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 To hell with you," Professor Armstrong exploded.

"Oh, don't be a grouch. Have done with that bosh. He's a man, and a whiter man than you, in many respects. Here, we take them as we find them, white or black."

"Well, I'm off. Got to catch a train.—Good-bye!" Professor Armstrong ended the conversation by offering his hand in farewell.

"Good-bye, old man. Hope you have a pleasant vacation and land somewhere suitable in the fall. If you don't," with a sly teasing wink, youwink, "you [sic] may come back here and learn something. Good-bye.—Oh, by the way," as an after thought. "I may see you this summer. I'm going South shortly myself to study some features of yellow fever contagions and typhoid. I'll be making some experiments and may run into you."

"If you come, let me give you a tip. Leave your northern ideas up here. Don't bring any of your equality theories down there. Our people don't stand for that. We've got our ideas about how to handle the blacks. And we do handle them. We won't have anybody interfering. If you remember that you'll get along, otherwise you won't.—Look me up if you're in my district.—Good-bye."

With that he turned and was off, walking rapidly across the yard toward the street leading to the station. Dr. Tansey, with his characteristic whimsical smile playing about his lips watched the retreating figure.

"Conceited, prejudiced ass! Poor fellow! He won't admit the world moves," he murmured. "He thinks because his skin is white he's supreme and a black man's dirt un-

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 der his feet, even one with so little colored blood as Bennet.—And the peculiar thing is that there are so many like him. They want their way for themselves and everybody else. They can be brutes, coarse, inhuman animals and yet because they are white they are all right. What bosh! What fallacy! And the funny part of it all is that we,—most of us, let them have their way.—Uphold them in it.—I suppose it's because we dislike bother and fuss. We had one big fuss," he continued his musings, "over the same kind of question and I suppose want to forget about it now. Just the same, they're wrong and we're wrong. We're to blame, too. We've been fed up on a lot of propaganda about white supremacy—the white man's burden and a lot of other rot till we half believe the stuff ourselves. That's what's the matter with us.—I wonder how long that sort of thing will last? I wonder. Well, I'll see some of this race question myself this summer first hand, then I'll know."

Dr. Tansey was still following the departing figure of Professor Armstrong as he soliloquized. He stood still gazing in the direction in which Armstrong had now disappeared after his soliloquy ceased, his mind ruminating on the question. Suddenly his thoughts returned to the present and he whirled and walked away from the college. His mind was indistinctly filled with pictures of atrocities and cruelties of which he had read as practiced in the South.

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Back in the little town of Bremen, Bennet, with his father, mother and sister, arrived without incident, after the graduation exercises. The first few days of the return were filled with social affairs, visitations and congratulations on the part of the friends of the family for the young man. There were letters from Lida, on her way home and replies such as only two happy lovers, separated for a time can write.

It was after the receipt of one of these one morning that Bennet's face became serious and his attitude thoughtful. While in this mood his father came upon him. Bennet still held the letter in his hand and was looking off into the distance.

"What's the matter, boy?—When will you marry the girl?—Why don't you tell us about her?" he asked without giving the young man a chance to reply.

"That's just what I was thinking about.—Telling you." He looked at his father.

"No better time. Who is she?—and what's she like?" The elder man asked.

Father and son had always been frank with each other, a comradeship having been established between them from the time Truman was a lad and preserved more closely than is the case between most fathers and sons.

"Well, Dad. She's a wonder."

"They all are at your time of life," he answered philo-

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610 lowing extraordinary comments:—"Mr. Clay, there is reason to believe, went to his grave in the belief that each of these assertions was an unmitigated falsehood, and the writer of the above adduces them merely as remarkable instances of cool, impudent lying. On the contrary, with one exception, all of Burr's allegations were strictly true; and even that one was true in a Burrian sense. He did not own any arms or military stores: by the terms of his engagement with his recruits, every man was to join him armed, just as every backwoodsman was armed whenever he went from home. He had not issued nor promised any commissions: the time had not come for that. Jefferson and his cabinet undoubtedly knew his views and intentions, up to the point where they ceased to be lawful."

To this miserable tissue of sophistry and misrepresentation the only reply we have to make is, that Burr's statements were the unmitigated falsehoods which Henry Clay believed them to be. For at that very time stores were collected on Blennerhassett's Island; other persons were bringing arms for Burr's service and with his knowledge; the winter previous he had offered commissions to Eaton and Truxton; and a month before this statement was made, his agent had arrived at Wilkinson's camp with the direct proposition to that officer, that he should attack the Spaniards, hurry his country into a war, and enter upon a career of conquest which was to result in dismembering the Union. And yet Burr solemnly declared upon his honor that he was engaged in no design "contrary to the laws and peace of the country," and that "his views were such as every man of honor and every good citizen must approve,"—and Parton says these averments were true. We have no wish to deal harshly with this writer; but such an impudent defence of a palpable falsehood is a disgrace to American letters.

Every well-informed person knows the miserable issue of this ill-contrived conspiracy. The only emotion which it now excites in the student is wonder that the thought of it could ever have entered a sane mind. A wilder or more chimerical scheme never disturbed the dreams of a schoolboy; yet no one has ever pressed a reasonable undertaking with more earnestness and confidence than Burr his visionary purpose. He exhibited, throughout, an infatuation and a degree of incompetency for great achievements, which would cover the enterprise with ridicule, were it not for the misfortunes which it brought upon himself and others.

We do not desire to linger over the last period of Burr's life. His deadliest foe could not have wished for him so terrible a punishment as that which afflicted his long and ignominious old age.

In 1808 he went to Europe to obtain aid for his Mexican expedition. While in England, he made another display of his adroitness and boldness in falsehood. The English government became suspicious of him; whereupon he had the hardihood to claim, that, although he had borne arms against Great Britain and had held office in an independent state, he was still a British subject. Mr. Parton says, that this "was an amusing instance of Burr's lawyerlike audacity." Less partial judges will probably find a harsher term to apply to it.

After his return to this country, Burr resumed his profession in New York, but never regained his former position at the bar. The standard of legal acquirements was higher than it had been in his youth, and the obloquy which rested upon him excluded him from the respectable departments of practice. During all this time, by far the longest period of his professional life, he never displayed any signal ability. His society was shunned,—or sought only by a few personal admirers, or by the profligate and the curious. When seventy-eight years of age, he wheedled Madame Jumel, an eccentric and wealthy widow, into a marriage. On the bridal trip he obtained possession of some of her property, and squandered it in an idle speculation. A continuance of such practices led to a


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 sophically. "It takes time and patience to prove that. Still what's she like?"

"She's a southern girl, whose family can be traced back generations and generations; to old Colonial days; to old slavery days," Bennet answered proudly.

"What! You don't mean to say she's a southern white girl?"

"Yes."

The elder man shook his head solemnly and sadly as he exclaimed, "Poor boy! Poor boy! Impossible! Impossible!"

"What's impossible about that?"

"Everything," he exclaimed hopelessly. "Everything. Forget it. Don't think of such a thing. You're dooming yourself.—You'll be throwing your life away. Don't think of it. I've brought you up—you and your sister—in an atmosphere and midst environments where you would not be brought into contact with such a thing. I did this for your best. You don't know what prejudice is. You don't know what you are planning for yourself.

"Forget it, Boy. Forget her. There are estimable girls up here in this section who would make you an excellent wife, and a charming daughter for me and your mother; one that we could welcome into the family with pride and with loving hearts. We can't do that with this girl. Besides, there are white girls of the colored race, fully as charming, intelligent and beautiful as any white girl in the south. You could be happy with one of them. You will never be with this girl. Besides you will never marry her.

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 —Her parents will not allow it. No, Boy, forget her. Does she know that you are of mixed blood?" he asked.

"Yes, she knows all. And that makes no difference to her. It did at first but she loves me and I love her."

The elder man bowed his head in his hands. "Forget her, Boy. It will only mean pain and suffering for you both otherwise."

"No, Dad. I've given my word in pledge to her. And she's given hers. I'll not give her up as long as she holds to her mind. Why Dad, I couldn't and be a man. I won't. That's all. I won't."

"Youth feeds at the breast of impatience," exclaimed the elder man half to himself. "It is only when time has dried up the food sources that experience can gain a hearing."

"You're wrong, Father. Wise youth observes and studies the experiences of others then maps his chart according to the drift of the winds of his own life and the strength of his ship—his soul."

"I'll tell you, Boy. In setting your course as you've planned you're running into the trade winds of prejudice and proscription. You're bringing harm to the girl you say you love; alienating her from her own poeplepeople [sic]—her own family; her outlook on life has been different than yours; bringing her into a life of loneliness. She will be deserted by her own people."

"Won't you and mother accept her?"

"Yes, Boy. We'll accept any good girl whom you bring tous. Weare not prejudiced. You're asking a mighty big sacrifice of her when you ask her to quit her own people."

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 "What do you mean, 'own people?' Of what race am I—are you—mother—sister?" Bennet asked impatiently. "Are we not all Americans?"

"The South does not see it that way, Boy."

"We don't intend to live in the south," he challenged.

"You'll be lucky to be allowed to live at all, if you go down there for her."

"I'll go just the same, if necessary. We intend to live our own lives."

"There's no such thing as 'individual lives, the elder man contended. "Your acts will have an influence on many others, either directly or indirectly. Her family for instance,—and your own."

"Why should this be?"

"Don't ask why. It is so. A matter of cause and effect; a natural law. If you marry you won't be accepted by her family and there'll be many antagonisms."

"But, Dad, you don't know her. She's too big hearted to permit such a condition. Besides we're not marrying the races or the families of each other. I marry her. She marries me."

"Yes, yet you've got to live in some community. You'll be isolated on either hand. You don't know the pride of races as I do, nor pride of families."

"Yet I know that I'm of both races."

"Yes, but prejudice and narrowness can show themselves in so many bitterly hurtful ways to sensitive souls. I know. I've been through it all. So has your mother. No, Truman. I strongly advise against it. You're of age

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 and I can't command you, else I'd forbid it. I predict for you, though, if you persist in your fool-hardy act, misery and failure.—And these things in you, my first born, will bring an old man's heart in sorrow to the grave.

"Oh, Truman! Truman, my first born, my pride! Don't wrench my heartstrings till I fall into my grave a broken man. Don't do this monstrously rash thing. Give up this foolish love. Be a man and master yourself."

"Yes, but of honor? What about my honor—my pledged and sacred word?" he asked.

"There are rights above such honor as you cling to," stated the father. "There is no honor in rashness that would wreck many lives."

"What about breaking the heart of the girl who's trusted you with her love—her happiness?" Bennet asked.

"Her love, with her southern slave-holding background can't but be passion; her happiness in you but visionary. There is no real love there. When passion dies her love will die," the elder man prophesied.

"Never. Her heart's too simple and honest. I have her happiness in my keeping. Let her fail me if she will. I'll not fail her nor myself. Not if all hell prevails," Truman protested. "When you speak as you do I can't believe you ever knew love. You married for convenience and have lived a sham life; outwardly honorable but inwardly hollow."

"Tut-tut-tut, Boy. Let's not quarrel. Hasty words only mean sorrow and regret," the elder Bennet ended, walking away.

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 Father and son held no further talks on the subject, each seeming to avoid the topic. At each mail, however, when letters would be received by Truman, in a handwriting all had come to know, the elder Bennet would watch his son reading eagerly the written words, see the lighting on the face and the happiness for the remainder of the day and shake his head sadly. Mrs. Bennet, though told by her husband, gave no outward appearance of knowing the state of affairs. She sensed in her woman's way, however, the depth of her son's regard for the girl and pitied him at the same time that she hoped the girl would prove as loyal as she knew Truman would be. Mrs. Bennet's motherly understanding was shown a few days following when there was no letter. As she passed his chair at the breakfast table she allowed her hand to rest for a moment on his shoulder. Truman was gloom while his sister teased him about the girl and the letter that failed to appear. When on the third morning no mail was received, the elder man was tempted to utter an "I told you so," but a warning look from the mother prevented him. The sister also out of consideration began to dislike the girl who did not write to her brother when he had been expecting and had been receiving daily communications.

Days lengthened into more than a week when on the morning of the tenth day when no letter had been received in answer to repeated telegraph messages, Truman announced, at breakfast, that he was going away. The elder Bennet's head bowed, as he muttered, "I know it."

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 Mrs. Bennet's eyes filled with tears though she gave no evidence of her feeling.

Bennet's packing was hastily done and when ready to leave he kissed his mother. As he did so, she murmured, in his ear, "God keep you from harm, my boy—and bring her back to us." For response, Truman gave her a bear hug and a resounding kiss. When he parted with his father at the station just as the train was pulling out, the two gripped hands in man-to-man fashion, the youth looking steadily and honestly into the eyes of his elder.

"Whatever happens, Boy, remember we are yours. Play fair. Take care of yourself and come back as soon as possible. You're going into the devil's own country. God keep you safely."

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Dr. Tansey, when he returned to his office after the encounter with Professor Armstrong began to make ready his own affairs preparatory to departing for the south on his mission of science, and his study of malignant forms of yellow fever and typhoid. When all his affairs were placed in order he boarded a train for New York, from which place he set out by boat for Charleston, South Carolina, his first stopping place.

His ship had been out two days before he was able to be about the deck, owing to his inability to withstand the effects of seasickness. No matter how many times he had taken trips he always was seasick the first two days out. Because of this illness he failed to learn that another passenger, with whom he was acquainted was also taking the trip. This was Truman Bennet.

In mid afternoon on the third day out, Dr. Tansey felt able to forsake his stateroom for a little time on deck and climbed the saloon stairs. The effort was a struggle to him, in his weakened state but he finally made the distance and was resting his hands on the railpost to steady himself as well as to find a location unengaged when he almost lost the strength of his legs and sank back down the stairs. He gazed across the deck straight into the eyes of Truman Bennet. Bennet could not believe his eyes for a moment; when he realized it was the Doctor, he sprang across the deck in two leaps and was just in time to save

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 the physician from falling. The latter's face had gone pale with surprise and pleasure.

"Dr. Tansey" Bennet exclaimed wringing the hand he had clasped.

"Well, Bennet," the other returned. "You're the last man I expected to see on this boat. What are you going south for?"

"I'll ask the same of you, Doctor? Where are you bound? Jove, this is a treat."

"I'm bound on a scientific mission. I suppose you'll say the same thing. I'll bet I can guess, though," as an after thought. "I thought you were cured of that blow on the head you got last fall. Too bad! Too bad! My surgery is getting way off. I thought I had you cured."

Both men laughed happily, as Truman piloted the other to a seat at his side of the ship. After Bennet had seen that the doctor was comfortable he also took a seat.

"Have a cigar," said Dr. Tansey, tendering Bennet the case as he took one himself.

"No, thank you. Don't smoke."

"This is off-season now. You won't be breaking training by smoking. I won't tell the coach," chafed the doctor.

"You know I never smoked," Bennet smiled back.

"No, I don't know anything about it. Put it this way. I never caught you smoking. How's that."

The two men laughed heartily again. Doctor Tansy was happy as a boy. He was very fond of Bennet, in his own way.

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 the South. What's she doing down here this time of year?"

"Somewhere up in the Palmetto state, I don't know where.—Have the address.—Going to find out."

Dr. Tansey looked at the young man shrewdly—studiously, for some minutes then asked, "Does she know who you are?"

"Foolish question. Do you think I'd deceive the girl I loved?"

"I beg pardon, Old Boy. I wanted to be sure.—You're either a fool or you've got the nerve of ten brass monkeys.—No fool like a young lover," added the doctor, paraphrasing the old saw. "Know anybody down here?"

"Not a soul that I'm aware of."

"Well, you'll have to be very careful. These people are very funny. They're very touchy on the race question. So, talk but little. Mind your own business."—After a considerable pause.—"What you need is a guardian angel—or a keeper.—You'll get along, I guess."

"Oh, I realize the dangers. I got an idea from Professor Armstrong," vouchsafed Bennet.

"By the way, he's down here somewhere," continued Dr. Tansey. "He's rabid on the subject. But he's as mild as a June day compared with some. I don't believe I'm going to get along down here. So have a care. Have a care, son. Where're you stopping, when you get to Charleston?"

"Don't know. Some hotel."

"Humph!—Better come with me—till you start inland."

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 "All right, Doctor. Thanks, very many thanks."

The remainder of the voyage passed very pleasantly. Doctor Tansey recovered his sea legs rapidly and before the trip ended was debating the Negro question with the best of them on board. He defended the black man so vehemently that the captain of the ship deemed it wise to caution him, when they were just about to enter Charleston Harbor. Dr. Tansey and Bennet were, as was their habit, standing far up in the bow of the ship when the Captain saw them and leaned out of the pilot house to shout:

"Hey, Doctor!"

Dr. Tansey and Bennet whirled.

"Come up here," he beckoned. The two men lost no time in accepting the invitation. When they stepped into the wheelhouse, the Captain gave the wheel to another officer and turned: "You men are from up North. I've heard some of your talk and I want to caution you for your own good. Better let that subject alone down here. It's a southern question and we're—they're settling it in their own way."

"Why do you people insist on having your own way with the question?" asked Dr. Tansey.

"Because we know the black man best. We love the black man—in his place."

"Under your feet, I suppose?"

"Well, pretty much so. You've got to keep him down in his place. This is a white man's country. This is a white man's civilization."

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 "Are you afraid to let anybody else have a little bit of it? The white man is supposed to be fair. I always hear the boast about Anglo-Saxon fair play. I see but little of it, though, as I travel about. I'd like to see more. Why do you people in the South insist on foisting your beliefs upon everybody else? Don't you give anybody else credit for knowing anything besides yourself. Are you afraid of your own laws—of your own selves. You act as if you were not sure of your own ground."

"No sir.—No sir. Not where the Negro comes into the discussion. They're no good. Never were any good—and never will be any good."

"If I remember history at all, they were very good when the plantation owners marched away to fight to keep them slaves, and they remained behind caring for the families and farms of those who were fighting to hold them in bondage.—It strikes me that is a pretty good sort of a man to cling to. Anglo-Saxon civilization can't show anything any better than that. Besides, though you may not admit it, the Negro is the bone and sinew of your financial and economic structure. The South lives off the Negro.

"It strikes me that they are pretty good when they are the backbone of your country economically. They may be lazy and shiftless but it seems to me they do all the work; at least all the real work. Of course, your white collar work—work in the shade; where the hours are short and the labor nil you people shine. I'll bet there'd be an awful howl sent to heaven, if by any chance, there should be

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 a sudden exodus of black men from this section. Why your industry would be paralyzed.

"You tell that stuff to the Marines," Dr. Tansey continued. "I think the white race all over the world has been too easily gulled by you folks and your doctrines. Most of the blacks I've come into contact with have been at least on par with the whites, and better than many of those we welcome from European countries. No, Captain. Thank you for your advice. Prudently, it is well given, but just the same it's the white race that's largely at fault, and it's time the white race got onto its job. You people are blessed and don't know it."

"Just the same, you'd better mind your own business and keep mum on the Negro question, if you want to stay here."

He took the wheel again, as if to end the conversation. Dr. Tansey and Bennet left the pilot house for the deck below and stood at the rail as the ship passed Fort Sumter, lapped by the muddy waters of the harbor. As the ship rounded up to her pier, from the wharves of cotton bales, barrels of resin, and other products waiting to be shipped North, there rose, seemingly a small battalion of Negro stevedores and roustabouts, shouting, laughing, singing and dancing, waiting with eager hands to grasp the hawsers that would moor the ship so they could begin their task of unloading and reloading the vessel. At the passenger gangplank stood a dozen or more boys of all shades, hands covered with white gloves, ready to step aboard ship

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 and assist the passengers in debarking and departing for their various destinations.

Dr. Tansey and Bennet stood at the rail watching the scene. Bennet, unaccustomed to the sight of so many black faces was awe-struck. Dr. Tansey had experienced scenes of animation such as this many times in his travels. After the two had stood in silence for a time, allowing Bennet to absorb the variety of the life, Dr. Tansey turned to him with:

"There, Bennet, is your first rub with and against the Negro problem as the South faces it. Just watch those fellows unload ship. Yet the Captain calls them no good, lazy and shiftless. Could you get a white man to work like that in this climate? I guess not."

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"Why there are more black than white people here!" exclaimed Bennet as they were shown to their rooms in the Great Southern Hotel, after their ride from the ship.

"Not quite, but almost," answered Dr. Tansey.

"And they seem to be minding their own affairs."

"Yes," was the laconic reply.

Both men were standing at the window of their hotel watching the panorama passing before them on the street below. There were well dressed colored men passing along the street; well dressed white men and women; some ragamuffins, pedlars, persons in automobiles with Negro chauffeurs, and tip carts drawn by mules and driven by black men, winding in and out in front of automobiles and street cars. Except for the: number of black, brown, yellow and white faces, the scene might easily have been one of any large bustling northern city.

As the two men stood looking, suddenly a street car came along to the intersection of the street just as a dumpcart driven by a tall rather aged Negro and drawn by a mule, was crossing. The cart was in the middle of the street before the street car reached it. Dr. Tansey and Bennet looked for the car to halt to let the tip cart pass. What was their surprise and shock to see the motorman clang his bell and drive the car straight into the tip cart.

There was a resounding crash of breaking wood, an unearthly scream from the driver—and a thud of mule and man to the ground where the car shoved the mass along

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 for ten or fifteen feet crunching wood, bones and flesh in one mass. Bennet turned sick. Dr. Tansey closed his eyes at the sight, then opened them again with "My God!" on his lips. As they looked the motorman dismounted from his vestibule, after backing his car off the mass, went to the scene, looked at the mule, then into the mutilated face of the driver. After discovering that he was nobody known to him he threw the hat carelessly down on the face again, mounted his car, while the conductor with the aid of bystanders, tried to pull the mass off the track. Failing in this way they left the mule in the street, backed the car to a turnout and continued on their way.

As they started away, Dr. Tansey and Bennet made for the door. Dr. Tansey turned to the young man, and almost shouted the command: "Stay here." He rushed to the street, muttering, "I never saw anything so deliberate. The brute. The brute."

When he reached the spot, he could hear the exclamation: "Too bad. Too bad." He thought they were pitying the driver, till one of the men added: "Yes, that mule's worth one hundred and forty dollars."

"Mules be damned," exclaimed Dr. Tansey. "What about the man!"

"Him?—Humph. You can get a nigger anywhere. Mules are valuable."

Dr. Tansey, his being burning with indignation bent over the prostrate form to see if the man was alive. As he knelt, from the crowd came the words: "Who's he? Who's he. Some stranger. Some nigger-loving stranger?"

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 Dr. Tansey stood erect, his eyes blazing, "You're a lot of brutes," he exclaimed. "Cold blooded brutes." There were menacing sounds in the crowd but no action started. Soon the animal ambulance arrived and man and beast were piled into the same vehicle to be hauled away. The foreman of the street cleaning department in that district arrived and ordered the spot sanded. Dr. Tansey went back to his room, muttering, "This is humanity. This is civilization. No attempt—not even the semblance of an attempt to arrest the man for cold blooded murder."

Dr. Tansey was still laboring under tense excitement when he returned to his room. Bennet was pacing the floor and declaiming at the brutality of what he had seen.

"Why did you want me to remain here, Doctor?"

"Shut up and don't bother me," Dr. Tansey exclaimed petulantly in his excitement.

"But I can take care of myself. I'm no child," Bennet said.

"No, but you're a hot-blooded fool youth.—I don't want to see you die yet,—before you learn a few things. The best thing you can do is to keep quiet. You're in a strange land; among strange people. Hold your head—and your tongue, till you get your bearing. Till you're acclimated." With that he sank into a chair, his attitude the picture of gloom.

The spontaneity of his nature, however, refused to allow him to remain in such a state for long. The picture began to fade from his memory. Bennet had returned to the window, and was gazing on the passing show, intently

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 interested in the new faces of the new show unfolding before him. Finally Dr. Tansey left his chair and stood at his side.

"What a wonderful land if it was only human," he commented. "And this is an historic old city, too. Full of traditions. Full of memories—full of experiences from which could be woven many a romantic story that would thrill. All forgotten—All lost save to a few of the old families who hold aloof from the new, the modern, the bizarre and the cruel.

"Off there," he continued, pointing to the right across the tops of mercantile and other buildings, "stands St. Michael's Church, proud of its history, its traditions and its associations, venerable and venerated. Off here," indicating another direction, "is St. Phillip's, towering 200 feet in the air, its beacon shining at night, a welcome to all while at its foot, for the visitors, lie the remains of such men as Calhoun, Gadsden, Rutledge and Pickens. All men who have made the name of Charleston to stand out as the Athens of the South.

"And yet, with all its associations, and history of which to be proud, we can witness such a scene as we saw a little while ago. I wonder what the old Huguenots and Acadians would say if they could come back and see the intolerance, the bigotry and the hatred of these days! Bennet, the world's wrong! At least this part of it. The quicker you and I get out of here the better."

"I'd like to see more of this town before I go back

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 home. Somehow I like the atmosphere of the place," Bennet offered with a wave of his hand.

"Well, I'm going to get out of here and up into the swamps where I can do my work and get away as quickly as possible. I advise you to lose no time in doing the same."

"Where and when do you plan to start?" Bennet asked.

"Armstrong told me that up near his country, along the Edisto River I'd find plenty of material for investigation and I guess I'll start for there as soon as possible."

"My nearest post office is Orangeburg. I go out into the country from there," said Bennet.

"Good, we'll go along together as far as there. Let's see. Orangeburg's on the way to Columbia," Dr. Tansey was studying his map intently. "You turn off at Branchville to the north from the main road leading to Augusta. It will be nice riding through rather picturesque country. We'll start in the morning, eh, Bennet?"

"All right. Meantime I'm going to look around this old town for a while."

"Better not go far, and let nothing disturb you.

"You know, not all southerners are barbarians such as we came into contact with today. They are human if you hit them right. The trouble is they are like a lot of northerners. Rather than make a fuss they simply shrug their shoulders and blind their eyes. There are a lot of them even in this old town. The trouble is, they've allowed themselves to be half convinced of what the evil-minded and coarser ones rant about and simply shrug their shoul-

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 ders, draw about themselves the cloak of exclusiveness and let the rest of the world go by.

"You'll find that true all over the South. There are men and women, born in the South, bred in the South, who know that the South is wrong, but dislike disagreeable things, dislike trouble and bother, particularly since they derive some of the benefits of crushing an humbler people down. They fear public opinion. That's the trouble with this color question the world over. We Americans are a bunch of color cowards. Pure color cowards. And public opinion cowards. However, take your walk, look and learn but say nothing."

While Bennet was on his walk, finding many things of interest along the Battery and its immediate vicinity, studying the character of the houses and the persons he passed, Dr. Tansey was busy making arrangements for the trip up country. He stopped at several garages in attempts to negotiate for an automobile for the trip, but failed to get one to suit him till he came to Calhoun street, where there was a pretentious garage displaying a sign, "Autos for Hire." Stepping into the place he enquired:

"Where's the manager?"

One of the young Negro boys, standing in a group in the doorway pointed to an office within. Then opened the door. Just at the moment a short brown skinned man stepped out.

Dr. Tansey turned to him, "Where's the proprietor? I want to hire a rig."

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 "Yes, sir. What kind of a rig do you want. I'm the proprietor."

Even Dr. Tansey was surprised at the announcement. He knew many black men were in business in the South, and thriving, but hardly expected to see one in charge of such a business, and speaking such language.

"I want to go to Orangeburg, in the morning. I've a friend with me, a stranger, and I want him to see some of the country."

"All right, Sir. What time? And where shall I call for you?"

"Better call at six o'clock at the Great Southern Hotel. We want to get a start and avoid the heat."

"Yes, Sir—All right, Sir.—Who shall I call for?"

"Dr. Tansey. We'll be up and waiting for you."

"Yes, Sir."

Having selected the car and arranged the details, Dr. Tansey returned to his hotel. Bennet had returned also and the two talked for some time over their experiences and observations, before dining, and adjourning for the wide veranda of the hotel where they sat in silence listening to the discussions of those about them.

Travel where you will in the South, one characteristic of the southerner you will always find. He is curious about strangers. They make it a point to always find out, if possible who every visitor is, where he hails from and what his business is. The native Charlestonians, who visited the Great Southern were no exceptions. From the time Dr. Tansey and Bennet had registered and shown

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 active interest in the accident early in the day, there was a constant curiosity manifested about them.

Bennet had been followed and watched as he left the hotel for his walk and Dr. Tansey had been trailed. By some ties of neighborliness born of years of mingling communities are drawn together. Where each knows the other for miles around the presence of a stranger is signalled from house to house and native to native. Such was the case upon the arrival of Bennet and Dr. Tansey. The people of Charleston as in most southern communities guard their traditions, mannerisms, hobbies and oddities religiously. If you are prepared to join with them in their beliefs and practices you are welcomed. If you differ with them and differ positively you are marked and left to complete isolation.

There were a dozen or more men grouped about the veranda when Dr. Tansey and Bennet finished their meal and joined the assembly, taking seats at one side. All turned in their seats, to watch the two men, as they walked over to a corner of the veranda and took vacant seats preparatory to viewing the promenade of those on the street a floor below. Dr. Tansey was indulging in his cigar while Bennet was silent, his mind intent on Lida and his home.

After the two men had been seated long enough for the cigar Dr. Tansey was quietly smoking to be nearly consumed, the natives who had been sitting about grew restless because of their silence On the veranda were men ranging from young to middle age, tall and wiry, for the

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 most part, some dressed neatly and others not. They talked of every subject under the sun from farm prospects to fertilizer.

Dr. Tansey was just about to suggest retiring, having flicked his cigar stub into the street when one of his nearest neighbors turned with:

"Pretty nice town, ain't it, Stranger?"

"Very nice, what I've seen of it," offered Dr. Tansey. "You people take great pride in your city, as well you should. It has a history to be proud of."

The veranda guests were pleased. "Yes," continued the first speaker. "We're right pert proud of our town. Even of our blacks."

"They seem to be making great progress," commented Dr. Tansey. "I see they're in business and making themselves substantial citizens."

"Oh, as much as we allow. We don't plan to have them go too far. You know they out number us here."

"Yes, I recall. That's pretty true of nearly all the South, I believe," was Dr. Tansey's comment.

"Yes. That's the reason the problem looms so large to us down here. That's why you people up North don't understand it.—I can tell you're from up North by your talk."

"Yes, we are," Dr. Tansey admitted.

"As a matter of self-preservation we have to keep them in their places, even the best of them," continued his neighbor.

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 "What do you mean, the best of them? I thought you people held them all to be the same."

"No, there are some who own property, are educated and substantial. But we can't allow them to put on any airs, else they'd think they were white folks and get fresh."

"Then it's not so much their inferiority as it is a matter of self-preservation," suggested Dr. Tansey.

"I'd not say that," suggested another of the group. "A black man is a black man and can't be compared with a white man no matter how much money he accumulates, or how educated."

Dr. Tansey shrugged his shoulders. "I can't understand you people and your arguments," he said.

"You don't believe a Negro is the equal of a white man, do you?" he was asked.

"Since you ask me, I'll tell you. I believe in the Constitution, and the Declaration of Independence. To my mind there are only two kinds of men in this counrty. In fact, in the world—good men and bad men. Color neither makes goodness nor badness. The mere color white, per se, is not a badge of superiority, purity or goodness.

"As to whether one man is or is not the equal of another, that wholly depends on mental ability, character and the quality of man he is. A man may be white and be the most desperate and vile being in the world. He may be black, yellow or red and be the same. All depends on his environment and circumstances of existence. I think the World War fully demonstrated that."

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1858.] separation, and his wife afterwards made application for a divorce, upon a charge which Mr. Parton says is now known to have been false, but which we have reason to believe was true, and which was so disgusting that we cannot even hint at it.

It is our duty to notice one chapter in this book, which, more than anything else it contains, has given it notoriety. We refer to its defence of, or, to speak more mildly, its apology for, Burr's libertinism. All the faults of the author which we have had occasion to notice, examples of which are scattered through the volume, are concentrated in these few pages,—his inconsistency, his inaccuracy, his disposition to draw inferences from facts which they directly contradict, and to rely on evidence which has nothing to do with the case in hand. He argues at great length upon the assumption, that Burr's correspondence with women was unfit for publication, and then, in contradiction to Burr's own positive declaration, asserts that there were "no letters necessarily criminating ladies." To prove this, he publishes two letters, one of which is an apology, written by Burr in his seventy-fourth year, for having addressed a young woman in an improper manner, and the other is a letter from a female, couched in language much warmer than an innocent woman could use. Mr. Parton attacks Davis because that writer stated that Burr left his correspondence to be disposed of by him, and eulogizes his hero because he ordered that the letters should be burned. To establish this position, he quotes Burr's will, which directed Davis "to destroy, or to deliver to all persons interested, such letters, as may, in his estimation, be calculated to affect injuriously the feelings of individuals against whom I have no complaint," thus giving Mr. Davis all the discretionary power with which he claims to have been invested, and making him the judge as to what letters should be destroyed. We have no more space to expose Mr. Parton's blunders and sophistry. The evidence of Burr's debauchery, of his heartless vanity, of his utter disregard of the considerations which usually govern even the worst of men, does not rest upon the admissions of Davis alone. Those who are familiar with a scandalous book called the "Secret History of St. Domingo," which consists of a series of letters addressed to Col. Burr by Madame D'Auvergue, will need no further illustration of his influence over women, nor of the character of those with whom he was most intimately associated. The night before his duel with Hamilton, he committed all the letters of his female correspondents to the care and perusal of Theodosia, saying that she would "find in them something to amuse, much to instruct, and more to forgive." When in Europe, he kept a journal in which he recorded his various amorous adventures. This book, as published, is one which no gentleman would place in the hands of a lady, and the editor tells us that the most improper portions of the diary have been expurgated; yet this journal was written, not to amuse a scandal-loving public, not for purposes of gain, but for the private perusal of Theodosia. What can be said of a man who could expose the lascivious expressions of abandoned females and retail his own debaucheries to a gentle and innocent woman, and that woman his own daughter? The mere statement beggars invective. It shows a mind so depraved as to be unconscious of its depravity.

The character of Burr is not difficult to analyze. His life was consistent, and at the beginning a wise man might have foretold the end. Our author complains that Burr's reputation has suffered from the disposition to exaggerate his faults. This may be true; but it is likewise true that he has been benefited by the same disposition to exaggeration. A character is more dramatic which unites great talents with great vices, and therefore he has been represented both as a worse and a greater man than he really was. Burr cannot be called great in any sense. His successes, such as they were, never appear to have been obtained by high


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 "I don't give a damn how educated a black man is; how much money he has accumulated, how much character, as you call it, he may have, God never made a black man to be the equal of the white, and no nigger is as good as I am. We were made to preserve civilization, to further culture and to rule. And we do rule here in the South," exploded the southerner.

"I hate a Negro," he continued. "They are all brutes no matter how much education or culture they have. Under the skin they are brutes. We know the Negro down here."

Dr. Tansey shrugged his shoulders, as he replied: "I can't understand that instinct which makes a man hate a thing or animal and yet keep that animal so close to him as domestics are to your households. If I dislike a Chinaman I don't want a Chinese cook. If I dislike a black man I don't want one about me or my house. On that premise your position is faulty and your shoutings fallacious. You people are all wrong. And the sooner you find it out the better for the country. You can't always keep subdued and under your heel a people who have made the advances the blacks have even in the face of all odds.

"Besides aren't you preparing your own funerals? What a man sows that shall he also reap. No words were ever truer. Right now, even as you claim to know the Negro, you don't know him. You don't know what he's thinking. You don't know what's in his heart. You talk about civilization, culture, Christianity. You don't know the words.

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 "As far as I can observe, the Negro is the only real Christian. Had he not qualities his soul would have been so embittered long before this that the whole race would have been a group of mad anarchists. Suppose they were not real Christians? Suppose for one day they all should run amuck? What would happen? Just think, of your servants, your workers developing the craze for blood, for one single unit of twenty-four hours. What a holocaust. Let me just hint—poison in your coffee or other food; dynamite in your factories or under your homes.

"Bless your God that they are a spiritual, large hearted, forgiving, patient and loving people. You're teaching the use of force by example, tantalizing by debauching their children, maddening by the bullet and torch, and driving to despair by your injustices, and feeding the fires of a volcano. Only deep spirituality, great Christianity and nobility of soul, in these people, prevents an eruption so violent that the whole world would be shaken.

"If religion means anything; if Christianity is more than a sham and cloak with you, let justice rule and righteous fairness prevail."

"You talk like some new fool minister," his neighbor sneered impatiently. "Seems to me you've learned a lot for being here so short a time," commented another. "Oh, we know how to take care of all that. Keep 'em scared of you. Keep 'em scared of you," asserted still another.

"You ought to be last persons to talk of Negroes being scared," retored Dr. Tansey. "They didn't scare in the

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 Civil War and they didn't scare in the Spanish-American War, nor the World War. No, it's not fear that holds them in check. It's because they're living a life nearer true Christianity. Thank your stars for that. Thank your stars their leaders have them so well in hand.

"What the South ought to do: Instead of trying to keep a race down; a race on whose backs, by whose blood and sweat the South has lived and will continue to live; what the South ought to do is to strive to make better citizens out of these people. Of course, the South will never do that. The South is too bent on preserving its civilization, its caste superiority, its culture. The South owes it to the black race to give it citizenship, education, justice and right. You ought to have settlement houses, good schools, health centers and such things as are offered to the aliens from anarchistic Europe. You would thus be preserving civilization, by preserving your own safety."

"Well, you can't tell us what to do. You live miles away from the problem. We live in the midst of it."

"The problem is not a Negro problem but a white man problem. A problem to get right with God; a problem to quit making a sham of religion; a problem of changing your own attitude to one of justice, fairness and righteousness. Get right with your God and be right with your fellow man. I know this is preachy but someone has to preach it. Your ministers won't. Even our ministers in the North won't. The whole system of Christianity has been destroyed, or almost destroyed by your prejudice and misrepresentations. That's what the Negro thinks as

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 he watches white America. Don't you think they are studying you and your professions of Christianity?—Don't be fooled. You are being weighed—America is being weighed, Christianity itself is being weighed. Every form of religion except one, the Catholic, has been spoiled. And mind you I'm not a Catholic. The bugaboo of prejudice is but a bugaboo after all and Christians ought to be above it.

"I can't," Dr. Tansey continued, "for the life of me see how it is that you people have been able to foist your beliefs and theories, and misrepresentations so thoroughly upon the rest of the world. My God, but the world is gullible, when you think of it.

"Here you people have maligned a race, distorted the truth about a race; and so painted a race as to make that race the most shunned in all the world when as a matter of fact all races are about on par. Race for race, none may be considered better than the other. It is our white civilization that has spread most of our evils. We've set the example. Every newspaper is full of criminal narrative, reports of injustices. It's a good thing our examples are imitated so little."

"We've got to, and you've got to protect our women from the brutes. You don't have that menace in the North so much as we have it down here. We're on the ground and know what we talk about," the first speaker defended while his companions nodded vigorous assent, indicating that he had scored heavily.

"That's another fallacy.—What about their women?

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 A southerner ought to be ashamed to mention that subject. Let's see, there are about twelve million black people in this country—that is, people with Negro blood in them. I think statistics will bear me out in the statement that more than four million of that number are of mixed blood. Now who mixed that blood? It was not the black man. You left your women behind with him when you went to battle in the Civil War. You found your women safe when you returned, even though you were fighting to keep him slave and serf. No, I tell you it is a white problem. I tell you, America—and particularly that part of America south of Mason and Dixon's line, ought to be ashamed of itself. It ought to be in so contrite a mood at the wrongs perpetrated on a harmless race that they should be working tooth and nail to right that wrong, rather than steeping themselves further in wrong.

"Think, gentlemen. Here was a race brought over by force, sold into bondage by force, subjected to all manners of brutalities, by force, its blood mixed because you were the masters, and instead of seeing your wrongs you gloat in your mastery and prate of civilization. Race inferiority and race superiority! What a mockery! Oh, what's the use? I'm going to bed."

Every man on the veranda was on his feet as Dr. Tansey and Bennet who had remained quiet all this time arose. The anger in each man was growing.

"You say harsh things about a country in which you are a guest, Stranger."

"Harsh but true, gentlemen," Dr. Tansey waved his

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 hand as he stood facing them. "Harsh but true.—Calm yourselves, gentlemen. Calm yourselves. We won't fight over it. At least I won't. You invited my opinion. I gave it."

"You evidently don't intend to stay long in this section," observed one.

"As long as I wish. There are good white men down here, who think and feel as I do. Many of them, who know the truths that you and I know. For the sake of peace they have allowed the cruel to triumph. But I tell you, gentlemen, some of these days this very class of which I speak will so arouse themselves over your depravities and brutalities,—that right and justice will triumph. Until that time let brutality have its sway. This is not the first time I've been in this section. I've long known of the brutalities and barbarities practiced down here in the name of civilization. Every day is filled with some tragedy and you know it. No one section is free. But, hell! what's the use? Come on, Bennet, let's go to bed. Good-night, gentlemen."

Dr. Tansey and Bennet strode past the group and into the lobby of the hotel to the elevator and to their room. Dr. Tansey fully expected to be set upon before he left the veranda and was surprised when not attacked. He was surprised at his own vehemence and outburst, as he considered it afterward.

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Bennet was just exclaiming, "My, Doctor, but you raved.—Talk about my holding my tongue"—when there was a tap at the door and to their invitation to enter the door opened and a benign white haired, dignified man in clergyman's attire stepped into the room. He held out a hand as he said:

"I don't know your name but I want to thank you for the talk you gave. It was courageous."

Dr. Tansey accepted the extended hand with: "Dr. Tansey's my name and this is my friend Mr. Bennet."

"Glad to know you, Doctor—and Mr. Bennet. My name is Buntin, Windsor Buntin—I've an Episcopal parish up country away.—I've been trying to make these people see the error of their ways but have had no success. They simply ignore my preaching and my church. You've no idea how bitter they are."

"Never mind that, Father, your work will show some day.—I should not have spoken so but couldn't help myself. I witnessed a sight today that coupled with others I've seen made by blood boil. I wonder the colored people don't rise up in rebellion. And yet they're a docile people, so spiritual that they prefer to have patience."

Father Buntin, turned to go then wheeled again, extending his hand, saying: "Your words have given me new courage; new hope. I shall work on. Thank you, good night." A strong grip gave mutual courage as the two

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 men stood, hands clasped. After a moment the clergyman was gone.

Dr. Tansey and Bennet soon retired and it was not long thereafter before the heavy breathing of the former told Bennet that his companion was sound asleep. Bennet, however, lay awake a long time, thinking over the experiences of the day, and Lida. His mind was filled with her. After the conversations on the ship and his experiences and observations in Charleston he was ready to believe that she had been persuaded to give him up.

"And yet," he debated with himself, "she knew all these things before she promised." Her words at their last meeting sounded in his soul: "I love you, and always will." Despite all the doubts that assailed him, this expression with her image cheered till he slept with a smile about his face.

Dr. Tansey was the first to awaken in the morning and by the time he and Bennet had prepared for their trip the chauffeur, engaged the previous day, arrived with the car. It was a Packard and its well oiled engine purred musically, as the two fares piled in their luggage, preparatory to departure.

Just as the sun was burnishing the waves of the harbor and reddening Forts Moultrie and Sumter they started from the hotel and after skirting the suburbs, headed for the open country along the road to Augusta. As they sped along the flat countryside, great fields of cotton lay spread before them interspersed here and there with other fields of corn. Acres and acres of full blown cotton, in the

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 period of blossoming, row after row running straight from the road for a mile or more till lost in one mass of green far down the field. In the distance the white, large cuplike blossoms, gradually turning to purple, made the field appear a sea of green and star blooms.

Interspersed with these, now and then, were fields of other products, such as wheat, millet, oats, and other growing farm vegetation. Corn fields with their yellowing tassels and ears just showing silken in the breezes. Through this beautiful country the automobile in which Dr. Tansey and Bennet were riding, bore the two men; here and there passing through dense wooded areas whose tall, long-leaf pines towered above the other growth like huge sentinels. At the edge of the road nestled among these wooded areas could be seen yards with low thatched houses, here and there children playing about, climbing trees or at other games.

At work in the cotton fields and among the corn were huge groups of Negro boys and girls, of varying shades, but mostly black or brown; black men and women, quaintly and picturesquely garbed, in costumes that to Bennet seemed slovenly and in many cases tattered. The men were behind plows, while the women and some of the children were swinging hoes, the other children seemed to be pulling weeds from among the cotton and corn. From the crest of an elevation as they rode, they paused to view the magnificent outlook. For miles and miles the vista was one of fields, patches of woods, and houses.

At one place along the road the automobile slowed down

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 a short distance from where a group were resting, having come to the end of their rows. A few were laughing, but most of them were serious. Suddenly, as Dr. Tansey and Bennet watched them interestedly, there seemed to rise from the ground itself a rumbling, rounded harmony. Both men turned, mystified, from one side to the other, looking off in the distance wondering if the strains came from some home in which there was an organ. The chauffeur, who had been silent throughout the ride offered, as he tinkered with his engine, an explanation; "They're singing," he said, lifting his head in the direction of the grouped laborers.

The two men could not understand the words, which were pronounced with an accent, suggestive of a French patois and an English inflection; a characteristic of all speech in the vicinity of Charleston. The music, however, was marvelous. To Dr. Tansey it was like the prelude to an offertory played by some master musician on a great organ. The blending of the voices was such as to make the music seem like some weird paean, each group of tones standing out just enough to make the drum of the ear quiver with the sound which brought delight to the hearers. Dr. Tansey and Bennet studied the singers, their eyes turning first from those producing the bass tones to those carrying the melody.

There was a haunting, semi-sad, plaintive shade to the song, with here and there the soprano of the women and the altos rising above the other voices while the lower tones seemed to moan their way from the diaphragms of

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 the singers to their throats and out into the air. The song was one of the old slave melodies—a spiritual. The words, as Dr. Tansey afterward learned, were:

There was such deep pathos in the song that for a few moments both men stood as if transfixed. To Dr. Tansey's heart there came a gripping pain of sympathy while his eyes filled with tears. He turned aside to brush them away, and when he turned back again Bennet was in the act of putting a handkerchief to his face. There seemed to be a wailing note in the song, as if they were crying out against conditions which hemmed them about, and against which they were helpless except for the faith which their singing instilled in them and the hopes that filled them of a better day to come.

The leader of the song had just stepped to another row of cotton and started toward the other end of the field still singing when a man, evidently the overseer, rode up from somewhere out of sight. The crowd was now moving along down the lanes of cotton when the man, a rawboned, sandy-haired, fiery-eyed man, wearing a wide brimmed slouched hat, came into the group swinging a seven-foot four-braided whip with the end knotted.

"Here, you black devils. Get to work! Get to work!" With that he swung the whip viciously, the lash catching two of the women in its swish. One gave a groan and the

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 other bit her lips in agony of pain and in an effort to repress the anguish she felt. The tall, lanky black who had led off with the singing and hoeing stopped and looked angrily at the man, gripping his hoe menacingly. He kept silent, however.

"None of your impudence, Obed, or I'll brain you," shouted the foreman. "Let me catch you all loafing again and I'll cowhide every durned one of you."

The Negro spoken to, lifted his head toward heaven as if in prayer, then turned to his hoeing.

The overseer turned to the men in the automobile.

"You have to drive them. They're so lazy. You have to keep at them and use force, too," he offered in explanation.

"You use force, all right"—commented Dr. Tansey drily. "I'd like to see if you'd not be a lot lazier if you had to swing a hoe in that sun on that hot field. I know I would."

"Oh, that's a nigger's job. Not a white man's."

"Suppose they decided to quit you. Who'd do the work."

"Nobody 'round here would hire my hands, 'less I said so. That's the rule. Besides I feed 'em. They've got to work for me."

"Don't you pay them in cash for their work?"

"Sometimes."

"How much?"

"Thirty-five cents a day."

"My God!" exclaimed Dr. Tansey. "Thirty-five cents

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 a day to work in that field—from sunrise to dark. My God! and you call them lazy."

"Well, who's going to do the work?—Who'll I get to work my farm?" The overseer exclaimed.

"And you drive them with a whip for that pay. I wonder they don't all leave you."

"If they did that I'd break their backs. Durn them," returned the overseer.

"Well, we must be going. Good day," was Dr. Tansey's parting. With disgust in their hearts the two men resumed their journey. They had passed Branchville and were on the Orangeburg road going through a long stretch of pine woods, talking of commonplace things, Bennet's mind still centered on Lida and their imminent meeting, when suddenly Dr. Tansey listened acutely, above the purr of the automobile. They had just passed a little copse at the rear of which sat a small house. Dr. Tansey listened again. Bennet, too, had heard.

"What was that?" he turned to Dr. Tansey.

"Stop, driver," the latter ordered.

As the car came to a stop, off to the right of them from the woods a little way from the road came the most awful screams and groans. Both men leaped from the car and started for the spot.

"Watch out for snakes," cautioned the chauffeur.

"They're bad about here."

Neither man paid heed to the warning, however, but rushed to where the groans and screams had sounded. In the midst of the thicket, lashed to a holly tree, with

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 back bared to the waist was a brown skinned girl, crying and groaning, blood running down her back. At her side, with coat off and sleeves rolled up was a man with a ministerial vestee and collar on, swinging a lash.

"I'll teach you to steal," he puffed vehemently as he swung the lash again. At the swish of the whip a large welt stood up from the girl's back, from which blood began to flow anew.

Bennet was ahead of Dr. Tansey, this time, his eyes blazing. He was just in time to catch the lash as it descended for another stroke. He only caught part of it, however. His grip had been in the middle. The tapering end of the lash wound itself about Bennet's shoulder with just a tip touching his flesh, raising a lump and firing his soul with madness. He jerked the whip from the man's hand, the force of the pull throwing the lasher off his balance and toward Bennet. As the man fell toward him, Bennet's fist shot out and caught the man flush on the jaw. He went down.

"I've seen about all of this I can stand, you brute," he growled, his voice subdued with pent up emotion. "Stand up and take some of your own medicine."

The man began to grovel at his feet, his senses clearing enough to make him realize that if he stood he would be struck down again. Bennet stood over him, feet extended, poised for another blow.

"Don't hit me. Don't hit me," he begged. "I'm a minister. I just wanted to teach her a lesson—not to steal."

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 "I didn't steal nothing. 'Fore God I didn't steal nothing," moaned the girl.

"Get up," commanded Bennet, "before I brain you. A big hulk of a man like you to be beating a woman. A minister—Pah!"

As they were talking, a rather pretty-faced white woman came toward them, holding her hand high displaying a purse. "George, I found it—I found it. Just where I put it on a shelf back of the clock on the mantel. I'm so glad I found it."

The girl was crying softly now, though her flesh was trembling as it bled. She was still tied to the tree. The minister's wife took in the scene and the two strangers, then turned, without a blush or a glance at the girl to the house.

"Free that girl," Bennet commanded.

The minister had now replaced his frock and busied himself untying the thongs that bound the girl. "I meant no harm. They all do it around here. I wanted to teach her not to steal. My wife had lost her purse," he offered as if in palliation.

"Shut up!" blazed Bennet as he stepped toward the minister, his fists clenched again. "You shame the name of minister. You—you—devil."

The girl, still crying with pain, threw her discarded clothing over her shoulder, covering her wounds, when freed, started off through the woods.

"If I had my gun here I'd kill you. White men don't interfere in one another's affairs with their servants 'round here."

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 "Go get your gun. I'll wait here," commanded Bennet.

The minister departed, the girl following still crying under her breath. The two men watched him disappear and enter his house. They waited some minutes longer and when he failed to make good his threat they returned to their car and were on their way again.

"What a miserable country this is," commented Bennet, as they started.

"Yes, miserable, for some people. It's a beautiful land, though, were it not for such things as these and—snakes. And yet, Bennet, we don't know half. It fairly sickens me when I think of the crimes wantonly committed in this land."

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Due to the roundabout way they had to travel, because of swamps and small streams over which there were no bridges, it was well along in the afternoon when they reached Orangeburg. They came into the city from the south, over a long bridge stretching across a swamp through which the waters flowed like a river. The Edisto River, however, was at the town edge of the swamp, a narrow dark stream, deep and mysterious, bending in and out on the border of the town. Across this the car rattled and sped along the highway into the center of the old city.

Stores lined the main street, that ran from the river clear across the town and into the adjoining country on the other side, after crossing the railroad track. On the river side of the town its boundary was fringed with small houses of the poorer residents, with a section adjoining in which the colored population lived. Most of the large stores were on Main Street in this section, having spread toward the river from the Court House and yard in the center of a small mall.

This mall and Court House were historic, having stood since Colonial days, the center of all life of the town and fenced in, by tall trees growing about it. At the rear, two churches raised their tall spires while in front was the imposing new post office building, the better class barber shops of the town, a couple of the main stores and the High School for white pupils. On the other sides were a

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 drug store, and residences of some of the older families. Main Street divided itself at the mall so as to take in the square then rejoined itself on the further side.

Along the continuation of this street for about a mile toward the railroad were the wide residential estates of the older families, the Sallees, the Dibbles, the Felders, the Motts and the Harleys. Beautiful southern estates, well preserved, with their Colonial and slave day traditions seeming to show in the very austerity and dignity of the gate-posts and driveways.

There were a few stores conducted by Negroes on the opposite sides of the street, a large livery stable or two, two garages and other less pretentious residences. All other streets either paralleled this or crossed it at right angles. Across the railroad on the left was what had once been a park owned by Claflin University, a school for Negroes. This had been divided now into house lots and dwellings erected. At the rear of this were other old residences, and a farm belonging to the State College; while to the north and back from the section, opposite the low squat station was what remained of Claflin University with its campus. Opposite and beyond this stretching out into the country were farm lands owned by the two institutions, residences of other wealthy families, including the Andrewses and Websters, from carpet bag days.

Orangeburg boasted of but one hotel, situated near the Court House, it was here that all the county gathered to trade news and horses, or other products up for barter. To this the chauffeur drove DrDr. [sic] Tansey and Bennet.

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 "Well, Boy," Dr. Tansey said as their luggage was carried in. "You're in the heart of the south now. Here's where I leave you for a time. You will continue on to the country for your girl and I'll hunt germs. Go cautiously. Keep your head, and your tongue, get your girl and get out. That's my advice. See and don't see."

Lida Lauriston was indignant at the manner in which Miss Gregory hurried her out of town, when commencement was over, and bundled her into a train headed for her southern home. She would have been still more indignant had the girl known the real cause for the hurry. From the staid old New England town, to New York, Lida's every thought was of Bennet and the desire she had to remain with him a little longer. The more she thought the more indignation burned at her heart. She planned and replanned the many things of which she would write him. When New York was reached she handed the porter a letter to be mailed. In this was her heart. She told of her sorrow at leaving him, her indignation against Miss Gregory, of the company of girls she had met on the train.

When Philadelphia was reached, with the change of scenery and the faces of the people, thoughts began to shift from scenes she was leaving to those of her home. She dreaded the meeting with her father and appreciated the storm that would rage about her head when she broke the news that she was to be married.

She counted on the great love her father had always shown for her to win her way through the ordeal. Through-

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 out the remainder of the trip till the train pulled up to the station at Columbia, where she had asked him to meet her, her thoughts were centered on this encounter. For the first time in her life she somewhat dreaded meeting her father. Her heart was set, however, and whenever a young girl envelopes herself in the strength of true love she steels herself for any ordeal.

The train pulled into Columbia from across the yellow Santee River, past the penitentiary and on into the center of the city in the midst of a summer downpour. It was not a showery affair but a set rain with lowering clouds floating overhead in a southwesterly direction, making gloom for the surrounding scenery and filling everyone with a feeling of depression.

She spied her father before he did her, pacing up and down the platform in his tall spare dignity, erect and eager. He was looking through the coaches as he walked, but missed his daughter till she landed with her luggage which the porter set at the corner of the station while she ran along the platform. As she neared him she called out:

"Daddy!"

The southerner turned in his tracks and swept his daughter into his arms where she nestled crying softly. "Daddy, Daddy, Dear Daddy, it's good to be with you again."

Colonel Lauriston, stern old disciplinarian that he was, struggled to master his emotions, but despite himself and biting his gray moustache the tears flowed from his eyes. Only one who has loved an offspring with all the devotion

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 of a parent can appreciate the pent up emotion that sought expression as the old man clasped his daughter to his heart. He seemed unwilling to ever release her.

At last he freed her, however, and held her at arm's length while the tears still flowed. For a moment or two they stood thus, the father's eyes caressingly roving over his daughter's form. Finally he spoke a little softly and wistfully, as if musing more to himself than speaking to her.

"The days have been long—so very long, child."

"Did you miss me as much as that, Daddy?" She threw her arms around him again in affectionate embrace. "I missed you also."

"Bless your heart," was all he could trust himself to say.

The station porter's move to lift the luggage and carry it away ended the touchingly domestic scene to which the passengers had been witnesses. Linked arm in arm father and daughter passed down the platform and around the corner to the awaiting carriage.

The drive out into the country to the ancestral home of the Lauristons for Lida was one of continued delight expressed in exclamations as she passed familiar sights along the way. For Colonel Lauriston the drive was perfect since he had his daughter at his side. He enjoyed sitting back in the carriage, listening to Lida's talk and studying the changes a year had made in her. As they rode the clouds broke and the sun shone as if to smile a welcome.

There had been decided changes in her. Her face had matured, taking on a more womanly expression; the cheeks

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 seemed to be fuller and more delicately tinted; her lips a little more rounded and redder with the wine of life. Colonel Lauriston also noted a little more firmness about the well-chiseled rounded chin.

In the midst of one of her bursts of admiration she turned to him as she felt his scrutiny.

"Why, Daddy, have I changed so much that you are trying to get acquainted with me over again. Have I grown so much as that?"

He smiled as he said: "I do think I'll have to get acquainted again. You've changed and improved. Your year has done you good. You're now more than ever the image of your mother."

"I may have changed outwardly but inwardly I'm not changed. I'm still Lida," she exclaimed, raising his hand to her lips affectionately.

"I don't know about that. I have a suspicion that you must have met someone who's changed your heart just a little. And I fear my girl won't be with me long."

"No one can take your place, Daddy," she replied evasively.

"Oh, it's not that. I know I won't be with you always and I'd like to see you settled in a home of your own before I go. I'd sort of hoped you might find some nice young man up there. Did you, Lida?"

The girl's blushes betrayed her.

"There—there, I thought so," her father teased, noting her embarrassment. "Tell me about him. I might as well know first as last."

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 "Oh, don't let's talk about that now. I'm not home yet, Daddy.—Wait till we get home."

"As serious as that, is it?" Colonel Lauriston remarked shrewdly.

His daughter made no comment, becoming suddenly pensive as she thought of Bennet and her mind raced back to him. Conversation for the remainder of the trip was spasmodic, Colonel Lauriston seemingly being content to have his daughter again under his eye and she absorbed in her dreams. In her reverie she retraced the events of the past year back to her leaving home. At this point she turned suddenly to her father.

"Oh, Daddy, what's become of Aunt Sally Gorton. Is she still here?"

"Yes,—still here." A spasm of pain at the reminder flitted across his face.

"That was awful, Daddy—the curse she placed on you, I mean."

"I thought you'd forget that superstition up North, My Girl, Only a superstition—only a superstition," he repeated.

"Yes, Daddy, but she whipped you.—Ugh!" she shivered. "I can feel the pain of it yet."

"The whim of an old woman, Lida.—The whim of an old woman," he repeated.

The carriage by this time had rounded a curve in the road disclosing to view a wide expanse of cotton fields, with here and there patches of woods. Set back at the edges of the woods at varying distances apart were houses

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 of the foremen of the Lauriston plantation, the' landed tenantry, and the squat dwellings of the Negro hands. In the midst of the grouping was the saw mill with its piles of sawdust and discarded slabs over which Lida had romped as a child.

Between adjoining fields of growing crops which seemed to be waving their welcome greeting, wound the white sanded road like a ribbon passing house after house till it came to the gate of the Lauriston mansion.

Nestling back in the woods, some distance from the road on the opposite side to the Lauriston lands, and two miles away behind the copse of woods around which the road had curved, was the less pretentious home of Old John Marley. Lida stood as these familiar scenes came into view.

"Hello, everybody," she shouted as she waved her hand joyously over the expanse that had opened up to view. "Hello, everybody." Tears of joy dimmed her eyes as she thought.—"Home again."

She rested her hand gently on her father's shoulder as the carriage gave a lurch but held her balance, looking through her tears over the landscape. Taking in here and there groups of laborers who halted in their work as they beheld the carriage and knew that the daughter of the house had returned. Lida gripped her handkerchief and waved it at first one group and then another. Hats and hands were waved in response. The carriage never halted till the horses came panting up to the wide piazza and rounded up to the hitching post.

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 All the domestics of the household had swarmed to the door and onto the piazza as the carriage rolled up, from the aged bandana-decorated cook and ruler of the household Mammy Wing, to Malinda the table girl and Joe the chore boy. As the carriage halted, Mammy Wing, with her fat arms pushed the crowd aside, and started to meet the young girl. She had no more than made two steps, however, before Lida had mounted to the piazza and was swept into the old woman's embrace.

"Poor Honey Lamb," was all the old woman could say, tears halting further speech. While still in the embrace of the old woman, Lida was reaching out and shaking hands with everybody. Joe the chore boy was busy with the luggage, when Lida espied him and cried, "Hello, Joe, aren't you going to shake hands?"

The bey dropped his bundles and bowed, then shook the proffered hand. They were still grouped about the girl when Colonel Lauriston ordered:

"Be gone. Everybody. Get to your work."

With that all scattered, and Lida was ushered into the house. In the rural south formalities are forgotten. Thus when the news spread that Lida had returned, neighbors for miles around began to call. These calls continued till far into the night and Colonel Lauriston's heart filled to the bursting with pride as he exhibited his daughter to his admiring neighbors and extolled her accomplishments.

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It was far into the morning of the following day when Lida opened her eyes, following a sleep with pleasant dreams. As she awoke the sun was streaming into the room from high in the heavens. For a brief spell she surrendered herself to the luxury of being at home and in her own bed, sending her thoughts northward to Bennet. As she built her air castles of romance an intense longing to see her lover gripped her.

Picturing scene after scene in which the spirit of Bennet was present, she began to realize how difficult it would be to break the news of her engagement to her father. Long, long she argued with herself that her case was different, that Bennet was no different from anyone else except as his character and personality stood out above and beyond that of any other man she had ever met. She contrasted Bennet with the people of colored blood with whom she had come in contact during her life but could see nothing in him that was like them. He was as far removed from the plantation hand type of her father's lands and those of their neighbors as she was. After becoming hopelessly involved in speculations for a time she swept all these aside with the words:

"I don't care. I love him. He's all the world to me. Come what will my heart and life are his."

With that decision she arose, threw about her a dressing robe and wrote him a letter full of her heart.

"Dearest One:"—she wrote. "It is morning and I am

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 at home. How good it seems to be again with those associations and friends who were yours from childhood. Everything seems the same. The people are just as hospitable, just as homey, just as loving. Life is sweet to me. Sweeter to me since I know I have the love of the best man in the world and my love is his. Just think what a difference a year makes in one's experience. A year ago this time I was but a girl. Now I have seen some of the world, have known some bitternesses, much joy and now know what love is. It is so different from what I used to imagine.

I can now understand the love that Christ gave to the world. For you have awakened in me such a deep love that I reverence the world for it. My love for you seems to make me see the world in such a different light that I see good in everything. Even the twigs of white oak in the yard as they sway in the breeze seem to whisper of love. If my love for you can make the world seem as it does to me, how wonderful must be that love which God gives to humanity. I seem to ask nothing of the world but your love; seem to want nothing but to look up into the sky and to know without seeing the words written there that I have your love and as you love me so does the Great God.

I have not yet told Daddy of my love for you; that I have found the man of my heart. I shall do so today. I pray God to give me strength for the ordeal. I know it will be an ordeal but I shall be brave, Dear, for your sake—for the sake of our love. He perhaps won't see it

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 as I do, but he loves me and loving me I hope to convince him. When I go to him I shall have your hand in mine, in thought, and that shall cheer me along.

Since knowing you I have learned how blind prejudice wrongs many. It is unChristian, unholy. It has spoiled the whole of Christian living in this land of ours. Oh, I have learned a lot since knowing you, Dear. Prejudice has made a mockery of religion. What a farce religion has come to be because of the spectre prejudice has built up among us. In what a poor light we of this land must stand before the eyes of the world! In what a poor light we must stand before the poor untutored colored people who are our servants. What an example we set for them!

I shall be different from this on, thanks to the love you have awakened in me and some day perhaps all this land will be different. Then right will triumph and justice prevail, as they do not now. I anticipate a storm when I give the news to Daddy. Pray for me and with me, Dear, that I may have strength and success.

Remember that wherever you go, wherever you are, night and day, my heart is with you, my hopes are in you. Living or dead I am yours and always will be.

Well, Dear, it is nearly noon and I must be dressing. Give me your heart's love always and I shall ask no more.

Trustingly yours, L.

The letter finished Lida rang for her maid and after her bath was soon dressed. Her father was waiting on the veranda when she appeared.

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 "Hello, Daddy," she greeted him effusively as she swept down on him, placing both arms about his neck as she kissed him. His arms clasped her long and tenderly as she sat on the arm of his wide rocker.

"Are you tired, after last night?" he asked, tenderly.

"Oh, no, Daddy. It was wonderful, wasn't it?"

"We're all glad to have you back with us," he said tenderly. "Even the blacks. They had a celebration themselves after you retired."

"It's good to be loved so well, isn't it, Daddy?"

"Yes, my child. Love of your friends, love of your neighbors and love of your servants, make life worth while. Now that you're back I suppose someone else will be claiming your love, Eh, Child?"

"I don't know, Daddy."

"I shall be a jealous and lonely old father, when that time comes."

"You won't need to be for whoever loves me must love you."

"Yes, but I may not love him, for he will be taking the jewel of an old man's heart."

"Sh-s-s-sh-sh." She warned, a finger on his lips. "Don't talk that way. Daddy will always be daddy to me."

"I'd like to see you well married and settled, Lida, before long. I'm getting old now. My days are few before I shall be called to join those now under the sycamore. I want to see you married and in a home of your own before I go.—There are several good boys about here, sons of good neighbors. It would be nice if you could find one of them satisfactory.satisfactory." [sic]

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 "Who, for instance?"

"Well, there's Old John Marley's son, Little Joe." Lida remained silent as the Colonel named over the young men he had in mind. "There's George Danielson, James Ferdick, John Knott. All sons of good men. Young men who are steady and native."

"Well, I don't care for any of them. They're all too stodgy. Besides Little Joe may be like his father. Imagine me the wife of a couple of hundred pounds of grease. Just fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh, imagine it," she mimicked. At the picture conjured up by the mimickry both laughed.

"Well," continued her father, when their laughter ceased, "Old John and I have been neighbors for years and years and his place adjoins mine. He comes from good stock, too. I understand Little Joe thinks a heap of you, too."

"It won't do any good, Daddy. I don't want any of them."

Colonel Lauriston detected the wistful tone in Lida's voice. He studied his daughter shrewdly. She blushed under his scrutiny.

"Ah," he said as she averted her face. "You've found someone while at school. Eh, I thought that would happen. Well, he'll have to prove himself to me."

"Oh, he can do that," she championed in brave admission. "You won't like him though, and I'm sorry for that because I'm going to marry him."

"Whether I will it or not? Would you defy your father? The father who nursed you like a mother from a little tot

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 to now; who's been all and all to you. No! Lida, child, you'll not do that."

"You'll have to give your consent, then. For I'm pledged to him and he to me."

"Who is he?"

"Will you consent if I tell you?" she bargained.

"I want to know first," he nodded negatively.

"His name is Truman Bennet."

"Bennet, Bennet—Bennet? One of the Abbeville Bennets?" he queried.

"Oh, no. He's not a southerner at all."

"Who is he then? I must know.—What does he look like?—What are his prospects in life? A father must know these things to know if it is safe to trust the life of his child with the man."

"Why not let me be the judge and trust to me?" argued Lida.

"You're but a child yet. Only a girl. I must protect you."

"Did you think that way when you and mother eloped?"

"That was different. We lived in adjoining counties."

"You married the girl you loved. She married the man she loved. I've often heard you say neither your parents nor hers were pleased."

"Your case is different," he parried.

"Yes, the case of every child is different from that of the parent. You won't like my choice. I know you won't. Yet I came all the way back here to tell you."

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 "If he's manly and upright I'll like him, perhaps; if he treats you right and is worthy of you."

"He's more than manly and upright. He is one man in a thousand, Daddy, and I'd go to the ends of the earth with him and for him."

"Even forsaking me?" he queried.

"Even forsaking you. My love would not be true otherwise—and it is true—as true as life," she said solemnly—so solemnly that Colonel Lauriston was convinced and bowed his head. He remained with his head on his chest for several minutes while Lida stroked his hair tenderly as if to ward off the blow her next words would give.

"You won't like him, Daddy, and I'm sorry—so sorry."

"Why won't I like him? Why are you so sure?" He gripped her hand fiercely, not knowing what to anticipate.

Lida stood facing him. He also arose and towered in front of her, awaiting her answer, his eyes snapping and his nostrils dilating in excitement. In this crisis Lida did not flinch or wince. She looked straight into his eyes, the woman in her coming to the fore. There was tenderness in her eyes and face, yet determination. Colonel Lauriston was over matched in this. He slowly sank back into his chair, awaiting her answer.

"You won't like him," Lida pronounced the words slowly and with hesitation, "because—because he is not of my, not of our blood. He has colored blood in him."

For a moment Colonel Lauriston was stricken dumb with the shock of the news. His tongue seemed paralyzed.

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 He looked up at his daughter, his face wildly distorted and agonized, the flesh sagging in wretched lines, as the import of the news came to him. His hands trembled as with palsy when they reached to grasp those of his daughter.

"You can't mean that, child. You're joking.—It's a poor joke, though, Lida—that's a ghastly joke."

"But, Daddy, it's no joke. I'm in earnest."

"I forbid it." The Colonel had mastered himself again. He had now risen from his chair, rage consuming him. "I forbid it," he shouted. "I'll disown you.—I'll kill you first.—It shan't be. My God! It shan't be."

In the face of this crisis Lida was calmness personified. She faced her father's rage and tempestuous outburst with surprising assurance. Colonel Lauriston in his tempest strode from one end of the veranda to the other. Muttering and cursing bitterly between threats.

"To think that a Lauriston should ever come to this. To bring this disgrace on my family—my name. It shall never be—how did you ever meet this man?—where did you first meet him?—though you be of my blood if you ever do such a thing I'll disinherit you—I'll cut you off—put you out. A villain to steal the heart of my innocent daughter. Oh, why did I ever send you away from me? Why didn't I keep you at my side and under my own eyes. Woe—woe is me. I'm truly cursed."

"But Daddy, it's no disgrace to love, if one loves truly."

"Shut up," he commanded in shouting tones. He had never before used such a tone to his daughter. She

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 flinched under its volume and shrank away, resolution still written on her face.

"You talk of love.—You don't know the meaning of the word. I'll not let you throw yourself away."

There was calm determination of a fixed purpose in the entire attitude of the girl and Colonel Lauriston realized that it was the family will pitted against his and that this will would not be broken. It was now a battle of will powers and Colonel Lauriston knew that no argument or persuasion would turn the girl from her purpose. Knowing this his rage began to mount again and as it mounted he began to rave in such violently blasphemous language that Lida was forced to close her ears. He cursed God, man, devil and all the universe in his desperation, in the impotency of his rage. After half an hour he seemed to have exhausted himself and the storm that wracked him was spent. Lida had made no attempt either to halt him or to leave for her room. For some minutes after Colonel Lauriston ceased to rave he still walked the veranda intermittently throwing back his head and shaking it much as an angry bull does when in a rage. Finally he turned and entered the house leaving the girl puzzled, alone on the veranda. As he left her, Lida sank into the chair he had vacated, bowing her head on her arms in prayer.

It is characteristic of great simple souls that when in distress they turn to prayer. It was so with Lida. Lacking the comforting council of a mother her only consolation was in prayer. Tears of sorrow trickled slowly between her closed lids. Her mind tried to frame a prayer

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 of her own but the only words that came to her lips were those of the Lord's prayer. These she murmured with pathetic tenderness as a lonely feeling enveloped her. "Forgive us our trespasses," she murmured, "as we forgive those who trespass against us." As she continued to the end of the prayer her soul seemed to take cheer and her depression departed. As depression disappeared the vision of her lover filled her mind and long she remained in the chair, her head bowed thinking of Bennet and wondering where he was.

Finally she arose and went to her room determined to write telling Bennet of the storm she was facing. "I don't mind the storm, Dear, she wrote. I live for you and I know that the Good God above will bring our love to a happy ending. I am suffering so, Truman, Dear. Suffering for you," she continued pathetically. "Suffering for my father who has taken it so heavily. If he only knew you as I know you and as your friends know you! I fear he will be hard to win over. I don't know what will be the end, but this I know. I love you—love you—and always will.

"I see things so differently now. We are all of one blood. Particularly are you and I of one blood for you are more white than otherwise. I have learned that nationality matters not where character and culture and heart have sway. We are a benighted people down here. Blinded by the prejudice of years of slavery and selfishness; clinging to the tenacles of a past age and condition while all the rest of the world is moving along.

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 "Well, Dear, I must close now. I hear my father still pacing the floor below and it is almost three o'clock. I shall try to sleep for I know tomorrow will be a hard day for me. I shall dream of you, however, and the time when we shall be together. I am so lonesome, Truman—lonesome for you. I would ask you to come to me so that we two could fight and master the situation together, I am so weak! But I know what a danger that would be for you and so I must bear it alone. I shall be brave for your sake, though, and our love shall carry us on."

She signed, sealed and closed the letter, then without calling for her maid, whom she had dismissed long ago, she prepared for bed. Daylight was streaking across the southern sky, however, before she was able to close her eyes. It was far toward mid-day when she awoke with a start, conscious even before she opened her eyes that someone was in her room. She slowly opened her eyes to look into the fiery orbs of her father. He had finished reading her letter of the night before. Her face flushed in anger at the intrusion and the discourtesy of the act of opening the letter, even though the act was performed by her father.

For several moments the two stood gazing at each other, the father's look being one of menace and threat, the girl's that of anger. Suddenly Colonel Lauriston's face became so distorted with rage that he seemed another man. He stepped to the bed. Lida did not flinch or avert her gaze, though believing, in his madness, he was about to do her harm. She was the first to speak.

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