hat's all this I'm hearing now for the ve'y first time about these
heah low-down, schemin' scoundrels that want to mix thei-uh white-niggeh
blood with ouhs?" he roared at Ardea, quite beside himself with passion.
"Wasn't it enough that they should use my name and rob my good friend
Caleb? No, by heavens! That snivelin' young houn'-dog must pay his cou't
to you while he was keepin' his--"

The Major's face had been growing redder, and he choked in sheer
poverty of speech. Moreover, Tom had come between; had taken Ardea in
his arms protectingly and was fronting the firebrand Dabney like a man.

"That's enough, Major," he said definitely. "You mustn't say things
you'll be sorry for after you cool down a bit. Miss Ardea is like the
king: she can do no wrong."

There was a gasping pause, the sound of a big man breathing hard,
followed by the slamming of the door, and they were alone together
again, Ardea crying softly, with her face hidden on the shoulder of
shielding.

"Oh, isn't it terrible?" she sobbed; and Tom held her the closer.

"Never mind," he comforted. "He was crazy-mad, as he had a good right to
be. You know he will be heart-broken when he comes to himself. You are
his one ewe lamb, Ardea."

"I know," she faltered; "but O Tom! it was so unnecessary; so wretchedly
unnecessary! It's--it's more than two whole months since--since Vincent
Farley broke the engagement, and--"

He held her at arm's length to look at her, but she hid her face in her
hands.

"Broke the engagement!" he exclaimed, almost roughly. "Why did he do
that?"

She stood before him with her hands clasped and the clear-welled eyes
meeting his bravely.

"Because I told him I could not marry him without first telling him that
I loved you, Tom; that I had been loving you always and in spite of
everything," she said.

And what more she said I do not know.

XXXVII

WHOSE YESTERDAYS LOOK BACKWARD

"Tom, isn't this the same foot-log you made me walk that day when you
were trying to convince me that you were the meanest boy that ever
breathed?" asked Ardea, gathering her skirts preparatory to the stream
crossing.

"It is. But you didn't walk it, as you may remember: you fell off. Wait
a second and give me those azaleas. I'll go first and take your hand."

Tom Gordon, lately home from a full half-year spent in the unfettered
solitudes of the Carriso iron fields, to be married first, and afterward
to start up--with Caleb for superi