a could hardly imagine that any
man would be infatuated with her Aunt Laura.

But this was not the end of Graciella's troubles. Graciella had a
heart, although she had suppressed its promptings, under the influence
of a selfish ambition. She had thrown Ben Dudley over for the colonel;
the colonel did not want her, and now she would have neither. Ben had
been very angry, unreasonably angry, she had thought at the time, and
objectionably rude in his manner. He had sworn never to speak to her
again. If he should keep his word, she might be very unhappy. These
reflections brought on another rush of tears, and a very penitent,
contrite, humble-minded young woman cried herself to sleep before Miss
Laura, with a heart bursting with happiness, bade the colonel
good-night at the gate, and went upstairs to lie awake in her bed in a
turmoil of pleasant emotions.

Miss Laura's happiness lay not alone in the prospect that Colonel
French would marry her, nor in any sordid thought of what she would
gain by becoming the wife of a rich man. It rested in the fact that
this man, whom she admired, and who had come back from the outer world
to bring fresh ideas, new and larger ideals to lift and broaden and
revivify the town, had passed by youth and beauty and vivacity, and
had chosen her to share this task, to form the heart and mind and
manners of his child, and to be the tie which would bind him most
strongly to her dear South. For she was a true child of the soil; the
people about her, white and black, were her people, and this marriage,
with its larger opportunities for usefulness, would help her to do
that for which hitherto she had only been able to pray and to hope.
To the boy she would be a mother indeed; to lead him in the paths of
truth and loyalty and manliness and the fear of God--it was a
priceless privilege, and already her mother-heart yearned to begin the
task.

And then after the flow came the ebb. Why had he chosen her? Was it
_merely_ as an abstraction--the embodiment of an ideal, a survival
from a host of pleasant memories, and as a mother for his child, who
needed care which no one else could give, and as a helpmate in
carrying out his schemes of benevolence? Were these his only motives;
and, if so, were they sufficient to ensure her happiness? Was he
marrying her through a mere sentimental impulse, or for calculated
convenience, or from both? She must be certain; for his views might
change. He was yet in the full