“The more you educate, the more impossible you make his position in a democracy. Education! Can you change the colour of his skin, the kink of his hair, the bulge of his lips, the spread of his nose, or the beat of his heart, with a spelling book? The Negro is the human donkey. You can train him, but you can’t make of him a horse. Mate him with a horse, you lose the horse, and get a larger donkey called a mule, incapable of preserving his species. What is called our race prejudice is simply God’s first law of nature--the instinct of selfpreservation.” Gaston was gazing at the ceiling with an absent look in his eyes and a smile playing around his lips. “You are not listening to me now, you young rascal! You are dreaming about your bride.” Gaston quickly lowered his eyes, and saw the messenger boy who had been standing several minutes with his telegram. He read Sallie’s message with amazement. “What can that mean?” He handed the telegram to the Preacher. “It means he has discovered the facts, and there is going to be trouble. He is a man of terrific passions when his pride is roused.” “I must go immediately.” He closed his office and caught his train after a hard drive. When he reached Independence he sprang into a carriage and ordered the driver to take him direct to Oakwood. What had happened he did not know and he did not care. Of one thing he was now sure--Sallie’s love and the swift end of their separation. His heart was singing with a great joy as he drove over the familiar avenue through the deep shadows of the woods, and turning through the gate saw the light gleaming from her room. “God bless her, she’s mine now--I hope I can take her home to-night!” he cried. She had walked down the drive to meet him. He leaped from the carriage, kissed her and asked, “What is it, dear?” “McLeod wrote him about our marriage, and now he swears he will bring a suit to annul it. Leave your carriage here and come with me. If he don’t send these lawyers away and receive you, I will be ready to go with you in an hour.” “Queen of my heart!” he whispered. “You are all mine at last!” She called her father from the library into the parlour and stood on the very spot where Gaston had writhed in agony on that night of his interview with the General. He started at the expression on her face and the tense vigour with which she held herself erect. His suit had not been progressing well with his lawyers. They had tried to humour him, but had declined to express any hope of success in such an action. He saw they were halfhearted and it depressed him. “Now, Papa,” she firmly said, “It will not take us ten minutes to decide forever the question of our lives. If you take another step with these lawyers,--if you do not dismiss them at once, I will leave this house in an hour, go with the man of my choice to his home, and you will never see me again. You shall not humiliate me or him another hour.”