hen he is drunk that the
Lord ever let live. Ye cayn't do nothin' with him. The boy was thar, an'
they say 'twas a sight ter see him. He's his daddy's son, an' a bigger
young devil never lived, they tell me. He's not got to the whiskey an'
opium yet, an' he jes' takes his'n out in pride an' temper. Nigger said
he jest raved an' tore that night--went into the Colonel's room an'
cussed an' dashed round like he was gone mad. Kinder shamed, I reckin.
But Lord, he'll be at it himself in ten years from now. It's in the
blood."

"Who's that you're talking of?" asked Tom from his end of the table. He
had not recovered his colour yet and looked pale as he put the question.

"Colonel De Willoughby of Delisleville," answered Mr. Sparkes. "Any kin
o' your'n? Name's sorter like. He jest left here this evenin' with his
boy an' nigger. They've ben to Whitebriar, an' they're on their way
home."

"I saw them ride over the hill," said Tom. "I thought I wasn't mistaken
in the man. I've seen him before."

But he made a very poor supper, and a shadow seemed to have fallen upon
his cheery mood of the morning. Sheba recognised this and knew, too, that
her new friend and his father were in some vague way responsible for it,
and the knowledge oppressed her so that when they sat out upon the porch
together after the meal was over, she in her accustomed place on his
knee, she grew sad under it herself and, instead of talking as usual,
leaned her small head against his coat and watched the few stars whose
brightness the moon had not shut out.

She went to bed early, but did not sleep well, dreaming dreary dreams of
watching the travellers riding away towards the sunset, and of hearing
the woman talk again. One of the talkers seemed at last to waken her with
her voice, and she sat up in bed suddenly and found that it was Tom, who
had roused her by speaking to himself in a low tone as he stood in a
flood of moonlight before the window.

"She died," he was saying; "she died."

Sheba burst into a little sob, stretching out her hands to him without
comprehending her own emotion.

"And he went away," she cried, "nobody knows where--nobody knows where--"
And even when he came to her hurriedly and sat down on the bedside,
soothing her and taking her in his arms to sink back into slumber, she
sobbed drearily two or three times, though, once in his clasp, she felt,
as she had always done, the full sense of comfort, safety, and rest.

CHAPTE