girl's presence! He ground his teeth at the thought of his
weakness the next moment.

Colonel Washington appeared through the door from the dining room. He
was followed by his ancient butler, bearing a tray filled with drinks.

The Colonel served them with his own hand. The negro grinned his welcome
to the guests. At the sight of a slave, Cook was himself again. His jaw
closed and his eye flashed. He was once more the disciple of the Man of
the Blood-Feud.

Washington handed a tall glass to Virginia.

"Your lemonade, young lady. I know your taste and approve."

He bowed low and gave her the drink.

He took two glasses of mint juleps, one in each hand.

"Mr. Cook, the favorite drink of these mountains, sir, as pure as its
dews, as refreshing as its air--the favorite drink of old Virginia. To
your good health, sir!"

Cook's head barely moved and he drank in silence.

He held his mood of reserve on the drive home. In vain the girl smiled
and coaxed his dreary spirits. He refused to respond. They passed the
same wonderful views, the same birds were singing, the same waters
foaming and laughing over the rocks below. The man heard nothing, saw
nothing, save a vision inside his raging soul. He saw men riding through
the night to that house. He saw black hands grip iron pikes and knock at
the door of its great hall.

There was a far-away look in his keen eyes--eyes that could sight a
rifle with deadly aim.

The slender girl nestled closer in wonder at the veil that had suddenly
dropped between them. The fires of youth and passion responded for a
moment to this instinctive stir of his mate. Resistance was agony. His
arm moved to encircle her waist. He turned in an impulse to kiss her
lips and whisper the mad things his heart was saying.

He caught himself in time.

What had he to do with this eternal call of the human heart to love and
be loved? It meant home, it meant tenderness. It meant peace and good
will to every living thing. He had come to kill, not to love; to
destroy, not build homes.

Again he rebelled against his hideous task. And then he remembered John
Brown and all for which he stood. His oath crashed through his memory.
He resolved to put every thought of tenderness, beauty, and love under
his feet and trample them. It was the only way to save himself and this
girl.

It would be hard--but he would do it. For an entire week he did not
speak to her except in monosyllables. He made no effort to hi