Judithe looked at her and wondered what would become of her and the many like her, now that freedom was declared for the slaves. She could not understand why she had denied seeing her in the corridor, for they had met there, almost touched! Perhaps she was some special friend of Pluto's, and because of that purchase of the child-- "I leave tomorrow for Savannah," said Judithe, kindly. "Come to my room this evening, and if there is anything I can do for you--" Margeret's hands were clasped tightly at the question, and those strange, haunting eyes of hers seemed to reach the girl's soul. "There is one thing," she half whispered, "not now, maybe, not right away! But you've bought Loringwood, and I--I lived there too many years to be satisfied to live away from it. They--Miss Gertrude--wouldn't ask much for me now, and--" "I see," and Judithe wished she could tell her that there would never be buying or selling of her again--that the law of the land had declared her free! "I promise you, Loringwood shall be your home some day, if you wish." "God forever bless you!" whispered Margeret, and then she pushed aside the curtains and went through the library and up the stairs, and Judithe watched her, thoughtfully wondering why any slave should cling to a home where Matthew Loring's will had been law. Was it true that certain slavish natures in women--whether of Caucasian or African blood--loved best the men who were tyrants? Was it a relic of inherited tendencies when all women of whatever complexion were but slaves to their masters--called husbands? But something in the delicate, sad face of Margeret gave silent negative to the question. Whatever the affection centered in Loringwood, she could not believe it in any way low or unworthy. As she passed along the upper hall Pluto was on the landing. "Any visitors today through all this storm?" she asked, carelessly. "No out an' out company," he said, glancing around. "A boy from the Harris plantation did stop in out o' the rain, jest now. He got the lend of a coat, an' left his wet one, that how--" He looked anxiously at the slip of paper yet in her fingers. She smiled and entered her own room, where everything was prepared for her journey the following day. She glanced about grimly and wondered where that journey would end--it depended so much on the temper of the man who was now reading the evidence against her--the proof absolute that she was the Federal agent sought for vainly by the Confederate authorities. She had told him nothing of the motive prompting her to the work--it had been merely a plain statement of work accomplished.