In the other room, Wyeth stripped himself and retired, and, ere sleep came to him that night, he again had a vision of that titanic struggle and its human slaughter--and it had all been to give those black men the right. (?) Far into the night he thought it over, and when sleep did come at last, he went into slumberland, at a loss to know whether to condemn or to pity those poor creatures, who, that day--and before--had sold their birthright for a mess of pottage. * * * * * Weeks had passed. Over all the north country, snowladen fields frowned. Zero weather was felt in many places. Sidney Wyeth was about to quit it for a place far to the south, and at that moment, sat in the union station at Columbus. A man marked with a chalk upon the bulletin board the following: TRAIN FOR CINCINNATI AND THE SOUTH, TWO HOURS LATE And it was only then it occurred to him that a letter might be at the postoffice for him. Forthwith he betook himself, returning shortly with a small envelope, with his name written daintily across it in a feminine hand It was from Mildred Latham, the girl he loved, and the heroine of our story. "Mildred, my Mildred!" he whispered softly, as he gazed fondly at the epistle, and then broke the seal and read it. "Tonight, my dear," he dreamily whispered, "I shall ask you to become my wife, for I love you, love you, love you!" As he sat waiting, his thoughts went back to the time he had met her, and the place. It was in Cincinnati, and before the election. He had, while canvassing, come upon her in the door-way of a house with two stories, and a door that opened upon the street. She stood in that door-way, and he had approached her with much courtesy, and after his usual explanation, had sold her _The Tempest_. He had been struck at once by her appearance, and something about her expression--her obvious intelligence. She seemed possibly twenty-one or two. "And such features," he breathed unheard. She also had, he quickly observed, a wonderful skin--a smooth, velvety olive, with round cheeks; where, notwithstanding the slight darkness, a faint flush came and went. As to size, she was not tall; and still not short; nor was she stout or slender; but of that indefinite type called medium. Serenely perched, her head leaned slightly back. She had a frank face and rounded forehead, from under which large, lustrous, soft dark eyes--somewhat sad--gazed out at him. And as he continued in his subtle observation, he was pleased to note that her nose was not large or flat, but stood up beautifully. Her lips were red as cherries. The chin was handsomely molded and firm, but slightly thin, and protruding. Her hair was the most captivating of all. Done in the fashion, it was coal black and wavy. It was of a fine, silken texture, and apparently long, from the size of the knot at the back of her head. All this he observed with favor. He had never seen a figure so clear cut. The girl was,