"If God lets it be," said the preacher, "Bisco, if God lets it be--" he said excitedly, "if he'll let Cap'n Tom die an' suffer the martyrdom he suffered for conscience sake an' be robbed, as he was robbed, of his home, an' of his love--if God'll do that, then all I can say is, that after a long life walkin' with God, it'll be the fus' time I've ever knowed Him to let the wrong win out in the end. An' that ain't the kind of God I'm lookin' fur." "Do you say that, Marse Hillyard?" asked the old negro quickly--his eyes taking on the light of hope as one who, weak, comes under the influence of a stronger mind. "Marse Hillyard, do you believe it? Praise God." "Bisco--I'm--I'm ashamed--why should I doubt Him--He's told me a thousand truths an' never a lie." "Praise God," replied the old man softly. And so the two old men talked on, and their talk was of Captain Tom. No wonder when the old preacher mounted his horse to go back to his little cabin, all of his thoughts were of Captain Tom. No wonder Uncle Bisco, who had raised him, went to bed and dreamed of Captain Tom--dreamed and saw again the bloody Franklin fight. CHAPTER IX A MUTUAL UNDERSTANDING In the library, Travis and Mrs. Westmore sat for some time in silence. Travis, as usual, smoked, in his thoughtful way watching the firelight which flickered now and then, half lighting up the room. It was plain that both were thinking of a subject that neither wished to be the first to bring up. "I have been wanting all day to ask you about the mortgage," she said to him, finally. "Oh," said Travis, indifferently enough--"that's all right. I arranged it at the bank to-day." "I am so much obliged to you; it has been so on my mind," said his companion. "We women are such poor financiers, I wonder how you men ever have patience to bother with us. Did you get Mr. Shipton to carry it at the bank for another year?" "Why--I--you see, Cousin Alethea--Shipton's a close dog--and the most unaccommodating fellow that ever lived when it comes to money. And so--er--well--the truth is--is--I had to act quickly and for what I thought was your interest." Mrs. Westmore looked up quickly, and Travis saw the pained look in her face. "So I bought it in myself," he went on, carelessly flecking his cigar ashes into the fire. "I just had the judgment and sale transferred to me--to accommodate you--Cousin Alethea--you understand that--entirely for you. I hate to see you bothered this way--I'll carry it as long as you wish." She thanked him again, more with her eyes than her voice. Then there crept over her face that look of trouble and sorrow, unlike any Travis had ever seen there. Once seen on any human face it is always remembered, for it is the same, the world over, upon its millions and millions--that deadened look of trouble which carries with it the knowledge that the spot called home is lost forever.