"Compliments of the Possum Hunters."

It was the final activity of Night Riders in that community.

They found the second present on the dressing-table in the room which
Philip had fitted up, without consulting anybody, as Jacqueline's
boudoir; just such a room as the girl had dreamed of, with slender white
furniture, and rosy curtains, and a little shelf of her favorite books,
and a lovely photograph of her mother hanging beside her bed--which had
once been Philip's photograph. She could hardly withdraw her attention
from the delights of her room long enough to notice the present, a small
pasteboard box addressed to "Mrs. Philip Benoix," which Philip finally
opened for her.

He gave an exclamation. The box contained a ring of oddly wrought pale
gold, set with a sapphire cut in a crest. It was a ring which his father
had worn as far back as Philip could remember. The card enclosed said
simply, "For my new little daughter, Jacqueline."

"Then the warden does know where he is!" cried Philip. He had written to
his father about his approaching wedding, addressing the letter in care
of the state penitentiary, on the chance of its reaching him. "But how
did the box get here?"

Inquiry produced no results. Ella had found it on a table beside the
door. In the excitement of that day, there had been a constant stream of
people coming and going, the altar guild and the choir to decorate the
house with evergreens, neighbors to inspect the preparations for the
bride, negroes with offers of assistance, taking the delight of their
race in anything that resembles an Occasion. Any one of these visitors
might have left the ring unobserved.

Ella did not think to mention that among them had been the old mountain
peddler, who had come to the door to ask whether there was a Bible in
that house, and been routed by Ella with a scornful, "Go 'way f'um here.
Don't you know Mr. Philip's a preacher?"

But busy as she was, Ella had found time to run and get him a glass of
milk, remembering that he was a protege of the Madam's, and that the
Madam never permitted people to go from her door hungry.

CHAPTER XLII

The weeks that followed were the most contented of Kate Kildare's life,
despite her loneliness in her great house, with no companion except the
negro servants and Mag's baby. She felt like a captain who has carried
his ship into port after a stormy passage. Her children were provided
for; they were safe; life, which had tre