ALF an hour later Helen, waiting at the front gate, saw a horse and buggy turn the corner down the street. She recognized it as belonging to Keith Gordon. Indeed, Keith was driving, and with him was Carson Dwight.

Helen's heart bounded, a vast weight of incalculable responsibility seemed to lift itself from her. She unlatched the gate and swung it open.

“Oh, I thought you'd never come!” she smiled, as he sprang out and advanced to her. “I would have broken my oath of allegiance to the clan if you had waited a moment longer.”

“I might have known you couldn't keep it,” Dwight laughed. “Mam' Linda would have drawn it out of you just as you did out of me.”

“But are you going to tell her?” Helen asked, just as Keith, who had stepped aside to fasten his horse, came up.

“Yes,” Carson answered. “Keith and I made a lightning trip around and finally persuaded all the others. Invariably they would shake their heads, and then we'd simply tell them you wished it, and that settled it. They all seem flattered by the idea that you are a member.”

“But say, Miss Helen,” Keith put in, gravely, “we really must guard against Lewis and Linda's giving it away. It is a most serious business, and, our own interests aside, the boy's life depends on it.”

“Well, we must get them away from the cottage,” said Helen. “They are now literally surrounded by curious negroes.”

“Can't we have them up here in the parlor?” Carson asked. “Your father is down-town; we saw him as we came up.”

“Yes, that's a good idea,” Helen responded, eagerly. “The servants are all at the cottage; we'll make them stay there and have Uncle Lewis and Mam' Linda here.”

“Suppose I run down and give the message,” proposed Keith, and he was off with the speed of a ball-player on a home-run.

“Do you think there is any real danger to Mam' Linda's health in letting her know it suddenly?” Carson asked, thoughtfully.

“We must try to reveal it gradually,” Helen said, after reflecting for a moment. “There's no telling. They say great joy often kills as quickly as great sorrow. Oh, Carson, isn't it glorious to be able to do this? Don't you feel happy in the consciousness that it was your great, sympathetic heart that inspired this miracle, your wonderful brain and energy and courage that actually put it through?”

“Not through yet,” he laughed, depreciatingly, as his blood flowed hotly into his cheeks. “It would be just my luck right now to have this thing turn smack dab against us. We are not out of the woods yet, Helen, by long odds. The rage of that mob is only sleeping, and I have enemies, political and otherwise, who would stir it to white heat at a moment's notice if they once got an inkling of the truth.” He snapped his fingers. “I wouldn't give that for Pete's life if they discover our trick. Pole Baker had just come in town when Keith and I left. He said the Hillbend people were earnestly denying all knowledge of any lynching or of the whereabouts of Pete's body, and that some people were already asking queer questions. So, you see, if on top of that growing suspicion, old Lewis and Linda begin to dance a hoe-down of joy instead of weeping and wailing—well, you see, that's the way it stands.”

“Oh, then, perhaps we'd better not tell them, after all,” Helen said, crestfallen. “They are suffering awfully, but they would rather bear it for awhile than to be the cause of Pete's death.”

“No,” Carson smiled; “from the way you wrote, I know you have had about as much as you can stand, and we simply must try to make them comprehend the full gravity of the matter.”

At this juncture Keith came up panting from his run and joined them. “Great Heavens!” he cried, lifting his hands, the palms outward. “I never saw such a sight. I can stand some things, but I'm not equal to torture of that kind.”

“Are they coming?” Carson asked.

“Yes, there's Lewis now. Of course, I couldn't give them a hint of the truth down there in that swarm of negroes, and so my message that you wanted to see them here only seemed to key them up higher.”

Carson turned to Lewis, who, hat in hand, his black face set in stony rigidity, had paused near by and stood waiting respectfully to be spoken to.

“Uncle Lewis,” he said, “we've got good news for you and Linda, but a great deal depends on its being kept secret. I must exact a sacred promise of you not to betray to a living soul by word of mouth or act what I am going to tell you. Will you promise, Lewis?”

The old man leaned totteringly forward till his gaunt fingers closed upon one of the palings of the fence; his eyes blinked in their deep cavities. He made an effort to speak, but his voice hung in his mouth. Then he coughed, cleared his throat, and slid one of his ill-shod feet backward, as he always did in bowing, and said, falteringly: “God on high know, young marster, dat I'd keep my word wid you. Old Unc' Lewis would keep his word wid you ef dey was burnin' 'im at de stake. You been de bes' friend me 'n Mam' Lindy ever had, young marster. You been de kind er friend dat is er friend. When you tried so hard t'other night ter save my boy fum dem men even when dey was shootin' at you en tryin' ter drag you down—oh, young marster, I wish you'd try me. I want ter show you how I feel down here in my heart. Dem folks is done had deir way; my boy is daid, but God know it makes it easier ter give 'im up ter have er young, high-minded white man lak you—”

“Stop, here's Mam' Linda,” Carson said. “Don't tell her now, Lewis; wait till we are inside the house; but Pete is alive and safe.”

The old man's eyes opened wide in an almost deathlike stare, and he leaned heavily against the fence.

“Oh, young marster,” he gasped, “you don't mean—you sholy can't mean—”

“Hush! not a word.” Carson cautioned him with uplifted hand, and they all looked at old Linda as she came slowly across the grass. A shudder of horror passed over Dwight at the change in her. The distorted, swollen face was that of a dead person, only faintly vitalized by some mechanical force. The great, always mysterious depths of her eyes were glowing with bestial fires. For a moment she paused near them and stood glaring with incongruous defiance as if nothing in mortal shape could mean aught but ill towards her.

“Carson has something—something very important to tell you, dear mammy,” Helen said, “but we must go inside.”

“He ain't got nothin' ter tell me dat I don't know,” Linda muttered, “lessen it is whar dey done put my chile's body. Ef you know dat, young marster—ef—”

But old Lewis had moved to her side, his face ablaze. He laid his hand forcibly on her shoulder. “Hush, 'oman!” he cried. “In de name er God, shet yo' mouf en listen ter young marster—listen ter 'im Linda, honey—hurry up—hurry up in de house!”

“Yes, bring her in here,” Carson said, with a cautious glance around, and he and Helen and Keith moved along the walk while Linda suffered herself, more like an automaton than a human being, to be half dragged, half led up the steps and into the parlor. Keith, who had vaguely put her in the category of the physically ill, placed an easy-chair for her, but from force of habit, while in the presence of her superiors, the old woman refused to sit. She and Lewis stood side by side while Carson carefully closed the door and came back.

“We've got some very, very good news for you, Mam' Linda,” said he; “but you must not speak of it to a soul. Linda, the men who took Pete from jail did not kill him. He is still alive and safe, so far, from harm.”

To the surprise of them all, Linda only stared blankly at the tremulous speaker. It was her husband who, full of fire and new-found happiness, now leaned over her. “Didn't you hear young marster?” he gulped; “didn't you hear 'im say we-all's boy was erlive?—erlive, honey?”

With an arm of iron Linda pushed him back and stood before Carson.

“You come tell me dat?” she cried, her great breast tumultuously heaving. “Young marster, 'fo' God I done had enough. Don't tell me dat now, en den come say it's er big mistake after you find out de trufe.”

“Pete's all right, Linda,” Carson said, reassuringly. “Keith and Helen will tell you about it.”

With an appealing look in her eyes Linda extended a detaining hand towards him, but he had gone to the door and was cautiously looking out, his attention being drawn to the sound of footsteps in the hall. It was two negro maids just entering the house, having left half a dozen other negroes on the walk in front. Going out into the hall, Carson commanded the maids and the loiterers to go away, and the astonished blacks, with many a curious, backward glance, made haste to do his bidding. A heavy frown was on his face and he shrugged his broad shoulders as he took his place on the veranda to guard the parlor door. “It's a ticklish business,” he mused; “if we are not very careful these negroes will drop on to the truth in no time.”

He had dismissed the idlers in the nick of time, for there was a sudden, joyous scream from Linda, a chorus of warning voices. The full import of the good news was only just breaking upon the stunned consciousness of the old sufferer. Screams and sobs, mingled with hysterical laughter, fell upon Carson's ears, through all of which rang the persistent drone of Keith Gordon's manly voice in gentle admonition. The door of the parlor opened and old Lewis came forth, his black face streaming with tears. Going to Carson he attempted to speak, but, unable to utter a word, he grasped the young man's hand, and pressing it to his lips he staggered away. A few minutes later Keith came out doggedly trying to divest his boyish features of a certain glorified expression that had settled on them.

“Good God!” he smiled grimly, as he fished a cigar from the pocket of his waistcoat, “I'm glad that's over. It struck her like a tornado. I'm glad I'm not in your shoes. She'll literally fall on your neck. Good Lord! I've heard people say negroes haven't any gratitude—Linda's burning up with it. You are her God, old man. She knows what you did, and she knows, too, that we opposed you to the last minute.”

“You told her, of course,” Carson said, reprovingly.

“I had to. She was trying to dump it all on me as the only member of the gang present. I told her, the whole thing was born in your brain and braced up by your backbone. Oh yes, I told her how we fought your plan and with what determination you stuck to it in the face of all opposition. No, the rest of us don't deserve any credit. We'd have squelched you if we could. Well, I simply wasn't cut out for heroic things. The easy road has always been mine to any destination, but I reckon nothing worth much was ever picked up by chance.”

The two friends had gone down to the gate and Keith was unhitching his horse, when Helen came out on the veranda, and seeing Carson she hastened to him.

“She's up in my room,” she explained. “I'm going to keep her there for the rest of the day anyway. I'm glad now that we took so much precaution. She admits that we were right about that. She says if she had known Pete was safe she might have failed to keep it from the others. But she is going to help us guard the secret now. But oh, Carson, she is already begging to be allowed to see Pete. It's pitiful. There are moments even now when she even seems to doubt his safety, and it is all I can do to convince her. She is begging to see you, too. Oh, Carson, when you told me about it why did you leave out the part you took? Keith told us all about your fight against such odds, and how you sat up all night at the store to keep the poor boy company.”

“Keith was with me,” Carson said, flushing, deeply. “Well, we've got Pete bottled up where he is safe for the present, but there is no telling when suspicion may be directed to us.”

“We are going to win; I feel it!” said Helen, fervidly. “Don't forget that I'm a member of the clan. I'm proud of the honor,” and pressing his hand warmly she hurried back to the house.