g Carter,
persuaded him to go out to the buggy, promising that he would not give
him up.

At the Willowvale gate he led the horse into the avenue, then turned
and ran at full speed into town. As he came into the square he found
only a few groups shivering about the court-house steps, discussing
the events of the day.

"Where's the crowd?" he cried breathless. "Aren't they going to start
from here?"

An old negro pulled off his cap and grinned.

"Dey been gone purty near an hour, Mist' Sandy. I 'spec' dey's got dat
low-down rascal hanged by now."

CHAPTER XXII

AT WILLOWVALE

There was an early tea at Willowvale that evening, and Ruth sat at the
big round table alone. Mrs. Nelson always went to bed when the time
came for packing, and Carter was late, as usual.

Ruth was glad to be alone. She had passed through too much to be able
to banish all trace of the storm. But though her eyes were red from
recent tears, they were bright with anticipation. Sandy was coming
back. That fact seemed to make everything right.

She leaned her chin on her palm and tried to still the beating of her
heart. She knew he would come. Irresponsible, hot-headed, impulsive
as he was, he had never failed her. She glanced impatiently at the
clock.

"Miss Rufe, was you ever in love?" It was black Rachel who broke in
upon her thoughts. She was standing at the foot of the table, her
round, good-humored face comically serious.

"No-yes. Why, Rachel?" stammered Ruth.

"I was just axin'," said Rachel, "'cause if you been in love, you'd
know how to read a love-letter, wouldn't you, Miss Rufe?"

Ruth smiled and nodded.

"I got one from my beau," went on Rachel, in great embarrassment; "but
dat nigger knows I can't read."

"Where does he live?" asked Ruth.

"Up in Injianapolis. He drives de hearse."

Ruth suppressed a smile. "I'll read the love-letter for you," she
said.

Rachel sat down on the floor and began taking down her hair. It was
divided into many tight braids, each of which was wrapped with a bit
of shoe-string. From under the last one she took a small envelope and
handed it to Ruth.

"Dat's it," she said. "I was so skeered I'd lose it I didn't trust it
no place 'cept in my head."

Ruth unfolded the note and read:

"DEAR RACHEL: I mean biznis if you mean biznis send me fore
dollars to git a devorce.

"_George_."

Rachel sat on the floor, with her hair standing out wildly and anxiety
deepenin