Col. Montjoy returned home early. He rode into the yard and entered the house with as much unconcern as he could affect. Annie met him at the door with an unusual display of interest. Had he rested well? Was not the hotel warm, and—was there anything of interest stirring in the city? To all these questions he responded guardedly and courteously. Mary's white face questioned him. He put his arm about her.

"And how is the little mamma to-day—have her eyes given her any more trouble?"

"She is staying in the darkened room to avoid the light," said the girl. He went to her and the two young women were left alone. Annie was smiling and bent upon aggravation.

"I think I shall ride in," she said at length. "There is something afoot that is being kept from me. Amos Royson is my cousin and I have a right to know if he is in trouble." Mary did not reply for a moment. At last she said:

"A man having written such a letter must expect to find himself in trouble—and danger, too." The other laughed contemptuously.

"I did not say danger! Amos has little to fear from the smooth-faced, milk-and-water man he has exposed."

"Wait and see," was the reply. "Amos Royson is a coward; he will not only find himself in danger, but if necessary to save himself from a cowhiding will involve other people—even a woman!"

"What do you mean? You have not always thought him a coward; you have accepted his attentions and would have married him if you had had the chance." Mary looked up quickly.

"I treated him with politeness because he was your cousin; that is all. As for marriage with him, that is too absurd to have even occurred to me."

Annie ordered Isam to bring her pony carriage, and as she waited Mary watched her in silence and with a strange expression upon her face. When her father returned she said, resolutely:

"Annie, I was awake last night and heard a horse coming. Thinking it might be papa, although the pace was rather fast for him, I went out to the gate. There was a negro with a note for you from Mr. Royson. Mamma had just got to sleep and I was afraid of waking her, so I sent Mr. Royson word to see papa at the hotel."

The sister-in-law seized her by the shoulder.

"By what right, miss, do you meddle with my business! It may have been a question of a man's life! You have ruined everything!" She was trembling with rage. Mary faced her resolutely.

"And it may have been a question of a man's honor. In either case, my father is the one to consult!"

"Sit down, both of you! Annie—Mary, I desire this matter to end at once!" Col. Montjoy spoke calmly but firmly. He retained his clasp upon his daughter's hand and gradually as he talked drew her to his knees.

"There is a serious difficulty pending between Mr. Morgan and Amos Royson, as you both probably know," he said, quietly. "The matter is in good hands, however, and I think will be satisfactorily arranged. I do not know which were better, to have delivered Amos' note or not. It was a question Mary had to decide upon the spur of the moment. She took a safe course, at least. But it is unseemly, my children, to quarrel over it! Drop the matter now and let affairs shape themselves. We cannot take one side or the other." Annie made no reply, but her lips wore their ironical smile as she moved away.

Mary hid her face upon her father's breast and wept softly. She knew that he did not blame her, and she knew by intuition that she had done right, but she was not satisfied. No shadow should come between her father and herself.

"I was certain," she said, "that there was something wrong in that note. You remember what I told you. And I was determined that those two people should not hatch up any more mischief in this house. Mr. Morgan's safety might have depended upon keeping them apart." The colonel laughed and shook his head. But he only said:

"If it will help clear up your skies a little, I don't mind telling you that I would not have had that note delivered last night for half this plantation." She was satisfied then.

"Who ordered the cart, Isam?" The negro was at the gate.

"Young mis', sah. She goin' to town."

"Well, you can put it back. It will not be necessary for her to go now. Annie," he said, turning to that lady, as she appeared in the door, "I have sent the cart back. I prefer that none of my family be seen upon the streets to-day." There was an unwonted tone in his voice which she did not dare disregard. With a furious look, which only Mary saw, she returned to her room. A negro upon a mule brought a note. It read:

"Dear Norton: All attempts at settlement have failed. I should like to see you, but think you had better maintain strict neutrality, will wire you to-morrow.

"A. E."

"There is no answer," he said to the boy. And then, greatly depressed, he went to his room. Mary, who read every thought correctly, knew that the matter was unsettled and that her father was hopeless. She went about her duties steadily, but with her heart breaking. The chickens, pigeons, the little kids, the calves—none of them felt the tragedy in their lives. Their mistress was grave and unappreciative; nothing more. But her eyes were not closed. She saw little Jerry armed with a note go out on the mare across the lower-creek bridge, and the expectant face of Annie for two hours or more in every part of the house that commanded a view of that unused approach.

Then Jerry came back and went to the sister-in-law's door. He had not reached his quarters before Mary called him to help her catch a fractious hen. Then she got him into the dining-room and cut an enormous slice of iced cake.

"Jerry," she said, "how would you like that?" Jerry's white eyes and teeth shone resplendent. He shifted himself to his left foot and laughed. "Tell me where you have been and it is yours." Jerry looked abashed and studied a silver quarter he held in his hand, then he glanced around cautiously.

"Honest, missy?"

"Honest! Quick, or I put the cake back." She made a feint.

"Been to town."

"Of course. Who was the note for?"

"Mr. Royson."

"Did he answer it?"

"No'm. Couldn't find him. Er nigger tole me he gone ter fight wid Mr. Morgan, and everybody waitin' ter hear de news."

"You can—go—Jerry. There," she handed him the cake, and, walking unsteadily, went to her room. She did not come out until supper time and then her face was proof that the "headache" was not feigned.

And so into the night. She heard the doors open and shut, the sound of her father's footsteps on the porch as he came and went. She went out and joined him, taking his arm.

"Papa," she said, after awhile, "you need not keep it from me. I know all. They did not settle it. Mr. Morgan and Mr. Royson have gone to fight." She could not proceed. Her father laid his hand upon hers.

"It will all come out right, Mary; it will all come out right." Presently he said: "Amos used to come here. I hope you are not interested in him."

"No," she said bitterly, "I could never think much of Annie's relatives. One in the family is enough."

"Hush, my child; everything must give way now on Norton's account. Don't forget him. But for Norton I would have settled this matter in another way."

"Yes, and but for him there would never have been a necessity. Amos depended upon his relationship to keep you out of it." Col. Montjoy had long unconsciously relied upon the clear mind of the girl, but he was not prepared for this demonstration of its wisdom. He wondered anew as he paced the floor in silence. She continued: "But Amos is only the tool, papa; all of us have an enemy here in the house. Annie——"

"Hush! Hush!" he whispered, "don't say it. It seems too awful to think of! Annie is foolish! She must never know, on Norton's account, that she is in any way suspected of complicity in this matter." And then in silence they waited for dawn.

At last the merciful sun rolled away the shadows. Breakfast was a sad affair. All escaped from it as soon as possible.

It was a fateful day—7, 8, 9 o'clock. The matter was ended; but how? Mary's haggard face questioned her father at every turn. He put his arm about her and went to see her pets and charges, but still no word between them. She would not admit her interest in Edward Morgan, nor would he admit to himself that she had an interest at stake.

And then toward noon there came a horseman, who placed a message in his hands. He read it and handed it to Mary. If he had not smiled she could not have read it. One word only was there:

"Safe!"

Her father was at the moment unfolding an 'extra.' She read it with him in breathless interest. Following an unusual display of headlines came an accurate account of the duel. Only a small part of the padded narrative is reproduced here:

"Royson was nervous and excited and showed the effects of unrest. But Morgan stood like a statue. For some reason he never moved his eyes from his adversary a moment after they reached the field. Both men fired at the command, their weapons making but one report. Some think, however, that Morgan was first by the hundredth part of a second, and this is possible, as the single report sounded like a crash or a prolonged explosion. Royson fell, and it was supposed was certainly killed. He presented a frightful appearance instantly, being covered with blood. It was quickly ascertained, however, that he was not dangerously hurt, his opponent's shot having cut off a finger and the pistol guard, had hurled the heavy weapon into his face. He escaped with a broken nose and the loss of his front teeth.

"Morgan, who had preserved his wonderful coolness from the first, received a bullet through a fold of his shirt that darkened the skin to the left of his heart. It was a narrow escape. Parties took the up train."

The extra went on to say that since the first reading of the original card the public mind had undergone a revulsion in Morgan's favor; a feeling greatly stimulated by the fact that Gen. Evan had come to the rescue of that gentleman; had vouched for him in every respect and was acting as his second. When the colonel had finished the thrilling news he noticed that Mary's head was in his lap, and felt tears upon his hand above which her own were clasped. Annie was looking on, cold and white.

"There has been a duel, my daughter," he said to her kindly, "and, fortunately, without alarming results. Mr. Royson lost a finger, I believe, and received a bruise in the face; that is all. Nothing serious. It might have been much worse. Here is the paper," he concluded, "probably an exaggerated account." She took it in silence and returned to her room. She ran her eye through every sentence without reading and at last threw the sheet aside.

Only those who knew the whole character of Annie Montjoy would have understood. She was looking for her name; it was not there. Her smiling face was proof enough.

Long they sat, father and daughter, his hand still stroking lightly her bowed head. At last he said, very gently, the hand trembling a little:

"This has been a hard trial for us both—for us both! I am glad it is over! Morgan is too fine a fellow to have been sacrificed to this man's hatred and ambition." She looked up, her face wet and flushed.

"There was more than that, papa."

"More? How could there be?"

She hesitated, and then said, bravely: "Mr. Royson has more than once asked me to marry him." The colonel's face grew black with sudden rage.

"The scoundrel!"

"And he has imagined that because Mr. Morgan came to help your election—oh, I cannot." She turned hastily and went away in confusion.

And still the colonel sat and thought with clouded face.

"I must ask Evan," he said.

"Colonel, Mis' Calline says come deir, please." A servant stood by him. He arose and went into his wife's room. She was standing by the open window, its light flooding the apartment, her bandages removed.

"Why, Caroline, you are imprudent, don't you know? What is it, my dear? She was silent and rigid, a living statue bathed in the glory of the autumn sun. She waited until she felt his hand in hers.

"Norton," she said, simply, but with infinite pathos, "I am afraid that I have seen your loved face for the last time. I am blind!" He took her in his arms—the form that even age could not rob of its girlishness—and pressed her face to his breast. It had come at last. His tears fell for the first time since boyhood.