y?"
"Send it to the post office. Send it to Laurette Toombs. That's my name
here. But don't try to find me again. I just pray God all the time that
I may never be of any trouble to you; and I am afraid all the time I
may." "Why?" I asked quickly. "Oh, I don't know; just because things are
what they are. I have already made you a world of trouble. And you have
been just as good to me as a brother could be. I just pray God not to
make you any more trouble. I must go." Her voice had grown full of
pathos. "Where?" I asked. "Don't follow me, Mr. James, just let me go. I
am a grown woman. I must lead my own life. Just be good to me as you
have been--don't you understand? I grieve. So be good to me, let me
manage myself and manage our meetings, whatever they are. Sit here now
while I steal away. Promise me."

Zoe got up, stretched her hands to me, then hurried through the darkness
to the town. I followed her with my eyes until she was lost to view. The
voice of Douglas by a sudden swell of the air was borne to me. One
articulate word fell upon my ears. It was "slavery." His voice lapsed
into the silence of the receding breeze. I sat alone for a few minutes.
Then I arose, and went to the place where Douglas was speaking.

He was just finishing. In a burst of impetuous and impassioned
eloquence he was pointing to the future glory of the United States, when
Great Britain would own no foot of soil from the North Pole to the Gulf.
The audience applauded tumultuously. Douglas stepped from the rude
platform into the arms of bewitched admirers. He freed himself and came
to me. He brought with him a Mr. DeWitt Williams who had prevailed upon
Douglas to accept his hospitality for the night. As Douglas' traveling
companion, I was invited to share in the entertainment.

CHAPTER XXIII

I had no opportunity now to tell Douglas that I had found Zoe. Her own
injunctions to keep her whereabouts a secret appealed to me. Perhaps her
going away, the changing of her name, her determination to keep her life
free from mine, made for a real solution. Perhaps she could continue in
this way for years, taking from me what I might send her. Perhaps I
could marry Dorothy eventually. Perhaps all would be well. Perhaps!

When we were driving toward Springfield the next day I was on the point
several times of telling Douglas that I had found Zoe. I wanted to
discuss the possibilities with some one. Prudence, however, dictated
silence--and silenc