vitable was so plainly closing down upon her
and her helpless old people that the bitterness of despair rose in her
heart. Against the uprooting of their feebleness her whole nature
cried out, and the sacrifice that had been offered her in the
milk-house days before, seemed but a small price to pay to avert the
tragedy. Doubt of herself and her motives assailed her, and she
quivered in every nerve when she thought that thus she had failed
them. What! Was she to save herself and let the sorrow fall on their
bent shoulders? Was it too late? Her heart answered her that it was,
for her confession of horror of her purchaser to Uncle Tucker had cut
off any hope of deceiving him and she knew he would be burned at the
stake before he would let her make the sacrifice. She was helpless,
helpless to safeguard them from this sorrow, as helpless as they
themselves!

For a long hour she stood at the end of the porch, looking across at
Providence Nob, behind whose benevolent head the storm clouds of the
day were at last sinking, lit by the glow of the fast-setting sun. The
wind had died down and a deep peace was settling over the Valley, like
a benediction from the coming night. Just for strength to go on, Rose
Mary prayed out to the dim, blue old ridge and then turned to her
ministrations to her assembling household.

Uncle Tucker was so tired that he hardly ate the supper set before
him, and before the last soft rays of the sun had entirely left the
Valley he had smoked his pipe and gone to bed.

And soon in his wake retired the General, with two of the small dogs
to bear him company in his white cot. But the settling of Miss Lavinia
for the night had been long, and had brought Rose Mary almost to the
point of exhaustion. Tired out by her afternoon over in the little
graveyard, Miss Amanda had not the strength to read the usual chapters
of retiring service that Miss Lavinia always required of her, and so
Rose Mary drew the candle close beside the bed and attempted to go on
with her rubbing and read at the same time. And though, if read she
must, the very soul of Rose Mary panted for the comfort of some of the
lines of the Sweet Singer, Aunt Viney held her strictly to the words
of her favorite thunderer, Jeremiah, and little Aunt Amandy bunched up
under the cover across the bed fairly shook with terror as she buried
her head in her pillow to keep out the rolling words of invective that
began with an awful "_Harken_" and ended with