“We are ready,” he said. John stepped into the corridor, and extended his hands. The deputy snapped the steel on his wrists, and Stella drew the garlands of flowers from the basket. “You don’t mind the flowers--do you officer? I’m going with you.” “Certainly not, m’am,” he replied. John saw that protest was useless, but he gazed at the garlands with amazement. “What on earth are you going to do, my dear?” “Just a little trick of love,” was the laughing answer. She wound the flowers around each handcuff, placed in John’s hand the enormous bouquet of roses, and not a trace of steel could be seen. “You can carry them for me,” she said, hurrying on before him. Stella passed suddenly through the jail door to the little brick landing of the steps on which Steve Hoyle stood to give his signal. Steve started in surprise at her appearance, stammered and flushed, and a murmur of uncertainty ran through the crowd. In a moment the traitor had recovered himself, and glancing at Stella with a sneer of triumph, he shouted to his henchmen: “Say what you please, boys--don’t mind the ladies!” Stella turned her eyes, gleaming with a deadly purpose, straight on Steve, and a revolver flashed from her hand into his face. He dodged, trembled, and crouched against the wall, while she sternly said: “Now lift your hand or open your mouth, you contemptible sneak and coward!” A cry of terror swept the dark crowd, and scores broke and fled. As John appeared in the doorway, Stella turned to the Negroes and in ringing tones cried: “I dare one of you black loafers to offer a single insult to the man whose love I hold dearer than my life. I’ll kill you as I would a dog.” Revolver in hand, with stern set face and flaming eyes she opened the way through which John Graham passed in silence. At the station a crowd of friends gathered and cheered his departure. Old Nicaroshinski slipped a hundred dollars in his hand and whispered in broken voice: “Don’t--don’t you vorry, me poy, ve’ll puild a monumendt to you in de public squvare yedt!” Stella was allowed to sit by his side in the car, and as the train started John looked at her a moment through dimmed eyes, and slowly said: “The glory of this hour has more than paid for all the pain and all the shame a thousand lives could hold!” And then in low soft accents broken with sobs she confessed to him the story of her love and at the end with trembling lips asked: “But you can’t hate me for it now, can you, my darling?” For an answer he bent and tenderly kissed her hand, while she felt rather than heard the low passionate words: “I love you--I love you--I love you!” CHAPTER X--UNDER BRIGHT SKIES--AN EPILOGUE