“Oh, then, perhaps we'd better not tell them, after all,” Helen said, crestfallen. “They are suffering awfully, but they would rather bear it for awhile than to be the cause of Pete's death.” “No,” Carson smiled; “from the way you wrote, I know you have had about as much as you can stand, and we simply must try to make them comprehend the full gravity of the matter.” At this juncture Keith came up panting from his run and joined them. “Great Heavens!” he cried, lifting his hands, the palms outward. “I never saw such a sight. I can stand some things, but I'm not equal to torture of that kind.” “Are they coming?” Carson asked. “Yes, there's Lewis now. Of course, I couldn't give them a hint of the truth down there in that swarm of negroes, and so my message that you wanted to see them here only seemed to key them up higher.” Carson turned to Lewis, who, hat in hand, his black face set in stony rigidity, had paused near by and stood waiting respectfully to be spoken to. “Uncle Lewis,” he said, “we've got good news for you and Linda, but a great deal depends on its being kept secret. I must exact a sacred promise of you not to betray to a living soul by word of mouth or act what I am going to tell you. Will you promise, Lewis?” The old man leaned totteringly forward till his gaunt fingers closed upon one of the palings of the fence; his eyes blinked in their deep cavities. He made an effort to speak, but his voice hung in his mouth. Then he coughed, cleared his throat, and slid one of his ill-shod feet backward, as he always did in bowing, and said, falteringly: “God on high know, young marster, dat I'd keep my word wid you. Old Unc' Lewis would keep his word wid you ef dey was burnin' 'im at de stake. You been de bes' friend me 'n Mam' Lindy ever had, young marster. You been de kind er friend dat _is_ er friend. When you tried so hard t'other night ter save my boy fum dem men even when dey was shootin' at you en tryin' ter drag you down--oh, young marster, I wish you'd try me. I want ter show you how I feel down here in my heart. Dem folks is done had deir way; my boy is daid, but God know it makes it easier ter give 'im up ter have er young, high-minded white man lak you--” “Stop, here's Mam' Linda,” Carson said. “Don't tell her now, Lewis; wait till we are inside the house; but Pete is alive and safe.” The old man's eyes opened wide in an almost deathlike stare, and he leaned heavily against the fence. “Oh, young marster,” he gasped, “you don't mean--you sholy can't mean--”