a cloud of dust and under black skies." The dancing
master raised a glass of water that was upon the table and moistened his
lips. "This, Mr. Cary, is all my aid. I admired your brother, and there
is, sir, a something about you that returns Charles to my memory. If it
pleases you, and if our host will lend me a horse, I will ride with you
in the morning, as far at least as the oak and that red bank down which
he came."

"I accept your offer, sir," answered the other, "with gratitude. You did
not chance to notice his holsters?"

"No--except that his saddle had holsters. I have seen his pistols. I
saw them one night at Monticello. He told me that they were a gift from
his patron."

"Yes. They were given by Mr. Jefferson, and the other's name is upon
them. Moreover, he travelled armed from Richmond to Roselands. I
acquired that knowledge in the autumn. I would that iron could speak--if
it could, and if human effort be of avail, I would yet have those
pistols in my holding!"

He took the map from the table, rolled it up, and restored it to its
place. "It grows late," he said. "Let us to bed and to sleep. It is the
eve of a decisive engagement, M. de Pincornet. If you'll permit me, I
will call you at five. Remus shall make us coffee, and we'll make free
with a horse for you from the stables. Then the road again! but this
time I go no farther than the ford, on that white ribbon yonder. You
shall keep the highroad, but I will take the river road, and yet I'll
hold tryst with you beneath that riven oak!" He began to put out the
candles. "I shall sleep and sleep well until dawn, and I wish for you,
sir, as good a night. For the aid which you have given me, I am most
heartily your servant."

Alone in the little room, he straightened, mechanically, the objects
upon the table, paced for a time or two the narrow, cell-like place,
then went out again upon the porch and stood with his hands on the
railing, and his eyes raised to the white moon, full and serene in the
cloudless night. "For without," he said, "are dogs and sorcerers and
murderers and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie." He stood for a long
while without movement, but at last let fall his hands, turned, and went
indoors. When, a little later, he threw himself upon his bed and drew
his hand across his eyes, he found that it was wet with tears. He spoke
aloud, though hardly above his breath. "No, Ludwell, no! In this sole
thing I am right. It is not revenge. I am not