back into the portraits that singular
quality of intense life. Had they moved he would not have been
surprised, and the eyes certainly looked down at him in full and ample
recognition.

What did they say? He gazed straight into the eyes of one and then
straight into the eyes of the other, and over and over again. But the
expression there was Delphic. He must choose for himself, as they had
chosen for themselves, and remembering that he was lingering, when he
should not linger, he closed and fastened the window, slipped out at the
kitchen window and returned to his horse.

He remounted in the road and rode a few paces nearer to Pendleton, which
still lay silent in the white moonlight. He had no doubt now that many
of the people had fled like his mother. Most of the houses must be
closed and shuttered like hers. That was why the town was so silent.
He would have been glad to see Dr. Russell and old Judge Kendrick and
others again, but it would have been risky to go into the center of the
place, and it would have been a breach, too, of the faith that Colonel
Winchester had put in him.

He crushed the wish and turned away. Then he saw the white walls of
Colonel Kenton's house shining upon a hill among the pines beyond the
town. He was quite sure that it would be deserted, and there was no
harm in passing it. He knew it as well as his own home. He and Harry had
played in every part of it, and it was, in truth, a second home to him.

He rode slowly along the road which led to the quiet house. Colonel
Kenton had all the instincts so strong in the Kentuckians and Virginians
of his type. A portion of his wealth had been devoted to decoration and
beauty. The white, sanded road led upward through a great park, splendid
with oak and beech and maple, and elms of great size. Nearer the house
he came to the cedars and clipped pines, like those surrounding his
mother's own home.

He opened the iron gate that led to the house, and tied his horse
inside. Here was the same desolation and silence that he had beheld at
his own home. The grass on the lawn, although withered and dry from the
intense drought that had prevailed in Kentucky that summer, was long and
showed signs of neglect. The great stone pillars of the portico, from
the shelter of which Harry and his father and their friends had fought
Skelly and his mountaineers, were stained, and around their bases were
dirty from the sand and earth blown against them. The lawn and even