“Leave us awhile, Alfred,” John said, on entering. “Yassah,” the old butler answered, bowing himself out with stately dignity. John closed the door and drew his chair close to the Major’s. “Father, I want to ask you something very particular,” he began. The old man smiled indulgently. “Well, out with it, you young rascal! You’ve been flying round her long enough. I knew it would come at last. So she’s got you, has she! Well, well, Jennie’s a fine girl, my boy; I danced at her father’s and mother’s wedding. I wish I had more to give you. You’ll have to be content with the lower plantation, and a dozen slaves to start with.” “Listen, father,” John urged, stopping him with a gentle pressure on his arm. “And try to remember. Have you encountered Butler lately?” “Change our butler!--what better butler do you want than Alfred? He’s an aristocrat to his finger tips. I wouldn’t think of reducing him from his present rank; what has he done to offend any one?” “I mean the Judge who took the house--I mean Judge Butler.” “Ah! A man of low origin and no principle, my son--a renegade who betrayed his people for thirty pieces of silver--silver stained with blood--a dirty, contemptible office-seeker. I wouldn’t lower myself by speaking to such a man.” “Yes, I know father,” John broke in, “but I’m trying to recall to your memory the visits you have made at night lately to the old home.” “Of course, I love the old home. I was born here. I brought my bride here. I’ll never leave it except for a better world.” John felt a lump rise in his throat and rose to go. It was useless. Besides, the thing was unthinkable. How could this feeble old man spring on one of Butler’s physique and stab him to death. He couldn’t, except in a moment of superhuman frenzy which sometimes comes to the insane. There was the thought which returned again and again to torment him! Aunt Julie Ann declared the ghost was seen to pass through the hall and go upstairs but a few moments before the tragedy. Yes, it was possible. John peered into his father’s restless eyes with a mad desire to lift the mysterious veil that obscured the world from his vision. The horror of the sickening tragedy strangled him and he turned, abruptly leaving the room. He sought Billy with a growing sense of helpless and bitter despair. Since the day of their brief quarrel which followed the demonstration before old Larkin, Billy had avoided John. Since Butler’s death they had scarcely spoken. The effect of this tragedy on his headstrong younger brother first led John to suspect his membership in the newly organised Klan under Steve’s leadership. John found him in his room reading. “Billy, I must have a serious talk with you,” the older brother began. “All right, sit down,” the boy answered, laying aside his book. “A youngster of eighteen who keeps to his room for days at a time and reads is either sick or has something on his mind.”