“Well, then, stay!” The girl turned away, and then as quickly turned back and faced Betty once more. “I reckon he'd kill me if he knew--I reckon I've earned that already--” “Of whom are you speaking?” “He'll have you away from here to-night!” “He?... who?... and what if I refuse to go?” “Did they ask Charley Norton whether he wanted to live or die?” came the sinister question. A shiver passed through Betty. She was seeing it all again--Charley as he groped among the graves with the hand of death heavy upon him. A moment later she was alone. The girl had disappeared. There was only the shifting shadows as the wind tossed the branches of the trees, and the bands of golden light that slanted along the empty path. The fear of the unknown leaped up afresh in Betty's soul, in an instant her flying feet had borne her to the boy's side. “Come--come quick, Hannibal!” she gasped out, and seized his hand. “What is it, Miss Betty? What's the matter?” asked Hannibal as they fled panting up the terraces. “I don't know--only we must get away from here just as soon as we can!” Then, seeing the look of alarm on the child's face, she added more quietly, “Don't be frightened, dear, only we must go away from Belle Plain at once.” But where they were to go, she had not considered. Reaching the house, they stole up to Betty's room. Her well-filled purse was the important thing; that, together with some necessary clothing, went into a small hand-bag. “You must carry this, Hannibal; if any one sees us leave the house they'll think it something you are taking away,” she explained. Hannibal nodded understandingly. “Don't you trust your niggers, Miss Betty?” he whispered as they went from the room. “I only trust you, dear!” “What makes you go? Was it something that woman told you? Are they coming after us, Miss Betty? Is it Captain Murrell?” “Captain Murrell?” There was less of mystery now, but more of terror, and her hand stole up to her heart, and, white and slim, rested against the black fabric of her dress. “Don't you be scared, Miss Betty!” said Hannibal. They went silently from the house and again crossed the lawn to the terrace. Under the leafy arch which canopied them there was already the deep purple of twilight. “Do you reckon it were Captain Murrell shot Mr. Norton, Miss Betty?” asked Hannibal in a shuddering whisper. “Hush--Oh, hush, Hannibal! It is too awful to even speak of--” and, sobbing and half hysterical, she covered her face with her hands. “But where are we going, Miss Betty?” asked the boy. “I don't know, dear!” she had an agonizing sense of the night's approach and of her own utter helplessness. “I'll tell you what, Miss Betty, let's go to the judge and Mr. Mahaffy!” said Hannibal. “Judge Price?” She had not thought of him as a possible protector. “Why, Miss Betty, ain't I told you he ain't afraid of nothing? We could walk to Raleigh easy if you don't want your niggers to hook up a team for you.”