had been everybody's fears, said loud enough to be heard by
every one about him:

"Only one of the men, my dear young people, who has been hurt in the
too careless use of some firearms. As to dear Kate--she has been
so upset--she happened unfortunately to see the affair from the
window--that she has gone to her room and so you must excuse her for a
little while. Now everybody keep on with the dance."

With his wife he was even more at ease. "The same old root of all evil,
my dear," he said with a dry laugh--"too much peach brandy, and this
time down the wrong throats--and so in their joy they must celebrate by
firing off pistols and wasting my good ammunition," an explanation
which completely satisfied the dear lady--peach brandy being capable of
producing any calamity, great or small.

But this would not do for Mrs. Cheston. She was a woman who could be
trusted and who never, on any occasion, lost her nerve. He saw from the
way she lifted her eyebrows in inquiry, instead of framing her question
in words, that she fully realized the gravity of the situation. The
colonel looked at her significantly, made excuse to step in front of
her, his back to the room, and with his forefinger tapping his forehead,
whispered:

"Willits."

The old lady paled, but she did not change her expression.

"And Harry?" she murmured in return.

The colonel kept his eyes upon her, but he made no answer. A hard, cold
look settled on his face--one she knew--one his negroes feared when he
grew angry.

Again she repeated Harry's name, this time in alarm:

"Quick!--tell me--not killed?"

"No--I wish to God he were!"

CHAPTER VI

The wounded man lay on a lounge in the office room, which was dimly
lighted by the dying glow of the outside torches and an oil lamp
hurriedly brought in. No one was present except St. George, Harry, the
doctor, and a negro woman who had brought in some pillows and hot water.
All that could be done for him had been done; he was unconscious and his
life hung by a thread. Harry, now that the mysterious thing called his
"honor" had been satisfied, was helping Teackle wash the wound prior to
an attempt to probe for the ball.

The boy was crying quietly--the tears streaming unbidden down his
cheeks--it was his first experience at this sort of thing. He had been
brought up to know that some day it might come and that he must then
face it, but he had never before realized the horror of what might
follow