e consequences of what she had supposed the
jest of a summer evening rose before her.

Yet, for all this imagining, there was in her heart the comfort of
innocence.

In the morning the shadow of danger seemed to shrink away in the
sunlight, and Elizabeth went back to her duties with a spirit firm, if
not untroubled. She saw nothing to give her fresh alarm. She found that
Edmonson had excused his act to the spectators as a touch of delirium
accompanying fever, and the next day he had fever beyond question,
though not enough to be very dangerous.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

FOOTNOTES:

[E] Copyright, 1884, by Frances C. Sparhawk.

EDITOR'S TABLE.

Brutal and inhuman deeds are not changed in character or color by
differences in latitude or longitude. The people of Quitman, Ga.,
committed a deed of this character when they put the torch of the
incendiary to a school-house where ignorant colored children, in
charity's sweet name, were being nurtured into nobler manhood and
womanhood. This act of inhumanity, clearly inspired if not wholly
sanctioned by a majority sentiment in the community, is not a solecism
in history. In 1832-3, Prudence Crandall taught a successful school for
girls in Canterbury, Conn., to which she admitted a colored girl, an
intelligent church member, who desired to prepare herself to teach
children of her own color. All Canterbury was thrown into a state of
intense excitement and indignation by this act, and Miss Crandall had to
choose between the expulsion of her colored pupil and the loss of her
white ones. She pluckily faced the tumult, refused to sacrifice what she
regarded as a principle, and her fashionable school opened its doors as
an institution for colored girls only.

Increased excitement followed. A local politician, afterward a member of
Congress, became the leader in a bitter and disgraceful prosecution of
the brave woman, and, when they found it impossible to drive her from
her position by ordinary measures, secured the passage of a law making
it a crime to open a school for colored children without the consent of
the selectmen of the town. The power of the State of Connecticut was
thus invoked, and used for the crushing of one brave little Quakeress.
Miss Crandall was arrested, and imprisoned in a cell from which a
murderer had just gone to the gallows. Her case was tried in August,
1833. One jury failed to agree. Another found her guilty. The case was
appealed, and proceed