s in her look which might have warned him.

"She is your mother," she said quietly.

"My mother!" he repeated; "yes, I will tell you what a mother she has
been to me--"

"Nick!"

It passes my power to write down the pity of that appeal, the
hopelessness of it, the yearning in it. Freeing herself from the girl,
Mrs. Temple took one step towards him, her arms held up. I had not
thought that his hatred of her was deep enough to resist it. It was
Antoinette whose intuition divined this ere he had turned away.

"You have chosen between me and her," he said; and before we could get
the poor lady to the seat under the oak, he had left the garden. In my
perturbation I glanced at Antoinette, but there was no other sign in her
face save of tenderness for Mrs. Temple.

Mrs. Temple had mercifully fainted. As I crossed the lawn I saw two
figures in the deep shadow beside the gallery, and I heard Nick's voice
giving orders to Benjy to pack and saddle. When I reached the garden
again the girl had loosed Mrs. Temple's gown, and was bending over her,
murmuring in her ear.

* * * * * * *

Many hours later, when the moon was waning towards the horizon, fearful
of surprise by the coming day, I was riding slowly under the trees on
the road to New Orleans. Beside me, veiled in black, her head bowed, was
Mrs. Temple, and no word had escaped her since she had withdrawn herself
gently from the arms of Antoinette on the gallery at Les Iles. Nick had
gone long before. The hardest task had been to convince the girl that
Mrs. Temple might not stay. After that Antoinette had busied herself,
with a silent fortitude I had not thought was in her, making ready for
the lady's departure. I shall never forget her as she stood, a slender
figure of sorrow, looking down at us, the tears glistening on her
cheeks. And I could not resist the impulse to mount the steps once more.

"You were right, Antoinette," I whispered; "whatever happens, you will
remember that I am your friend. And I will bring him back to you if I
can."

She pressed my hand, and turned and went slowly into the house.

BOOK III. LOUISIANA

CHAPTER I. THE RIGHTS OF MAN

Were these things which follow to my thinking not extraordinary, I
should not write them down here, nor should I have presumed to skip
nearly five years of time. For indeed almost five years had gone by
since the warm summer night when I rode into New Orleans with Mrs.
Temple. And in all th