"By God! I know you at last!" and he half arose from his chair as if to strike her with both upraised shaking hands. "I--I'll have you tied up and whipped until you shed blood for every word you've uttered here! You wench! You black cattle! You--" "Stop!" she said, stepping back and smiling at his impotent rage. "You are in the house of Colonel McVeigh, and you are speaking to his wife!" He uttered a low cry of horror, and fell back in the chair, nerveless, speechless. "I thought you would be interested, if not pleased," she continued, "and I wanted, moreover, to tell you that your sale of your brother's child was one reason why your estate of Loringwood was selected in preference to any other as a dowered home for free children--girl children, of color! Your ancestral estate, Monsieur Loring, will be used as an industrial home for such young girls. The story of your human traffic shall be told, and the name of Matthew Loring execrated in those walls long after the last of the Lorings shall be under the sod. That is the monument I have designed for you, and the design will be carried out whether I live or die." He did not speak, only sat there with that horrible stare in his eyes, and watched her. "I shall probably not see you again," she continued, "as I leave for Savannah in the morning, unless Colonel McVeigh holds his wife as a spy, but I could not part without taking you into my confidence to a certain extent, though I presume it is not necessary to tell you how useless it would be for you to use this knowledge to my disadvantage unless I myself should avow it. You know I have told you the truth, but you could not prove it to any other, and--well, I think that is all." She was replacing the book in the case when Gertrude entered from the hall. Judithe only heard the rustle of a gown, and without turning her head to see who it was, added, "Yes, that is all, except to assure you our tete-a-tete has been exceedingly delightful to me; I had actually forgotten that a storm was raging!" CHAPTER XXIX. Miss Loring glanced about in surprise when she found no one in the room but her uncle and Madame Caron. "Oh, I did not know you had left your room," she remarked, going towards him; "do you think it quite wise? And the storm; isn't it dreadful?" "I have endeavored to make him forget it," remarked Judithe, "and trust I have not been entirely a failure." She was idly fingering the volumes in the book-case, and glanced over her shoulder as she spoke. Her hands trembled, but her teeth were set under the smiling lips--she was waiting for his accusation. "I have no doubt my uncle appreciates your endeavors," returned Gertrude, with civil uncordiality, as she halted back of his chair, "but he is not equal to gayeties today; last night's excitement was quite a shock to him, as it was to all of us." "Yes," agreed Judithe; "we were just speaking of it."