pet which seemed
to him extraordinarily precious and valuable.

Taylor eagerly inquired after the cloth, and followed the ladies to
Zora's room, adjoining Mrs. Vanderpool's, to see it. It lay uncut and
shimmering, covered with dim silken tracery of a delicacy and beauty
which brought an exclamation to all lips.

"That's what we can do with Alabama cotton," cried John Taylor in
triumph.

They turned to him incredulously.

"But--"

"No 'buts' about it; these are the two bales you sent me, woven with a
silk woof." No one particularly noticed that Zora had hastily left the
room. "I had it done in Easterly's New Jersey mills according to an old
plan of mine. I'm going to make cloth like that right in this county
some day," and he chuckled gayly.

But Zora was striding up and down the halls, the blood surging in her
ears. After they were gone she came back and closed the doors. She
dropped on her knees and buried her face in the filmy folds of the
Silver Fleece.

"I knew it! I knew it!" she whispered in mingled tears and joy. "It
called and I did not understand."

It was her talisman new-found; her love come back, her stolen dream come
true. Now she could face the world; God had turned it straight again.
She would go into the world and find--not Love, but the thing greater
than Love. Outside the door came voices--the dressmaker's tones, Helen's
soft drawl, and Mrs. Vanderpool's finished accents. Her face went
suddenly gray. The Silver Fleece was not hers! It belonged--She rose
hastily. The door opened and they came in. The cutting must begin at
once, they all agreed.

"Is it ready, Zora?" inquired Helen.

"No," Zora quietly answered, "not quite, but tomorrow morning, early."
As soon as she was alone again, she sat down and considered. By and by,
while the family was at lunch, she folded the Silver Fleece carefully
and locked it in her new trunk. She would hide it in the swamp. During
the afternoon she sent to town for oil-cloth, and bade the black
carpenter at Miss Smith's make a cedar box, tight and tarred. In the
morning she prepared Mrs. Vanderpool's breakfast with unusual care. She
was sorry for Mrs. Vanderpool, and sorry for Miss Smith. They would not,
they could not, understand. What would happen to her? She did not know;
she did not care. The Silver Fleece had returned to her. Soon it would
be buried in the swamp whence it came. She had no alternative; she must
keep it and wait.

She heard the dressmak