ffs from his grandfather, for both his parents
died in his infancy, and his two remaining uncles gave their lives in
Virginia, early in the war, following the flag of the Confederacy.

One of them had left a son, whom Richard Travis had educated and who
had, but the June before, graduated from the State University.

Travis saw but little of him, since each did as he pleased, and it
did not please either of them to get into each other's way.

There had been no sympathy between them. There could not be, for they
were too much alike in many ways.

There can be no sympathy in selfishness.

All through the summer Harry Travis had spent his time at picnics and
dances, and, but for the fact that his cousin now and then missed one
of his best horses from the stable, or found his favorite gun put
away foul, or his fishing tackle broken, he would not have known that
Harry was on the place.

Cook-mother Charity kept the house. Bond and free, she had spent all
her life at The Gaffs. Of this she was prouder than to have been
housekeeper at Windsor. Her word was law; she was the only mortal who
bossed, as she called it, Richard Travis.

Usually, friends from town kept the owner company, and The Gaffs'
reputation for hospitality, while generous, was not unnoted for its
hilarity.

To-night Richard Travis was lonely. His supper tray had not been
removed. He lit a cigar and picked up a book--it was Herbert Spencer,
and he was soon interested.

Ten minutes later an octoroon house-girl, with dark Creole eyes, and
bright ribbons in her hair, came in to remove the supper dishes. She
wore a bright-colored green gown, cut low. As she reached over the
table near him he winced at the strong smell of musk, which beauties
of her race imagine adds so greatly to their aesthetic _status-quo_.
She came nearer to him than was necessary, and there was an attempted
familiarity in the movement that caused him to curve slightly the
corner of his thin, nervous lip, showing beneath his mustache. She
kept a half glance on him always. He smoked and read on, until the
rank smell of her perfume smote him again through the odor of his
cigar, and as he looked up she had busied around so close to him that
her exposed neck was within two feet of him bent in seeming innocence
over the tray. With a mischievous laugh he reached over and flipped
the hot ashes from his cigar upon her neck. She screamed affectedly
and danced about shaking off the ashes. Then wi