s of such
a crime: her almost secret marriage, her custody of her father's notes,
the record of them upon her husband's books, his last word at the church
gate: "I will come soon, darling," and now, this silent abode, with its
door ajar on Sunday dawn, before the town was up--they might bear the
suspicion of a dreadful crime by the ruined debtor house of Custis
against their friendless creditor.

This thought, personal to her father, was immediately dismissed in the
feeling for a possibly murdered husband. If the idea barely touched her
sense of self, that her tremendous sacrifice had been arrested by
Heaven, and her purity saved between the altar and the nuptials by the
bloodshed of her purchaser at the hands of some meaner avenger, though
not until she had redeemed her father from Milburn's clutch, this idea
never passed beyond the portal of her mind; she repulsed it, entering,
and began to think of the easy prey her husband might have been, hated
by so many, defended by none, known to be very rich, no loss to the
community, as it might think, in its financial ignorance, and his only
guard a stalwart negro notorious for fighting.

Believing Milburn to deserve better than his present fame, Vesta
advanced towards the door of the old wooden store with a spirit of
commiseration and awe, and still the wild bird from somewhere poured out
a shriek, a chuckle, a hurrah, enough to turn her blood to ice.

As Vesta pushed open the old, seasoned door it dragged along the floor,
and the loose iron bar and padlock, dropping down, made a ring that
brought an echo like a tomb's out of the hollow interior.

"'Deed, Miss Vessy, I'm 'fraid to go in there," Virgie said.

"You are not to come in till I call you. But hear that bird rioting in
song! Does Mr. Milburn keep birds?"

"I can't tell, Miss Vessy. That bird's a Mocker. It must be in there
somewhere. Oh, don't go in, Miss Vessy; something will catch you, dear
Missy, sho'."

But Vesta was already gone, following the piercing sound of the native
bird, that seemed to be in the loft.

She saw a little counter of pine, and a pine desk built into it, and
bundles of skins, some cord-wood, a pile of lumber and boxes, a few
barrels of oil or spirits, and dust and cobwebs thick on everything; and
a little way in from the door the light and darkness made weird effects
upon each other, increasing the apparent distances, and changing the
forms; and the sun, now risen, made turning cylin