John Paul Jones had been comfortably housed in the little stable nearby. He nickered affectionately as his master came up and led him out. The young officer stood a few moments looking at the splendid horse, and with the look came a flood of memories so painful that he bowed his head in the saddle. When he looked up Jack Bracken stood by his side: "I don't much like this, Cap'n Tom. Not to-night, after all we've done to them. They've got out spies now--I know them; a lot of negroes calling themselves Union League, but secretly waylaying, burning and killing all who differ with them in politics. They've made the Klu-Klux a necessity. Now, I don't want you to turn me into a Klu-Klux to-night." "Ah, they would not harm me, Jack, not me, after all I have suffered. It has all been so hazy," he went on, as if trying to recall it all, "so hazy until now. Now, how clear it all is! Here is the creek, yonder the mountain, and over beyond that the village. And yonder is Westmoreland. I remember it all--so distinctly. And after Franklin, my God, it was so hazy, with something pressing me down as if I were under a house which had fallen on me and pinned me to the ground. But now, O God, I thank Thee that I am a man again!" Jack went back into the cabin. Captain Tom stood drinking it all in--the moonlight, on the roof of Westmoreland, shining through the trees. Then he thought of what the old Bishop had told him of Alice, the great pressure brought to bear on her to marry Richard Travis, and of her devotion to the memory of her first love. "And for her love and her constancy, oh, God, I thank Thee most of all," he said, looking upward at the stars. He mounted his horse and rode slowly out into the night, a commanding figure, for the horse and rider were one, and John Paul Jones tossed his head as if to show his joy, tossed his head proudly and was in for a gallop. Captain Tom's pistols were buckled to his side, for he had had experience enough in the early part of the night to show him the unsettled state of affairs still existing in the country under negro domination. There were no lights at Westmoreland, but he knew which was Alice's room, and in the shadow of a tree he stopped and looked long at the window. Oh, to tear down the barriers which separated him from her! To see her once more--she the beautiful and true--her hair--her eyes, and to place again the kiss of a new betrothal on her lips, the memory of which, in all his sorrows and afflictions, had never left him. And now they told him she was more beautiful than ever. Twelve years--twelve years out of his life--years of forgetfulness--and yet it seemed but a few months since he had bade Alice good-bye--here--here under the crepe-myrtle tree where he now stood. He knelt and kissed the holy sod. A wave of triumphant happiness came over him. He arose and threw passionate kisses toward her window. Then he mounted and rode off.