hing better to
do than to take his hand, the tears brightening her soft eyes. "Laws,"
said Demming, "don' do thet. I ain't wuth it. Look a yere, I got
sunthin' ter say ter you. An' you mustn't min', 'cause I mean well.
You know 'bout--yes'day mahnin'. Mabbe you done what you done not
knowin' yo' own min',--laws, thet's jes' girls,--an' I wants you ter
know jes' what kin' o' feller he is. You know he saved yo' pa, but you
don' know, mabbe, thet he didn't know 'twas the Bishop till he'd jump
down in thet thar flamin' pit o' hell, as 'twere, an' fished him out.
He done it jes' 'cause he'd thet pluck in him, an'--don' you go fer
ter chippin' in, Cunnel. I'm a dyin' man, an' don' you forget it! Thar
he is, miss, hidin' like behin' the bed."

Louise during this speech had grown red to the roots of her hair. She
looked up into Talboys's face. He had stepped forward. His usual
composure had quite left him, so that he made a pitiful picture of
embarrassment, not helped by crumpled linen and a borrowed coat a
world too large for him. "It's just a whim of his," he whispered,
hurriedly; "he wanted me to stay. I didn't know--I didn't understand!
For God's sake, don't suppose I meant to take such an advantage of the
situation! I am going directly. I shall leave Aiken to-night."

It was only the strain on her nerves, but Louise felt the oddest
desire to laugh. The elegant Martin cut such a very droll figure as a
hero. Then her eye fell on Demming's eager face, and a sudden
revulsion of feeling, a sudden keen realization of the tragedy that
Martin had averted, brought the tears back to her eyes. Her beautiful
head dropped. "Why do you go--now?" said she.

"Hev you uns made it up, yet?" murmured Demming's faint voice.

"Yes," Talboys answered, "I think we have, and--I thank you, Demming."
The vagabond waved his hand with a feeble assumption of his familiar
gesture. "Yo' a square man, Cunnel. I allus set a heap by you, though
I didn't let on. An' she's a right peart young lady. I'm glad yo'
gwine ter be so happy. Laws, I kind o' wish I wuz to see it, even on a
wooden leg--" The woman at his side began to sob. "Thar, thar,
Alwynda, don' take on so; cyan't be helped. You mus' 'scuse her,
gen'lemen; she so petted on me she jes' cyan't hole in!"

"Demming," said the Bishop, "my poor friend, the time is short; is
there anything you want me to do?" Demming's dull eyes sparkled with a
glimmer of the old humor.

"Well, Bishop, ef you don'