In an open space near the quarters the negroes had kindled a fire, although the night was mild. These children of the sun love warmth and all that is cheerful and bright, their emotions appearing to kindle more readily with the leaping flames. When Miss Lou and Scoville approached, the worshippers were just concluding the hymn heard on the piazza. From the humble cabins stools, benches, rickety chairs, and nondescript seats made from barrels, had been brought and placed in a circle close about the fire. These were occupied by the elderly and infirm. Uncle Lusthah, whose name had been evolved from Methuselah, was the evident leader of the meeting, and Miss Lou whispered to her attendant, "He's the recognized preacher among them, and I believe he tries to live up to his ideas of right."

"Then I'll listen to him very respectfully," said Scoville.

Their advent created quite a commotion, and not a few were inclined to pay court to the "Linkum ossifer." All who had seats rose to offer them, but Scoville smiled, shook his head and waved them back. Uncle Lusthah immediately regained attention by shouting, "Look at me": then, "Now look up. Who we uns befo'? De King. De gret Jehovah. Bow yo' haids humble; drap yo' eyes. Tek off de shoon fum yo' feet lak Moses w'en he gwine neah de bunin' bush. Young mars'r en young mistis standin' dar 'spectful. Dey knows dat ef de gret Linkum yere hissef, Linkum's Lawd en Mars'r yere befo' 'im. Let us all gib our 'tention ter 'Im who's brung 'liverance ter Israel at las'. We gwine troo de Red Sea ob wah now en des whar de promis' lan' is we got ter fin' out, but we hab tu'ned our backs on ole Egypt en we ain' gwine back no mo'. Brudren en sistas, you'se yeard a Gospil, a good news, dis eb'nin' sho. You'se yeard you free, bress de Lawd! I'se been waitin' fer dis news mo' yeahs den I kin reckermember, but dey's come 'fo' my ole haid's under de sod. Hit's all right dat we is glad en sing aloud for joy, but we orter rejice wid trem'lin'. De 'sponsibil'ties ob freedom is des tremenjus. Wat you gwine ter do wid freedom? Does you tink you kin git lazy en thievin' en drunken? Is dere any sech foolishness yere? Will eny man or ooman call deysefs free w'en dey's slabes ter some mean, nasty vice? Sech folks al'ays be slabes, en dey orter be slabes ter a man wid a big whip. See how de young mars'r' haves dat brung de news ob freedom. He know he juty en he does hit brave. He mek de w'ite sogers he 'mands des toe de mark. We got ter toe a long, wi'te mark. We ain' free ter do foolishness no mo' dan he en he men is. De gret Linkum got he eye on you; de Cap'n ob our salvation got He eye on you. Now I des gib you some 'structions," and happy it would have been for the freedmen—for their masters and deliverers also, it may be added—if all had followed Uncle Lusthah's "'structions."

When through with his exhortation the old preacher knelt down on the box which served as his pulpit and offered a fervent petition. From the loud "amens" and "'lujahs" he evidently voiced the honest feeling of the hour in his dusky audience. Scoville was visibly affected at the reference to him. "May de deah Lawd bress de young Linkum ossifer," rose Uncle Lusthah's tones, loud, yet with melodious power and pathos, for he was gifted with a voice of unusual compass, developed by his calling. "He des took he life in he hand en come down in de lan' ob de shadder, de gret, dark shadder dat's been restin' on de hearts ob de slabes. We had no fader, no muder, no wife, no chile. Dey didn't 'long to we fer dey cud be sole right out'n our arms en we see dem no mo'. De gret shadder ob slav'y swallow dem up. Young mars'r face de bullit, face de so'ed, face de curse ter say we free. May de Lawd be he shiel' en buckler, compass 'im roun' wid angel wings, stop de han' riz ter strike, tu'n away de bullit aim at he heart. May de Lawd brung 'im gray hars at las lak mine, so he see, en his chil'n see, en our chil'n see de 'liverance he hep wrought out.

"En dar's young mistis. She hab a heart ter feel fer de po' slabe. She al'ays look kin' at us, en she stood 'tween us en woun's en death; w'en all was agin us en she in de watehs ob triberlation hersef, she say 'fo' dem all, 'No harm come ter us.' She put her lil w'ite arm roun' her ole mammy." ("Dat she did," cried Aun' Jinkey, who was swaying back and forth where the fire lit up her wrinkled visage, "en de gret red welt on her shol'er now.") "She took de blow," continued Uncle Lusthah, amid groans and loud lamentations, "en de Lawd, wid whose stripes we healed, WILL bress her en hab aready bressed her en brung her 'liverance 'long o' us. May He keep her eyes fum teahs, en her heart fum de breakin' trouble; may He shine on a path dat lead ter all de bes' tings in dis yere worl' en den ter de sweet home ob heb'n!"

When the voice of Uncle Lusthah ceased Scoville heard a low sob from Miss Lou at his side and he was conscious that tears stood in his own eyes. His heart went out in strong homage to the young girl to whom such tribute had been paid and her heart thrilled at the moment as she distinguished his deep "amen" in the strong, general indorsement of the petition in her behalf.

Then rose a hymn which gathered such volume and power that it came back in echoes from distant groves.

"Hark, hark, I year a soun'. Hit come fum far away; Wake, wake, en year de soun' dat come fum far away. De night am dark, de night been long, but dar de mawnin' gray; En wid de light is comin' sweet a soun' fum far away.

"Look how de light am shinin' now across de gret Red Sea. On Egypt sho' we stay no mo' in slabing misery. Ole Pharaoh year de voice ob God, 'Des set my people free;' En now we march wid song en shout, right troo the gret Red Sea."

Every line ended with, the rising inflection of more than a hundred voices, followed by a pause in which the echoes repeated clearly the final sound. The effect was weird, strange in the last degree, and, weary as he was, Scoville felt all his nerves tingling.

The meeting now broke up, to be followed by dancing and singing among the younger negroes. Uncle Lusthah, Aun' Jinkey, and many others crowded around Scoville and "the young mistis" to pay their respects. Chunk and Zany, standing near, graciously accepted the honors showered upon them. The officer speedily gave Miss Lou his arm and led her away. When so distant as to be unobserved, he said in strong emphasis, "Miss Baron, I take off my hat to you. Not to a princess would I pay such homage as to the woman who could wake the feeling with which these poor people regard you."

She blushed with the deepest pleasure of her life, for she had been repressed and reprimanded so long that words of encouragement and praise were very sweet. But she only said with a laugh, "Oh, come; don't turn my poor bewildered head any more to-night. I'm desperately anxious to have uncle and aunt think I'm a very mature young woman, but I know better and so do you. Why, even Uncle Lusthah made me cry like a child."

"Well, his words about you brought tears to my eyes, and so there's a pair of us."

"Oh!" she cried delightedly, giving his arm a slight pressure, "I didn't know that you'd own up to that. When I saw them I felt like laughing and crying at the same moment. And so I do now—it's so delicious to be free and happy—to feel that some one is honestly pleased with you."

He looked upon her upturned face, still dewy from emotion, and wondered if the moon that night shone on a fairer object the world around. It was indeed the face of a glad, happy child no longer depressed by woes a few hours old, nor fearful of what the next hour might bring. Her look into his eyes was also that of a child, full of unbounded trust, now that her full confidence was won. "You do indeed seem like a lovely child, Miss Baron, and old Uncle Lusthah told the whole truth about you. Those simple folk are like children themselves and find people out by intuition. If you were not good-hearted they would know it. Well, I'm glad I'm not old myself."

"But you're going to be old—AWFUL old," she replied, full of rippling laughter. "Oh, wasn't I glad to hear Uncle Lusthah pray over you! for if there is a God who takes any care of people, you will live to be as gray as he is."

"If there is a God?"

"Oh, I'm a little heathen. I couldn't stand uncle or aunt's God at all or believe in Him. They made me feel that He existed just to approve of their words and ways, and to help them keep me miserable. When I hear Uncle Lusthah he stirs me all up just as he did to-night; but then I've always been taught that he's too ignorant—well, I don't know. Uncle and aunt made an awful blunder," and here she began to laugh again. "There is quite a large library at the house, at least I suppose it's large, and I read and read till I was on the point of rebellion, before you and Cousin Mad came. Books make some things clear and others SO-O puzzling. I like to hear you talk, for you seem so decided and you know so much more than I do. Cousin Mad never read much. It was always horse, and dog, and gun with him. How I'm running on and how far I am from your question! But it is such a new thing to have a listener who cares and understands. Aun' Jinkey cares, poor soul! but she can understand so little. Lieutenant, I can answer your implied question in only one way; I wish to know what is true. Do you believe there's a God who cares for us as Uncle Lusthah says?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm glad you do; and simply saying so will have more weight than all arguments."

"Please remember, Miss Baron, I haven't said that I lived up to my faith. It's hard to do this, I suppose, in the army. Still I've no right to any excuses, much less to the unmanly one that it's hard. What if it is? That's a pretty excuse for a soldier. Well, no matter about me, except that I wish you to know that with all my mind and heart I believe that there is a good God taking care of a good girl like you. Pardon me if I ask another question quite foreign. How could your cousin wish to marry you if you do not love him?"

He wondered as he saw the child-like look pass from her face and her brow darken into a frown. "I scarcely know how to answer you," she said, "and I only understand vaguely myself. I understand better, though, since I've known you. When you were hiding in Aun' Jinkey's cabin you looked GOODWILL at me. I saw that you were not thinking of yourself, but of me, and that you wished me well. I feel that Cousin Mad is always thinking of himself, that his professed love of me is a sort of self-love. He gives me the feeling that he wants me for his OWN sake, not for MY sake at all. I don't believe he'd love me a minute after he got tired of me. I'd be just like the toys he used to cry for, then break up. I won't marry such a man, NEVER."

"You had better not. Hush! We are approaching a man yonder who appears anxious to hear what is none of his business."

They had been strolling slowly back, often pausing in the deep mutual interest of their conversation. Miss Lou now detected Perkins standing in the shadow of his dwelling, between the mansion and the quarters.

"That's the overseer," she said, in a low voice. "How quick your eyes are!"

"They must be in my duty." Then he directed their steps so as to pass near the man. When opposite, he turned his eyes suddenly upon Perkins' face, and detected such a scowl of hostility and hate that his hand dropped instinctively on the butt of his revolver. "Well, sir," he said, sternly, "you have shown your disposition."

"You didn't 'spect ter find a friend, I reck'n," was the surly yet confused reply.

"Very well, I know how to treat such bitter enemies as you have shown yourself to be. Officer of the guard!" A trooper ran forward from the camp-fire and saluted. "Put this man with the other prisoners, and see that he has no communication with any one."

As Perkins was marched off they heard him mutter a curse. "Pardon me, Miss Baron," Scoville resumed. "The lives of my men are in my care, and that fellow would murder us all if he had a chance. I don't know that he could do any harm, but it would only be from lack of opportunity. I never take risks that I can help."

"Having seen his expression I can't blame you," was her reply.

A new train of thought was awakened in Scoville. He paused a moment and looked at her earnestly.

"Why do you look at me so?" she asked.

"Miss Baron, pardon me, but I do wish I were going to be here longer, or rather, I wish the war was over. I fear there are deep perplexities, and perhaps dangers, before you. My little force is in the van of a raiding column which will pass rapidly through the country. It will be here to-morrow morning, but gone before night, in all probability. The war will be over soon, I trust, but so much may happen before it is. You inspire in me such deep solicitude. I had to tell those poor negroes that they were free. So they would be if within our lines. But when we are gone that overseer may be brutal, and the slaves may come again to you for protection. That cousin of yours may also come again—oh, it puts me in a sort of rage to think of leaving you so unfriended. You will have to be a woman in very truth, and a brave, circumspect one, too."

"You are right, sir," she replied with dignity, "and you must also remember that I will be a Southern woman. I do feel most friendly to you personally, but not to your cause. Forgive me if I have acted and spoken too much like a child to-night, and do not misunderstand me. Circumstances have brought us together in a strange way, and while I live I shall remember you with respect and gratitude. I can never lose the friendly interest you have inspired, and I can never think of the North as I hear others speak of it; but I belong to my own people, and I should be very unhappy and humiliated if I felt that I must continue to look to an enemy of my country for protection. I cannot go over to your side any more than you can come over to ours."

He merely sighed in answer.

"You do not think less"—and then she paused in troubled silence.

"Louise," called Mrs. Whately's voice.

"Yes," replied the girl, "we are coming."

"I think you will always try to do what seems right to you, Miss Baron. May God help and guide you, for you may have trouble of which you little dream. What you say about your side and my side has no place in my thoughts. I'll help settle such questions with soldiers. Neither do I wish to be officious, but there is something in my very manhood which protests against a fair young girl like you being so beset with troubles."

"Forgive me," she said earnestly. "There it is again. You are unselfishly thinking of me, and that's so new. There's no use of disguising it. When you go there'll not be one left except Aun' Jinkey and Uncle Lusthah who will truly wish what's best for me without regard to themselves. Well, it can't be helped. At least I have had a warning which I won't forget."

"But Mrs. Whately seems so kindly—"

"Hush! I see uncle coming. She would sacrifice herself utterly for her son, and do you think she would spare me?"

Mr. Baron's fears and honest sense of responsibility led him at last to seek his niece. In doing this he saw Perkins under guard. Hastening to Scoville he demanded, "What does this mean? My overseer is not a combatant, sir."

"Mr. Baron," replied the officer, "have you not yet learned that I am in command on this plantation?"

Poor Mr. Baron lost his temper again and exploded most unwisely in the words, "Well, sir, my niece is not under your command. You had no right to take her from the house without my permission. I shall report you to your superior officer to-morrow."

"I hope you will, sir."

"I also protest against the treatment of my overseer."

"Very well, sir."

"You will please release my niece's arm and leave us to ourselves, as you promised."

"No, sir, I shall escort Miss Baron back to Mrs. Whately, from whom I obtained the honor of her society."

"Louise, I command"—Mr. Baron began, almost choking with rage.

"No, uncle," replied the girl, "you COMMAND me no more … Request me politely, and I will shake hands with Lieutenant Scoville, thank him for his courtesy to me and to us all, and then go with you."

The old man turned on his heel and walked back to the house without a word.

"Bravo!" whispered Scoville, but he felt her hand tremble on his arm. "That's your true course," he added. "Insist on the treatment due your age, act like a lady, and you will be safe."

"Well," Mrs. Whately tried to say politely, "have not you young people taken an ell?"

"No, Mrs. Whately," Scoville replied gravely. "We have not taken a step out of our way between here and the quarters, although we have lingered in conversation. We have ever been in plain sight of many of your people. I put the overseer under arrest because I had absolute proof of his malicious hostility. I shall inflict no injury on any one who does not threaten to be dangerous to my command, my duty requiring that I draw the line sharply there. Mrs. Whately, I have never met a young lady who inspired in me more honest respect. If we have trespassed on your patience, the blame is mine. Ladies, I thank you for your courtesy and wish you good-night," and he walked rapidly away.

"Aunty," said Miss Lou, "you have begun to treat me in a way which would inspire my love and confidence."

"Well, my dear, I am sorely perplexed. If we yield in minor points, you should in vital ones, and trust to our riper experience and knowledge."

The distractions of the day had practically robbed Mr. Baron of all self-control, and he now exclaimed, "I yield nothing. As your guardian I shall maintain my rights and live up to my sense of responsibility. If by wild, reckless conduct you thwart my efforts in your behalf, my responsibility ceases. I can then feel that I have done my best."

"And so, uncle, you would be quite content, no matter what became of me," added the girl bitterly. "Well, then, I tell you to your face that you cannot marry me, like a slave girl, to whom you please. I'll die first. I shall have my girlhood, and then, as woman, marry or not marry, as I choose. Aunty, I appeal to you, as a woman and a lady, to stop this wretched folly if you can."

"Louise," said her aunt, kindly, "as long as I have a home it shall be a refuge to you. I hope the morrow will bring wiser counsels and better moods to us all."

The mansion soon became quiet, and all slept in the weariness of reaction. No sound came from the darkened dwelling except an occasional groan from one of the wounded men on the piazza. Scoville, wrapped in a blanket, lay down by the fire with his men and was asleep almost instantly. The still shadows on the dewy grass slowly turned toward the east as the moon sank low. To the last, its beams glinted on the weapons of vigilant sentinels and vedettes, and the only warlike sounds occurred at the relief of guards. All rested who could rest except one—the overseer. Restless, vindictive, he watched and listened till morning.