hopeless and hungry-hearted before this pure woman. She had
been the dream of his life--all times--always--since he could
remember.

To own her--to win her!

As he looked up, the hardness of his face attracted even Mrs.
Westmore, smiling by his side at the scene before her. She looked up
at Travis, but when she saw his face the smile went out of hers. It
changed to fear.

All the other passions in his face had settled into one cruel cynical
smile around his mouth--a smile of winning or of death.

For the first time in her life she feared Richard Travis.

"I must go now," said Alice Westmore to the old men--"but I'll sing
you a verse or two."

The overseer leaned back in his chair. Uncle Bisco stooped forward,
his chin resting on his hickory staff.

And then like the clear notes of a spring, dripping drop by drop with
a lengthening cadence into the covered pool of a rock-lined basin,
came a simple Sunday School song the two old men loved so well.

There were tears in the old negro's eyes when she had finished. Then
he sobbed like a child.

Alice Westmore arose to go.

"Now, Bishop--" she smiled at the overseer--"don't keep Uncle Bisco up
all night talking about the war, and if you don't come by the house and
chat with mamma and me awhile, we'll be jealous."

The overseer looked up: "Miss Alice--I'm an ole man an' we ole men all
dream dreams when night comes. Moods come over us and, look where we
will, it all leads back to the sweet paths of the past. To-day--all
day--my mind has been on"--he stopped, afraid to pronounce the word and
hunting around in the scanty lexicon of his mind for some phrase of
speech, some word even that might not awaken in Alice Westmore memories
of the past.

Richard Travis had an intuition of things as naturally as an eagle has
the homing instinct, however high in air and beyond all earth's
boundaries he flies. In this instance Mrs. Westmore also had it, for she
looked up quickly at the man beside her. All the other emotions had
vanished from his face save the one appealing look which said: "Come,
let us go--we have heard enough."

Then they slipped back into the house.

Alice Westmore had stopped, smiling back from the doorway.

"On what, Bishop?" she finally asked.

He shook his head. "Jus' the dream of an ole man," he said. "Don't
bother about us two ole men. I'll be 'long presently."

"Bisco," said the old preacher after a while, "come mighty nigh
makin' a break then--