ence and looked up. The smile faded slowly and the red
blood mounted to his forehead. Anger struggled back of surprise, but
before it burst forth silently the Colonel turned, and muttering some
unintelligible word, went slowly into the house and slammed the door.

So for Harry Cresswell the day burst, flamed, and waned, and then
suddenly went out, leaving him dull and gray; for Mary and her brother
had gone North, Helen had gone to bed, and the Colonel was in town.
Outside the weather was gusty and lowering with a chill in the air. He
paced the room fitfully.

Well, he was happy. Or, was he happy?

He gnawed his mustache, for already his quick, changeable nature was
feeling the rebound from glory to misery. He was a little ashamed of his
exaltation; a bit doubtful and uncertain. He had stooped low to this
Yankee school-ma'am, lower than he had ever stooped to a woman. Usually,
while he played at loving, women grovelled; for was he not a Cresswell?
Would this woman recognize that fact and respect him accordingly?

Then there was Zora; what had she said and hinted to Mary? The wench was
always eluding and mocking him, the black devil! But, pshaw!--he poured
himself a glass of brandy--was he not rich and young? The world was his.

His valet knocked.

"Gentleman is asking if you forgits it's Saturday night, sir?" said Sam.

Cresswell walked thoughtfully to the window, swept back the curtain, and
looked toward the darkness and the swamp. It lowered threateningly;
behind it the night sky was tinged with blood.

"No," he said; "I'm not going." And he shut out the glow.

Yet he grew more and more restless. The devil danced in his veins and
burned in his forehead. His hands shook. He heard a rustle of departing
feet beneath his window, then a pause and a faint halloo.

"All right," he called, and in a moment went downstairs and out into
the night. As he closed the front door there seemed to come faintly up
from the swamp a low ululation, like the prolonged cry of some wild
bird, or the wail of one's mourning for his dead.

Within the cabin, Elspeth heard. Tremblingly, she swayed to her feet, a
haggard, awful sight. She motioned Zora away, and stretching her hands
palms upward to the sky, cried with dry and fear-struck gasp:

"I'se called! I'se called!"

On the bed the child smiled in its dreaming; the red flame of the
firelight set the gold to dancing in her hair. Zora shrank back into the
shadows and listened. The