his glance bent
in concern on the frightened face of the girl.

"Nothing--nothing, Charley."

They had reined in their horses. Norton sprang to the ground and lifted
her from the saddle.

"It will only take a moment, dear!" he whispered encouragingly in the
brief instant he held her in his arms.

"Oh, Charley, it isn't that--it's dreadfully serious--" she said, with a
wild little laugh that was almost hysterical.

"I wouldn't have it less than that," he said gravely.

Afterward Betty could remember standing before the church in the fierce
morning light; she heard Mr. Bowen's voice, she heard Charley's voice,
she heard another voice--her own, though she scarcely recognized it.
Then, like one aroused from a dream, she looked about her--she met
Charley's glance; his face was radiant and she smiled back at him
through a sudden mist that swam before her eyes.

Mr. Bowen led her toward the church door. As they neared it they caught
the clatter of hoofs, and Tom Ware on a hard-ridden horse dashed up; he
was covered with dust and inarticulate with rage. Then a cry came from
him that was like the roar of some mortally wounded animal.

"I forbid this marriage!" he shrieked, when he could command speech.

"You're too late to stop it, Tom, but you can attend it," said Norton
composedly.

"You--you--" Words failed the planter; he sat his horse the picture of a
grim and sordid despair.

Mr. Bowen divided a look of reproach between his wife and daughter; his
own conscience was clear; he had told no one of the purpose of Norton's
call the night before.

"I'll tie the horses, Betty," said Norton.

Ware turned fiercely to Bowen.

"You knew better than to be a party to this, and by God!--if you go on
with it you shall live to regret it!"

The minister made him no answer, he thoroughly disapproved of the
planter. It was well that Betty should have a proper protector, this
half-brother was hardly that measured by any standard.

Norton, leading the horses, had reached the edge of the oaks when from
the silent depths of the denser woods came the sharp report of a rifle.
The shock of the bullet sent the young fellow staggering back among the
mossy and myrtle-covered graves.

For a moment no one grasped what had happened, only there was Norton who
seemed to grope strangely among the graves. Black spots danced
before his eyes, the little group by the church merged into the
distance--always receding, always more remote, a