"You must come to the house, Tom," cried Marjorie. "It doesn't make any difference about Uncle. I'll tell him that he must take you in. He must!... he must!" "No--be all right in a minute. Terribly hot! Take this cape off." He tried to get out of the cape, but she stopped him. "It's too hot," he protested, but he let her draw the cape up more tightly about him. "Won't you let me take you to the house?" she begged. "No--have to get back to the lines." "But you can't, Tom. You're sick. It's the fever that makes you hot. Oh, Tom...." "Got to get back to the lines," he interrupted. "Start in a few minutes. I guess ... sleep a little first. Mustn't be captured. You wake me up if anyone comes. Murdock's dogs...." It was night when his brain cleared again. He was wrapped in blankets, lying comfortably on the ground. Overhead the branches of the trees, black against the sky, waved solemnly. "You 'wake, massah?" Tom started at the voice. An old negro was sitting beside him. "Yes--what...?" "You jes' rest quiet," said the negro. "Ev'thing's all right. Miss Marjorie, she comin' soon." Tom closed his eyes and began to unravel the tangle of the day's events. He could remember voices which had circled around him, babbling endlessly; two negroes who had taken off his wet clothes, put him in dry things and wrapped him in blankets; and Matty, the cook, who had soothed him and given him hot drinks. Then Marjorie had come. Twice he had awakened and found her sitting there. The afternoon was all confusion, like some half-forgotten thing of his imagination. But he was comfortable now, and he didn't care. He drifted off into an untroubled sleep, and awoke again with the sound of voices in his ears. In the faint light of the moon, he saw two negroes squatting near him. They were talking in whispers. One of them was saying: "Ol' Murdock's dawgs is a-cryin' and a-moanin'--" And the other answered: "Oh, Lor'!" "An' ol' mammy, she's a-looking at the tea grounds in a cup." "What she say?" "She don' say nothing." He paused to give his words effect. "She got a rabbit foot." "Oh, Lor'!" The negro glanced fearfully about them. "Oh, Lor'!" he repeated. "Oh, Lor'! Oh, Lor'!" It had become a wail of terror now, a wail so piteous and so moving that Tom felt as though an icy cold hand had reached out for him, taking away all his strength. The stark trees of the lonely, shadow-infested woods seemed to press in upon them like an army of fantastic giants. The fear which was torturing the negroes came over him in a spasm, then passed away. "What's the trouble there?" he demanded sharply. The negroes gasped audibly. "Nothin'," answered one of them presently. It was the negro who had been talking about Murdock's dogs and the rabbit's foot. "What are you getting scared about?" "Nothin'," came the muttered response.