ives since
it was builded. My honor is at stake. This day she must go. Make her
your wife and let neither ever return."

They departed by carriage, unknown to any, and never had returned.
But a few weeks after they disappeared a letter was received by Judge
Whaley, admonishing him that his son was the offspring of the same
illegal relations. It was signed and written by his wife. The wretched
man debated whether he should send the infant to an asylum or keep it
upon his premises. Through procrastination, continued for twenty
years, the child had derived all the advantages of legitimacy, and
still the demon of the husband's peace was the test of the gentleman's
religion.

As this story had proceeded toward its final portions, the young man
had detached himself from his father's arms. When Judge Whaley
concluded in the darkness he waited in vain for a response. The old
man lighted the lamp and peered about the room wistfully. Perry was
gone.

That night, in the happiness of her engagement, Marion Voss had a glad
unrest, which her mother noticed. "Dear," said the mother, "let us go
over to the Methodist church. It is one of their protracted meetings
or revivals, as they call it. If Perry comes he will know where to
find us, as I will leave word."

The Methodists were second in social standing, but a wide gap
separated them from the slave-holding and family aristocracy, who were
Episcopalians. The sermon was delivered by one of their most powerful
proselytizers, an old man in a homespun suit, high shoulders, lean,
long figure, and glittering eyes. He was a wild kind of orator,
striking fear to the soul, dipping it in the fumes of damnation,
lifting it thence to the joys of heaven. Terrible, electrical
preaching! It was the product of uncultured genius and human
disappointment. Marion sat in awe, hardly knowing whether it was
impious or angelic. In a blind exordium the old zealot commanded those
who would save their souls to walk forward and kneel publicly at the
altar, and make their struggle there for salvation.

The first whom Marion saw to walk up the dimly lighted aisle and kneel
was Perry Whaley. All in the church saw and knew him, and a
thunderous singing broke out, in which religious and mere
denominational zeal all threw their enthusiasm.

"Judge Whaley's son--Episcopalian--admitted to the bar
to-day--wonderful!"

Marion heard these whispers on every hand; and as the singing ceased,
and the congregation k