"After all, do not I see to-day a gleam of light thrown on the taking away of my Alene? With murder and lawnessness rampant in the Southland, this section's woes are to be many. Who can say what bloody orgies Alene has escaped? Who can tell the contents of the storm cloud that hangs low over this section where the tragedy of the ages is being enacted? Alene, O Alene, my spirit longs for thee!" Ramon took the train that night--not for Almaville, for he had not the heart to bear the terrible tidings to those helpless, waiting, simple folks, the parents of Bud and Foresta. He went North feeling that some day somehow he might be called upon to revisit the South as its real friend, but seeming foe. And he shuddered at the thought. CHAPTER XXI. _Planning To Act._ On the morning following the Maulville tragedy, before Ensal was out of bed Earl was tugging viciously at his door bell. Recognizing the note of distress in the clang of the bell, Ensal arose, quickly attired himself and hurried to the door. "Oh, it is my good friend, Earl. Glad--" Ensal stopped short in the midst of his cordial greeting, so struck was he by that look on Earl's face that said plainly that some overmastering purpose had full charge of the man. "Walk back," said Ensal, in a more subdued manner, leading the way to his room and steadying himself to meet some grave crisis which Earl's demeanor plainly told him was at hand. "And what may I do for my friend?" asked Ensal soothingly, when the two had taken seats facing each other. Earl placed an elbow on his knee, using his hand as a rest for his throbbing temples. Turning his eyes full in the direction of Ensal, as if searching for the very bottom of the latter's soul, he said, "Have you read the morning paper?" "No," replied Ensal. "Read," said Earl, taking a paper from his pocket and handing it to Ensal. "My God! This cannot be true!" exclaimed Ensal in tones of horror, as he read the detailed account of the Maulville burning. He arose and strode to and fro across the room. "Never in all my wide range of reading have I ever come across a more reprehensible occurrence," muttered he. "Listen," said Earl, in the tone of one having more to add. Ensal paused in his walking and unconsciously lifted his hand as though to ward off a blow. "The man and his wife who were burned at the stake were Bud and Foresta." "What! Our Bud! Laughing, innocent, whole-souled Foresta!" almost shouted Ensal, the horror, through the personal element brought into the matter, now doubling its force. "Poor Mrs. Crump! Poor Negro womanhood! Crucified at the stake, while we men play the part of women, for, what can we do?" said Ensal, looking at Earl, tears of pity for his people welling up in his eyes and stealing their way down his noble face. "This is at once the saddest and the sweetest moment of all my life," said Earl, rising. Continuing, he said: