, and when Rena was a small child Mis' Molly had oftenconfided her to his care, and he had watched over her and kept her fromharm. When Frank became old enough to go to work in the cooper shop, Rena, then six or seven, had often gone across to play among the cleanwhite shavings. Once Frank, while learning the trade, had let slip asharp steel tool, which flying toward Rena had grazed her arm and sentthe red blood coursing along the white flesh and soaking the muslinsleeve. He had rolled up the sleeve and stanched the blood and driedher tears. For a long time thereafter her mother kept her away fromthe shop and was very cold to Frank. One day the little girl wandereddown to the bank of the old canal. It had been raining for severaldays, and the water was quite deep in the channel. The child slippedand fell into the stream. From the open window of the cooper shopFrank heard a scream. He ran down to the canal and pulled her out, andcarried her all wet and dripping to the house. From that time he hadbeen restored to favor. He had watched the girl grow up to womanhoodin the years following the war, and had been sorry when she became tooold to play about the shop. 

He never spoke to her of love, --indeed, he never thought of his passionin such a light. There would have been no legal barrier to their union;there would have been no frightful menace to white supremacy in themarriage of the negro and the octoroon: the drop of dark blood bridgedthe chasm. But Frank knew that she did not love him, and had not hopedthat she might. His was one of those rare souls that can give withsmall hope of return. When he had made the scar upon her arm, by thesame token she had branded him her slave forever; when he had saved herfrom a watery grave, he had given his life to her. There are depths offidelity and devotion in the negro heart that have never been fathomedor fully appreciated. Now and then in the kindlier phases of slaverythese qualities were brightly conspicuous, and in them, if wiselyappealed to, lies the strongest hope of amity between the two raceswhose destiny seems bound up together in the Western world. Even adumb brute can be won by kindness. Surely it were worth while to trysome other weapon than scorn and contumely and hard words upon peopleof our common race, --the human race, which is bigger and broader thanCelt or Saxon, barbarian or Greek, Jew or Gentile, black or white; forwe are all children of a common Father, forget it as we may, and eachone of us is in some measure his brother's keeper. 

XIX

GOD MADE US ALL

Rena was convalescent from a two-weeks' illness when her brother cameto see her. He arrived at Patesville by an early morning train beforethe town was awake, and walked unnoticed from the station to hismother's house. His meeting with his sister was not without emotion:he embraced her tenderly, and Rena became for a few minutes a veryNiobe of grief. 

"Oh, it was cruel, cruel!" she sobbed. "I shall never get over it. "

"I know it, my dear, " replied Warwick soothingly, --"I know it, and I'mto blame for it. If I had never taken you away from here, you wouldhave escaped this painful experience. But do not despair; all is notlost. Tryon will not marry you, as I hoped he might, while I fearedthe contrary; but he is a gentleman, and will be silent. Come back andtry again. "

"No, John. I couldn't go through it a second time. I managed verywell before, when I thought our secret was unknown; but now I couldnever be sure. It would be borne on every wind, for aught I knew, andevery rustling leaf might whisper it. The law, you said, made uswhite; but not the law, nor even love, can conquer prejudice. HE spokeof my beauty, my grace, my sweetness! I looked into his eyes andbelieved him. And yet he left me without a word! What would I do inClarence now? I came away engaged to be married, with even the dayset; I should go back forsaken and discredited; even the servants wouldpity me. "

"Little Albert is pining for you, " suggested Warwick. "We could makesome explanation that would spare your feelings. "

"Ah, do not tempt me, John! I love the child, and am grieved to leavehim. I'm grateful, too, John, for what you have done for me. I am notsorry that I tried it. It opened my eyes, and I would rather die ofknowledge than live in ignorance. But I could not go through it again, John; I am not strong enough. I could do you no good; I have made youtrouble enough already. Get a mother for Albert--Mrs. Newberry wouldmarry you, secret and all, and would be good to the child. Forget me, John, and take care of yourself. Your friend has found you out throughme--he may have told a dozen people. You think he will be silent;--Ithought he loved me, and he left me without a word, and with a lookthat told me how he hated and despised me. I would not have believedit--even of a white man. "

"You do him an injustice, " said her brother, producing Tryon's letter. "He did not get off unscathed. He sent you a message. "

She turned her face away, but listened while he read the letter. "Hedid not love me, " she cried angrily, when he had finished, "or he wouldnot have cast me off--he would not have looked at me so. The law wouldhave let him marry me. I seemed as white as he did. He might havegone anywhere with me, and no one would have stared at us curiously; noone need have known. The world is wide--there must be some place wherea man could live happily with the woman he loved. "

"Yes, Rena, there is; and the world is wide enough for you to get alongwithout Tryon. "

"For a day or two, " she went on, "I hoped he might come back. But hisexpression in that awful moment grew upon me, haunted me day and night, until I shuddered at the thought that I might ever see him again. Helooked at me as though I were not even a human being. I do not lovehim any longer, John; I would not marry him if I were white, or he wereas I am. He did not love me--or he would have acted differently. Hemight have loved me and have left me--he could not have loved me andhave looked at me so!"

She was weeping hysterically. There was little he could say to comforther. Presently she dried her tears. Warwick was reluctant to leaveher in Patesville. Her childish happiness had been that of ignorance;she could never be happy there again. She had flowered in the sunlight;she must not pine away in the shade. 

"If you won't come back with me, Rena, I'll send you to some school atthe North, where you can acquire a liberal education, and prepareyourself for some career of usefulness. You may marry a better manthan even Tryon. "

"No, " she replied firmly, "I shall never marry any man, and I'll notleave mother again. God is against it; I'll stay with my own people. "

"God has nothing to do with it, " retorted Warwick. "God is too often aconvenient stalking-horse for human selfishness. If there is anythingto be done, so unjust, so despicable, so wicked that human reasonrevolts at it, there is always some smug hypocrite to exclaim, 'It isthe will of God. '"

"God made us all, " continued Rena dreamily, "and for some good purpose, though we may not always see it. He made some people white, andstrong, and masterful, and--heartless. He made others black andhomely, and poor and weak"--

"And a lot of others 'poor white' and shiftless, " smiled Warwick. 

"He made us, too, " continued Rena, intent upon her own thought, "and Hemust have had a reason for it. Perhaps He meant us to bring the otherstogether in his own good time. A man may make a new place forhimself--a woman is born and bound to hers. God must have meant me tostay here, or He would not have sent me back. I shall accept things asthey are. Why should I seek the society of people whosefriendship--and love--one little word can turn to scorn? I was right, John; I ought to have told him. Suppose he had married me and then hadfound it out?"

To Rena's argument of divine foreordination Warwick attached no weightwhatever. He had seen God's heel planted for four long years upon theland which had nourished slavery. Had God ordained the crime that thepunishment might follow? It would have been easier for Omnipotence toprevent the crime. The experience of his sister had stirred up acertain bitterness against white people--a feeling which he had putaside years ago, with his dark blood, but which sprang anew into lifewhen the fact of his own origin was brought home to him so forciblythrough his sister's misfortune. His sworn friend and promisedbrother-in-law had thrown him over promptly, upon the discovery of thehidden drop of dark blood. How many others of his friends would do thesame, if they but knew of it? He had begun to feel a little of thespiritual estrangement from his associates that he had noticed in Renaduring her life at Clarence. The fact that several persons knew hissecret had spoiled the fine flavor of perfect security hitherto markinghis position. George Tryon was a man of honor among white men, and haddeigned to extend the protection of his honor to Warwick as a man, though no longer as a friend; to Rena as a woman, but not as a wife. Tryon, however, was only human, and who could tell when their paths inlife might cross again, or what future temptation Tryon might feel touse a damaging secret to their disadvantage? Warwick had cherishedcertain ambitions, but these he must now put behind him. In theobscurity of private life, his past would be of little moment; in theglare of a political career, one's antecedents are public property, andtoo great a reserve in regard to one's past is regarded as a confessionof something discreditable. Frank, too, knew the secret--a good, faithful fellow, even where there was no obligation of fidelity; heought to do something for Frank to show their appreciation of hisconduct. But what assurance was there that Frank would always bediscreet about the affairs of others? Judge Straight knew the wholestory, and old men are sometimes garrulous. Dr. Green suspected thesecret; he had a wife and daughters. If old Judge Straight could haveknown Warwick's thoughts, he would have realized the fulfillment of hisprophecy. Warwick, who had builded so well for himself, had weakenedthe structure of his own life by trying to share his good fortune withhis sister. 

"Listen, Rena, " he said, with a sudden impulse, "we'll go to the Northor West--I'll go with you--far away from the South and the Southernpeople, and start life over again. It will be easier for you, it willnot be hard for me--I am young, and have means. There are no strongties to bind me to the South. I would have a larger outlook elsewhere. "

"And what about our mother?" asked Rena. 

It would be necessary to leave her behind, they both perceived clearlyenough, unless they were prepared to surrender the advantage of theirwhiteness and drop back to the lower rank. The mother bore the mark ofthe Ethiopian--not pronouncedly, but distinctly; neither would Mis'Molly, in all probability, care to leave home and friends and thegraves of her loved ones. She had no mental resources to supply theplace of these; she was, moreover, too old to be transplanted; shewould not fit into Warwick's scheme for a new life. 

"I left her once, " said Rena, "and it brought pain and sorrow to allthree of us. She is not strong, and I will not leave her here to diealone. This shall be my home while she lives, and if I leave it again, it shall be for only a short time, to go where I can write to herfreely, and hear from her often. Don't worry about me, John, --I shalldo very well. "

Warwick sighed. He was sincerely sorry to leave his sister, and yet hesaw that for the time being her resolution was not to be shaken. Hemust bide his time. Perhaps, in a few months, she would tire of theold life. His door would be always open to her, and he would chargehimself with her future. 

"Well, then, " he said, concluding the argument, "we'll say no moreabout it for the present. I'll write to you later. I was afraid thatyou might not care to go back just now, and so I brought your trunkalong with me. "

He gave his mother the baggage-check. She took it across to Frank, who, during the day, brought the trunk from the depot. Mis' Mollyoffered to pay him for the service, but he would accept nothing. 

"Lawd, no, Mis' Molly; I did n' hafter go out'n my way ter git dattrunk. I had a load er sperrit-bairls ter haul ter de still, an' dedepot wuz right on my way back. It'd be robbin' you ter take pay fer alittle thing lack dat. "

"My son John's here, " said Mis' Molly "an' he wants to see you. Comeinto the settin'-room. We don't want folks to know he's in town; butyou know all our secrets, an' we can trust you like one er the family. "

"I'm glad to see you again, Frank, " said Warwick, extending his handand clasping Frank's warmly. "You've grown up since I saw you last, but it seems you are still our good friend. "

"Our very good friend, " interjected Rena. 

Frank threw her a grateful glance. "Yas, suh, " he said, lookingWarwick over with a friendly eye, "an' you is growed some, too. I seedyou, you know, down dere where you live; but I did n' let on, fer youan' Mis' Rena wuz w'ite as anybody; an' eve'ybody said you wuz good tercullud folks, an' he'ped 'em in deir lawsuits an' one way er 'nuther, an' I wuz jes' plum' glad ter see you gettin' 'long so fine, dat I wuz, certain sho', an' no mistake about it. "

"Thank you, Frank, and I want you to understand how much I appreciate"--

"How much we all appreciate, " corrected Rena. 

"Yes, how much we all appreciate, and how grateful we all are for yourkindness to mother for so many years. I know from her and from mysister how good you've been to them. "

"Lawd, suh!" returned Frank deprecatingly, "you're makin' a mountainout'n a molehill. I ain't done nuthin' ter speak of--not half ez muchez I would 'a' done. I wuz glad ter do w'at little I could, ferfrien'ship's sake. "

"We value your friendship, Frank, and we'll not forget it. "

"No, Frank, " added Rena, "we will never forget it, and you shall alwaysbe our good friend. "

Frank left the room and crossed the street with swelling heart. Hewould have given his life for Rena. A kind word was doubly sweet fromher lips; no service would be too great to pay for her friendship. 

When Frank went out to the stable next morning to feed his mule, hiseyes opened wide with astonishment. In place of the decrepit, one-eyedarmy mule he had put up the night before, a fat, sleek specimen ofvigorous mulehood greeted his arrival with the sonorous hehaw of lustyyouth. Hanging on a peg near by was a set of fine new harness, andstanding under the adjoining shed, as he perceived, a handsome new cart. 

"Well, well!" exclaimed Frank; "ef I did n' mos' know whar dis mule, an' dis kyart, an' dis harness come from, I'd 'low dere 'd be'nwitcheraf' er cunjin' wukkin' here. But, oh my, dat is a fine mule!--Imos' wush I could keep 'im. "

He crossed the road to the house behind the cedars, and found Mis'Molly in the kitchen. "Mis' Molly, " he protested, "I ain't done nuthin'ter deserve dat mule. W'at little I done fer you wa'n't done fer pay. I'd ruther not keep dem things. "

"Fer goodness' sake, Frank!" exclaimed his neighbor, with awell-simulated air of mystification, "what are you talkin' about?"

"You knows w'at I'm talkin' about, Mis' Molly; you knows well ernuffI'm talkin' about dat fine mule an' kyart an' harness over dere in mystable. "

"How should I know anything about 'em?" she asked. 

"Now, Mis' Molly! You folks is jes' tryin' ter fool me, an' make metake somethin' fer nuthin'. I lef' my ole mule an' kyart an' harness inde stable las' night, an' dis mawnin' dey 're gone, an' new ones indeir place. Co'se you knows whar dey come from!"

"Well, now, Frank, sence you mention it, I did see a witch flyin' roun'here las' night on a broom-stick, an' it 'peared ter me she lit on yo'rbarn, an' I s'pose she turned yo'r old things into new ones. I wouldn'tbother my mind about it if I was you, for she may turn 'em back anynight, you know; an' you might as well have the use of 'em in the meanwhile. "

"Dat's all foolishness, Mis' Molly, an' I'm gwine ter fetch dat muleright over here an' tell yo' son ter gimme my ole one back. "

"My son's gone, " she replied, "an' I don't know nothin' about yo'r oldmule. And what would I do with a mule, anyhow? I ain't got no barn toput him in. "

"I suspect you don't care much for us after all, Frank, " said Renareproachfully--she had come in while they were talking. "You meet witha piece of good luck, and you're afraid of it, lest it might have comefrom us. "

"Now, Miss Rena, you oughtn't ter say dat, " expostulated Frank, hisreluctance yielding immediately. "I'll keep de mule an' de kyart an' deharness--fac', I'll have ter keep 'em, 'cause I ain't got no others. But dey 're gwine ter be yo'n ez much ez mine. W'enever you wantsanything hauled, er wants yo' lot ploughed, er anything--dat's yo'mule, an' I'm yo' man an' yo' mammy's. "

So Frank went back to the stable, where he feasted his eyes on his newpossessions, fed and watered the mule, and curried and brushed his coatuntil it shone like a looking-glass. 

"Now dat, " remarked Peter, at the breakfast-table, when informed of thetransaction, "is somethin' lack rale w'ite folks. "

No real white person had ever given Peter a mule or a cart. He hadrendered one of them unpaid service for half a lifetime, and had paidfor the other half; and some of them owed him substantial sums for workperformed. But "to him that hath shall be given"--Warwick paid for themule, and the real white folks got most of the credit. 

XX

DIGGING UP ROOTS

When the first great shock of his discovery wore off, the fact ofRena's origin lost to Tryon some of its initial repugnance--indeed, therepugnance was not to the woman at all, as their past relations wereevidence, but merely to the thought of her as a wife. It could hardlyhave failed to occur to so reasonable a man as Tryon that Rena's casecould scarcely be unique. Surely in the past centuries of free mannersand easy morals that had prevailed in remote parts of the South, theremust have been many white persons whose origin would not have borne toomicroscopic an investigation. Family trees not seldom have a crookedbranch; or, to use a more apposite figure, many a flock has its blacksheep. Being a man of lively imagination, Tryon soon found himselfputting all sorts of hypothetical questions about a matter which he hadalready definitely determined. If he had married Rena in ignorance ofher secret, and had learned it afterwards, would he have put her aside?If, knowing her history, he had nevertheless married her, and she hadsubsequently displayed some trait of character that would suggest thenegro, could he have forgotten or forgiven the taint? Could he stillhave held her in love and honor? If not, could he have given her theoutward seeming of affection, or could he have been more than coldlytolerant? He was glad that he had been spared this ordeal. With aneffort he put the whole matter definitely and conclusively aside, as hehad done a hundred times already. 

Returning to his home, after an absence of several months in SouthCarolina, it was quite apparent to his mother's watchful eye that hewas in serious trouble. He was absent-minded, monosyllabic, sigheddeeply and often, and could not always conceal the traces of secrettears. For Tryon was young, and possessed of a sensitive soul--asource of happiness or misery, as the Fates decree. To those thusdowered, the heights of rapture are accessible, the abysses of despairyawn threateningly; only the dull monotony of contentment is denied. 

Mrs. Tryon vainly sought by every gentle art a woman knows to win herson's confidence. "What is the matter, George, dear?" she would ask, stroking his hot brow with her small, cool hand as he sat moodilynursing his grief. "Tell your mother, George. Who else could comfortyou so well as she?"

"Oh, it's nothing, mother, --nothing at all, " he would reply, with aforced attempt at lightness. "It's only your fond imagination, you bestof mothers. "

It was Mrs. Tryon's turn to sigh and shed a clandestine tear. Untilher son had gone away on this trip to South Carolina, he had kept nosecrets from her: his heart had been an open book, of which she knewevery page; now, some painful story was inscribed therein which hemeant she should not read. If she could have abdicated her empire toBlanche Leary or have shared it with her, she would have yieldedgracefully; but very palpably some other influence than Blanche's haddriven joy from her son's countenance and lightness from his heart. 

Miss Blanche Leary, whom Tryon found in the house upon his return, wasa demure, pretty little blonde, with an amiable disposition, a talentfor society, and a pronounced fondness for George Tryon. A poor girl, of an excellent family impoverished by the war, she was distantlyrelated to Mrs. Tryon, had for a long time enjoyed that lady's favor, and was her choice for George's wife when he should be old enough tomarry. A woman less interested than Miss Leary would have perceivedthat there was something wrong with Tryon. Miss Leary had no doubt thatthere was a woman at the bottom of it, --for about what else shouldyouth worry but love? or if one's love affairs run smoothly, why shouldone worry about anything at all? Miss Leary, in the nineteen years ofher mundane existence, had not been without mild experiences of theheart, and had hovered for some time on the verge of disappointmentwith respect to Tryon himself. A sensitive pride would have drivenmore than one woman away at the sight of the man of her preferencesighing like a furnace for some absent fair one. But Mrs. Tryon was socordial, and insisted so strenuously upon her remaining, that Blanche'slove, which was strong, conquered her pride, which was no more than areasonable young woman ought to have who sets success above meresentiment. She remained in the house and bided her opportunity. IfGeorge practically ignored her for a time, she did not throw herself atall in his way. She went on a visit to some girls in the neighborhoodand remained away a week, hoping that she might be missed. Tryonexpressed no regret at her departure and no particular satisfactionupon her return. If the house was duller in her absence, he was butdimly conscious of the difference. He was still fighting a battle inwhich a susceptible heart and a reasonable mind had locked horns in awell-nigh hopeless conflict. Reason, common-sense, the instinctiveready-made judgments of his training and environment, --the deep-seatedprejudices of race and caste, --commanded him to dismiss Rena from histhoughts. His stubborn heart simply would not let go. 

XXI

A GILDED OPPORTUNITY

Although the whole fabric of Rena's new life toppled and fell with herlover's defection, her sympathies, broadened by culture and still moreby her recent emotional experience, did not shrink, as would have beenthe case with a more selfish soul, to the mere limits of her personalsorrow, great as this seemed at the moment. She had learned to love, and when the love of one man failed her, she turned to humanity, as astream obstructed in its course overflows the adjacent country. Herearly training had not directed her thoughts to the darker people withwhose fate her own was bound up so closely, but rather away from them. She had been taught to despise them because they were not so white asshe was, and had been slaves while she was free. Her life in herbrother's home, by removing her from immediate contact with them, hadgiven her a different point of view, --one which emphasized theirshortcomings, and thereby made vastly clearer to her the gulf thatseparated them from the new world in which she lived; so that whenmisfortune threw her back upon them, the reaction brought her nearerthan before. Where once she had seemed able to escape from them, theywere now, it appeared, her inalienable race. Thus doubly equipped, shewas able to view them at once with the mental eye of an outsider andthe sympathy of a sister: she could see their faults, and judge themcharitably; she knew and appreciated their good qualities. With herquickened intelligence she could perceive how great was their need andhow small their opportunity; and with this illumination came the desireto contribute to their help. She had not the breadth or culture to seein all its ramifications the great problem which still puzzlesstatesmen and philosophers; but she was conscious of the wish, and ofthe power, in a small way, to do something for the advancement of thosewho had just set their feet upon the ladder of progress. 

This new-born desire to be of service to her rediscovered people wasnot long without an opportunity for expression. Yet the Fates willedthat her future should be but another link in a connected chain: shewas to be as powerless to put aside her recent past as she had been toescape from the influence of her earlier life. There are sordid soulsthat eat and drink and breed and die, and imagine they have lived. ButRena's life since her great awakening had been that of the emotions, and her temperament made of it a continuous life. Her successivestates of consciousness were not detachable, but united to form asingle if not an entirely harmonious whole. To her sensitive spiritto-day was born of yesterday, to-morrow would be but the offspring ofto day. 

One day, along toward noon, her mother received a visit from Mary B. Pettifoot, a second cousin, who lived on Back Street, only a shortdistance from the house behind the cedars. Rena had gone out, so thatthe visitor found Mis' Molly alone. 

"I heared you say, Cousin Molly, " said Mary B. (no one ever knew whatthe B. In Mary's name stood for, --it was a mere ornamental flourish), "that Rena was talkin' 'bout teachin' school. I've got a good chancefer her, ef she keers ter take it. My cousin Jeff Wain 'rived in townthis mo'nin', f'm 'way down in Sampson County, ter git a teacher ferthe nigger school in his deestric'. I s'pose he mought 'a' got one f'm'roun' Newbern, er Goldsboro, er some er them places eas', but he'lowed he'd like to visit some er his kin an' ole frien's, an' so killtwo birds with one stone. "

"I seed a strange mulatter man, with a bay hoss an' a new buggy, drivin' by here this mo'nin' early, from down to'ds the river, "rejoined Mis' Molly. "I wonder if that wuz him?"

"Did he have on a linen duster?" asked Mary B. 

"Yas, an' 'peared to be a very well sot up man, " replied Mis' Molly, "'bout thirty-five years old, I should reckon. "

"That wuz him, " assented Mary B. "He's got a fine hoss an' buggy, an'a gol' watch an' chain, an' a big plantation, an' lots er hosses an'mules an' cows an' hawgs. He raise' fifty bales er cotton las' year, an' he's be'n ter the legislatur'. "

"My gracious!" exclaimed Mis' Molly, struck with awe at this catalogueof the stranger's possessions--he was evidently worth more than a greatmany "rich" white people, --all white people in North Carolina in thosedays were either "rich" or "poor, " the distinction being one of casterather than of wealth. "Is he married?" she inquired with interest?

"No, --single. You mought 'low it was quare that he should n' bemarried at his age; but he was crossed in love oncet, "--Mary B. Heaveda self-conscious sigh, --"an' has stayed single ever sence. That wuzten years ago, but as some husban's is long-lived, an' there ain' nomo' chance fer 'im now than there wuz then, I reckon some nice galmought stan' a good show er ketchin' 'im, ef she'd play her kyardsright. "

To Mis' Molly this was news of considerable importance. She had notthought a great deal of Rena's plan to teach; she considered itlowering for Rena, after having been white, to go among the negroes anymore than was unavoidable. This opportunity, however, meant more thanmere employment for her daughter. She had felt Rena's disappointmentkeenly, from the practical point of view, and, blaming herself for it, held herself all the more bound to retrieve the misfortune in anypossible way. If she had not been sick, Rena would not have dreamedthe fateful dream that had brought her to Patesville; for theconnection between the vision and the reality was even closer in Mis'Molly's eyes than in Rena's. If the mother had not sent the letterannouncing her illness and confirming the dream, Rena would not haveruined her promising future by coming to Patesville. But the harm hadbeen done, and she was responsible, ignorantly of course, but none theless truly, and it only remained for her to make amends, as far aspossible. Her highest ambition, since Rena had grown up, had been tosee her married and comfortably settled in life. She had no hope thatTryon would come back. Rena had declared that she would make nofurther effort to get away from her people; and, furthermore, that shewould never marry. To this latter statement Mis' Molly secretlyattached but little importance. That a woman should go single from thecradle to the grave did not accord with her experience in life of thecustoms of North Carolina. She respected a grief she could notentirely fathom, yet did not for a moment believe that Rena wouldremain unmarried. 

"You'd better fetch him roun' to see me, Ma'y B. , " she said, "an' let'ssee what he looks like. I'm pertic'lar 'bout my gal. She says sheain't goin' to marry nobody; but of co'se we know that's allfoolishness. "

"I'll fetch him roun' this evenin' 'bout three o'clock, " said thevisitor, rising. "I mus' hurry back now an' keep him comp'ny. TellRena ter put on her bes' bib an' tucker; for Mr. Wain is pertic'lartoo, an' I've already be'n braggin' 'bout her looks. "

When Mary B. , at the appointed hour, knocked at Mis' Molly's frontdoor, --the visit being one of ceremony, she had taken her cousin roundto the Front Street entrance and through the flower garden, --Mis' Mollywas prepared to receive them. After a decent interval, long enough tosuggest that she had not been watching their approach and was notover-eager about the visit, she answered the knock and admitted theminto the parlor. Mr. Wain was formally introduced, and seated himselfon the ancient haircloth sofa, under the framed fashion-plate, whileMary B. Sat by the open door and fanned herself with a palm-leaf fan. 

Mis' Molly's impression of Wain was favorable. His complexion was of alight brown--not quite so fair as Mis' Molly would have preferred; butany deficiency in this regard, or in the matter of the stranger'sfeatures, which, while not unpleasing, leaned toward the broad mulattotype, was more than compensated in her eyes by very straight blackhair, and, as soon appeared, a great facility of complimentary speech. On his introduction Mr. Wain bowed low, assumed an air of greatadmiration, and expressed his extreme delight in making theacquaintance of so distinguished-looking a lady. 

"You're flatt'rin' me, Mr. Wain, " returned Mis' Molly, with a gratifiedsmile. "But you want to meet my daughter befo' you commence th'owin'bokays. Excuse my leavin' you--I'll go an' fetch her. "

She returned in a moment, followed by Rena. "Mr. Wain, 'low me toint'oduce you to my daughter Rena. Rena, this is Ma'y B. 's cousin onher pappy's side, who's come up from Sampson to git a school-teacher. "

Rena bowed gracefully. Wain stared a moment in genuine astonishment, and then bent himself nearly double, keeping his eyes fixed meanwhileupon Rena's face. He had expected to see a pretty yellow girl, but hadbeen prepared for no such radiant vision of beauty as this which nowconfronted him. 

"Does--does you mean ter say, Mis' Walden, dat--dat dis young lady isyo' own daughter?" he stammered, rallying his forces for action. 

"Why not, Mr. Wain?" asked Mis' Molly, bridling with mock resentment. "Do you mean ter 'low that she wuz changed in her cradle, er is she toogood-lookin' to be my daughter?"

"My deah Mis' Walden! it 'ud be wastin' wo'ds fer me ter say dat deyain' no young lady too good-lookin' ter be yo' daughter; but you'relookin' so young yo'sef dat I'd ruther take her fer yo' sister. "

"Yas, " rejoined Mis' Molly, with animation, "they ain't many yearsbetween us. I wuz ruther young myself when she wuz bo'n. "

"An', mo'over, " Wain went on, "it takes me a minute er so ter git mymin' use' ter thinkin' er Mis' Rena as a cullud young lady. I mought'a' seed her a hund'ed times, an' I'd 'a' never dreamt but w'at she wuza w'ite young lady, f'm one er de bes' families. "

"Yas, Mr. Wain, " replied Mis' Molly complacently, "all three er mychild'en wuz white, an' one of 'em has be'n on the other side fer manylong years. Rena has be'n to school, an' has traveled, an' has hadchances--better chances than anybody roun' here knows. "

"She's jes' de lady I'm lookin' fer, ter teach ou' school, " rejoinedWain, with emphasis. "Wid her schoolin' an' my riccommen', she kin gita fus'-class ce'tifikit an' draw fo'ty dollars a month; an' a lady erher color kin keep a lot er little niggers straighter 'n a darker ladycould. We jus' got ter have her ter teach ou' school--ef we kin gither. "

Rena's interest in the prospect of employment at her chosen work was sogreat that she paid little attention to Wain's compliments. Mis' Mollyled Mary B. Away to the kitchen on some pretext, and left Rena toentertain the gentleman. She questioned him eagerly about the school, and he gave the most glowing accounts of the elegant school-house, thebright pupils, and the congenial society of the neighborhood. He spokealmost entirely in superlatives, and, after making due allowance forwhat Rena perceived to be a temperamental tendency to exaggeration, sheconcluded that she would find in the school a worthy field ofusefulness, and in this polite and good-natured though somewhat wordyman a coadjutor upon whom she could rely in her first efforts; for shewas not over-confident of her powers, which seemed to grow less as theway opened for their exercise. 

"Do you think I'm competent to teach the school?" she asked of thevisitor, after stating some of her qualifications. 

"Oh, dere 's no doubt about it, Miss Rena, " replied Wain, who hadlistened with an air of great wisdom, though secretly aware that he wastoo ignorant of letters to form a judgment; "you kin teach de schoolall right, an' could ef you didn't know half ez much. You won't haveno trouble managin' de child'en, nuther. Ef any of 'em gits onruly, jes' call on me fer he'p, an' I'll make 'em walk Spanish. I'm chuhmaner de school committee, an' I'll lam de hide off'n any scholar dat don'behave. You kin trus' me fer dat, sho' ez I'm a-settin' here. "

"Then, " said Rena, "I'll undertake it, and do my best. I'm sure you'llnot be too exacting. "

"Yo' bes', Miss Rena, 'll be de bes' dey is. Don' you worry ner fret. Dem niggers won't have no other teacher after dey've once laid eyes onyou: I'll guarantee dat. Dere won't be no trouble, not a bit. "

"Well, Cousin Molly, " said Mary B. To Mis' Molly in the kitchen, "howdoes the plan strike you?"

"Ef Rena's satisfied, I am, " replied Mis' Molly. "But you'd better saynothin' about ketchin' a beau, or any such foolishness, er else she'dbe just as likely not to go nigh Sampson County. "

"Befo' Cousin Jeff goes back, " confided Mary B. , "I'd like ter give 'ima party, but my house is too small. I wuz wonderin', " she addedtentatively, "ef I could n' borry yo' house. "

"Shorely, Ma'y B. I'm int'rested in Mr. Wain on Rena's account, an'it's as little as I kin do to let you use my house an' help you gitthings ready. "

The date of the party was set for Thursday night, as Wain was to leavePatesville on Friday morning, taking with him the new teacher. Theparty would serve the double purpose of a compliment to the guest and afarewell to Rena, and it might prove the precursor, the mother secretlyhoped, of other festivities to follow at some later date. 

XXII

IMPERATIVE BUSINESS

One Wednesday morning, about six weeks after his return home, Tryonreceived a letter from Judge Straight with reference to the note leftwith him at Patesville for collection. This communication properlyrequired an answer, which might have been made in writing within thecompass of ten lines. No sooner, however, had Tryon read the letterthan he began to perceive reasons why it should be answered in person. He had left Patesville under extremely painful circumstances, vowingthat he would never return; and yet now the barest pretext, by which noone could have been deceived except willingly, was sufficient to turnhis footsteps thither again. He explained to his mother--with avagueness which she found somewhat puzzling, but ascribed to her ownfeminine obtuseness in matters of business--the reasons thatimperatively demanded his presence in Patesville. With an early starthe could drive there in one day, --he had an excellent roadster, a lightbuggy, and a recent rain had left the road in good condition, --a daywould suffice for the transaction of his business, and the third daywould bring him home again. He set out on his journey on Thursdaymorning, with this programme very clearly outlined. 

Tryon would not at first have admitted even to himself that Rena'spresence in Patesville had any bearing whatever upon his projectedvisit. The matter about which Judge Straight had written might, it wasclear, be viewed in several aspects. The judge had written himconcerning the one of immediate importance. It would be much easier todiscuss the subject in all its bearings, and clean up the whole matter, in one comprehensive personal interview. 

The importance of this business, then, seemed very urgent for the firstfew hours of Tryon's journey. Ordinarily a careful driver and mercifulto his beast, his eagerness to reach Patesville increased graduallyuntil it became necessary to exercise some self-restraint in order notto urge his faithful mare beyond her powers; and soon he could nolonger pretend obliviousness of the fact that some attraction strongerthan the whole amount of Duncan McSwayne's note was urging himirresistibly toward his destination. The old town beyond the distantriver, his heart told him clamorously, held the object in all the worldto him most dear. Memory brought up in vivid detail every moment ofhis brief and joyous courtship, each tender word, each enchantingsmile, every fond caress. He lived his past happiness over again downto the moment of that fatal discovery. What horrible fate was it thathad involved him--nay, that had caught this sweet delicate girl in sucha blind alley? A wild hope flashed across his mind: perhaps theghastly story might not be true; perhaps, after all, the girl was nomore a negro than she seemed. He had heard sad stories of whitechildren, born out of wedlock, abandoned by sinful parents to the careor adoption of colored women, who had reared them as their own, thechildren's future basely sacrificed to hide the parents' shame. Hewould confront this reputed mother of his darling and wring the truthfrom her. He was in a state of mind where any sort of a fairy talewould have seemed reasonable. He would almost have bribed some one totell him that the woman he had loved, the woman he still loved (he felta thrill of lawless pleasure in the confession), was not the descendantof slaves, --that he might marry her, and not have before his eyes thegruesome fear that some one of their children might show even thefaintest mark of the despised race. 

At noon he halted at a convenient hamlet, fed and watered his mare, andresumed his journey after an hour's rest. By this time he hadwell-nigh forgotten about the legal business that formed the ostensibleoccasion for his journey, and was conscious only of a wild desire tosee the woman whose image was beckoning him on to Patesville as fast ashis horse could take him. 

At sundown he stopped again, about ten miles from the town, and caredfor his now tired beast. He knew her capacity, however, and calculatedthat she could stand the additional ten miles without injury. The mareset out with reluctance, but soon settled resignedly down into a steadyjog. 

Memory had hitherto assailed Tryon with the vision of past joys. As heneared the town, imagination attacked him with still more movingimages. He had left her, this sweet flower of womankind--white or not, God had never made a fairer!--he had seen her fall to the hardpavement, with he knew not what resulting injury. He had left hertender frame--the touch of her finger-tips had made him thrill withhappiness--to be lifted by strange hands, while he with heartless pridehad driven deliberately away, without a word of sorrow or regret. Hehad ignored her as completely as though she had never existed. That hehad been deceived was true. But had he not aided in his own deception?Had not Warwick told him distinctly that they were of no family, andwas it not his own fault that he had not followed up the clue thusgiven him? Had not Rena compared herself to the child's nurse, and hadhe not assured her that if she were the nurse, he would marry her nextday? The deception had been due more to his own blindness than to anylack of honesty on the part of Rena and her brother. In the light ofhis present feelings they seemed to have been absurdly outspoken. Hewas glad that he had kept his discovery to himself. He had consideredhimself very magnanimous not to have exposed the fraud that was beingperpetrated upon society: it was with a very comfortable feeling thathe now realized that the matter was as profound a secret as before. 

"She ought to have been born white, " he muttered, adding weakly, "Iwould to God that I had never found her out!"

Drawing near the bridge that crossed the river to the town, he picturedto himself a pale girl, with sorrowful, tear-stained eyes, pining awayin the old gray house behind the cedars for love of him, dying, perhaps, of a broken heart. He would hasten to her; he would dry hertears with kisses; he would express sorrow for his cruelty. 

The tired mare had crossed the bridge and was slowly toiling up FrontStreet; she was near the limit of her endurance, and Tryon did not urgeher. 

They might talk the matter over, and if they must part, part at leastthey would in peace and friendship. If he could not marry her, hewould never marry any one else; it would be cruel for him to seekhappiness while she was denied it, for, having once given her heart tohim, she could never, he was sure, --so instinctively fine was hernature, --she could never love any one less worthy than himself, andwould therefore probably never marry. He knew from a Clarenceacquaintance, who had written him a letter, that Rena had notreappeared in that town. 

If he should discover--the chance was one in a thousand--that she waswhite; or if he should find it too hard to leave her--ah, well! he wasa white man, one of a race born to command. He would make her white;no one beyond the old town would ever know the difference. If, perchance, their secret should be disclosed, the world was wide; a manof courage and ambition, inspired by love, might make a careeranywhere. Circumstances made weak men; strong men mould circumstancesto do their bidding. He would not let his darling die of grief, whatever the price must be paid for her salvation. She was only a fewrods away from him now. In a moment he would see her; he would takeher tenderly in his arms, and heart to heart they would mutuallyforgive and forget, and, strengthened by their love, would face thefuture boldly and bid the world do its worst. 

XXIII

THE GUEST OF HONOR

The evening of the party arrived. The house had been thoroughlycleaned in preparation for the event, and decorated with the choicesttreasures of the garden. By eight o'clock the guests had gathered. They were all mulattoes, --all people of mixed blood were called"mulattoes" in North Carolina. There were dark mulattoes and brightmulattoes. Mis' Molly's guests were mostly of the bright class, mostof them more than half white, and few of them less. In Mis' Molly'ssmall circle, straight hair was the only palliative of a darkcomplexion. Many of the guests would not have been casuallydistinguishable from white people of the poorer class. Others boreunmistakable traces of Indian ancestry, --for Cherokee and Tuscarorablood was quite widely diffused among the free negroes of NorthCarolina, though well-nigh lost sight of by the curious custom of thewhite people to ignore anything but the negro blood in those who weretouched by its potent current. Very few of those present had beenslaves. The free colored people of Patesville were numerous enoughbefore the war to have their own "society, " and human enough to despisethose who did not possess advantages equal to their own; and at thistime they still looked down upon those who had once been held inbondage. The only black man present occupied a chair which stood on abroad chest in one corner, and extracted melody from a fiddle to whicha whole generation of the best people of Patesville had danced and mademerry. Uncle Needham seldom played for colored gatherings, but made anexception in Mis' Molly's case; she was not white, but he knew herpast; if she was not the rose, she had at least been near the rose. When the company had gathered, Mary B. , as mistress of ceremonies, whispered to Uncle Needham, who tapped his violin sharply with the bow. 

"Ladies an' gent'emens, take yo' pa'dners fer a Fuhginny reel!"

Mr. Wain, as the guest of honor, opened the ball with his hostess. Hewore a broadcloth coat and trousers, a heavy glittering chain acrossthe spacious front of his white waistcoat, and a large red rose in hisbuttonhole. If his boots were slightly run down at the heel, sotrivial a detail passed unnoticed in the general splendor of hisattire. Upon a close or hostile inspection there would have been somefeatures of his ostensibly good-natured face--the shifty eye, the fulland slightly drooping lower lip--which might have given a student ofphysiognomy food for reflection. But whatever the latent defects ofWain's character, he proved himself this evening a model of geniality, presuming not at all upon his reputed wealth, but winning goldenopinions from those who came to criticise, of whom, of course, therewere a few, the company being composed of human beings. 

When the dance began, Wain extended his large, soft hand to Mary B. , yellow, buxom, thirty, with white and even teeth glistening behind herfull red lips. A younger sister of Mary B. 's was paired with BillyOxendine, a funny little tailor, a great gossip, and therefore afavorite among the women. Mis' Molly graciously consented, after manyprotestations of lack of skill and want of practice, to stand upopposite Homer Pettifoot, Mary B. 's husband, a tall man, with a slightstoop, a bald crown, and full, dreamy eyes, --a man of much imaginationand a large fund of anecdote. Two other couples completed the set;others were restrained by bashfulness or religious scruples, which didnot yield until later in the evening. 

The perfumed air from the garden without and the cut roses withinmingled incongruously with the alien odors of musk and hair oil, ofwhich several young barbers in the company were especially redolent. There was a play of sparkling eyes and glancing feet. Mary B. Dancedwith the languorous grace of an Eastern odalisque, Mis' Molly with themincing, hesitating step of one long out of practice. Wain performedsaltatory prodigies. This was a golden opportunity for the display inwhich his soul found delight. He introduced variations hithertounknown to the dance. His skill and suppleness brought a glow ofadmiration into the eyes of the women, and spread a cloud of jealousyover the faces of several of the younger men, who saw themselveseclipsed. 

Rena had announced in advance her intention to take no active part inthe festivities. "I don't feel like dancing, mamma--I shall neverdance again. "

"Well, now, Rena, " answered her mother, "of co'se you're too dignified, sence you've be'n 'sociatin' with white folks, to be hoppin' roun' an'kickin' up like Ma'y B. An' these other yaller gals; but of co'se, too, you can't slight the comp'ny entirely, even ef it ain't jest exac'lyour party, --you'll have to pay 'em some little attention, 'speciallyMr. Wain, sence you're goin' down yonder with 'im. "

Rena conscientiously did what she thought politeness required. Shewent the round of the guests in the early part of the evening andexchanged greetings with them. To several requests for dances shereplied that she was not dancing. She did not hold herself aloofbecause of pride; any instinctive shrinking she might have felt byreason of her recent association with persons of greater refinement wasoffset by her still more newly awakened zeal for humanity; they wereher people, she must not despise them. But the occasion suggestedpainful memories of other and different scenes in which she had latelyparticipated. Once or twice these memories were so vivid as almost tooverpower her. She slipped away from the company, and kept in thebackground as much as possible without seeming to slight any one. 

The guests as well were dimly conscious of a slight barrier betweenMis' Molly's daughter and themselves. The time she had spent apartfrom these friends of her youth had rendered it impossible for her everto meet them again upon the plane of common interests and commonthoughts. It was much as though one, having acquired the vernacular ofhis native country, had lived in a foreign land long enough to lose thelanguage of his childhood without acquiring fully that of his adoptedcountry. Miss Rowena Warwick could never again become quite the RenaWalden who had left the house behind the cedars no more than a year anda half before. Upon this very difference were based her nobleaspirations for usefulness, --one must stoop in order that one may liftothers. Any other young woman present would have been importunedbeyond her powers of resistance. Rena's reserve was respected. 

When supper was announced, somewhat early in the evening, the dancersfound seats in the hall or on the front piazza. Aunt Zilphy, assistedby Mis' Molly and Mary B. , passed around the refreshments, whichconsisted of fried chicken, buttered biscuits, pound-cake, and eggnog. When the first edge of appetite was taken off, the conversation waxedanimated. Homer Pettifoot related, with minute detail, an old, threadbare hunting lie, dating, in slightly differing forms, from theage of Nimrod, about finding twenty-five partridges sitting in a row ona rail, and killing them all with a single buckshot, which passedthrough twenty-four and lodged in the body of the twenty-fifth, fromwhich it was extracted and returned to the shot pouch for futureservice. 

This story was followed by a murmur of incredulity--of course, thething was possible, but Homer's faculty for exaggeration was so wellknown that any statement of his was viewed with suspicion. Homerseemed hurt at this lack of faith, and was disposed to argue the point, but the sonorous voice of Mr. Wain on the other side of the room cutshort his protestations, in much the same way that the rising sunextinguishes the light of lesser luminaries. 

"I wuz a member er de fus' legislatur' after de wah, " Wain was saying. "When I went up f'm Sampson in de fall, I had to pass th'oughSmithfiel', I got in town in de afternoon, an' put up at de bes' hotel. De lan'lo'd did n' have no s'picion but what I wuz a white man, an' hegimme a room, an' I had supper an' breakfas', an' went on ter Rollynex' mornin'. W'en de session wuz over, I come along back, an' w'en Igot ter Smithfiel', I driv' up ter de same hotel. I noticed, as soonas I got dere, dat de place had run down consid'able--dere wuz weedsgrowin' in de yard, de winders wuz dirty, an' ev'ything roun' derelooked kinder lonesome an' shif'less. De lan'lo'd met me at de do'; helooked mighty down in de mouth, an' sezee:--

"'Look a-here, w'at made you come an' stop at my place widout tellin'me you wuz a black man? Befo' you come th'ough dis town I had afus'-class business. But w'en folks found out dat a nigger had put uphere, business drapped right off, an' I've had ter shet up my hotel. You oughter be 'shamed er yo'se'f fer ruinin' a po' man w'at had n'never done no harm ter you. You've done a mean, low-lived thing, an' ajes' God'll punish you fer it. '

"De po' man acshully bust inter tears, " continued Mr. Wainmagnanimously, "an' I felt so sorry fer 'im--he wuz a po' white mantryin' ter git up in de worl'--dat I hauled out my purse an' gin 'imten dollars, an' he 'peared monst'ous glad ter git it. "

"How good-hearted! How kin'!" murmured the ladies. "It done credit toyo' feelin's. "

"Don't b'lieve a word er dem lies, " muttered one young man to anothersarcastically. "He could n' pass fer white, 'less'n it wuz a mightydark night. "

Upon this glorious evening of his life, Mr. Jefferson Wain had onedistinctly hostile critic, of whose presence he was blissfullyunconscious. Frank Fowler had not been invited to the party, --hisfamily did not go with Mary B. 's set. Rena had suggested to her motherthat he be invited, but Mis' Molly had demurred on the ground that itwas not her party, and that she had no right to issue invitations. Itis quite likely that she would have sought an invitation for Frank fromMary B. ; but Frank was black, and would not harmonize with the rest ofthe company, who would not have Mis' Molly's reasons for treating himwell. She had compromised the matter by stepping across the way in theafternoon and suggesting that Frank might come over and sit on the backporch and look at the dancing and share in the supper. 

Frank was not without a certain honest pride. He was sensitive enough, too, not to care to go where he was not wanted. He would have curtlyrefused any such maimed invitation to any other place. But would henot see Rena in her best attire, and might she not perhaps, in passing, speak a word to him?

"Thank y', Mis' Molly, " he replied, "I'll prob'ly come over. "

"You're a big fool, boy, " observed his father after Mis' Molly had goneback across the street, "ter be stickin' roun' dem yaller niggers'cross de street, an' slobb'rin' an' slav'rin' over 'em, an' hangin'roun' deir back do' wuss 'n ef dey wuz w'ite folks. I'd see 'em deadfus'!"

Frank himself resisted the temptation for half an hour after the musicbegan, but at length he made his way across the street and stationedhimself at the window opening upon the back piazza. When Rena was inthe room, he had eyes for her only, but when she was absent, he fixedhis attention mainly upon Wain. With jealous clairvoyance he observedthat Wain's eyes followed Rena when she left the room, and lit up whenshe returned. Frank had heard that Rena was going away with this man, and he watched Wain closely, liking him less the longer he looked athim. To his fancy, Wain's style and skill were affectation, hisgood-nature mere hypocrisy, and his glance at Rena the eye of the hawkupon his quarry. He had heard that Wain was unmarried, and he couldnot see how, this being so, he could help wishing Rena for a wife. Frank would have been content to see her marry a white man, who wouldhave raised her to a plane worthy of her merits. In this man's shiftyeye he read the liar--his wealth and standing were probably as false ashis seeming good-humor. 

"Is that you, Frank?" said a soft voice near at hand. 

He looked up with a joyful thrill. Rena was peering intently at him, as if trying to distinguish his features in the darkness. It was abright moonlight night, but Frank stood in the shadow of the piazza. 

"Yas 'm, it's me, Miss Rena. Yo' mammy said I could come over an' seeyou-all dance. You ain' be'n out on de flo' at all, ter-night. "

"No, Frank, I don't care for dancing. I shall not dance to-night. "

This answer was pleasing to Frank. If he could not hope to dance withher, at least the men inside--at least this snake in the grass fromdown the country--should not have that privilege. 

"But you must have some supper, Frank, " said Rena. "I'll bring itmyself. "

"No, Miss Rena, I don' keer fer nothin'--I did n' come over tereat--r'al'y I didn't. "

"Nonsense, Frank, there's plenty of it. I have no appetite, and youshall have my portion. "

She brought him a slice of cake and a glass of eggnog. When Mis'Molly, a minute later, came out upon the piazza, Frank left the yardand walked down the street toward the old canal. Rena had spokensoftly to him; she had fed him with her own dainty hands. He mightnever hope that she would see in him anything but a friend; but heloved her, and he would watch over her and protect her, wherever shemight be. He did not believe that she would ever marry the grinninghypocrite masquerading back there in Mis' Molly's parlor; but the manwould bear watching. 

Mis' Molly had come to call her daughter into the house. "Rena, " shesaid, "Mr. Wain wants ter know if you won't dance just one dance withhim. "

"Yas, Rena, " pleaded Mary B. , who followed Miss Molly out to thepiazza, "jes' one dance. I don't think you're treatin' my comp'ny jes'right, Cousin Rena. "

"You're goin' down there with 'im, " added her mother, "an' it 'd bejust as well to be on friendly terms with 'im. "

Wain himself had followed the women. "Sho'ly, Miss Rena, you're gwineter honah me wid one dance? I'd go 'way f'm dis pa'ty sad at hea't efI had n' stood up oncet wid de young lady er de house. "

As Rena, weakly persuaded, placed her hand on Wain's arm and enteredthe house, a buggy, coming up Front Street, paused a moment at thecorner, and then turning slowly, drove quietly up the namelessby-street, concealed by the intervening cedars, until it reached apoint from which the occupant could view, through the open frontwindow, the interior of the parlor. 

XXIV

SWING YOUR PARTNERS

Moved by tenderness and thoughts of self-sacrifice, which had occupiedhis mind to the momentary exclusion of all else, Tryon had scarcelynoticed, as he approached the house behind the cedars, a strain oflively music, to which was added, as he drew still nearer, theaccompaniment of other festive sounds. He suddenly awoke, however, tothe fact that these signs of merriment came from the house at which hehad intended to stop;--he had not meant that Rena should pass anothersleepless night of sorrow, or that he should himself endure anotherneedless hour of suspense. 

He drew rein at the corner. Shocked surprise, a nascent anger, a vaguealarm, an insistent curiosity, urged him nearer. Turning the mare intothe side street and keeping close to the fence, he drove ahead in theshadow of the cedars until he reached a gap through which he could seeinto the open door and windows of the brightly lighted hall. 

There was evidently a ball in progress. The fiddle was squeakingmerrily so a tune that he remembered well, --it was associated with oneof the most delightful evenings of his life, that of the tournamentball. A mellow negro voice was calling with a rhyming accompanimentthe figures of a quadrille. Tryon, with parted lips and slowlyhardening heart, leaned forward from the buggy-seat, gripping the reinso tightly that his nails cut into the opposing palm. Above theclatter of noisy conversation rose the fiddler's voice:--

 "Swing yo' pa'dners; doan be shy, Look yo' lady in de eye! Th'ow yo' ahm aroun' huh wais'; Take yo' time--dey ain' no has'e!"

To the middle of the floor, in full view through an open window, advanced the woman who all day long had been the burden of histhoughts--not pale with grief and hollow-eyed with weeping, but flushedwith pleasure, around her waist the arm of a burly, grinning mulatto, whose face was offensively familiar to Tryon. 

With a muttered curse of concentrated bitterness, Tryon struck the marea sharp blow with the whip. The sensitive creature, spirited even inher great weariness, resented the lash and started off with the bit inher teeth. Perceiving that it would be difficult to turn in the narrowroadway without running into the ditch at the left, Tryon gave the marerein and dashed down the street, scarcely missing, as the buggy crossedthe bridge, a man standing abstractedly by the old canal, who sprangaside barely in time to avoid being run over. 

Meantime Rena was passing through a trying ordeal. After the first fewbars, the fiddler plunged into a well-known air, in which Rena, keenlysusceptible to musical impressions, recognized the tune to which, asQueen of Love and Beauty, she had opened the dance at her entrance intothe world of life and love, for it was there she had met George Tryon. The combination of music and movement brought up the scene with greatdistinctness. Tryon, peering angrily through the cedars, had not beenmore conscious than she of the external contrast between her partnerson this and the former occasion. She perceived, too, as Tryon from theoutside had not, the difference between Wain's wordy flattery (onlysaved by his cousin's warning from pointed and fulsome adulation), andthe tenderly graceful compliment, couched in the romantic terms ofchivalry, with which the knight of the handkerchief had charmed herear. It was only by an immense effort that she was able to keep heremotions under control until the end of the dance, when she fled to herchamber and burst into tears. It was not the cruel Tryon who hadblasted her love with his deadly look that she mourned, but the gallantyoung knight who had worn her favor on his lance and crowned her Queenof Love and Beauty. 

Tryon's stay in Patesville was very brief. He drove to the hotel andput up for the night. During many sleepless hours his mind was in aturmoil with a very different set of thoughts from those which hadoccupied it on the way to town. Not the least of them was a profoundself-contempt for his own lack of discernment. How had he been soblind as not to have read long ago the character of this wretched girlwho had bewitched him? To-night his eyes had been opened--he had seenher with the mask thrown off, a true daughter of a race in which thesensuous enjoyment of the moment took precedence of taste or sentimentor any of the higher emotions. Her few months of boarding-school, herbrief association with white people, had evidently been a mere veneerover the underlying negro, and their effects had slipped away as soonas the intercourse had ceased. With the monkey-like imitativeness ofthe negro she had copied the manners of white people while she livedamong them, and had dropped them with equal facility when they ceasedto serve a purpose. Who but a negro could have recovered so soon fromwhat had seemed a terrible bereavement?--she herself must have felt itat the time, for otherwise she would not have swooned. A woman ofsensibility, as this one had seemed to be, should naturally feel morekeenly, and for a longer time than a man, an injury to the affections;but he, a son of the ruling race, had been miserable for six weeksabout a girl who had so far forgotten him as already to plunge headlonginto the childish amusements of her own ignorant and degraded people. What more, indeed, he asked himself savagely, --what more could beexpected of the base-born child of the plaything of a gentleman's idlehour, who to this ignoble origin added the blood of a servile race?And he, George Tryon, had honored her with his love; he had very nearlylinked his fate and joined his blood to hers by the solemn sanctions ofchurch and state. Tryon was not a devout man, but he thanked God withreligious fervor that he had been saved a second time from a mistakewhich would have wrecked his whole future. If he had yielded to themomentary weakness of the past night, --the outcome of a sicklysentimentality to which he recognized now, in the light of reflection, that he was entirely too prone, --he would have regretted it soonenough. The black streak would have been sure to come out in someform, sooner or later, if not in the wife, then in her children. Hesaw clearly enough, in this hour of revulsion, that with histemperament and training such a union could never have been happy. Ifall the world had been ignorant of the dark secret, it would alwayshave been in his own thoughts, or at least never far away. Each faultof hers that the close daily association of husband and wife mightreveal, --the most flawless of sweethearts do not pass scathless throughthe long test of matrimony, --every wayward impulse of his children, every defect of mind, morals, temper, or health, would have beenascribed to the dark ancestral strain. Happiness under such conditionswould have been impossible. 

When Tryon lay awake in the early morning, after a few brief hours ofsleep, the business which had brought him to Patesville seemed, in thecold light of reason, so ridiculously inadequate that he felt almostashamed to have set up such a pretext for his journey. The prospect, too, of meeting Dr. Green and his family, of having to explain hisformer sudden departure, and of running a gauntlet of inquiryconcerning his marriage to the aristocratic Miss Warwick of SouthCarolina; the fear that some one at Patesville might have suspected aconnection between Rena's swoon and his own flight, --theseconsiderations so moved this impressionable and impulsive young manthat he called a bell-boy, demanded an early breakfast, ordered hishorse, paid his reckoning, and started upon his homeward journeyforthwith. A certain distrust of his own sensibility, which he felt tobe curiously inconsistent with his most positive convictions, led himto seek the river bridge by a roundabout route which did not take himpast the house where, a few hours before, he had seen the last fragmentof his idol shattered beyond the hope of repair. 

The party broke up at an early hour, since most of the guests wereworking-people, and the travelers were to make an early start next day. About nine in the morning, Wain drove round to Mis' Molly's. Rena'strunk was strapped behind the buggy, and she set out, in the company ofWain, for her new field of labor. The school term was only two monthsin length, and she did not expect to return until its expiration. Justbefore taking her seat in the buggy, Rena felt a sudden sinking of theheart. 

"Oh, mother, " she whispered, as they stood wrapped in a close embrace, "I'm afraid to leave you. I left you once, and it turned out somiserably. "

"It'll turn out better this time, honey, " replied her mothersoothingly. "Good-by, child. Take care of yo'self an' yo'r money, andwrite to yo'r mammy. "

One kiss all round, and Rena was lifted into the buggy. Wain seizedthe reins, and under his skillful touch the pretty mare began to pranceand curvet with restrained impatience. Wain could not resist theopportunity to show off before the party, which included Mary B. 'sentire family and several other neighbors, who had gathered to see thetravelers off. 

"Good-by ter Patesville! Good-by, folkses all!" he cried, with a waveof his disengaged hand. 

"Good-by, mother! Good-by, all!" cried Rena, as with tears in herheart and a brave smile on her face she left her home behind her forthe second time. 

When they had crossed the river bridge, the travelers came to a longstretch of rising ground, from the summit of which they could look backover the white sandy road for nearly a mile. Neither Rena nor hercompanion saw Frank Fowler behind the chinquapin bush at the foot ofthe hill, nor the gaze of mute love and longing with which he watchedthe buggy mount the long incline. He had not been able to trusthimself to bid her farewell. He had seen her go away once before withevery prospect of happiness, and come back, a dove with a wounded wing, to the old nest behind the cedars. She was going away again, with aman whom he disliked and distrusted. If she had met misfortune before, what were her prospects for happiness now?

The buggy paused at the top of the hill, and Frank, shading his eyeswith his hand, thought he could see her turn and look behind. Lookback, dear child, towards your home and those who love you! For whoknows more than this faithful worshiper what threads of the past Fateis weaving into your future, or whether happiness or misery lies beforeyou?

XXV

BALANCE ALL

The road to Sampson County lay for the most part over the pine-cladsandhills, --an alternation of gentle rises and gradual descents, withnow and then a swamp of greater or less extent. Long stretches of thehighway led through the virgin forest, for miles unbroken by a clearingor sign of human habitation. 

They traveled slowly, with frequent pauses in shady places, for theweather was hot. The journey, made leisurely, required more than aday, and might with slight effort be prolonged into two. They stoppedfor the night at a small village, where Wain found lodging for Renawith an acquaintance of his, and for himself with another, while athird took charge of the horse, the accommodation for travelers beinglimited. Rena's appearance and manners were the subject of muchcomment. It was necessary to explain to several curious white peoplethat Rena was a woman of color. A white woman might have driven withWain without attracting remark, --most white ladies had negro coachmen. That a woman of Rena's complexion should eat at a negro's table, orsleep beneath a negro's roof, was a seeming breach of caste which onlyblack blood could excuse. The explanation was never questioned. Nowhite person of sound mind would ever claim to be a negro. 

They resumed their journey somewhat late in the morning. Rena wouldwillingly have hastened, for she was anxious to plunge into her newwork; but Wain seemed disposed to prolong the pleasant drive, andbeguiled the way for a time with stories of wonderful things he haddone and strange experiences of a somewhat checkered career. He wasshrewd enough to avoid any subject which would offend a modest youngwoman, but too obtuse to perceive that much of what he said would notcommend him to a person of refinement. He made little reference to hispossessions, concerning which so much had been said at Patesville; andthis reticence was a point in his favor. If he had not been so muchupon his guard and Rena so much absorbed by thoughts of her futurework, such a drive would have furnished a person of her discernment avery fair measure of the man's character. To these distractions must beadded the entire absence of any idea that Wain might have amorousdesigns upon her; and any shortcomings of manners or speech wereexcused by the broad mantle of charity which Rena in her new-found zealfor the welfare of her people was willing to throw over all theirfaults. They were the victims of oppression; they were not responsiblefor its results. 

Toward the end of the second day, while nearing their destination, thetravelers passed a large white house standing back from the road at thefoot of a lane. Around it grew widespreading trees and well-keptshrubbery. The fences were in good repair. Behind the house andacross the road stretched extensive fields of cotton and waving corn. They had passed no other place that showed such signs of thrift andprosperity. 

"Oh, what a lovely place!" exclaimed Rena. "That is yours, isn't it?"

"No; we ain't got to my house yet, " he answered. "Dat house b'longster de riches' people roun' here. Dat house is over in de nex' county. We're right close to de line now. "

Shortly afterwards they turned off from the main highway they had beenpursuing, and struck into a narrower road to the left. 

"De main road, " explained Wain, "goes on to Clinton, 'bout five mileser mo' away. Dis one we're turnin' inter now will take us to my place, which is 'bout three miles fu'ther on. We'll git dere now in an hourer so. "

Wain lived in an old plantation house, somewhat dilapidated, andsurrounded by an air of neglect and shiftlessness, but still preservinga remnant of dignity in its outlines and comfort in its interiorarrangements. Rena was assigned a large room on the second floor. Shewas somewhat surprised at the make-up of the household. Wain'smother--an old woman, much darker than her son--kept house for him. Asister with two children lived in the house. The element of surpriselay in the presence of two small children left by Wain's wife, of whomRena now heard for the first time. He had lost his wife, he informedRena sadly, a couple of years before. 

"Yas, Miss Rena, " she sighed, "de Lawd give her, an' de Lawd tuck heraway. Blessed be de name er de Lawd. " He accompanied this sententiousquotation with a wicked look from under his half-closed eyelids thatRena did not see. 

The following morning Wain drove her in his buggy over to the countytown, where she took the teacher's examination. She was given a seatin a room with a number of other candidates for certificates, but thefact leaking out from some remark of Wain's that she was a coloredgirl, objection was quietly made by several of the would-be teachers toher presence in the room, and she was requested to retire until thewhite teachers should have been examined. An hour or two later she wasgiven a separate examination, which she passed without difficulty. Theexaminer, a gentleman of local standing, was dimly conscious that shemight not have found her exclusion pleasant, and was especially polite. It would have been strange, indeed, if he had not been impressed by hersweet face and air of modest dignity, which were all the more strikingbecause of her social disability. He fell into conversation with her, became interested in her hopes and aims, and very cordially offered tobe of service, if at any time he might, in connection with her school. 

"You have the satisfaction, " he said, "of receiving the onlyfirst-grade certificate issued to-day. You might teach a higher gradeof pupils than you will find at Sandy Run, but let us hope that you mayin time raise them to your own level. "

"Which I doubt very much, " he muttered to himself, as she went awaywith Wain. "What a pity that such a woman should be a nigger! If shewere anything to me, though, I should hate to trust her anywhere nearthat saddle-colored scoundrel. He's a thoroughly bad lot, and willbear watching. "

Rena, however, was serenely ignorant of any danger from theaccommodating Wain. Absorbed in her own thoughts and plans, she hadnot sought to look beneath the surface of his somewhat overdonepoliteness. In a few days she began her work as teacher, and sought toforget in the service of others the dull sorrow that still gnawed ather heart. 

XXVI

THE SCHOOLHOUSE IN THE WOODS

Blanche Leary, closely observant of Tryon's moods, marked a decidedchange in his manner after his return from his trip to Patesville. Hisformer moroseness had given way to a certain defiant lightness, brokennow and then by an involuntary sigh, but maintained so well, on thewhole, that his mother detected no lapses whatever. The change wascharacterized by another feature agreeable to both the women: Tryonshowed decidedly more interest than ever before in Miss Leary'ssociety. Within a week he asked her several times to play a selectionon the piano, displaying, as she noticed, a decided preference for gayand cheerful music, and several times suggesting a change when shechose pieces of a sentimental cast. More than once, during the secondweek after his return, he went out riding with her; she was a gracefulhorsewoman, perfectly at home in the saddle, and appearing to advantagein a riding-habit. She was aware that Tryon watched her now and then, with an eye rather critical than indulgent. 

"He is comparing me with some other girl, " she surmised. "I seem tostand the test very well. I wonder who the other is, and what was thetrouble?"

Miss Leary exerted all her powers to interest and amuse the man she hadset out to win, and who seemed nearer than ever before. Tryon, to hispleased surprise, discovered in her mind depths that he had neversuspected. She displayed a singular affinity for the tastes that werehis--he could not, of course, know how carefully she had studied them. The old wound, recently reopened, seemed to be healing rapidly, underconditions more conducive than before to perfect recovery. No longer, indeed, was he pursued by the picture of Rena discovered andunmasked--this he had definitely banished from the realm of sentimentto that of reason. The haunting image of Rena loving and beloved, amidthe harmonious surroundings of her brother's home, was not so readilydisplaced. Nevertheless, he reached in several weeks a point from whichhe could consider her as one thinks of a dear one removed by the handof death, or smitten by some incurable ailment of mind or body. Erelong, he fondly believed, the recovery would be so far complete thathe could consign to the tomb of pleasant memories even the mostthrilling episodes of his ill-starred courtship. 

"George, " said Mrs. Tryon one morning while her son was in thischeerful mood, "I'm sending Blanche over to Major McLeod's to do anerrand for me. Would you mind driving her over? The road may be roughafter the storm last night, and Blanche has an idea that no one drivesso well as you. "

"Why, yes, mother, I'll be glad to drive Blanche over. I want to seethe major myself. "

They were soon bowling along between the pines, behind the handsomemare that had carried Tryon so well at the Clarence tournament. Presently he drew up sharply. 

"A tree has fallen squarely across the road, " he exclaimed. "We shallhave to turn back a little way and go around. "

They drove back a quarter of a mile and turned into a by-road leadingto the right through the woods. The solemn silence of the pine forestis soothing or oppressive, according to one's mood. Beneath the coolarcade of the tall, overarching trees a deep peace stole over Tryon'sheart. He had put aside indefinitely and forever an unhappy andimpossible love. The pretty and affectionate girl beside him wouldmake an ideal wife. Of her family and blood he was sure. She was hismother's choice, and his mother had set her heart upon their marriage. Why not speak to her now, and thus give himself the best possibleprotection against stray flames of love?

"Blanche, " he said, looking at her kindly. 

"Yes, George?" Her voice was very gentle, and slightly tremulous. Could she have divined his thought? Love is a great clairvoyant. 

"Blanche, dear, I"--

A clatter of voices broke upon the stillness of the forest andinterrupted Tryon's speech. A sudden turn to the left brought thebuggy to a little clearing, in the midst of which stood a small logschoolhouse. Out of the schoolhouse a swarm of colored children wereemerging, the suppressed energy of the school hour finding vent invocal exercise of various sorts. A group had already formed a ring, and were singing with great volume and vigor:--

 "Miss Jane, she loves sugar an' tea, Miss Jane, she loves candy. Miss Jane, she can whirl all around An' kiss her love quite handy. 

 "De oak grows tall, De pine grows slim, So rise you up, my true love, An' let me come in. "

"What a funny little darkey!" exclaimed Miss Leary, pointing to adiminutive lad who was walking on his hands, with his feet balanced inthe air. At sight of the buggy and its occupants this sable acrobat, still retaining his inverted position, moved toward the newcomers, and, reversing himself with a sudden spring, brought up standing beside thebuggy. 

"Hoddy, Mars Geo'ge!" he exclaimed, bobbing his head and kicking hisheel out behind in approved plantation style. 

"Hello, Plato, " replied the young man, "what are you doing here?"

"Gwine ter school, Mars Geo'ge, " replied the lad; "larnin' ter read an'write, suh, lack de w'ite folks. "

"Wat you callin' dat w'ite man marster fur?" whispered a tall yellowboy to the acrobat addressed as Plato. "You don' b'long ter him nomo'; you're free, an' ain' got sense ernuff ter know it. "

Tryon threw a small coin to Plato, and holding another in his handsuggestively, smiled toward the tall yellow boy, who looked regretfullyat the coin, but stood his ground; he would call no man master, noteven for a piece of money. 

During this little colloquy, Miss Leary had kept her face turned towardthe schoolhouse. 

"What a pretty girl!" she exclaimed. "There, " she added, as Tryonturned his head toward her, "you are too late. She has retired intoher castle. Oh, Plato!"

"Yas, missis, " replied Plato, who was prancing round the buggy in greatglee, on the strength of his acquaintance with the white folks. 

"Is your teacher white?"

"No, ma'm, she ain't w'ite; she's black. She looks lack she's w'ite, but she's black. "

Tryon had not seen the teacher's face, but the incident had jarred theold wound; Miss Leary's description of the teacher, together withPlato's characterization, had stirred lightly sleeping memories. Hewas more or less abstracted during the remainder of the drive, and didnot recur to the conversation that had been interrupted by coming uponthe schoolhouse. 

The teacher, glancing for a moment through the open door of theschoolhouse, had seen a handsome young lady staring at her, --Miss Learyhad a curiously intent look when she was interested in anything, withno intention whatever to be rude, --and beyond the lady the back andshoulder of a man, whose face was turned the other way. There was avague suggestion of something familiar about the equipage, but Renashrank from this close scrutiny and withdrew out of sight before shehad had an opportunity to identify the vague resemblance to somethingshe had known. 

Miss Leary had missed by a hair's-breadth the psychological moment, andfelt some resentment toward the little negroes who had interrupted herlover's train of thought. Negroes have caused a great deal of troubleamong white people. How deeply the shadow of the Ethiopian had fallenupon her own happiness, Miss Leary of course could not guess. 

XXVII

AN INTERESTING ACQUAINTANCE

A few days later, Rena looked out of the window near her desk and saw alow basket phaeton, drawn by a sorrel pony, driven sharply into theclearing and drawn up beside an oak sapling. The occupant of thephaeton, a tall, handsome, well-preserved lady in middle life, withslightly gray hair, alighted briskly from the phaeton, tied the pony tothe sapling with a hitching-strap, and advanced to the schoolhouse door. 

Rena wondered who the lady might be. She had a benevolent aspect, however, and came forward to the desk with a smile, not at allembarrassed by the wide-eyed inspection of the entire school. 

"How do you do?" she said, extending her hand to the teacher. "I livein the neighborhood and am interested in the colored people--a goodmany of them once belonged to me. I heard something of your school, and thought I should like to make your acquaintance. "

"It is very kind of you, indeed, " murmured Rena respectfully. 

"Yes, " continued the lady, "I am not one of those who sit back andblame their former slaves because they were freed. They are freenow, --it is all decided and settled, --and they ought to be taughtenough to enable them to make good use of their freedom. But really, my dear, --you mustn't feel offended if I make a mistake, --I am going toask you something very personal. " She looked suggestively at thegaping pupils. 

"The school may take the morning recess now, " announced the teacher. The pupils filed out in an orderly manner, most of them stationingthemselves about the grounds in such places as would keep the teacherand the white lady in view. Very few white persons approved of thecolored schools; no other white person had ever visited this one. 

"Are you really colored?" asked the lady, when the children hadwithdrawn. 

A year and a half earlier, Rena would have met the question by somedisplay of self-consciousness. Now, she replied simply and directly. 

"Yes, ma'am, I am colored. "

The lady, who had been studying her as closely as good manners wouldpermit, sighed regretfully. 

"Well, it's a shame. No one would ever think it. If you chose toconceal it, no one would ever be the wiser. What is your name, child, and where were you brought up? You must have a romantic history. "

Rena gave her name and a few facts in regard to her past. The lady wasso much interested, and put so many and such searching questions, thatRena really found it more difficult to suppress the fact that she hadbeen white, than she had formerly had in hiding her African origin. There was about the girl an air of real refinement that pleased thelady, --the refinement not merely of a fine nature, but of contact withcultured people; a certain reserve of speech and manner quiteinconsistent with Mrs. Tryon's experience of colored women. The ladywas interested and slightly mystified. A generous, impulsivespirit, --her son's own mother, --she made minute inquiries about theschool and the pupils, several of whom she knew by name. Rena statedthat the two months' term was nearing its end, and that she wastraining the children in various declamations and dialogues for theexhibition at the close. 

"I shall attend it, " declared the lady positively. "I'm sure you aredoing a good work, and it's very noble of you to undertake it when youmight have a very different future. If I can serve you at any time, don't hesitate to call upon me. I live in the big white house justbefore you turn out of the Clinton road to come this way. I'm only awidow, but my son George lives with me and has some influence in theneighborhood. He drove by here yesterday with the lady he is going tomarry. It was she who told me about you. "

Was it the name, or some subtle resemblance in speech or feature, thatrecalled Tryon's image to Rena's mind? It was not so far away--theimage of the loving Tryon--that any powerful witchcraft was required tocall it up. His mother was a widow; Rena had thought, in happier days, that she might be such a kind lady as this. But the cruel Tryon whohad left her--his mother would be some hard, cold, proud woman, whowould regard a negro as but little better than a dog, and who would notsoil her lips by addressing a colored person upon any other terms thanas a servant. She knew, too, that Tryon did not live in SampsonCounty, though the exact location of his home was not clear to her. 

"And where are you staying, my dear?" asked the good lady. 

"I'm boarding at Mrs. Wain's, " answered Rena. 

"Mrs. Wain's?"

"Yes, they live in the old Campbell place. "

"Oh, yes--Aunt Nancy. She's a good enough woman, but we don't thinkmuch of her son Jeff. He married my Amanda after the war--she used tobelong to me, and ought to have known better. He abused her mostshamefully, and had to be threatened with the law. She left him a yearor so ago and went away; I haven't seen her lately. Well, good-by, child; I'm coming to your exhibition. If you ever pass my house, comein and see me. "

The good lady had talked for half an hour, and had brought a ray ofsunshine into the teacher's monotonous life, heretofore lighted only bythe uncertain lamp of high resolve. She had satisfied a pardonablecuriosity, and had gone away without mentioning her name. 

Rena saw Plato untying the pony as the lady climbed into the phaeton. 

"Who was the lady, Plato?" asked the teacher when the visitor haddriven away. 

"Dat 'uz my ole mist'iss, ma'm, " returned Plato proudly, --"ole Mis''Liza. "

"Mis' 'Liza who?" asked Rena. 

"Mis' 'Liza Tryon. I use' ter b'long ter her. Dat 'uz her son, myyoung Mars Geo'ge, w'at driv pas' hyuh yistiddy wid 'is sweetheart. "

XXVIII

THE LOST KNIFE

Rena had found her task not a difficult one so far as discipline wasconcerned. Her pupils were of a docile race, and school to them hadall the charm of novelty. The teacher commanded some awe because shewas a stranger, and some, perhaps, because she was white; for thetheory of blackness as propounded by Plato could not quitecounter-balance in the young African mind the evidence of their ownsenses. She combined gentleness with firmness; and if these had notbeen sufficient, she had reserves of character which would have givenher the mastery over much less plastic material than these ignorant buteager young people. The work of instruction was simple enough, for mostof the pupils began with the alphabet, which they acquired fromWebster's blue-backed spelling-book, the palladium of Southerneducation at that epoch. The much abused carpet-baggers had put thespelling-book within reach of every child of school age in NorthCarolina, --a fact which is often overlooked when the carpet-baggers areheld up to public odium. Even the devil should have his due, and isnot so black as he is painted. 

At the time when she learned that Tryon lived in the neighborhood, Renahad already been subjected for several weeks to a trying ordeal. Wainhad begun to persecute her with marked attentions. She had at firstgone to board at his house, --or, by courtesy, with his mother. For aweek or two she had considered his attentions in no other light thanthose of a member of the school committee sharing her own zeal andinterested in seeing the school successfully carried on. In thischaracter Wain had driven her to the town for her examination; he hadbusied himself about putting the schoolhouse in order, and in variousmatters affecting the conduct of the school. He had jocularly offeredto come and whip the children for her, and had found it convenient todrop in occasionally, ostensibly to see what progress the work wasmaking. 

"Dese child'en, " he would observe sonorously, in the presence of theschool, "oughter be monst'ous glad ter have de chance er settin' underyo' instruction, Miss Rena. I'm sho' eve'body in dis neighbo'hood'preciates de priv'lege er havin' you in ou' mids'. "

Though slightly embarrassing to the teacher, these publicdemonstrations were endurable so long as they could be regarded as mereofficial appreciation of her work. Sincerely in earnest about herundertaking, she had plunged into it with all the intensity of aserious nature which love had stirred to activity. A pessimist mighthave sighed sadly or smiled cynically at the notion that a poor, weakgirl, with a dangerous beauty and a sensitive soul, and troubles enoughof her own, should hope to accomplish anything appreciable towardlifting the black mass still floundering in the mud where slavery hadleft it, and where emancipation had found it, --the mud in which, foraught that could be seen to the contrary, her little feet, too, werehopelessly entangled. It might have seemed like expecting a man tolift himself by his boot-straps. 

But Rena was no philosopher, either sad or cheerful. She could noteven have replied to this argument, that races must lift themselves, and the most that can be done by others is to give them opportunity andfair play. Hers was a simpler reasoning, --the logic by which the worldis kept going onward and upward when philosophers are at odds andreformers are not forthcoming. She knew that for every child shetaught to read and write she opened, if ever so little, the door ofopportunity, and she was happy in the consciousness of performing aduty which seemed all the more imperative because newly discovered. Her zeal, indeed, for the time being was like that of an earlyChristian, who was more willing than not to die for his faith. Renahad fully and firmly made up her mind to sacrifice her life upon thisaltar. Her absorption in the work had not been without its reward, forthereby she had been able to keep at a distance the spectre of her lostlove. Her dreams she could not control, but she banished Tryon as faras possible from her waking thoughts. 

When Wain's attentions became obviously personal, Rena's new vestalinstinct took alarm, and she began to apprehend his character moreclearly. She had long ago learned that his pretensions to wealth were asham. He was nominal owner of a large plantation, it is true; but theland was worn out, and mortgaged to the limit of its security value. His reputed droves of cattle and hogs had dwindled to a mere handful oflean and listless brutes. 

Her clear eye, when once set to take Wain's measure, soon fathomed hisshallow, selfish soul, and detected, or at least divined, behind hismask of good-nature a lurking brutality which filled her with vaguedistrust, needing only occasion to develop it into activeapprehension, --occasion which was not long wanting. She avoided beingalone with him at home by keeping carefully with the women of thehouse. If she were left alone, --and they soon showed a tendency toleave her on any pretext whenever Wain came near, --she would seek herown room and lock the door. She preferred not to offend Wain; she wasfar away from home and in a measure in his power, but she dreaded hiscompliments and sickened at his smile. She was also compelled to hearhis relations sing his praises. 

"My son Jeff, " old Mrs. Wain would say, "is de bes' man you ever seed. His fus' wife had de easies' time an' de happies' time er ary woman indis settlement. He's grieve' fer her a long time, but I reckon he'sgittin' over it, an' de nex' 'oman w'at marries him'll git a box erpyo' gol', ef I does say it as is his own mammy. "

Rena had thought Wain rather harsh with his household, except in herimmediate presence. His mother and sister seemed more or less afraidof him, and the children often anxious to avoid him. 

One day, he timed his visit to the schoolhouse so as to walk home withRena through the woods. When she became aware of his purpose, shecalled to one of the children who was loitering behind the others, "Wait a minute, Jenny. I'm going your way, and you can walk along withme. "

Wain with difficulty hid a scowl behind a smiling front. When they hadgone a little distance along the road through the woods, he clapped hishand upon his pocket. 

"I declare ter goodness, " he exclaimed, "ef I ain't dropped mypocket-knife! I thought I felt somethin' slip th'ough dat hole in mypocket jes' by the big pine stump in the schoolhouse ya'd. Jinny, chile, run back an' hunt fer my knife, an' I'll give yer five cents efyer find it. Me an' Miss Rena'll walk on slow 'tel you ketches us. "

Rena did not dare to object, though she was afraid to be alone withthis man. If she could have had a moment to think, she would havevolunteered to go back with Jenny and look for the knife, which, although a palpable subterfuge on her part, would have been one towhich Wain could not object; but the child, dazzled by the prospect ofreward, had darted back so quickly that this way of escape was cut off. She was evidently in for a declaration of love, which she had takeninfinite pains to avoid. Just the form it would assume, she could notforesee. She was not long left in suspense. No sooner was the childwell out of sight than Wain threw his arms suddenly about her waist andsmilingly attempted to kiss her. 

Speechless with fear and indignation, she tore herself from his graspwith totally unexpected force, and fled incontinently along the forestpath. Wain--who, to do him justice, had merely meant to declare hispassion in what he had hoped might prove a not unacceptablefashion--followed in some alarm, expostulating and apologizing as hewent. But he was heavy and Rena was light, and fear lent wings to herfeet. He followed her until he saw her enter the house of ElderJohnson, the father of several of her pupils, after which he sneakeduneasily homeward, somewhat apprehensive of the consequences of hisabrupt wooing, which was evidently open to an unfavorable construction. When, an hour later, Rena sent one of the Johnson children for some ofher things, with a message explaining that the teacher had been invitedto spend a few days at Elder Johnson's, Wain felt a pronounced measureof relief. For an hour he had even thought it might be better torelinquish his pursuit. With a fatuousness born of vanity, however, nosooner had she sent her excuse than he began to look upon her visit toJohnson's as a mere exhibition of coyness, which, together with herconduct in the woods, was merely intended to lure him on. 

Right upon the heels of the perturbation caused by Wain's conduct, Renadiscovered that Tryon lived in the neighborhood; that not only mightshe meet him any day upon the highway, but that he had actually drivenby the schoolhouse. That he knew or would know of her proximity therecould be no possible doubt, since she had freely told his mother hername and her home. A hot wave of shame swept over her at the thoughtthat George Tryon might imagine she were following him, throwingherself in his way, and at the thought of the construction which hemight place upon her actions. Caught thus between two emotional fires, at the very time when her school duties, owing to the approachingexhibition, demanded all her energies, Rena was subjected to a physicaland mental strain that only youth and health could have resisted, andthen only for a short time. 

XXIX

PLATO EARNS HALF A DOLLAR

Tryon's first feeling, when his mother at the dinner-table gave anaccount of her visit to the schoolhouse in the woods, was one ofextreme annoyance. Why, of all created beings, should this particularwoman be chosen to teach the colored school at Sandy Run? Had shelearned that he lived in the neighborhood, and had she sought the placehoping that he might consent to renew, on different terms, relationswhich could never be resumed upon their former footing? Six weeksbefore, he would not have believed her capable of following him; buthis last visit to Patesville had revealed her character in such a lightthat it was difficult to predict what she might do. It was, however, no affair of his. He was done with her; he had dismissed her from hisown life, where she had never properly belonged, and he had filled herplace, or would soon fill it, with another and worthier woman. Evenhis mother, a woman of keen discernment and delicate intuitions, hadbeen deceived by this girl's specious exterior. She had brought awayfrom her interview of the morning the impression that Rena was a fine, pure spirit, born out of place, through some freak of Fate, devotingherself with heroic self-sacrifice to a noble cause. Well, he hadimagined her just as pure and fine, and she had deliberately, with anegro's low cunning, deceived him into believing that she was a whitegirl. The pretended confession of the brother, in which he had spokenof the humble origin of the family, had been, consciously orunconsciously, the most disingenuous feature of the whole miserableperformance. They had tried by a show of frankness to satisfy theirown consciences, --they doubtless had enough of white blood to give thema rudimentary trace of such a moral organ, --and by the same act todisarm him against future recriminations, in the event of possiblediscovery. How was he to imagine that persons of their appearance andpretensions were tainted with negro blood? The more he dwelt upon thesubject, the more angry he became with those who had surprised hisvirgin heart and deflowered it by such low trickery. The man whobrought the first negro into the British colonies had committed a crimeagainst humanity and a worse crime against his own race. The father ofthis girl had been guilty of a sin against society for whichothers--for which he, George Tryon--must pay the penalty. As slaves, negroes were tolerable. As freemen, they were an excrescence, an alienelement incapable of absorption into the body politic of white men. Hewould like to send them all back to the Africa from which theirforefathers had come, --unwillingly enough, he would admit, --and hewould like especially to banish this girl from his own neighborhood;not indeed that her presence would make any difference to him, exceptas a humiliating reminder of his own folly and weakness with which hecould very well dispense. 

Of this state of mind Tryon gave no visible manifestation beyond acertain taciturnity, so much at variance with his recent livelinessthat the ladies could not fail to notice it. No effort upon the partof either was able to affect his mood, and they both resignedthemselves to await his lordship's pleasure to be companionable. 

For a day or two, Tryon sedulously kept away from the neighborhood ofthe schoolhouse at Sandy Rim. He really had business which would havetaken him in that direction, but made a detour of five miles ratherthan go near his abandoned and discredited sweetheart. 

But George Tryon was wisely distrustful of his own impulses. Drivingone day along the road to Clinton, he overhauled a diminutive blackfigure trudging along the road, occasionally turning a handspring byway of diversion. 

"Hello, Plato, " called Tryon, "do you want a lift?"

"Hoddy, Mars Geo'ge. Kin I ride wid you?"

"Jump up. "

Plato mounted into the buggy with the agility to be expected from a ladof his acrobatic accomplishments. The two almost immediately fell intoconversation upon perhaps the only subject of common interest betweenthem. Before the town was reached, Tryon knew, so far as Plato couldmake it plain, the estimation in which the teacher was held by pupilsand parents. He had learned the hours of opening and dismissal of theschool, where the teacher lived, her habits of coming to and going fromthe schoolhouse, and the road she always followed. 

"Does she go to church or anywhere else with Jeff Wain, Plato?" askedTryon. 

"No, suh, she don' go nowhar wid nobody excep'n' ole Elder Johnson erMis' Johnson, an' de child'en. She use' ter stop at Mis' Wain's, butshe's stayin' wid Elder Johnson now. She alluz makes some er dechild'en go home wid er f'm school, " said Plato, proud to find in MarsGeo'ge an appreciative listener, --"sometimes one an' sometimes anudder. I's be'n home wid 'er twice, ann it'll be my tu'n ag'in befo' long. "

"Plato, " remarked Tryon impressively, as they drove into the town, "doyou think you could keep a secret?"

"Yas, Mars Geo'ge, ef you says I shill. "

"Do you see this fifty-cent piece?" Tryon displayed a small piece ofpaper money, crisp and green in its newness. 

"Yas, Mars Geo'ge, " replied Plato, fixing his eyes respectfully on thegovernment's promise to pay. Fifty cents was a large sum of money. His acquaintance with Mars Geo'ge gave him the privilege of looking atmoney. When he grew up, he would be able, in good times, to earn fiftycents a day. 

"I am going to give this to you, Plato. "

Plato's eyes opened wide as saucers. "Me, Mars Geo'ge?" he asked inamazement. 

"Yes, Plato. I'm going to write a letter while I'm in town, and wantyou to take it. Meet me here in half an hour, and I'll give you theletter. Meantime, keep your mouth shut. "

"Yas, Mars Geo'ge, " replied Plato with a grin that distended that organunduly. That he did not keep it shut may be inferred from the factthat within the next half hour he had eaten and drunk fifty cents'worth of candy, ginger-pop, and other available delicacies thatappealed to the youthful palate. Having nothing more to spend, and thehigh prices prevailing for some time after the war having left himcapable of locomotion, Plato was promptly on hand at the appointed timeand place. 

Tryon placed a letter in Plato's hand, still sticky with molassescandy, --he had inclosed it in a second cover by way of protection. "Give that letter, " he said, "to your teacher; don't say a word aboutit to a living soul; bring me an answer, and give it into my own hand, and you shall have another half dollar. "

Tryon was quite aware that by a surreptitious correspondence he ransome risk of compromising Rena. But he had felt, as soon as he hadindulged his first opportunity to talk of her, an irresistible impulseto see her and speak to her again. He could scarcely call at herboarding-place, --what possible proper excuse could a young white manhave for visiting a colored woman? At the schoolhouse she would besurrounded by her pupils, and a private interview would be asdifficult, with more eyes to remark and more tongues to comment uponit. He might address her by mail, but did not know how often she sentto the nearest post-office. A letter mailed in the town must passthrough the hands of a postmaster notoriously inquisitive andevil-minded, who was familiar with Tryon's handwriting and had ampletime to attend to other people's business. To meet the teacher aloneon the road seemed scarcely feasible, according to Plato's statement. A messenger, then, was not only the least of several evils, but reallythe only practicable way to communicate with Rena. He thought he couldtrust Plato, though miserably aware that he could not trust himselfwhere this girl was concerned. 

The letter handed by Tryon to Plato, and by the latter delivered withdue secrecy and precaution, ran as follows:--

DEAR MISS WARWICK, --You may think it strange that I should address youafter what has passed between us; but learning from my mother of yourpresence in the neighborhood, I am constrained to believe that you donot find my proximity embarrassing, and I cannot resist the wish tomeet you at least once more, and talk over the circumstances of ourformer friendship. From a practical point of view this may seemsuperfluous, as the matter has been definitely settled. I have nodesire to find fault with you; on the contrary, I wish to set myselfright with regard to my own actions, and to assure you of my goodwishes. In other words, since we must part, I would rather we partedfriends than enemies. If nature and society--or Fate, to put itanother way--have decreed that we cannot live together, it isnevertheless possible that we may carry into the future a pleasantthough somewhat sad memory of a past friendship. Will you not grant meone interview? I appreciate the difficulty of arranging it; I havefound it almost as hard to communicate with you by letter. I will suitmyself to your convenience and meet you at any time and place you maydesignate. Please answer by bearer, who I think is trustworthy, andbelieve me, whatever your answer may be, Respectfully yours, G. T. 

The next day but one Tryon received through the mail the followingreply to his letter:--

GEORGE TRYON, ESQ. 

Dear Sir, --I have requested your messenger to say that I will answeryour letter by mail, which I shall now proceed to do. I assure youthat I was entirely ignorant of your residence in this neighborhood, orit would have been the last place on earth in which I should have setfoot. 

As to our past relations, they were ended by your own act. I franklyconfess that I deceived you; I have paid the penalty, and have nocomplaint to make. I appreciate the delicacy which has made yourespect my brother's secret, and thank you for it. I remember thewhole affair with shame and humiliation, and would willingly forget it. 

As to a future interview, I do not see what good it would do either ofus. You are white, and you have given me to understand that I amblack. I accept the classification, however unfair, and theconsequences, however unjust, one of which is that we cannot meet inthe same parlor, in the same church, at the same table, or anywhere, insocial intercourse; upon a steamboat we would not sit at the sametable; we could not walk together on the street, or meet publiclyanywhere and converse, without unkind remark. As a white man, thismight not mean a great deal to you; as a woman, shut out already by mycolor from much that is desirable, my good name remains my mostvaluable possession. I beg of you to let me alone. The best possibleproof you can give me of your good wishes is to relinquish any desireor attempt to see me. I shall have finished my work here in a fewdays. I have other troubles, of which you know nothing, and anymeeting with you would only add to a burden which is already as much asI can bear. To speak of parting is superfluous--we have alreadyparted. It were idle to dream of a future friendship between people sowidely different in station. Such a friendship, if possible in itself, would never be tolerated by the lady whom you are to marry, with whomyou drove by my schoolhouse the other day. A gentleman so loyal to hisrace and its traditions as you have shown yourself could not be lessfaithful to the lady to whom he has lost his heart and his memory inthree short months. 

No, Mr. Tryon, our romance is ended, and better so. We could neverhave been happy. I have found a work in which I may be of service toothers who have fewer opportunities than mine have been. Leave me inpeace, I beseech you, and I shall soon pass out of your neighborhood asI have passed out of your life, and hope to pass out of your memory. 

 Yours very truly, ROWENA WALDEN. 

XXX

AN UNUSUAL HONOR

To Rena's high-strung and sensitive nature, already under very greattension from her past experience, the ordeal of the next few days was asevere one. On the one hand, Jeff Wain's infatuation had rapidlyincreased, in view of her speedy departure. From Mrs. Tryon's remarkabout Wain's wife Amanda, and from things Rena had since learned, shehad every reason to believe that this wife was living, and that Wainmust be aware of the fact. In the light of this knowledge, Wain'sformer conduct took on a blacker significance than, upon reflection, she had charitably clothed it with after the first flush ofindignation. That he had not given up his design to make love to herwas quite apparent, and, with Amanda alive, his attentions, alwaysoffensive since she had gathered their import, became in her eyes theexpression of a villainous purpose, of which she could not speak toothers, and from which she felt safe only so long as she took properprecautions against it. In a week her school would be over, and thenshe would get Elder Johnson, or some one else than Wain, to take herback to Patesville. True, she might abandon her school and go at once;but her work would be incomplete, she would have violated her contract, she would lose her salary for the month, explanations would benecessary, and would not be forthcoming. She might feignsickness, --indeed, it would scarcely be feigning, for she felt far fromwell; she had never, since her illness, quite recovered her formervigor--but the inconvenience to others would be the same, and herself-sacrifice would have had, at its very first trial, a lame andimpotent conclusion. She had as yet no fear of personal violence fromWain; but, under the circumstances, his attentions were an insult. Hewas evidently bent upon conquest, and vain enough to think he mightachieve it by virtue of his personal attractions. If he could haveunderstood how she loathed the sight of his narrow eyes, with theirpuffy lids, his thick, tobacco-stained lips, his doubtful teeth, andhis unwieldy person, Wain, a monument of conceit that he was, mighthave shrunk, even in his own estimation, to something like his realproportions. Rena believed that, to defend herself from persecution athis hands, it was only necessary that she never let him find her alone. This, however, required constant watchfulness. Relying upon his ownpowers, and upon a woman's weakness and aversion to scandal, from whichnot even the purest may always escape unscathed, and convinced by herformer silence that he had nothing serious to fear, Wain made it apoint to be present at every public place where she might be. Heassumed, in conversation with her which she could not avoid, and statedto others, that she had left his house because of a previous promise todivide the time of her stay between Elder Johnson's house and his own. He volunteered to teach a class in the Sunday-school which Renaconducted at the colored Methodist church, and when she remained toservice, occupied a seat conspicuously near her own. In addition tothese public demonstrations, which it was impossible to escape, or, itseemed, with so thick-skinned an individual as Wain, even todiscourage, she was secretly and uncomfortably conscious that she couldscarcely stir abroad without the risk of encountering one of two men, each of whom was on the lookout for an opportunity to find her alone. 

The knowledge of Tryon's presence in the vicinity had been almost asmuch as Rena could bear. To it must be added the consciousness thathe, too, was pursuing her, to what end she could not tell. After hisletter to her brother, and the feeling therein displayed, she found itnecessary to crush once or twice a wild hope that, her secret beingstill unknown save to a friendly few, he might return and claim her. Now, such an outcome would be impossible. He had become engaged toanother woman, --this in itself would be enough to keep him from her, ifit were not an index of a vastly more serious barrier, a proof that hehad never loved her. If he had loved her truly, he would never haveforgotten her in three short months, --three long months they hadheretofore seemed to her, for in them she had lived a lifetime ofexperience. Another impassable barrier lay in the fact that his motherhad met her, and that she was known in the neighborhood. Thus cut offfrom any hope that she might be anything to him, she had no wish tomeet her former lover; no possible good could come of such a meeting;and yet her fluttering heart told her that if he should come, as hisletter foreshadowed that he might, --if he should come, the lovingGeorge of old, with soft words and tender smiles and specious talk offriendship--ah! then, her heart would break! She must not meet him--atany cost she must avoid him. 

But this heaping up of cares strained her endurance to thebreaking-point. Toward the middle of the last week, she knew that shehad almost reached the limit, and was haunted by a fear that she mightbreak down before the week was over. Now her really fine nature roseto the emergency, though she mustered her forces with a great effort. If she could keep Wain at his distance and avoid Tryon for three dayslonger, her school labors would be ended and she might retire in peaceand honor. 

"Miss Rena, " said Plato to her on Tuesday, "ain't it 'bout time I wuzgwine home wid you ag'in?"

"You may go with me to-morrow, Plato, " answered the teacher. 

After school Plato met an anxious eyed young man in the woods a shortdistance from the schoolhouse. 

"Well, Plato, what news?"

"I's gwine ter see her home ter-morrer, Mars Geo'ge. "

"To-morrow!" replied Tryon; "how very fortunate! I wanted you to go totown to-morrow to take an important message for me. I'm sorry, Plato--you might have earned another dollar. "

To lie is a disgraceful thing, and yet there are times when, to alover's mind, love dwarfs all ordinary laws. Plato scratched his headdisconsolately, but suddenly a bright thought struck him. 

"Can't I go ter town fer you atter I've seed her home, Mars Geo'ge?"

"N-o, I'm afraid it would be too late, " returned Tryon doubtfully. 

"Den I'll haf ter ax 'er ter lemme go nex' day, " said Plato, withresignation. The honor might be postponed or, if necessary, foregone;the opportunity to earn a dollar was the chance of a lifetime and mustnot be allowed to slip. 

"No, Plato, " rejoined Tryon, shaking his head, "I shouldn't want todeprive you of so great a pleasure. " Tryon was entirely sincere inthis characterization of Plato's chance; he would have given many adollar to be sure of Plato's place and Plato's welcome. Rena's letterhad re-inflamed his smouldering passion; only opposition was needed tofan it to a white heat. Wherein lay the great superiority of hisposition, if he was denied the right to speak to the one person in theworld whom he most cared to address? He felt some dim realization ofthe tyranny of caste, when he found it not merely pressing upon aninferior people who had no right to expect anything better, but barringhis own way to something that he desired. He meant her no harm--but hemust see her. He could never marry her now--but he must see her. Hewas conscious of a certain relief at the thought that he had not askedBlanche Leary to be his wife. His hand was unpledged. He could notmarry the other girl, of course, but they must meet again. The rest hewould leave to Fate, which seemed reluctant to disentangle threadswhich it had woven so closely. 

"I think, Plato, that I see an easier way out of the difficulty. Yourteacher, I imagine, merely wants some one to see her safely home. Don't you think, if you should go part of the way, that I might takeyour place for the rest, while you did my errand?"

"Why, sho'ly, Mars Geo'ge, you could take keer er her better 'n Icould--better 'n anybody could--co'se you could!"

Mars Geo'ge was white and rich, and could do anything. Plato was proudof the fact that he had once belonged to Mars Geo'ge. He could notconceive of any one so powerful as Mars Geo'ge, unless it might be God, of whom Plato had heard more or less, and even here the comparisonmight not be quite fair to Mars Geo'ge, for Mars Geo'ge was the youngerof the two. It would undoubtedly be a great honor for the teacher tobe escorted home by Mars Geo'ge. The teacher was a great woman, nodoubt, and looked white; but Mars Geo'ge was the real article. MarsGeo'ge had never been known to go with a black woman before, and theteacher would doubtless thank Plato for arranging that so great anhonor should fall upon her. Mars Geo'ge had given him fifty centstwice, and would now give him a dollar. Noble Mars Geo'ge! Fortunateteacher! Happy Plato!

"Very well, Plato. I think we can arrange it so that you can kill thetwo rabbits at one shot. Suppose that we go over the road that she willtake to go home. "

They soon arrived at the schoolhouse. School had been out an hour, andthe clearing was deserted. Plato led the way by the road through thewoods to a point where, amid somewhat thick underbrush, another pathintersected the road they were following. 

"Now, Plato, " said Tryon, pausing here, "this would be a good spot foryou to leave the teacher and for me to take your place. This pathleads to the main road, and will take you to town very quickly. Ishouldn't say anything to the teacher about it at all; but when you andshe get here, drop behind and run along this path until you meetme, --I'll be waiting a few yards down the road, --and then run to townas fast as your legs will carry you. As soon as you are gone, I'llcome out and tell the teacher that I've sent you away on an errand, andwill myself take your place. You shall have a dollar, and I'll ask herto let you go home with her the next day. But you mustn't say a wordabout it, Plato, or you won't get the dollar, and I'll not ask theteacher to let you go home with her again. "

"All right, Mars Geo'ge, I ain't gwine ter say no mo' d'n ef de cat hadmy tongue. "

XXXI

IN DEEP WATERS

Rena was unusually fatigued at the close of her school on Wednesdayafternoon. She had been troubled all day with a headache, which, beginning with a dull pain, had gradually increased in intensity untilevery nerve was throbbing like a trip-hammer. The pupils seemedunusually stupid. A discouraging sense of the insignificance of anypart she could perform towards the education of three million peoplewith a school term of two months a year hung over her spirit like apall. As the object of Wain's attentions, she had begun to feelsomewhat like a wild creature who hears the pursuers on its track, andhas the fear of capture added to the fatigue of flight. But when thisexcitement had gone too far and had neared the limit of exhaustion cameTryon's letter, with the resulting surprise and consternation. Renahad keyed herself up to a heroic pitch to answer it; but when theinevitable reaction came, she was overwhelmed with a sickening sense ofher own weakness. The things which in another sphere had constitutedher strength and shield were now her undoing, and exposed her todangers from which they lent her no protection. Not only was this herposition in theory, but the pursuers were already at her heels. As theday wore on, these dark thoughts took on an added gloom, until, whenthe hour to dismiss school arrived, she felt as though she had not afriend in the world. This feeling was accentuated by a letter whichshe had that morning received from her mother, in which Mis' Mollyspoke very highly of Wain, and plainly expressed the hope that herdaughter might like him so well that she would prefer to remain inSampson County. 

Plato, bright-eyed and alert, was waiting in the school-yard until theteacher should be ready to start. Having warned away several smallerchildren who had hung around after school as though to share hisprerogative of accompanying the teacher, Plato had swung himself intothe low branches of an oak at the edge of the clearing, from which hewas hanging by his legs, head downward. He dropped from this reposefulattitude when the teacher appeared at the door, and took his place ather side. 

A premonition of impending trouble caused the teacher to hesitate. Shewished that she had kept more of the pupils behind. Somethingwhispered that danger lurked in the road she customarily followed. Plato seemed insignificantly small and weak, and she felt miserablyunable to cope with any difficult or untoward situation. 

"Plato, " she suggested, "I think we'll go round the other way to-night, if you don't mind. "

Visions of Mars Geo'ge disappointed, of a dollar unearned and unspent, flitted through the narrow brain which some one, with the irony ofignorance or of knowledge, had mocked with the name of a greatphilosopher. Plato was not an untruthful lad, but he seldom had theopportunity to earn a dollar. His imagination, spurred on by theinstinct of self-interest, rose to the emergency. 

"I's feared you mought git snake-bit gwine roun' dat way, Miss Rena. My brer Jim kill't a water-moccasin down dere yistiddy 'bout ten feetlong. "

Rena had a horror of snakes, with which the swamp by which the otherroad ran was infested. Snakes were a vivid reality; her presentimentwas probably a mere depression of spirits due to her condition ofnervous exhaustion. A cloud had come up and threatened rain, and thewind was rising ominously. The old way was the shorter; she wantedabove all things to get to Elder Johnson's and go to bed. Perhapssleep would rest her tired brain--she could not imagine herself feelingworse, unless she should break down altogether. 

She plunged into the path and hastened forward so as to reach homebefore the approaching storm. So completely was she absorbed in herown thoughts that she scarcely noticed that Plato himself seemedpreoccupied. Instead of capering along like a playful kitten or puppy, he walked by her side unusually silent. When they had gone a shortdistance and were approaching a path which intersected their road atsomething near a right angle, the teacher missed Plato. He had droppedbehind a moment before; now he had disappeared entirely. Her vaguealarm of a few moments before returned with redoubled force. 

"Plato!" she called; "Plato!"

There was no response, save the soughing of the wind through theswaying treetops. She stepped hastily forward, wondering if this weresome childish prank. If so, it was badly timed, and she would letPlato feel the weight of her displeasure. 

Her forward step had brought her to the junction of the two paths, where she paused doubtfully. The route she had been following was themost direct way home, but led for quite a distance through the forest, which she did not care to traverse alone. The intersecting path wouldsoon take her to the main road, where she might find shelter orcompany, or both. Glancing around again in search of her missingescort, she became aware that a man was approaching her from each ofthe two paths. In one she recognized the eager and excited face ofGeorge Tryon, flushed with anticipation of their meeting, and yet gravewith uncertainty of his reception. Advancing confidently along theother path she saw the face of Jeff Wain, drawn, as she imagined in heranguish, with evil passions which would stop at nothing. 

What should she do? There was no sign of Plato--for aught she couldsee or hear of him, the earth might have swallowed him up. Some deadlyserpent might have stung him. Some wandering rabbit might have temptedhim aside. Another thought struck her. Plato had been veryquiet--there had been something on his conscience--perhaps he hadbetrayed her! But to which of the two men, and to what end?

The problem was too much for her overwrought brain. She turned andfled. A wiser instinct might have led her forward. In the twoconflicting dangers she might have found safety. The road after allwas a public way. Any number of persons might meet there accidentally. But she saw only the darker side of the situation. To turn to Tryonfor protection before Wain had by some overt act manifested the evilpurpose which she as yet only suspected would be, she imagined, toacknowledge a previous secret acquaintance with Tryon, thus placing herreputation at Wain's mercy, and to charge herself with a burden ofobligation toward a man whom she wished to avoid and had refused tomeet. If, on the other hand, she should go forward to meet Wain, hewould undoubtedly offer to accompany her homeward. Tryon wouldinevitably observe the meeting, and suppose it prearranged. Not forthe world would she have him think so--why she should care for hisopinion, she did not stop to argue. She turned and fled, and to avoidpossible pursuit, struck into the underbrush at an angle which shecalculated would bring her in a few rods to another path which wouldlead quickly into the main road. She had run only a few yards when shefound herself in the midst of a clump of prickly shrubs and briars. Meantime the storm had burst; the rain fell in torrents. Extricatingherself from the thorns, she pressed forward, but instead of coming outupon the road, found herself penetrating deeper and deeper into theforest. 

The storm increased in violence. The air grew darker and darker. Itwas near evening, the clouds were dense, the thick woods increased thegloom. Suddenly a blinding flash of lightning pierced the darkness, followed by a sharp clap of thunder. There was a crash of fallingtimber. Terror-stricken, Rena flew forward through the forest, theunderbrush growing closer and closer as she advanced. Suddenly theearth gave way beneath her feet and she sank into a concealed morass. By clasping the trunk of a neighboring sapling she extricated herselfwith an effort, and realized with a horrible certainty that she waslost in the swamp. 

Turning, she tried to retrace her steps. A flash of lightningpenetrated the gloom around her, and barring her path she saw a hugeblack snake, --harmless enough, in fact, but to her excited imaginationfrightful in appearance. With a wild shriek she turned again, staggered forward a few yards, stumbled over a projecting root, andfell heavily to the earth. 

When Rena had disappeared in the underbrush, Tryon and Wain had eachinstinctively set out in pursuit of her, but owing to the gatheringdarkness, the noise of the storm, and the thickness of the underbrush, they missed not only Rena but each other, and neither was aware of theother's presence in the forest. Wain kept up the chase until the raindrove him to shelter. Tryon, after a few minutes, realized that shehad fled to escape him, and that to pursue her would be to defeatrather than promote his purpose. He desisted, therefore, and returningto the main road, stationed himself at a point where he could watchElder Johnson's house, and having waited for a while without any signsof Rena, concluded that she had taken refuge in some friendly cabin. Turning homeward disconsolately as night came on, he intercepted Platoon his way back from town, and pledged him to inviolable secrecy soeffectually that Plato, when subsequently questioned, merely answeredthat he had stopped a moment to gather some chinquapins, and when hehad looked around the teacher was gone. 

Rena not appearing at supper-time nor for an hour later, the elder, somewhat anxious, made inquiries about the neighborhood, and findinghis guest at no place where she might be expected to stop, becamesomewhat alarmed. Wain's house was the last to which he went. He hadsurmised that there was some mystery connected with her leaving Wain's, but had never been given any definite information about the matter. Inresponse to his inquiries, Wain expressed surprise, but betrayed acertain self-consciousness which did not escape the elder's eye. Returning home, he organized a search party from his own family andseveral near neighbors, and set out with dogs and torches to scour thewoods for the missing teacher. A couple of hours later, they found herlying unconscious in the edge of the swamp, only a few rods from awell-defined path which would soon have led her to the open highway. Strong arms lifted her gently and bore her home. Mrs. Johnsonundressed her and put her to bed, administering a homely remedy, ofwhich whiskey was the principal ingredient, to counteract the effectsof the exposure. There was a doctor within five miles, but no onethought of sending for him, nor was it at all likely that it would havebeen possible to get him for such a case at such an hour. 

Rena's illness, however, was more deeply seated than her friends couldimagine. A tired body, in sympathy with an overwrought brain, had lefther peculiarly susceptible to the nervous shock of her forestexperience. The exposure for several hours in her wet clothing to thedamps and miasma of the swamp had brought on an attack of brain fever. The next morning, she was delirious. One of the children took word tothe schoolhouse that the teacher was sick and there would be no schoolthat day. A number of curious and sympathetic people came in from timeto time and suggested various remedies, several of which old Mrs. Johnson, with catholic impartiality, administered to the helplessteacher, who from delirium gradually sunk into a heavy stupor scarcelydistinguishable from sleep. It was predicted that she would probablybe well in the morning; if not, it would then be time to considerseriously the question of sending for a doctor. 

XXXII

THE POWER OF LOVE

After Tryon's failure to obtain an interview with Rena through Plato'sconnivance, he decided upon a different course of procedure. In a fewdays her school term would be finished. He was not less desirous tosee her, was indeed as much more eager as opposition would be likely tomake a very young man who was accustomed to having his own way, andwhose heart, as he had discovered, was more deeply and permanentlyinvolved than he had imagined. His present plan was to wait until theend of the school; then, when Rena went to Clinton on the Saturday orMonday to draw her salary for the month, he would see her in the town, or, if necessary, would follow her to Patesville. No power on earthshould keep him from her long, but he had no desire to interfere in anyway with the duty which she owed to others. When the school was overand her work completed, then he would have his innings. Writingletters was too unsatisfactory a method of communication--he must seeher face to face. 

The first of his three days of waiting had passed, when, about teno'clock on the morning of the second day, which seemed very long inprospect, while driving along the road toward Clinton, he met Plato, with a rabbit trap in his hand. 

"Well, Plato, " he asked, "why are you absent from the classic shades ofthe academy to-day?"

"Hoddy, Mars Geo'ge. W'at wuz dat you say?"

"Why are you not at school to-day?"

"Ain' got no teacher, Mars Geo'ge. Teacher's gone!"

"Gone!" exclaimed Tryon, with a sudden leap of the heart. "Gone where?What do you mean?"

"Teacher got los' in de swamp, night befo' las', 'cause Plato wa'n'tdere ter show her de way out'n de woods. Elder Johnson foun' 'er widdawgs and tawches, an' fotch her home an' put her ter bed. No schoolyistiddy. She wuz out'n her haid las' night, an' dis mawnin' she wuzgone. "

"Gone where?"

"Dey don' nobody know whar, suh. "

Leaving Plato abruptly, Tryon hastened down the road toward ElderJohnson's cabin. This was no time to stand on punctilio. The girl hadbeen lost in the woods in the storm, amid the thunder and lightning andthe pouring rain. She was sick with fright and exposure, and he wasthe cause of it all. Bribery, corruption, and falsehood had broughtpunishment in their train, and the innocent had suffered while theguilty escaped. He must learn at once what had become of her. ReachingElder Johnson's house, he drew up by the front fence and gave thecustomary halloa, which summoned a woman to the door. 

"Good-morning, " he said, nodding unconsciously, with the carelesspoliteness of a gentleman to his inferiors. "I'm Mr. Tryon. I havecome to inquire about the sick teacher. "

"Why, suh, " the woman replied respectfully, "she got los' in de woodsnight befo' las', an' she wuz out'n her min' most er de time yistiddy. Las' night she must 'a' got out er bed an' run away w'en eve'ybody wuzsoun' asleep, fer dis mawnin' she wuz gone, an' none er us knows wharshe is. "

"Has any search been made for her?"

"Yas, suh, my husban' an' de child'en has been huntin' roun' all demawnin', an' he's gone ter borry a hoss now ter go fu'ther. But Lawdknows dey ain' no tellin' whar she'd go, 'less'n she got her min' backsence she lef'. "

Tryon's mare was in good condition. He had money in his pocket andnothing to interfere with his movements. He set out immediately on theroad to Patesville, keeping a lookout by the roadside, and stoppingeach person he met to inquire if a young woman, apparently ill, hadbeen seen traveling along the road on foot. No one had met such atraveler. When he had gone two or three miles, he drove through ashallow branch that crossed the road. The splashing of his horse'shoofs in the water prevented him from hearing a low groan that camefrom the woods by the roadside. 

He drove on, making inquiries at each farmhouse and of every personwhom he encountered. Shortly after crossing the branch, he met a youngnegro with a cartload of tubs and buckets and piggins, and asked him ifhe had seen on the road a young white woman with dark eyes and hair, apparently sick or demented. The young man answered in the negative, and Tryon pushed forward anxiously. 

At noon he stopped at a farmhouse and swallowed a hasty meal. Hisinquiries here elicited no information, and he was just leaving when ayoung man came in late to dinner and stated, in response to the usualquestion, that he had met, some two hours before, a young woman whoanswered Tryon's description, on the Lillington road, which crossed themain road to Patesville a short distance beyond the farmhouse. He hadspoken to the woman. At first she had paid no heed to his question. When addressed a second time, she had answered in a rambling anddisconnected way, which indicated to his mind that there was somethingwrong with her. 

Tryon thanked his informant and hastened to the Lillington road. Stopping as before to inquire, he followed the woman for several hours, each mile of the distance taking him farther away from Patesville. From time to time he heard of the woman. Toward nightfall he foundher. She was white enough, with the sallowness of the sandhill poorwhite. She was still young, perhaps, but poverty and a hard life madeher look older than she ought. She was not fair, and she was not Rena. When Tryon came up to her, she was sitting on the doorsill of amiserable cabin, and held in her hand a bottle, the contents of whichhad never paid any revenue tax. She had walked twenty miles that day, and had beguiled the tedium of the journey by occasional potations, which probably accounted for the incoherency of speech which several ofthose who met her had observed. When Tryon drew near, she tendered himthe bottle with tipsy cordiality. He turned in disgust and retracedhis steps to the Patesville road, which he did not reach untilnightfall. As it was too dark to prosecute the search with any chanceof success, he secured lodging for the night, intending to resume hisquest early in the morning. 

XXXIII

A MULE AND A CART

Frank Fowler's heart was filled with longing for a sight of Rena'sface. When she had gone away first, on the ill-fated trip to SouthCarolina, her absence had left an aching void in his life; he hadmissed her cheerful smile, her pleasant words, her graceful figuremoving about across the narrow street. His work had grown monotonousduring her absence; the clatter of hammer and mallet, that had seemedso merry when punctuated now and then by the strains of her voice, became a mere humdrum rapping of wood upon wood and iron upon iron. Hehad sought work in South Carolina with the hope that he might see her. He had satisfied this hope, and had tried in vain to do her a service;but Fate had been against her; her castle of cards had come tumblingdown. He felt that her sorrow had brought her nearer to him. Thedistance between them depended very much upon their way of looking atthings. He knew that her experience had dragged her through the valleyof humiliation. His unselfish devotion had reacted to refine andelevate his own spirit. When he heard the suggestion, after her seconddeparture, that she might marry Wain, he could not but compare himselfwith this new aspirant. He, Frank, was a man, an honest man--a betterman than the shifty scoundrel with whom she had ridden away. She wasbut a woman, the best and sweetest and loveliest of all women, but yeta woman. After a few short years of happiness or sorrow, --little ofjoy, perhaps, and much of sadness, which had begun already, --they wouldboth be food for worms. White people, with a deeper wisdom perhapsthan they used in their own case, regarded Rena and himself as verymuch alike. They were certainly both made by the same God, in much thesame physical and mental mould; they breathed the same air, ate thesame food, spoke the same speech, loved and hated, laughed and cried, lived and would die, the same. If God had meant to rear any impassablebarrier between people of contrasting complexions, why did He notexpress the prohibition as He had done between other orders of creation?

When Rena had departed for Sampson County, Frank had reconciled himselfto her absence by the hope of her speedy return. He often steppedacross the street to talk to Mis' Molly about her. Several letters hadpassed between mother and daughter, and in response to Frank'sinquiries his neighbor uniformly stated that Rena was well and doingwell, and sent her love to all inquiring friends. But Frank observedthat Mis' Molly, when pressed as to the date of Rena's return, grewmore and more indefinite; and finally the mother, in a burst ofconfidential friendship, told Frank of all her hopes with reference tothe stranger from down the country. 

"Yas, Frank, " she concluded, "it'll be her own fault ef she don'tbecome a lady of proputty, fer Mr. Wain is rich, an' owns a bigplantation, an' hires a lot of hands, and is a big man in the county. He's crazy to git her, an' it all lays in her own han's. "

Frank did not find this news reassuring. He believed that Wain was aliar and a scoundrel. He had nothing more than his intuitions uponwhich to found this belief, but it was none the less firm. If hisestimate of the man's character were correct, then his wealth might bea fiction, pure and simple. If so, the truth should be known to Mis'Molly, so that instead of encouraging a marriage with Wain, she wouldsee him in his true light, and interpose to rescue her daughter fromhis importunities. A day or two after this conversation, Frank met inthe town a negro from Sampson County, made his acquaintance, andinquired if he knew a man by the name of Jeff Wain. 

"Oh, Jeff Wain!" returned the countryman slightingly; "yas, I knows'im, an' don' know no good of 'im. One er dese yer biggity, braggin'niggers--talks lack he own de whole county, an' ain't wuth no mo' d'n Iis--jes' a big bladder wid a handful er shot rattlin' roun' in it. Hada wife, when I wuz dere, an' beat her an' 'bused her so she had ter runaway. "

This was alarming information. Wain had passed in the town as a singleman, and Frank had had no hint that he had ever been married. Therewas something wrong somewhere. Frank determined that he would find outthe truth and, if possible, do something to protect Rena against theobviously evil designs of the man who had taken her away. The barrelfactory had so affected the cooper's trade that Peter and Frank hadturned their attention more or less to the manufacture of smallwoodenware for domestic use. Frank's mule was eating off its own head, as the saying goes. It required but little effort to persuade Peterthat his son might take a load of buckets and tubs and piggins into thecountry and sell them or trade them for country produce at a profit. 

In a few days Frank had his stock prepared, and set out on the road toSampson County. He went about thirty miles the first day, and campedby the roadside for the night, resuming the journey at dawn. Afterdriving for an hour through the tall pines that overhung the road likethe stately arch of a cathedral aisle, weaving a carpet for the earthwith their brown spines and cones, and soothing the ear with theirceaseless murmur, Frank stopped to water his mule at a point where thewhite, sandy road, widening as it went, sloped downward to aclear-running branch. On the right a bay-tree bending over the streammingled the heavy odor of its flowers with the delicate perfume of ayellow jessamine vine that had overrun a clump of saplings on the left. From a neighboring tree a silver-throated mocking-bird poured out aflood of riotous melody. A group of minnows; startled by the splashingof the mule's feet, darted away into the shadow of the thicket, theirquick passage leaving the amber water filled with laughing light. 

The mule drank long and lazily, while over Frank stole thoughts inharmony with the peaceful scene, --thoughts of Rena, young andbeautiful, her friendly smile, her pensive dark eyes. He would soonsee her now, and if she had any cause for fear or unhappiness, he wouldplace himself at her service--for a day, a week, a month, a year, alifetime, if need be. 

His reverie was broken by a slight noise from the thicket at his left. "I wonder who dat is?" he muttered. "It soun's mighty quare, ter sayde leas'. "

He listened intently for a moment, but heard nothing further. "It must'a' be'n a rabbit er somethin' scamp'in' th'ough de woods. G'longdere, Caesar!"

As the mule stepped forward, the sound was repeated. This time it wasdistinctly audible, the long, low moan of some one in sickness ordistress. 

"Dat ain't no rabbit, " said Frank to himself. "Dere's somethin' wrongdere. Stan' here, Caesar, till I look inter dis matter. "

Pulling out from the branch, Frank sprang from the saddle and pushedhis way cautiously through the outer edge of the thicket. 

"Good Lawd!" he exclaimed with a start, "it's a woman--a w'ite woman!"

The slender form of a young woman lay stretched upon the ground in asmall open space a few yards in extent. Her face was turned away, andFrank could see at first only a tangled mass of dark brown hair, mattedwith twigs and leaves and cockleburs, and hanging in wild profusionaround her neck. 

Frank stood for a moment irresolute, debating the serious questionwhether he should investigate further with a view to renderingassistance, or whether he should put as great a distance as possiblebetween himself and this victim, as she might easily be, of someviolent crime, lest he should himself be suspected of it--a notunlikely contingency, if he were found in the neighborhood and thewoman should prove unable to describe her assailant. While hehesitated, the figure moved restlessly, and a voice murmured:--

"Mamma, oh, mamma!"

The voice thrilled Frank like an electric shock. Trembling in everylimb, he sprang forward toward the prostrate figure. The woman turnedher head, and he saw that it was Rena. Her gown was torn and dusty, and fringed with burs and briars. When she had wandered forth, halfdelirious, pursued by imaginary foes, she had not stopped to put on hershoes, and her little feet were blistered and swollen and bleeding. Frank knelt by her side and lifted her head on his arm. He put hishand upon her brow; it was burning with fever. 

"Miss Rena! Rena! don't you know me?"

She turned her wild eyes on him suddenly. "Yes, I know you, Jeff Wain. Go away from me! Go away!"

Her voice rose to a scream; she struggled in his grasp and struck athim fiercely with her clenched fists. Her sleeve fell back anddisclosed the white scar made by his own hand so many years before. 

"You're a wicked man, " she panted. "Don't touch me! I hate you anddespise you!"

Frank could only surmise how she had come here, in such a condition. When she spoke of Wain in this manner, he drew his own conclusions. Some deadly villainy of Wain's had brought her to this pass. Angerstirred his nature to the depths, and found vent in curses on theauthor of Rena's misfortunes. 

"Damn him!" he groaned. "I'll have his heart's blood fer dis, ter delas' drop!"

Rena now laughed and put up her arms appealingly. "George, " she cried, in melting tones, "dear George, do you love me? How much do you loveme? Ah, you don't love me!" she moaned; "I'm black; you don't love me;you despise me!"

Her voice died away into a hopeless wail. Frank knelt by her side, hisfaithful heart breaking with pity, great tears rolling untouched downhis dusky cheeks. 

"Oh, my honey, my darlin', " he sobbed, "Frank loves you better 'n allde worl'. "

Meantime the sun shone on as brightly as before, the mocking-bird sangyet more joyously. A gentle breeze sprang up and wafted the odor of bayand jessamine past them on its wings. The grand triumphal sweep ofnature's onward march recked nothing of life's little tragedies. 

When the first burst of his grief was over, Frank brought water fromthe branch, bathed Rena's face and hands and feet, and forced a fewdrops between her reluctant lips. He then pitched the cartload oftubs, buckets, and piggins out into the road, and gathering driedleaves and pine-straw, spread them in the bottom of the cart. Hestooped, lifted her frail form in his arms, and laid it on the leafybed. Cutting a couple of hickory withes, he arched them over the cart, and gathering an armful of jessamine quickly wove it into an awning toprotect her from the sun. She was quieter now, and seemed to fallasleep. 

"Go ter sleep, honey, " he murmured caressingly, "go ter sleep, an'Frank'll take you home ter yo' mammy!"

Toward noon he was met by a young white man, who peered inquisitivelyinto the canopied cart. 

"Hello!" exclaimed the stranger, "who've you got there?"

"A sick woman, suh. "

"Why, she's white, as I'm a sinner!" he cried, after a closerinspection. "Look a-here, nigger, what are you doin' with this whitewoman?"

"She's not w'ite, boss, --she's a bright mulatter. "

"Yas, mighty bright, " continued the stranger suspiciously. "Where areyou goin' with her?"

"I'm takin' her ter Patesville, ter her mammy. "

The stranger passed on. Toward evening Frank heard hounds baying inthe distance. A fox, weary with running, brush drooping, crossed theroad ahead of the cart. Presently, the hounds straggled across theroad, followed by two or three hunters on horseback, who stopped atsight of the strangely canopied cart. They stared at the sick girl anddemanded who she was. 

"I don't b'lieve she's black at all, " declared one, after Frank's briefexplanation. "This nigger has a bad eye, --he's up ter some sort ofdevilment. What ails the girl?"

"'Pears ter be some kind of a fever, " replied Frank; addingdiplomatically, "I don't know whether it's ketchin' er no--she's be'nout er her head most er de time. "

They drew off a little at this. "I reckon it's all right, " said thechief spokesman. The hounds were baying clamorously in the distance. The hunters followed the sound and disappeared m the woods. 

Frank drove all day and all night, stopping only for brief periods ofrest and refreshment. At dawn, from the top of the long white hill, hesighted the river bridge below. At sunrise he rapped at Mis' Molly'sdoor. 

Upon rising at dawn, Tryon's first step, after a hasty breakfast, wasto turn back toward Clinton. He had wasted half a day in following thefalse scent on the Lillington road. It seemed, after reflection, unlikely that a woman seriously ill should have been able to walk anyconsiderable distance before her strength gave out. In her delirium, too, she might have wandered in a wrong direction, imagining any roadto lead to Patesville. It would be a good plan to drive back home, continuing his inquiries meantime, and ascertain whether or not she hadbeen found by those who were seeking her, including many whom Tryon'sinquiries had placed upon the alert. If she should prove stillmissing, he would resume the journey to Patesville and continue thesearch in that direction. She had probably not wandered far from thehighroad; even in delirium she would be likely to avoid the deep woods, with which her illness was associated. 

He had retraced more than half the distance to Clinton when he overtooka covered wagon. The driver, when questioned, said that he had met ayoung negro with a mule, and a cart in which lay a young woman, whiteto all appearance, but claimed by the negro to be a colored girl whohad been taken sick on the road, and whom he was conveying home to hermother at Patesville. From a further description of the cart Tryonrecognized it as the one he had met the day before. The woman could beno other than Rena. He turned his mare and set out swiftly on the roadto Patesville. 

If anything could have taken more complete possession of George Tryonat twenty-three than love successful and triumphant, it was lovethwarted and denied. Never in the few brief delirious weeks of hiscourtship had he felt so strongly drawn to the beautiful sister of thepopular lawyer, as he was now driven by an aching heart toward the samewoman stripped of every adventitions advantage and placed, by custom, beyond the pale of marriage with men of his own race. Custom wastyranny. Love was the only law. Would God have made hearts to soyearn for one another if He had meant them to stay forever apart? Ifthis girl should die, it would be he who had killed her, by hiscruelty, no less surely than if with his own hand he had struck herdown. He had been so dazzled by his own superiority, so blinded by hisown glory, that he had ruthlessly spurned and spoiled the image of Godin this fair creature, whom he might have had for his owntreasure, --whom, please God, he would yet have, at any cost, to loveand cherish while they both should live. There were difficulties--theyhad seemed insuperable, but love would surmount them. Sacrifices mustbe made, but if the world without love would be nothing, then why notgive up the world for love? He would hasten to Patesville. He wouldfind her; he would tell her that he loved her, that she was all theworld to him, that he had come to marry her, and take her away wherethey might be happy together. He pictured to himself the joy thatwould light up her face; he felt her soft arms around his neck, hertremulous kisses upon his lips. If she were ill, his love would wooher back to health, --if disappointment and sorrow had contributed toher illness, joy and gladness should lead to her recovery. 

He urged the mare forward; if she would but keep up her present pace, he would reach Patesville by nightfall. 

Dr. Green had just gone down the garden path to his buggy at the gate. Mis' Molly came out to the back piazza, where Frank, weary and haggard, sat on the steps with Homer Pettifoot and Billy Oxendine, who, hearingof Rena's return, had come around after their day's work. 

"Rena wants to see you, Frank, " said Mis' Molly, with a sob. 

He walked in softly, reverently, and stood by her bedside. She turnedher gentle eyes upon him and put out her slender hand, which he took inhis own broad palm. 

"Frank, " she murmured, "my good friend--my best friend--you loved mebest of them all. "

The tears rolled untouched down his cheeks. "I'd 'a' died, fer you, Miss Rena, " he said brokenly. 

Mary B. Threw open a window to make way for the passing spirit, and thered and golden glory of the setting sun, triumphantly ending his dailycourse, flooded the narrow room with light. 

Between sunset and dark a traveler, seated in a dusty buggy drawn by atired horse, crossed the long river bridge and drove up Front Street. Just as the buggy reached the gate in front of the house behind thecedars, a woman was tying a piece of crape upon the door-knob. Palewith apprehension, Tryon sat as if petrified, until a tall, side-whiskered mulatto came down the garden walk to the front gate. 

"Who's dead?" demanded Tryon hoarsely, scarcely recognizing his ownvoice. 

"A young cullud 'oman, sah, " answered Homer Pettifoot, touching hishat, "Mis' Molly Walden's daughter Rena. "