"Then, of course, came to him that longing, that dream, the greatest of all desires, the love of a woman. But of his own race there were none, and he did not feel it right to wed a white wife. But at last, he found one of his own blood. She was kind, good and refined, but in conviction she was weak, without strength of her own. She loved him--as such women love, but to her father, a preacher, she was obedient,--subservient. They lived for some months in happiness, until that other--her father--came to visit them. These two, her father and her husband, differed, both in thought and action, and, naturally out of sympathy. In short, they disagreed upon all points, including the daughter, the wife, and at last the mother, for in time such she became. And that, strange to say, instead of being the birth of a new freedom, was the end of all things. "So o'er this land of the free there came a change, a sad change, that led to the end, the end of _The Tempest_." She paused, and allowed her eyes to remain upon the rug before her, while the other listened for more. Presently she said: "And was it her father--who stooped to _this_?" The other nodded and remained silent, with downcast eyes. Mildred Latham could not have said more had she wished--just then. A peculiar feeling came over her, and her mind went back to a night not long before. CHAPTER SEVEN _The Office of the Grand Secretary_ When Sidney Wyeth walked into the office of B.J. Dickson that Sunday morning, he found him alone, engaged in reading. When a step sounded at the door, he laid the paper aside and glanced searchingly at the intruder. Wyeth saw before him, the man of determination: the square jaw, the determined set of the neck; otherwise he would not attract any particular attention in a crowd. But this was B.J. Dickson, of whom he had heard much since coming to Attalia, and even before. "Mr. Dickson?" he inquired, respectfully. The other nodded, and pointed to a chair. "You have charge of the renting here, so I understand?" "Yes." "I'd like to get desk space for the present, and later on perhaps I might require an office." "I see," mused the other, surveying him meditatively. "Well, we have nothing left in this building; but I think there are two or three rooms not yet rented in the building you have observed in course of construction. What kind of business are you engaged in?" "Books," replied Sidney, simply. "M-m. Well, I can't give you any information as to desk space. You can, however, see Morton tomorrow. His office is on the second floor, the board of trade. He can enlighten you on that score." "What do you receive for the rooms?" "$12.50 a month." "That is quite reasonable," said Wyeth. The other looked up with a pleased expression. "You're one of the few who have made such a remark," he commented. "Indeed! That would be considered cheap in my section of the country," said Wyeth. "Where is that?" Wyeth told him.