g and dreaming and talking over
the future.

The mother was hanging on the words of her daughter, all the baffled love
of the dead poet husband, her griefs and poverty consumed in the glowing
joy of new hopes. Her love for this child was now a triumphant passion,
which had melted her own being into the object of worship, until the soul
of the daughter was superimposed on the mother's as the magnetized by the
magnetizer.

"And you'll never keep a secret from me, dear?" she asked Marion.

"Never."

"You'll tell me all your love affairs?" she asked softly, as she drew the
shining blonde head down on her shoulder.

"Faithfully."

"You know I've been afraid sometimes you were keeping something back from
me, deep down in your heart--and I'm jealous. You didn't refuse Henry
Grier because you loved Ben Cameron--now, did you?"

The little head lay still before she answered:

[Illustration: MAE MARSH AS THE VICTIM OF RECONSTRUCTION.]

"How many times must I tell you, Silly, that I've loved Ben since I can
remember, that I will always love him, and when I meet my fate, at last, I
shall boast to my children of my sweet girl romance with the Hero of
Piedmont, and they shall laugh and cry with me over----"

"What's that?" whispered the mother, leaping to her feet.

"I heard nothing," Marion answered, listening.

"I thought I heard footsteps on the porch."

"Maybe it's Ben, who decided to come anyhow," said the girl.

"But he'd knock!" whispered the mother.

The door flew open with a crash, and four black brutes leaped into the
room, Gus in the lead, with a revolver in his hand, his yellow teeth
grinning through his thick lips.

"Scream now, an' I blow yer brains out," he growled.

Blanched with horror, the mother sprang before Marion with a shivering
cry:

"What do you want?"

"Not you," said Gus, closing the blinds and handing a rope to another
brute. "Tie de ole one ter de bedpost."

The mother screamed. A blow from a black fist in her mouth, and the rope
was tied.

With the strength of despair she tore at the cords, half rising to her
feet, while with mortal anguish she gasped:

"For God's sake, spare my baby! Do as you will with me, and kill me--do
not touch her!"

Again the huge fist swept her to the floor.

Marion staggered against the wall, her face white, her delicate lips
trembling with the chill of a fear colder than death.

"We have no money--the deed has not been delivered," she pleaded, a