llowing the
fortunes of this lady somewhat attentively of late," he said, at
length. "At least, she has not been idle!"

"Precisely!" ventured Josephine, leaning out the window. "That is
why I am coming to-night. I understand there has been trouble down
here,--that it came out of the work of our Colonization Society--"

"Rather!" said Clayton grimly.

"I was back of that. But, believe me, as I told Mr. Dunwody, I was
not in the least responsible for the running off of negroes in this
neighborhood. I thought, if I should go out there and tell these
other gentlemen, that they would understand."

"That's mighty nice of you," ventured the Honorable William Jones.
"But if we don't git there before midnight, they'll be so full of
whisky and devilment that _I_ don't think they'll listen even to
you, Ma'am."

"It is pretty bad, I'm afraid," said Judge Clayton. "What with one
thing and another, this country of ours has been in a literal state
of anarchy for the last year or two. What the end is going to be,
I'm sure I don't see.

"And the immediate cause of all this sort of thing, my dear Madam,"
he continued, as he rode alongside, "why, it seems to be just that
girl Lily, that we had all the trouble about last year. By the
way, what's become of that girl? Too bad--she was more than half
white!"

[Illustration: By the way, what's become of that girl?]

"Yes, it is all about that girl Lily," said Josephine slowly,
restraining in her own soul the impulse to cry out the truth to
him, to tell him why this girl was almost white, why she had
features like his own. "That is the trouble, I am afraid,--that
girl Lily, and her problem! If we could understand all of that,
perhaps we could see the reason for this anarchy!"

The group broke apart, as the exigencies of the road traveled
required. Now and again some conversation passed between the
occupants of the carriage and the horsemen who loosely grouped
about it as they advanced. The great coach swayed its way on up
through the woods into the hills, over a road never too good and
now worse than usual. They had thirty miles or more to drive, most
of it after dark. Could they make that distance in time?

Dunwody, moody, silent, yet tense, keyed to the highest point, now
made little comment. Even when left alone, he ventured upon no
intimate theme with his companion in the coach; nor did she in turn
speak upon any subject which admitted argument. Once she
con