The Sunday before had been a peculiarly hard one for the Preacher. He had tried by the sheer power of personal sympathy to lift the despairing people out of their gloom and make strong their faith in God. In his morning sermon he had torn his heart open and given them its red blood to drink. At the night service he could not rally from the nerve tension of the morning. He felt that he had pitiably failed. The whole day seemed a failure black and hopeless. All day long the sorrowful stories of ruin and loss of homes were poured into his ear. The Sheriff had advertised for sale for taxes two thousand three hundred and twenty homes in Campbell county. The land under such conditions had no value. It was only a formality for the auctioneer to cry it and knock it down for the amount of the tax bill. As he arose from bed with the burden of all this hopeless misery crushing his soul, a sense of utter exhaustion and loneliness came over him. “My love, I must go back to bed and try to sleep. I lay awake last night until two o’clock. I can’t eat anything,” he said to his wife as she announced breakfast. “John, dear, don’t give up like that.” “Can’t help it.” “But you must. Come, here is something that will tone you up. I found this note under the front door this morning.” “What is it?” “A notice from some of your admirers that you must leave this county in forty-eight hours or take the consequences.” He looked at this anonymous letter and smiled. “Not such a failure after all, am I?” he mused. “I thought that would help you,” she laughed. “Yes, I can eat breakfast on the strength of that.” He spread this letter out beside his plate, and read and reread it as he ate, while his eyes flashed with a strange half humourous light. “Really, that’s fine, isn’t it?” “You sower of sedition and rebellion, hypocrite and false prophet. The day has come to clean this county of treason and traitors. If you dare to urge the people to further resistance to authority, there will be one traitor less in this county.” “That sounds like the voice of a Daniel come to judgment, don’t it?” “I think Ezra Perkins might know something about it.” “I am sure of it.” “Well, I’m duly grateful, it’s done for you what your wife couldn’t do, cheered you up this morning.” “That is so, isn’t it? It takes a violent poison sometimes to stimulate the heart’s action.” “Now if you will work the garden for me, where I’ve been watering it the past month, you will be yourself by dinner time.” “I will. That’s about all we’ve got to eat. I’ve had no salary in two months, and I’ve no prospects for the next two months.” He was at work in the garden when Charlie Gaston suddenly ran through the gate toward him. His face was red, his eyes streaming with tears, and his breath coming in gasps. “Doctor, they’ve killed Nelse! Mama says please come down to our house as quick as you can.” “Is he dead, Charlie?”