mind a hypothetical question which had to
do with her own curious situation. It was characteristic of her to brood
and then restlessly to seek relief in consulting the one person near who
knew her story. She started to open the subject again today.

But Alwyn, his own mind full, spoke first and rapidly. He, too, had
turned to her as he saw her come from Zora's home. He must know more
about the girl. He could no longer endure this silence. Zora beneath her
apparent frankness was impenetrable, and he felt that she carefully
avoided him, although she did it so deftly that he felt rather than
observed it. Miss Smith still systematically snubbed him when he
broached the subject of Zora. With others he did not speak; the matter
seemed too delicate and sacred, and he always had an awful dread lest
sometime, somewhere, a chance and fatal word would be dropped, a breath
of evil gossip which would shatter all. He had hated to obtrude his
troubles on Mrs. Cresswell, who seemed so torn in soul. But today he
must speak, although time pressed.

"Mrs. Cresswell," he began hurriedly, "there's a matter--a personal
matter of which I have wanted to speak--a long time--I--" The
dinner-bell rang, and he stopped, vexed.

"Come up to the house this afternoon," she said; "Colonel Cresswell will
be away--" Then she paused abruptly. A strange startling thought flashed
through her brain. Alwyn noticed nothing. He thanked her cordially and
hurried toward the dining-hall, meeting Colonel Cresswell on horseback
just as he turned into the school gate.

Mary Cresswell walked slowly on, flushing and paling by turns. Could it
be that this Negro had dared to misunderstand her--had presumed? She
reviewed her conduct. Perhaps she had been indiscreet in thus making a
confidant of him in her trouble. She had thought of him as a boy--an old
student, a sort of confidential servant; but what had he thought? She
remembered Miss Smith's warning of years before--and he had been North
since and acquired Northern notions of freedom and equality. She bit her
lip cruelly.

Yet, she mused, she was herself to blame. She had unwittingly made the
intimacy and he was but a Negro, looking on every white woman as a
goddess and ready to fawn at the slightest encouragement. There had been
no one else here to confide in. She could not tell Miss Smith her
troubles, although she knew Miss Smith must suspect. Harry Cresswell,
apparently, had written nothing home of their quar