The work which Professor Holtzclaw is doing in the Black Belt of Mississippi is of incalculable value. * * * * * “I sometimes think we’re growing up To be a wondrous people, But yet, I fear, in building we’re Commencing with the steeple. Without a basis broad and deep, With virtue its foundation, And truth and bright as corner-stones, We can not build a nation.” —Daniel Webster Davis. AND WHEN LOVE IS BLIND A THRILLING STORY OF HOW LOVE PLAYS UPON THE HEART AND SOUL BY ALICE MAUD MEADOWS WRITTEN FOR ALEXANDER’S MAGAZINE Chapter I. “I wish,” Nora Desmond colored ever so slightly, “one of you would tell me what Mr. Le Strange is like!” Mrs. Desmond and Nancy Desmond looked at one another sharply, something like a warning glance passed between them. “Like?” Mrs. Desmond repeated, faintly. “Yes—like,” Nora returned. “I know he’s tall and big. I know he has a pleasant voice, a merry laugh; I know”—her strange, pretty eyes grew shy, though they saw nothing, never had seen anything since her fourth birthday—“he is the kindest man in the whole wide world; but I want to know what his face is like—that’s natural, isn’t it, since”—a trifle defiantly—“since we are such good friends?” “Quite natural,” Mrs. Desmond answered. “What would you like to know—the color of his eyes?” Once more she looked at Nancy; the girl shrugged her shoulders, and made a helpless sort of gesture. “Of course,” Nora said, “the color of his eyes, his hair, what sort of a nose and mouth he has, whether he wears a mustache. I should like a word picture of him. You know,” she sighed softly, “it’s all the picture I can see.” For some reason or other, both Mrs. and Miss Desmond looked relieved. “John Le Strange has very good features, indeed,” Mrs. Desmond answered; “a straight nose, a good mouth and really beautiful eyes. His hair is brown, with a natural wave in it. I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who could deny John has good features. As for the nature of the man, it’s absolutely the sweetest I have ever known.” A very pretty smile crossed Nora’s lips, a tender expression entered the sightless eyes. “The sweetest nature you have ever known,” she repeated. “One couldn’t have a nicer thing said than that. Looks are a great deal, of course—I so love everything beautiful, but a lovely nature is even more than a lovely exterior. I—why, that’s John’s footstep; he’s earlier than usual today, isn’t he?” John Le Strange boarded in the house of Mrs. Desmond; had lived in her house now for ten years, almost ever since the death of Terrence Desmond, leaving his widow not very well provided for. A look of pleased expectancy shone upon the girl’s face; then, as the footsteps passed the door, went slowly upstairs, it died away.