HILE these things were being enacted, Sanders, who had taken supper at Warren's, and Helen sat on the front veranda in the moonlight. Scarcely any other topic than Mam' Linda's trouble had been broached between them, though the ardent visitor had made many futile efforts to draw the girl's thought into more cheerful channels. It was shortly after ten o'clock, and Sanders was about to take his leave, when old Lewis emerged from the shadows of the house and was shambling along the walk towards the gate leading into the Dwight grounds, when Helen called out to him: “Where are you going, Uncle Lewis?” He doffed his old slouch hat and stood bare and, bald, his smooth pate gleaming in the moonlight. “I started over ter see Marse Carson, missy,” he said, in a low, husky voice. “I knows good en well dat he can't do a thing, but Linda's been beggin' me ever since she seed him en Mr. Garner drive up at de back gate. She thinks maybe dey l'arnt suppin 'bout Pete. I knows dey hain't, honey, 'ca'se dey ud 'a' been over 'fo' dis. Dar he is on de veranda now--oh, Marse Carson! Kin I see you er minute, suh?” “Yes, I'll be right down, Lewis,” Carson answered, leaning over the railing. As he came out of the house and approached across the grass, Sanders and Helen went to meet him. He bowed to Helen and nodded coldly to Sanders, to whom he had barely been introduced, and then with a furrowed brow he stood and listened as the old man humbly made his wants known. “I'm sorry to say I haven't heard a thing, Uncle Lewis,” he said. “I'd have been right over to see Mam' Linda if I had. So far as I can see, everything is just the same.” “Oh, young marster, I don't know what I'm ergoin' ter do,” the old negro groaned. “I don't see how Linda's gwine ter pass thoo another night. She's burnin' at de stake, Marse Carson, but thoo it all she blesses you, suh, fer tryin' so hard. My Gawd, dar she come now; she couldn't wait.” He hastened across the grass to where the old woman stood, and caught hold of her arm. “Whar Marse Carson? Whar young marster?” Linda cried, and then, catching sight of the trio, she tottered unaided towards them. “Oh, young marster, I can't stan' it; I des _can't!_” she groaned, as she caught Dwight's hand and clung to it. “I am a mother ef I _am_ black, an' dat my onliest child. My onliest child, young marster, en de po' boy is 'way over in dem mountains starvin' ter death wid dem men en dogs on his track. Oh, young marster, ol' Mammy Lindy is cert'nly crushed. Ef I could see Pete in his coffin I could put up wid it, but dis here--dis here”--she struck her great breast with her hand--“dis awful pain! I can't stan' it--I des can't!”