groes around the place. He knew that the wages paid must be very small, if any, but the blacks must at least be fed; and they swarmed about the yard and even into the house, with no work to do and no will to do any. He afterwards discovered that this retinue were but waifs from the old days, remaining on the property because they had no other shelter, and that to some extent the old condition of affairs was inverted, now the white man was working to put bread into the mouths of the idlers, and though the negroes seemed good-natured enough, neither the master nor his daughter called upon their pensioners for assistance. The late slaves still lived in their cabins, and received such rations as the industry of their former owner could supply, but were not expected to make any returns for these favors. Any little service which they might perform was scrupulously paid for—at a very low rate, to be sure; but some payment marked the distinction between slavery and freedom.

Vernaff did not see Miss Algier until she came into the general's sitting-room to announce that supper was waiting. She entered easily, and without sign of embarrassment renewed the acquaintance begun, and ended, under such different circumstances. She was neatly though very plainly dressed; her hair was parted smoothly over her round forehead, and there was just a little color brightening her pure, pale face. There was a defiant sparkle in her eyes which contradicted the gravity of her speech and added piquancy to her gentle

manners.

All through the supper she was the attentive hostess: there were cheerful smiles and sallies of wit, and to the guest the whole room was illuminated by her presence, though he felt that every moment she was growing further away from him. She talked more than at their former interview, but easily turned the point of any remark of a personal nature. After the first greeting, she made no allusion to their previous meeting, but in her conversation he found little suggestions of the thoughts they had interchanged on that night of moonlight and music in the spicy woodlands.

In the evening, she sat with the two men and joined in the talk, her sweet voice mingling with the rounded tones of the older man like a silver thread through a dark web, but Vernaff was refused an instant's tête-à-tête. Inwardly he raged against his luck-and the girl knew that he was raging; still, she gave him no opportunity to address her outside the general conversation. But when she rose to say good-night, after kissing her father with lingering emphasis, she extended her hand to the guest as he stood holding the door for her to pass, and said in an undertone,

"I always knew you would come. Goodnight."

This remark, which might mean anything, he turned over in his mind all night, until it sounded as if it had been, "I am glad you have come; I have waited for you."

In the morning Mr. Algier excused himself, and set out alone for the church, leaving his daughter to follow with the new friend. This arrangement did not seem perfectly satisfactory to the young lady, but her father was serenely unconscious of her objections, and strode away wrapt in the thought of the sermon which he was to preach.

At length the lady was ready, and, accompanied by the young officer, took the by-path leading through the woods to the place of meeting. There was a demure expression on the girl's face, a kind of Sunday look, which at first abashed her companion; but he gathered courage as they went on, and, dropping the commonplace tone in which they had been talking, said:

"I wish I had known of your whereabouts sooner; I feel that I have lost so much by not knowing I was so near your home."

"I knew who the agent was on the first day of your arrival at Esperanza," she answered.

"And why did you not let me know that you were living here?" he asked.

She hesitated a moment, then stopped, and faced him. The color came to her cheeks, a gleam of hard, determined light showed through the tender brown of her eyes, and there was a little tremble in the voice with which she answered him.

"I did not care to see you again; at least, just at present. I did not mention your coming to my father; I have told no one that I ever saw you before. My own circle of friends is large enough for me; we are all proud and poor together, and there is no room or place for a new-comer. I would not say anything to hurt you, or anything ungentle, but you ask me, and I must tell you the truth. You are my father's guest. Once you did me a kindness greater than you knew,-you saved my father's reason, and probably my life. For this I respect you and honor you, and would in my weak way repay you; but I know, and you know, that all social intimacy is impossible. I can't think it best to associate with the people of your country. The recollection of the suffering brought on by the war, the whole conflict, rankles perhaps more with us women than with the men, who have so much else to think about. But, oh, Colonel Vernaff, we cannot forget so readily! Then you, whom I know to be so different from my idea of a Yankee, came here, armed with such authority as no

man should have over another. You are an autocrat; I cannot hire a servant without your assent; why, I almost need your permission to buy a spool of thread. You trample upon everything I hold dear; your very presence is a perpetual reminder of our shame and despair; our necks are bowed before you, though our souls refuse the chains. So it is best that the two people dwell apart. But, there! I am getting as long in my speeches as father is sometimes. Come, let us go on to the church. If I have offended you, I ask your pardon; but I know that I am right, and please don't let us talk about such things. I suppose we can be good friends enough, if you do your part. And now that I have poured out all the perilous stuff there was on my mind, and maybe hurt myself more than I have you, I feel more like a Christian on the way to church.”

Vernaff could not but admit that there was a certain amount of reason in this long argument; but he did not agree with any conclusion that would deprive him of Miss Algier's society. It would be difficult to say if he knew just what his feelings had been before he listened to her logic, but now there was no doubt but that he was driven towards her with irresistible impulse. He did not stop to think of his words.

"Miss Algier, if you should tell me that my presence was personally disagreeable to you, then I should feel obliged either to give up your acquaintance or change my conduct; but when you say that politics raises a bar between us that cannot be taken down, I deny your position." Then turning to her he added, slowly and distinctly: "You shall like me. Do you remember that you once said to me, 'You shall pay for it,' when you thought I offered you a slight? Well, now I am going to pay you."

"And how, pray?" she answered, defiantly.

By making you like me better than you do any one else in the world," he answered. "But would that not be rather punishment than payment?"

"I will try that it shall not be," he answered. "Well," she said gayly, "at least you have given me fair warning, and I can look out. I doubt if the game is worth the candle. You could get nothing but a poor amusement, and I should get nothing but a great deal of annoyance. So let us settle it now. You paid me that same night by your kindness. I give you full quittance. Now, do let me off from the terrible fate you denounce against me."

"Would the fate be so terrible?" he asked. "I can conceive of nothing so horrible," she answered, with a mocking smile, "unless it is to be late at church." And hurrying her

steps, they soon came to the log meetinghouse.

In the evening some people called upon General Algier on private business, so Vernaff and the young lady were left together; and this situation did not seem displeasing to either. They sat in the half-dusk of the great parlor, lighted only by the pitch-pine fire, which, flaming on the hearth, threw warm yellow illuminations about the room, softening the angles and concealing the barrenness.

A storm was rising in the woods outside, the murmur of the pines grew louder and deeper, and the shrunken casement shook and rattled in the wind. Inside, the colonel, under his daughter's laughing instructions, piled high the light wood-knots upon the fire. It was very sweet and homelike, these two shut in from the wild weather, warmed and cheered by the same fire, talking or silent as the moods changed, and perhaps saying most in the pauses. The girl's pure face was lit up yet softened by the rosy splendor of the fire. What wonder that love grew up in his heart so suddenly yet so easily that it was in flower and filling his soul with perfume before he was conscious of its existence. To the girl, surely it was pleasant to be with him. Why struggle? why think of consequences? why think at all? The last years had been passed in conflict and tempest; her daily life was hard and barren, and there was but little peace and joy in her world; even her hopes were dull and uninteresting. She voluntarily forgot that there must be a to-morrow, and floated down the river of the present. It would have been easy for him to have checked her then: had he made one rash step towards familiarity, she would have taken the alarm and closed the door of her heart. But a trembling delicacy came to him with this new precious love, a tender compassion, a will to shield her even from himself.

Monday was so stormy that it was impossible to leave the house, so the day was passed indoors, and was tedious to all. But the old general did everything in his power to amuse his guest, and Miss Algier finally allowed him to sit with her in the housekeeping-room, where she was engaged in her domestic duties. He had become an intimate of the family and taken position as house friend. There was something very fascinating in his new relation; and in watching the girl's industry, assisting with his uncalled-for advice, both of them laughing and talking like children playing at doll's housekeeping, the stiffness of the young man wore away. There was a graceful shiftlessness about Miss Algier's methods which amused him; she did not know how to produce the desired ends by the simpler means, but

she seemed so bright and happy, so full of charming petulances, that far from losing his illusions by the sight of her homely everyday life, he found her only more attractive. His practical Yankee sense told him that she was not proficient in her tasks, and he doubted if housekeeping was within the scope of her mind; but he admired her none the less for this want, and her efforts were so earnest, her spirits so buoyant, that the charm grew with every motion of her white hands. Once he ventured to offer his sympathy, complaining that she was doing work which was beneath her. She stopped her labors, and looking at him sidewise said, with just a little flutter in her voice:

"I don't care if you know it, although it is a matter of small interest to you, but I can change all this whenever I please. To-day it is poverty and hard work; to-morrow, if I choose to write the word, it is leisure and wealth."

"Then why don't you write?" he asked, with a sharp pang of bitterness.

"I don't know; perhaps I may some time." "If you love the man who can so change your life, I should n't think you would wait an instant."

"That is the point," she said. "I don't know if I love him or not." Then turning full towards him, she continued, in an indifferent tone, "What do you think?"

Notwithstanding the jealous pain in his heart, he could not help laughing at this singular question. "You must answer for your self," he replied.

"But," she said, doubtingly, "every one would be so much pleased."

"Perhaps not every one."

She refused to notice the innuendo, and continued: "Then you think I had better say 'yes,' and have done with it?”

"No, I did not say that; I don't think I am a fair judge."

"Why, I thought you were sent South to arrange all our affairs. I shall have to report you at Washington as neglecting your duties. I expected you to issue a decree, By authority of the United States, and the Bureau of Freedmen, Refugees, and Abandoned Lands, etc., etc.' You refuse? Then I shall be obliged to decide for myself."

"I hoped," he said, willing to change the subject," that you had forgotten that I was one of the hated Yanks."

"No," she answered; "I have not forgotten, nor do I wish to." Then seeing that he was hurt at her remark, she added coquettishly, "But if you continue good-tempered, perhaps some time I may forgive you."

"That will be far better," he answered.
VOL. XXXV.-28.

"Far better for you," she replied, with daring emphasis on the pronoun.

Why not for you, too?" he asked seriously. "For me? Oh, I shall get along well enough," she said, avoiding a direct answer. When he was about to leave her she explained. "I thought I would tell you about my affairs, because you seemed to pity my forlorn condition. Now, my condition is not forlorn, at least to my eyes. And again, I don't think I like commiseration - certainly not from you." Then maliciously she added: "Remember, I had enough of that in North Carolina."

"Will you never forgive that fancied slight?" he asked.

"I think not. No, I never shall. And for this reason,-it hurts my vanity, that you should have seen me when I was so — so dilapidated. Do you think it was quite fair?” "How in the world could I help it?" Well, you won't pity me any more? "No, now I shall only pity myself," he answered.

AFTER this he contrived to meet her almost every time she came to Esperanza, and these meetings became the objects of his life. To her also, though she disapproved of the intimacy, they were very pleasant. She did not dare look at the future, every day this stranger grew dearer to her, and every day the bitter railings of her acquaintances made the political idea which he represented more hateful in her eyes. He was an intruder, a carpet-bagger, a Northern satrap, or at least a deputy satrap. She ground her white teeth when she thought of the humiliation of her country, and her pride called upon her to break away from the friendship forced upon her by one of the oppressors. But her heart called out to her that it was too late, the die was cast. She could not bear to acknowledge it even to herself, yet she knew that all that was tender and loving in her nature had gone out to him. And she felt by no means sure of his love.

And the man, he, too, was in doubt. She fascinated him, and he felt that his life was wrapt up in this woman. Yet, in a little while his work in the South, always distasteful, would be finished, and the path which he must follow in after life was already chosen. This girl would enter as a new factor in his plans; and her education, the simple fact that she

came from the South, would, if she were his wife, force a change in his projects. But why think about consequences, when the present was so delightful? When he was with her he was ready to bow down and worship; it was only when they were apart that the doubts came to his mind. He knew that he loved her better than anything else in the world, but from his standpoint all the world was in one side of the balance, and just this girl in the other. His taste was offended daily by the tone of the society in which she lived-even the girl herself sometimes shocked him by some expression which he considered as provincial; but for all this he loved her and admired her every motion. These doubts and hesitations were but the dying struggles of his own narrow prejudices, but they made him unhappy and irritable discontented with himself and out of patience with his surroundings.

While in this confused state of mind, he received a call from Major Royal Algier, a nephew of the general, and so cousin to the young lady. Vernaff knew of this Major Algier, though he had never seen him. The gentleman lived in another county, and was the leader of the irreconcilable party in the vicinity. Neither young nor old, reduced like his neighbors to poverty, his dominant will and reckless courage had made him a marked man. A bitter opponent of the reconstruction policy of the Government, he refused to be silent, and carried his animosity even to blows. Once or twice Vernaff had been on the point of ordering his arrest, but there was a good-humored jollity about his high-handed outrages which turned the current in his favor, and, if he killed a man, as it was rumored he sometimes did, at least he shot from the front, and his adversary was some one whom society could well spare. Perhaps Vernaff thought that the major was a necessary evil in this law-breaking community, or it is possible that he allowed his personal feelings to influence him, and the relationship between the rough rider and the family of General Algier may have covered a multitude of sins. However this may have been, the Bureau agent made no difficulty in admitting the redoubtable major to his private apartments.

When the visitor entered, Vernaff was pleasantly disappointed at his appearance. Except that he was greatly browned by the sun and wind, and, like most men who ride on horseback, walked with his feet far apart, which gave a truculent air to his stride, he was as well mannered a red-eyed gentleman as ever filled the atmosphere with the rank fumes of corn whisky.

"Major Algier, I am happy to see you. Will you be seated?"

"Thanks; no, sir. The business between us will take but an instant. I have called to say that your persistent attentions to my cousin, Miss Algier, are not approved by her family, and from this time on must cease. The honor of my family will not permit any relations except those of the most distant civility between one of its members and avoiding personality-persons from your section. I trust that having received this warning, I shall hear no more about it. Sir, I wish you a very goodevening." He turned to go, raising his slouch hat with ceremonious politeness.

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'Stop!" cried Vernaff. "Do I understand that this is a message from Miss Algier or the general?"

"Such a question is unnecessary," replied the major. "I think I am sufficient authority in this matter. If my fair cousin has forgotten her position for a moment, or if my respected uncle, General Algier, has allowed her to amuse herself at your expense, that is their affair. But now I forbid you, sir."

For a moment the young officer was too angry to speak. The blood surged to his brain. The sublime impudence of his visitor was the accentuation of all that was hateful to him in Southern manners, and, coming as it did on his already exasperated feelings, broke down the last barrier of his self-control.

"D—you, sir! I'm not likely to hold myself accountable to any blood-and-thunder reprobate who tries to influence my conduct. But, be sure, if you venture to use that young lady's name in my presence, I'll whip you within an inch of your life, cousin or no cousin."

He stood leaning one hand on the back of a chair, pale, and shaken with excitement, and his words were spoken slowly and distinctly. There was no bravado in his manner, but there was a look in his eyes and about the lines of his mouth that was even more menacing than his speech.

The major was apparently astonished at this outbreak. Whatever answer he may have expected, at any rate it was not this. He was no coward, and had often risked his life in brawl and in battle; but the white, rigid face of his opponent daunted him. It was not the fear of death or injury, but the spirit of the man before him, which overawed him. The situation became embarrassing; no further explanation was possible. He therefore, after saying, " You have heard my business, sir," departed in some haste.

The other did not follow, but stood rooted to the floor, his mind in a swirl of contending

apartment with long, even strides far into the night. The measured cadence of his step sounded through the room, and morning found him still deep in thought. At last, his mind made up, he threw himself upon his couch and slept. At noon he mounted his horse and galloped to the plantation of General Algier. He was happier than ever before in his life; whatever the issue of his errand, one thing was settled forever. He was willing to give up all his plans, all his prospects; give up, so far as he could, his very self. Brought to the dividing of the paths, he deliberately chose to turn from the broad and easy road and blindly trace his steps in a new direction. Once decided, no cloud remained in his mind; he knew that his doubts were dead, never to revive.

As he rode up the avenue leading to the great white house, and saw it standing cold and bare before him, he looked at it with new interest. Was this the last time he should ever look upon it? If this were so, then the picture would go with him to the grave. Would he sometime see it again? Then the house no longer would seem barren, but filled with a glory which would be his forever. He would have lingered before entering, but as he rode up to the steps, Miss Algier came upon the piazza and welcomed him.

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My father," she said," is somewhere in the fields. Will you go to find him, or come in and wait?"

He dismounted, and joined her on the steps. "If you are willing," he said, " we will go in; I can see him by and by."

So together they entered the house, the great door closed behind them, and they were alone in the dismantled drawing-room, where they had met so often. She instinctively knew that the hour had come; she would willingly have avoided an explanation. Her heart throbbed, her eyes moistened, and her voice failed; yet she was clear as to the course she would follow, there was no shadow of wavering in her mind. She had regarded this day as something to be kept out of sight as long as possible, but had felt no doubt as to what she must do, at whatever cost.

For a while they fenced with embarrassed gayety, then he resolutely forced her attention. "Miss Algier," he said, "does it seem so strange a thing to you that I dare to love you, that from the first moment I saw you my whole heart went out toward you? I can no longer hide from you, and from myself, that this love is all my life. I know no more than this. I love you."

She made no answer to this appeal, but sat white and seemingly unmoved, her face bowed down, and her hands closely clasped before her. He rose and came to her side, and, stoop

ing down, took her hands and said very softly, "Claudine, you cannot bid me leave you.'

A moment longer she was silent; it was very sweet to listen. For an instant she doubted her resolution; a wave of satisfied longing flowed into her heart, then ebbed again, but, summoning her strong will, she withdrew her hand and said:

"Please sit down again. I cannot speak just yet, nor with you so near."

Impressed by the strained composure in her tones, he obeyed her request; and, awed by her manner and evident distress, waited for her answer.

Presently she spoke again, hesitating at first, but as she went on, her voice grew firmer and her words clearer; a flush of color came into her face, and her eyes yearned towards him, full of love, and yet of inflexible determination.

"Perhaps I am to blame - I must be; but you will forgive me when you know all. Of course I wanted you to love me. How could I help that? Yet all the time I knew that the end could be nothing but sorrow to us both. Still, you know that this thing cannot be; our paths inthis world are too far apart ever to come together. My lot, my duty, is here with my father, and with the people among whom I was born and with whom I have suffered. You belong to another world; your education, your choice, your duties are different. Shall I tell you truly? I could not bear to go among your people. I cannot forgive them all the wrong they have done us. I should feel like a traitor to my God and my country, if I went among them asking kindness. My father, too; he cannot live without me. I am all that is left to him, and he must stay among his old friends. No, don't speak. I have been thinking very hard. I know what is right, and this is wrong. You must not stay here; you cannot be one with us, and I would not have you change even if possible. Go back to the victorious North; I know that your place is waiting for you. You must not take up our burden. No, no; you must go, and I must stay. You will forget me, no doubt, or think of me as one who saved you from a great folly."

The man came again to her side. "Claudine," he said, " I, too, have thought of all this. If you can love me and give yourself to me, what do I care for the rest? If it is right that you should stay with your father, so be it, but that need not separate us; I will not let anything come between you and me." And he put his arm around her and raised her to his breast.

One moment she lingered, then gently released herself from his embrace. She was