That morning Miss Lou stood on the veranda and bade farewell, one after another, to those with whom she had been associated so strangely and unexpectedly. There was an unwonted huskiness in Dr. Borden's voice, and Ackley, usually so grim and prompt, held the girl's hand lingeringly as he tried to make a joke about her defying him and the whole Confederacy. It was a dismal failure. Regarding him with her weary eyes, she said:

"Doctor, you had wit enough and heart enough to understand and subdue me. Haven't I minded you since?"

"I'm a little afraid you'd still get the upper hand if you often looked at me as you do now. I shall find out, however, if you will obey one more order. Miss Baron, you MUST rest. Your pulse indicates unusual exhaustion. You have tried to do too much, and I expect those young men have been making such fierce and counter claims that you are all worn out. Ah, if I had been only twenty years younger I would have won you by a regular course of scientific love-making."

"I don't know anything about science and wouldn't understand you. So it is better as it is, for I do understand what a good, kind friend you've been. You knew all the while that I was little more than an ignorant child, yet your courtesy was so fine that you treated me like a woman. I hope we shall meet again in brighter days. Yes, I will obey you, for I feel the need of rest."

"I shall come again and take my chances," said Maynard in parting.

Mercurial Whately, forgetting his various troubles and experiences in the excitement of change and return to active duty, bade her a rather boisterous and good-hearted farewell. His mind was completely relieved as to Maynard, and he did not dream of Scoville as a serious rival.

"It's only a question of time," he thought, "and at present mother can do the courting better than I can. When I return Lou will be so desperately bored by her stupid life here as to be ready for any change."

The remaining patients looked at her and Mrs. Whately very wistfully and gratefully, speaking reluctant adieus. When all were gone the girl, feeling that she had reached the limit of endurance, went to her room and slept till evening. It was the sleep of exhaustion, so heavy that she came down to a late supper weak and languid. But youth is elastic, the future full of infinite possibilities. Scoville's words haunted her like sweet refrains of music. No matter how weary, perplexed and sad she was, the certainty of her place in his thoughts and heart sustained her and was like a long line of light in the west, indicating a clearing storm. "He WILL come again," she often whispered to herself; "he said he would if he had to come on crutches. Oh, he DOES love me. He gave me his love that night direct, warm from his heart, because he couldn't help himself. He thought he loved me before—when, by the run, he told me of it so quietly, so free from all exaction and demands; but I didn't feel it. It merely seemed like bright sunshine of kindness and goodwill, very sweet and satisfying then. But when we were parting, when his tones trembled so, when overcome, he lost restraint and snatched me to HIS heart—then I learned that I, too, had a heart."

If she had been given time this new heart-life, with thoughts and hopes springing from it like flowers, would have restored her elasticity. Scoville's manly visage, his eyes, so often mirthful, always kind, would have become so real to her fancy that the pallid, drawn features of the suffering, the dying and the dead, would have faded from her memory. So would have faded also the various aspects of passion from which she had shrunk, frightened by its hot breath. Her days would have been filled with the beautiful, innocent dreams of a young girl's first love so inspired as to cast out fear.

But the ruthless Moloch of war could not permit anything so ideal, so heavenly, as this.

Mrs. Waldo came down from the apartment to which her son had been removed and joined the girl on the veranda. "Ah!" she exclaimed, "I have taken solid comfort all day in the thought that you were sleeping, and now you are still resting. I want to see the color in your cheeks again, and the tired look all gone from your eyes before we go."

"You don't know how I dread to have you go," replied Miss Lou. "From the first your son did more for me than I could do for him. The smile with which he always greeted me made me feel that nothing could happen beyond remedy, and so much that was terrible was happening."

"Well, my child, that's the faith I am trying to cherish myself and teach my boy. It is impossible for you to know what a black gulf opened at my feet when my noble husband was killed early in the war. Such things, happily, are known only by experience, and many escape. Then our cause demanded my only son. I face death with him in every battle, every danger. He takes risks without a thought of fear, and I dare not let him know the agony of my fear. Yet in my widowhood, in the sore pressure of care and difficulty in managing a large plantation in these times, I have found my faith in God's love adequate to my need. I should still find it so if I lost my boy. I could not escape the suffering, but I would not sorrow as without hope."

"How much I would give for the certainty of such a faith!" said Miss
Lou sadly. "Sometimes, since Captain Hanfield died, I think I feel it.
And then—oh, I don't know. Things might happen which I couldn't meet
in your spirit. If I had been compelled to marry my cousin I feel that
I should have become hard, bitter and reckless."

"You poor, dear little girl! Well, you were not compelled to marry him. Don't you see? We are saved from some things and given strength to bear what does happen. Don't you worry about yourself, my dear. Just look up and trust. Happily, the sun of God's love shines on just the same, unaffected by the passing clouds of our feelings and experiences. He sees the end and knows all about the peaceful, happy eternity before us. You dear, worn-out little child! His love is ever about you like my arms at this moment," and the old lady drew the girl to her in an impulse of motherly tenderness.

"Oh, Mrs. Waldo, you make me feel what it is to have no mother," sobbed
Miss Lou.

"Well, my dear, that's your heavy cross. Sooner or later, in some form, a cross burdens every human soul, too often many crosses. All I ask of you is not to try to bear them alone. See how faith changed everything for Captain Hanfield in his extremity. He is now in the better home, waiting for his dear ones."

"I can never forget what faith has done for you and your son, Mrs. Waldo. Surgeon Ackley said that your son's absolute quiet and cheerfulness of mind during the first critical days saved his life."

"Yes, I know that," Mrs. Waldo replied with her low, sweet laugh. "Faith is often more useful in helping us to live than in preparing us to die. It saved my life, too, I'm sure, after my husband died. I had no right to die then, for Vincent and, far more, my daughters, still needed me."

For a time they sat on the piazza steps in silence, the old lady keeping her arm caressingly about the girl, whose head drooped on the motherly bosom overflowing with sympathy. Only the semi-tropical sounds of night broke the stillness. The darkness was relieved by occasional flashes along the horizon from a distant thunder-shower. Miss Lou thought, "Have I ever known a peace so deep and sweet as this?"

There was a hasty, yet stealthy step along the hall to the door, yet the girl had no presentiment of evil. The warm, brooding, fragrant darkness of the night was not more undisturbed than her mind.

"Miss Lou," said Zany in a loud whisper.

What a shock came with that brief utterance! A flash of lightning direct from the sky could not have produced such sudden dread and presentiment of trouble. Truly, a woman listens more with her heart than her ears, and even in Zany's whisper there was detected a note of tragedy.

After an instant Miss Lou faltered, "What is it, Zany?"

"Ef you gwine ter yo' room soon I des he'p you undress."

How well the girl knew that the faithful slave meant other and less prosaic help! She rose at once, kissed Mrs. Waldo good-night and excused herself. When Zany had lighted the candle her scared, troubled face revealed at once that she had tidings of dire import.

Miss Lou seized the girl with a grip which hurt her arm, demanding,
"Have you heard anything about—about Lieutenant Scoville?"

"Now, Miss Lou, you gotter be brabe en not look at me dat away. Kaze ef you does, w'at I gwine ter do? I kyant stan' it nohow."

"Oh! oh!" Miss Lou gasped, "wait a moment, not yet—wait. I must get breath. I know, I know what's coming. Chunk is back and—and—O God, I can't bear it, I cannot, I cannot!"

"Dar now, Miss Lou, des lis'n. P'raps tain ez bad ez you tink. P'raps w'en Chunk 'splain all you see tain ez bad. Hi! Miss Lou, you musn't took on so," for the girl was wringing her hands and rocking back and forth in agony. "Folks s'picion dat Chunk yere en dat ud be de eend ob him, sho. He ain' seen Marse Scoville daid sho. He on'y see 'im fall. Chunk wanter see you en he mighty skeery 'bout hit, kaze ef Perkins get on he track he done fer. He ain' see he granny yit en he darsn't come dar twel hit late. He larn ter toot lak a squinch-owl frum Marse Scoville en he tole me dat when he come agin he toot. I nigh on run my legs off follerin' up tootin's o' nights, fer dey wuz on'y pesky squinch-owls arter all. Dis eb'nin' I year a toot dat flutter my heart big en I knowed 'twuzn't no squinch-owl dis time, sho," and so Zany ran on in her canny shrewdness, for she perceived she was gaining Miss Lou's attention and giving time for recovery from the blow.

Miss Lou had a despairing conviction that Chunk would not have returned alone unless his master was dead, but her mind quickly seized upon the element of uncertainty and she was eager to see the negro.

"We mus' wait, we sut'ny mus', twel Chunk kin creep ter he granny's cabin."

"I can't wait, Zany. It wouldn't be best, either for me or Chunk. It's not very late yet, and I could visit Aun' Jinkey without exciting remark if you go with me. It's too dark for Chunk to be seen and I'd protect him with my life. I must get better ground for hope or my heart will break. Pretend I wish a glass of water and see if we can't slip out now."

This Zany did, discovering that Mrs. Baron was with her husband in his office and that Mrs. Waldo had returned to her son's room.

In a few moments Miss Lou was sitting by Aun' Jinkey and tremblingly telling her fears. Meanwhile Zany scouted around to insure immunity from observation.

"You po', po' chile!" groaned Aun' Jinkey. "I wuz a-hopin' dat now you hab a time ob peace en quietness, en you des gwine ter be s'pended 'twixt hebin en yearth."

"Oh, I fear he's dead, my heart tells me he's dead. Oh, mammy, mammy, how can God be so cruel? I don't know who caused this war or who's to blame, but I feel now as if I could TORTURE them."

"I'se feared dat ain' de right speret, honey."

"How can one have the right spirit when mocked by such a hope as I've had? It needn't have happened. Oh, Mrs. Waldo, I could tell you NOW I'm no Christian at all. I say it needn't have happened. And then think how Uncle Lusthah prayed!"

"Chunk down dar by de run, Miss Lou," whispered Zany. "I lis'n wid all my years en eyes."

"Miss Lou, I'se yere in de shadder ob dis bush," Chunk called softly.

"Tell me everything."

"Darsn't twel I feels mo' safe, Miss Lou. Kin on'y say now Marse Scoville des dote on you en he ax questions 'bout you sence you lil gyurl. Hun'erds ob times he say, 'Chunk, we go back some day, sho!' But he do he duty brabe. I go wid 'im ev'ywhar en onst, des on de aige ob night, he wuz ridin' long wid 'bout twenty ob he men en dis ting happen. We didn't tink any Rebs roun' en I'd been kep' back tryn' ter git a chicken fer mars'r's supper. Ez I riz a hill, ridin' right smart I see our folks goin' easy en car'less inter a woods. I seed 'em all ez plain ez eber see anybody, en Marse Scoville ride at de haid. Sudden dere was flash, flash, bang, bang, all troo de woods. Marse Scoville fell right off he hoss, he sut'ny did. Den lots ob Johnnies run in de road fore en hind our mens. I see dere wuz no chaince fer me ter do any ting but git away en lil chaince fer dat, fer two Rebs on horses come tarin' arter me. Ef hit hadn't come dark sudden en my hoss wuzn't a flyer I'se been cotched sho. 'Fo' de Lawd, Miss Lou, dat all I know."

"He's dead," said the girl in a hoarse whisper.

"I orful feared he is, Miss Lou," assented the matter-of-fact Chunk. "De Rebs so neah w'en dey fiah, en Marse Scoville sut'ny did go off he hoss sudden. I been a week gittin' yere en I neber git yere ef de cullud people didn't he'p me long nights."

The girl stood silent and motionless. Suddenly Zany grasped her hand and whispered, "I yeared steps. Come ter de cabin. Be off, Chunk."

They had scarcely reached Aun' Jinkey's door before a shadow approached and the harsh voice of Perkins asked, "What's goin' on yere?"

"My young mistis des seein' her mammy 'bout her clos," replied the quick-witted Zany.

"I thought I yeared voices down by the run."

"Reck'n you bettah go see," said Zany in rather high tones.

"What the dev—what makes yer speak so loud? a warnin'?"

"Tain' my place ter pass wuds wid you, Marse Perkins. Dem I serbs doan fin' fault."

"I reckon Mr. Baron'll do mo'n find fault 'fore long. I bettah say right yere en now I've got my orders 'bout that nigger Chunk. Nobody kin save 'im ef caught. You've been followed before in your night-cruisin' en you're lookin' fer some one. Ef there's trouble, Miss Baron kyant say I didn't give warnin'. Now that the sogers is gone I'm held 'sponsible fer what goes on," and he stalked away.

He did not wish to come into an open collision with Miss Lou again if he could help it—not at least while the Waldos remained. He had concluded that by a warning he might prevent trouble, his self-interest inclining him to be conservative. Confederate scrip had so lost its purchasing power that in its stead he had recently bargained with Mr. Baron for a share in the crops. Thus it happened that the question of making a crop was uppermost in his mind. Until this object was secured he feared to array the girl openly against him, since her influence might be essential in controlling the negroes. If policy could keep them at work, well and good; if the harshest measures seemed best to him he was ready to employ them.

Not only was he puzzled, but Zany also and Aun' Jinkey were sore perplexed at Miss Lou's silence. She had stood motionless and unheeding through the colloquy with the overseer, and now remained equally deaf and unresponsive to the homely expressions of sympathy and encouragement of the two women. They could not see her face, but quickly felt the dread which anything abnormal inspires in the simple-minded. Prone to wild abandon in the expression of their own strong emotions, the silent, motionless figure of the young girl caused a deeper apprehension than the most extravagant evidences of grief.

"Aun' Jinkey," whispered Zany, "you mus' des he'p me git her to her room."

She went with them without word or sign. Their alarm was deepened when they saw her deathly pale and almost rigid features by the light of her candle.

"Miss Lou, honey, speak ter yo' ole mammy. You broke my heart w'en you look dat away."

"I tell you he's dead," whispered the girl.

"Dis ter'ble," groaned the old woman. "'Fo' de Lawd I dunno w'at er do."

Zany felt instinctively that the girl was beyond their simple ministrations and she was desperately afraid that if Mrs. Baron came Chunk's presence would be revealed by words spoken unconsciously. She and Aun' Jinkey promptly agreed that Mrs. Waldo was their only hope and Zany flew to summon her.

Fortunately the lady had not retired and she came at once. "Louise,
Miss Baron, what is the matter?" she asked in strong solicitude.

"I tell you, he's dead," again whispered the girl, looking as if a scene of horror were before her eyes. "The Rebs were so near when they fired, and he fell off his horse sudden. Ch—"

Quick as light Zany's hand was over the girl's mouth. The scared face and trembling form of the young negress did not escape Mrs. Waldo's quick eye.

"Zany, what are you concealing?" she asked, sternly. "What does all this mean?"

"Dar now, misus," answered Aun' Jinkey with a certain simple dignity, "we mus' des trus you. I'se yeared you a lubin' serbent ob de Lawd. Ef you is, you am' gwine ter bring mis'ry on mis'ry. We mus' brung Miss Lou roun' sudden 'fo' ole miss comes. He'p us git young mistis sens'ble en I tell you eberyting I kin. Dere ain' not'n bade 'bout dis honey lam' ob mine."

They undressed the girl as if she were a helpless child and put her to bed, and then Zany went downstairs to keep Mrs. Baron out of the way if possible, at the same time listening intently for any signs of trouble to Chunk.

Miss Lou's over-taxed mind had given way, or rather was enchained by a spell of horror to the scenes presented all too vividly in Chunk's bald statement. Her nervous force had been too enfeebled and exhausted to endure the shock of an impression so tremendous in its tragic reality that her faculties had no power to go beyond it. Chunk's words had brought her to a darkening forest and her dead lover, and there she stayed.

Seeing how unconscious she was Aun' Jinkey whispered enough in explanation to enable Mrs. Waldo to comprehend the girl's condition.

"We must make her sleep," said the lady decisively, and under her wise
ministrations the stricken girl soon looked almost as if she were dead.
Having kindly reassured and dismissed Aun' Jinkey, Mrs. Waldo watched
Miss Lou as she would have kept vigil with one of her own daughters.