to poor, dear Miss Smith," suggested Mary.

"I can't come just now--but pretty soon."

"Why? Oh, I see; you're trying on something--how pretty and becoming!
Well, hurry."

As they stood together, the white woman deemed the moment opportune; she
slipped her arm about the black woman's waist and began:

"Zora, I've had something on my mind for a long time, and I shouldn't
wonder if you had thought of the same thing."

"What is it?"

"Bles and Emma."

"What of them?"

"Their liking for each other."

Zora bent a moment and caught up the folds of the Fleece.

"I hadn't noticed it," she said in a low voice.

"Well, you're busy, you see. They've been very much together--his taking
her to her charges, bringing her back, and all that. I know they love
each other; yet something holds them apart, afraid to show their love.
Do you know--I've wondered if--quite unconciously, it is you? You know
Bles used to imagine himself in love with you, just as he did afterward
with Miss Wynn."

"Miss--Wynn?"

"Yes, the Washington girl. But he got over that and you straightened him
out finally. Still, Emma probably thinks yours is the prior claim,
knowing, of course, nothing of facts. And Bles knows she thinks of him
and you, and I'm convinced if you say the word, they'd love and marry."

Zora walked silently with her to the door, where, looking out, she saw
Bles and Emma coming from Aunt Rachel's. He was helping her from the
carriage with smiling eyes, and her innocent blue eyes were fastened on
him.

Zora looked long and searchingly.

"Please run and tell them of the legacy," she begged. "I--I will
come--in a moment." And Mrs. Cresswell hurried out.

Zora turned back steadily to her room, and locked herself in. After all,
why shouldn't it be? Why had it not occurred to her before in her
blindness? If she had wanted him--and ah, God! was not all her life
simply the want of him?--why had she not bound him to her when he had
offered himself? Why had she not bound him to her? She knew as she
asked--because she had wanted all, not a part--everything, love, respect
and perfect faith--not one thing could she spare then--not one thing.
And now, oh, God! she had dreamed that it was all hers, since that night
of death and circling flame when they looked at each other soul to soul.
But he had not meant anything. It was pity she had seen there, not love;
and she rose and walked the room slowly, fast and faster.

With trembling han