“Not yit, marster, but she is awake--she been awake all night long--on her knees prayin' most er de time fer mercy--she was awake when Jake come en she knowed I went out ter speak ter 'im, en when I come back in de house, marster, she went in de kitchen. I know what she done dat fur--she didn't want ter know, suh, fer certain, ef I'd heard bad news or not. I wanted ter let 'er know, but I was afeared ter tell 'er, en come away. I loves my wife, marster--I--I loves her mo' now dat Pete's gone dan ever befo'. I loves 'er mo' since she been had ter suffer dis way, en, marster, dis gwine ter kill 'er. It gwine ter kill Lindy, Marse William.” “What's the matter, father?” It was Helen Warren's voice, and with a look of growing terror on her face she stood peering through the open doorway. The Major ejaculated a hurried and broken explanation, and with little, intermittent gasps of horror the young lady advanced to the old negro. “Does Mam' Linda know?” she asked, her face ghastly and set in sculptural rigidity. “Not yet, missy, not yet--it gwine ter kill yo' ol' mammy, child.” “Yes, it may,” Helen said, an odd, alien quality of resignation in her voice. “I suppose I'd better go and break it to her. Father, Pete was innocent, absolutely innocent. Carson Dwight assured me of it. He was innocent, and yet--oh!” With a shudder she turned back to her room across the hall. In the stillness the sound of the match she struck to light her lamp was raspingly audible. Without another word, and wringing the extended hand of his wordless master, Lewis crept down the stairs and out into the pale light of early morning. Like an old tree fiercely beaten by a storm, he leaned towards the earth. He looked about him absently for a moment, and then sat down on the edge of the veranda floor and lowered his head to his brown, sinewy hands. A negro woman with a milk-pail on her arm came up the walk from the gate and started round the house to the kitchen door, but seeing him she stopped and leaned over him. “Is what Jake done say de trufe?” she asked. “Yassum, yassum, it done over, Mary Lou--done over,” Lewis said, looking up at her from his blearing eyes; “but ef you see Lindy don't let on ter her yit. Young miss gwine ter tell 'er fust.” “Oh, my Lawd, it done over, den!” the woman said, shudderingly; “it gwine ter go hard with Mam' Lindy, Unc' Lewis.”