the habit of ruling, suffer one disadvantage among
their fellows: it is impossible for them to become suppliants.

"Good-by, Mother."

When she started for the train that was to take her to Frankfort, Jemima
followed her to the door.

"You will be here when--we return, to-morrow?" Kate's steady voice hid
very successfully her agonized suspense.

"No, Mother."

"Ah!... Then your aunt expects you? She knows what train to meet?"

"Yes, thank you. Professor Thorpe has made all the arrangements. He will
put me on the train in Lexington."

Kate bent over her child. "Good-by, my daughter."

Even then the tremble of a lip, a tear on an eyelash, might have brought
them into each other's arms. But neither was the sort of woman who weeps
in a crisis. They kissed, their lips quite cool and firm.

It was Jacqueline who did the weeping for both of them, and insisted
upon sitting in her mother's lap all the way to the station, so that
Kate had some difficulty in driving....

Such were the scenes and memories that flitted through Kate's brain all
the night before her wedding; and the night was long.

Near morning she slept at last, and dreamed. Somebody stood beside her,
smiling down--a stranger, she thought him, till she met his eyes.

"Jacques!" she cried, starting up with hands outstretched. "You,
Jacques!"

The consoling vision for which she yearned had come at last; but not as
she had seen it before, not in the prime of manhood, strong to hear her
burdens. This was an elderly man, stooping, gray-haired, frail. Only the
eyes were the same, blue as a child's in his wan face, warm as a caress.
He spoke to her. He seemed to promise something.

She awoke with his name on her lips, and saw that it was morning. Peace
had come to her with the vision. She faced a new day, a new life, serene
and unafraid. What was it that he had promised? No matter. She would
ask him when she saw him, soon now.

Smiling at her own credulity, she began with hasty hands to dress.

Out in the street she heard the crisp trot of horses, stopping beneath
her window. Looking down, she saw one of her own vehicles, a light
phaeton drawn by a pair of young blooded colts she had sent in to
Frankfort some days earlier, that they might be rested and fresh for the
day's drive back to Storm, which was to be their wedding journey. She
looked them over critically.

"They are in excellent condition. We ought to make it in eight hours,"
she thought. "How