at
she considered this last dire error of her sister.

"That's not the point," she said firmly. She pinned up the now carded
mass with two long, silver hairpins as she had done every night for
twenty years, then went into her especial dressing-closet to fetch her
night-gown.

It was the evening of the fateful day on which Sophy had announced her
coming marriage to Loring, and husband and wife were preparing for
sleep, in the big, friendly room which they shared together. In this
room were two large, old-fashioned closets, each having its window, its
washstand, and its array of pegs whereon to hang the simple and more
necessary pieces of wearing apparel.

As Charlotte emerged again, attired in her nainsook gown that ended in
decent frills at neck and wrist, the Judge in his turn strode into his
sanctuary. He was in search of one of those old-fashioned garments which
Charlotte had been so reluctant to lend Loring on the occasion of his
first visit.

While she waited for him to appear again, she sat down at a little table
near one of the windows, and began arranging what she called her
"night-basket." She was the most methodical and orderly of souls, and
into this little hamper went her watch, her handkerchief, a bit of
"camphor-ice" for her lips, and a box of matches.

The moon was at its full again, and as she sat, sorting these familiar
articles, she could see the white blur of Sophy's gown in one of the
hammocks, and hear the soft undertone of voices, as she and her lover
talked together.

"Just run along, you and Joe, Charlotte, dear," Sophy had said. "We'll
come in by the time you're ready to put out the lights."

"And here," reflected Charlotte, frowning towards the hammocks, "it's
eleven o'clock, and Joe and I nearly ready for bed, and she isn't even
_thinking_ of coming in!"

Her mood was such as in a vigorous, old-fashioned mother means a sound
spanking for the offending child. And Charlotte felt that in some sort
Sophy _was_ her child, and dearly would she have liked to spank her.

Here Judge Macon came forth again, looking somewhat like the sheeted
dead in the extreme length of his linen garment, and armed with a large,
palmetto fan. He drew up a rocking-chair, and glancing out of the window
towards the culprits, said just a trifle sheepishly, to his wife's acute
ears:

"Let's give 'em as long as we can, old lady. Lovers on an old Virginia
lawn in the moonlight! It's enough to soften the cockles of