tle verandah at the
front of the upper hall, where her easy chair stood with her book. Then
with an awful flash of enlightenment she realized what her lie might
mean, and her heart paused.

Cresswell strode up.

"I saw him come up--he must have entered. He's nowhere downstairs," he
wavered and scowled. "Have you been in your sitting-room?" And then, not
waiting for a reply, he strode to the door.

"But the damned scoundrel wouldn't dare!"

He deliberately placed his hand in his right-hand hip-pocket and threw
open the door.

Mary Cresswell stood frozen. The full horror of the thing burst upon
her. Her own silly misapprehension, the infatuation of Alwyn for Zora,
her thoughtless--no, vindictive--betrayal of him to something worse than
death. She listened for the crack of doom. She heard a bird singing far
down in the swamp; she heard the soft raising of a window and the
closing of a door. And then--great God in heaven! must she live forever
in this agony?--and then, she heard the door bang and Mr. Cresswell's
gruff voice--

"Well, where is he?--he isn't in there!"

Mary Cresswell felt that something was giving way within. She swayed and
would have crashed to the bottom of the staircase if just then she had
not seen at the opposite end of the hall, near the back stairs, Zora and
Alwyn emerge calmly from a room, carrying a basket full of clothes.
Colonel Cresswell stared at them, and Zora instinctively put up her hand
and fastened her dress at the throat. The Colonel scowled, for it was
all clear to him now.

"Look here," he angrily opened upon them, "if you niggers want to meet
around keep out of this house; hereafter I'll send the clothes down. By
God, if you want to make love go to the swamp!" He stamped down the
stairs while an ashy paleness stole beneath the dark-red bronze of
Zora's face.

They walked silently down the road together--the old familiar road.
Alwyn was staring moodily ahead.

"We must get married--before Christmas, Zora," he presently avowed, not
looking at her. He felt the basket pause and he glanced up. Her dark
eyes were full upon him and he saw something in their depths that
brought him to himself and made him realize his blunder.

"Zora!" he stammered, "forgive me! Will you marry me?"

She looked at him calmly with infinite compassion. But her reply was
uttered unhesitantly; distinct, direct.

"No, Bles."

_Thirty-five_

THE COTTON MILL

The people of Toomsville start