Unfettered

the Dalton house, which, as though spurning their protection, rose majestically above them and commanded a splendid

to tree top, tended to create the suspicion that they were aware of the tragedy which their mother

inevitable conflict which he had been summoned to wage with the forces of decay. The head of this dying Anglo-Saxon rests, in these its last moments, on the bosom

ure that he was led back to life and health. Now that her healing art has failed her, she sits heartbroken, and, like Rachel weeping for her c

and well featured, he was an interesting figure at any time. His firm, gray eyes give evidence of great grief over the

rl just budding into womanhood. She is a Negro, although her very pleasing complexi

r by eyebrows that were ideally beautiful; a neck which, with infinite regard for the requirements of perfect art, descended and expanded so as to form part of a faultless bust; as to form, magnifi

n to Morlene at some time, but has delayed doing so until now it appears to be too late. Add to the fact that Maurice Dalton is carrying to the silence of the grave the information so earnestly, passionately desired by Morle

n whose sweetness of soul and fatherly care had won from her almost a daughter's love. With hands clasped like unto one supplicating, sh

d white neighbors, intimate friends, ready to testif

of this and other plantations, who, with woeful looks, peer anxiously in the direction of the "big house," eager for news as to how the battle was going. The vitality of Maurice Dalton was surprisingly great, and

oming rain multiplied; yet the Negroes stood their ground, determined t

kindly rays and journeyed onward until not a patch of blue was anywhere to be seen. Excitedly the lightning displayed his

s emotions, was deemed by the mass of Negroes as assured of an entrance into heaven. In order to produce this condition of ecstasy, they would gather about the bedside of the dying and sing such songs as were calculated to deeply

wavering at first, then louder and b

ow, swee

ter carr

w, sweet

to carry

and had heard, with deep emotion, this chant; and as the music now comes floating into his

ttitude of listening. "Did they say the chariot had come?" he enquired of the weeping Aunt Catherine. Casting

sed and they turned to go. Tears were falling from their eyes, and Nature, as if in sympathy, began to weep also. In after day