of _You_. Why, yes! They
deserted _You_. They let _You_ die by Yourself. What did You do it
for? I don't know much about theology. I am not an educated man. I
never prayed till I come South.... I forget--_What did You do it
for?_"

A profound and solemn silence replied.

"Well," said the sick man, breaking it in a satisfied tone, as if he
had been answered, "I wasn't worth it ... but I'm glad You came. I
wish they had a frost, poor things! _You_ won't go away? Well, I'm
glad. Poor things! Poor things! I'll take Your hand, if You've no
objections."

After a little time, he added, in a tone of unutterable tenderness and
content:

"_Dear_ Lord!" and said no more.

It was a quiet night. The stars rode on as if there were no task but
the tasks of stars in all the universe, and no sorrow keener than
their sorrow, and no care other than their motion and their shining.
The web of cloud floated like exhaling breath between them and the
earth. It grew cooler before the dawn. The leaves of the palmetto over
Scip's grave seemed to uncurl, and grow lax, and soften. The dust
still flew heavily, but the wind rose.

The Sunday-bells rang peacefully. The sick heard them, and the
convalescent and the well. The dying listened to them before they
left. On the faces of the dead, too, there came the look of those who
hear.

The bells tolled, too, that Sunday. They tolled almost all the
afternoon. The young Northerner, Dr. Remane, was gone,--a reticent,
brave young man,--and the heroic telegraph operator. Saturday night
they buried her. Sunday, "Bobby" took her place at the wires, and
spelled out, with shaking fingers, the cries of Calhoun to the wide,
well world.

By sunset, all the bells had done ringing and done tolling. There was
a clear sky, with cool colors. It seemed almost cold about Scip's hut.
The palmetto lifted its faint head. The dust slept. It was not yet
dark when a little party from the city rode up, searching for the
dreary place. They had ridden fast. Dr. Frank was with them, and the
lady, Marian Dare. She rode at their head. She hurried nervously on.
She was pale, and still weak. The chairman of the Relief Committee was
with her, and the sub-committee and others.

Dr. Dare pushed on through the swinging door of the hut. She entered
alone. They saw the backward motion of her gray-sleeved wrist, and
came no farther, but removed their hats and stood. She knelt beside
the bed, and put her hand upon his eyes. God i