Morlene dropped upon her knees; tears had made their appearance in her eyes. With clasped hands and face upraised to his, she said: "Mr. Warthell, I beg of you, spare your life. Spare me the horror of knowing that you were foully murdered. You have no mother, no sister, no lover. I am only a stranger to you. Argument fails me and I can only plead." Dorlan turned away, unable to look into that sweet, sorrowful face and say it nay. "It is best that I die," said Dorlan to himself. "If I lived I could not escape falling in love with this divine being." To Morlene he remarked, his head still averted, "Sweet is your voice and earnest your pleadings. Think it not ungallant in me to say that the stern voice of duty engrosses my ear and I obey its summons. If I die at my post of duty you will be one to revere my memory." Morlene arose and moved around so as to be face to face with Dorlan who was seeking to avoid her gaze. "Answer one question for me, Mr. Warthell. Is there anything connected with your life that causes you to think that death would be a personal gain to you as well as a gain to your country? I do not ask out of curiosity, you must know. It behooves me to know all the factors to be reckoned with in my attempt to save your life." "No personal considerations would induce me to _seek_ to destroy my life. Let that information suffice," said Dorlan. The very suppression manifest in Dorlan's reply and tone of voice revealed to Morlene that the full answer to her query was "Yes." She now ceased her pleading. She saw that the labor of saving Dorlan's life was more largely upon her than she had at first supposed. She had even his indifference to life to combat. Undaunted by this fresh complication she girded her spirit for the conflict. In silence the two went toward the place where Morlene was to board the car to return to her home. When they arrived at the place of parting, Morlene said, "Remember, I say, you shall not die." Dorlan looked at her, smiled sadly, turned and walked away. CHAPTER XVIII. WHO WINS? The night of the mass meeting came at last, and there was a tremendous outpouring of the Negroes, recruited mainly from the ranks of the toiling masses. Scattered here and there in the audience were a few of the educated Negroes, drawn to the meeting to see how Dorlan was to fare in his attempt to breast the current of Negro loyalty to the Republican party. The women in the audience outnumbered the men, a fact not to be wondered at, when it is known that the Negro women of the South are, perhaps, the most ardent and unyielding Republicans in the whole length and breadth of the land. Closely veiled, Morlene sat in the audience, the embodiment of anxiety. The moment for the supreme contest between herself on the one hand and Bloodworth and Harry on the other, for the life of Dorlan, was drawing frightfully near.