In the midst of a pile of luggage stood Fanchon. She was dressed for the street, and wore a hat and a fashionable veil that made a singular figure on the side of her pale cheek, like the tail of a black dragon. She was leaning against a trunk that stood on end, her dark eyes fixed gloomily on her approaching brother-in-law. “What’s this, Fanchon?” he asked quickly. “You’re not going to fail me?” She shook her head. “I couldn’t stay here! You can tell William that he can come home. I’m going over to a boarding house on the turnpike. I found it once----” She blushed suddenly and pitifully, and Daniel knew she referred to her ride. He drew a breath of relief. “I’m sorry,” he began, half ashamed that she felt driven from the house, and painfully remembering William. She caught his sleeve, her hand shaking. “Daniel, tell me--the indictment?” “Murder in the second degree.” She reeled back, clutching at the trunk, her face deathly and her fawn-like eyes fixed on his. “What--what’s the penalty?” “In this State, imprisonment--five to eighteen years.” “Five to eighteen years--in prison--for--for Leigh!” she repeated slowly, gasping. She sank down, leaning on the trunk, and trembling, her eyes still fixed on Daniel’s white, set, unpitying face. “_Mon Dieu!_” she cried at last, and burst into passionate tears. XXI COLONEL DENBIGH was reading the morning paper. He had breakfasted lightly, and he sat on the rear veranda smoking a long cigar. His face was troubled. He had a sincere friendship for the Carters, and he fairly twinged as he read the flaring headlines. There were three columns devoted to the Corwin murder, with a snap-shot of Leigh being led from the court-house to the police van. Half-way down the first column there was an extra large caption to one paragraph: MRS. WILLIAM CARTER, THE CAUSE OF THE TROUBLE, ONCE A BEAUTIFUL VAUDEVILLE DANCER The colonel slapped his paper down on his knee with a groan. “By gum!” he ejaculated softly. Plato thrust his head out of the door. “Miss Jinny done say she don’ want dat speckled hen killed fo’ dinner to-morrer, suh.” The colonel’s mouth twisted under his white mustache. “Why not?” “Miss Jinny, she’s been makin’ a pet ob her, yessuh. She say dat speckled hen ain’t gwine ter be killed, an’ I kin take de rooster. Miss Jinny, she say she’s fo’ woman’s rights, col’nel.” The colonel grinned sardonically. “You get a steak, Plato. We’ve got to stand up for our own sex. I’m going to keep that rooster.” “Yessuh, dat we has!” Plato edged back toward the door as he heard Virginia coming. “Mis’ Wilyum Carter done run away from her husband yes’day,” he added in a stage whisper. “Mirandy, de girl dat works dere, done tole me so, yessuh!” The colonel scowled. “You tell Miranda to stop gossiping,” he said sharply. Plato grinned. “Dat’s woman’s rights, yessuh. Mirandy says so!” The colonel caught the old negro’s eye and shook with silent laughter.