the figure moved restlessly, and a voice murmured:--

"Mamma, oh, mamma!"

The voice thrilled Frank like an electric shock. Trembling in every
limb, he sprang forward toward the prostrate figure. The woman turned
her head, and he saw that it was Rena. Her gown was torn and dusty,
and fringed with burs and briars. When she had wandered forth, half
delirious, pursued by imaginary foes, she had not stopped to put on her
shoes, and her little feet were blistered and swollen and bleeding.
Frank knelt by her side and lifted her head on his arm. He put his
hand upon her brow; it was burning with fever.

"Miss Rena! Rena! don't you know me?"

She turned her wild eyes on him suddenly. "Yes, I know you, Jeff Wain.
Go away from me! Go away!"

Her voice rose to a scream; she struggled in his grasp and struck at
him fiercely with her clenched fists. Her sleeve fell back and
disclosed the white scar made by his own hand so many years before.

"You're a wicked man," she panted. "Don't touch me! I hate you and
despise you!"

Frank could only surmise how she had come here, in such a condition.
When she spoke of Wain in this manner, he drew his own conclusions.
Some deadly villainy of Wain's had brought her to this pass. Anger
stirred his nature to the depths, and found vent in curses on the
author of Rena's misfortunes.

"Damn him!" he groaned. "I'll have his heart's blood fer dis, ter de
las' drop!"

Rena now laughed and put up her arms appealingly. "George," she cried,
in melting tones, "dear George, do you love me? How much do you love
me? Ah, you don't love me!" she moaned; "I'm black; you don't love me;
you despise me!"

Her voice died away into a hopeless wail. Frank knelt by her side, his
faithful heart breaking with pity, great tears rolling untouched down
his dusky cheeks.

"Oh, my honey, my darlin'," he sobbed, "Frank loves you better 'n all
de worl'."

Meantime the sun shone on as brightly as before, the mocking-bird sang
yet more joyously. A gentle breeze sprang up and wafted the odor of bay
and jessamine past them on its wings. The grand triumphal sweep of
nature's onward march recked nothing of life's little tragedies.

When the first burst of his grief was over, Frank brought water from
the branch, bathed Rena's face and hands and feet, and forced a few
drops between her reluctant lips. He then pitched the cartload of
tubs, buckets, and piggins out into the road, and gathering dried
leave