"It is good to have you call on me tonight," she whispered. "I hardly ever see anyone except Father, and he is moody. Don't want me to leave the house at night. Made me promise not to leave the gallery unless you went too." "He knows about me?" "Oh, yes, everyone knows about the new doctor. Let's walk down to the gate. In full moonlight, you can see the white of the Colonel's tombstone." Picking up the trail of her riding habit, she went before me, down to the gate and opened it. She showed me a spot of white through the trees. I took her hand. It was cold. "Night-riders," she said suddenly. "Two of them! Hear them come galloping down the road." I heard nothing but a hoot owl in the bottoms. Then something lashed me across the face, striking me to the ground. When I stood up, I was alone. Running into the house, I found Mr. Flowers. "You are hurt!" he cried. "Slashed across the face with a riding whip. But you should have stayed on the gallery. Belle ought to have known better than to wear that dress. I told her not to, but you know how headstrong those girls are." "That is not getting her back. Get a lantern. We have got to find her." "We will go through the fields. There is a short cut. You light the lantern while I get a shawl for her. God, but it's cold and there's a black cloud over the moon." I carried the shawl and almost had to run behind him as he carried the lantern over the hill. We came to the corner of the schoolhouse at last. Halfway to the tombstone, we stumbled over a body. It was Sam, still alive but gasping for breath. "They done come back. Colonel and his lady. I'se gwine home now, case the Colonel won't call fer me no more." Hand on wrist, I look at the white face of the man holding the lantern. "He is dead!" I whispered. "We have to find Belle," he cried, and went toward the grave. There we found her sleeping, one hand on the stone, at rest. Sitting on the ground he held her in his arms, crying. I took the lantern and examined the clay earth outside the fence. Hoofprints of two shod horses, side by side. "She ran up here to tease you, Doctor. It was too much for her heart. She slashed you across the face in play, and then ran here, thinking you would follow her. That explains everything, doesn't it, Doctor?" "It should," I said gently, trying to unlock his arms from the lovely thing he held. "It should, but the Colonel will ride no more." * * * * * CELEBRITIES I'VE MET by Mortimer Weisinger Donald Wandrei, who frankly considers his stories "just so much junk" from an artistic viewpoint. Nathan Schachner, who admits that he is a slow writer at best, one thousand words each night being his maximum output. David Lasser, who profoundly apologized to the old Scienceers one night for concealing the fact that Gawain Edwards was only a pen name.