Hawkins seized both hands and looked her over in rapture. He spoke in low tender tones:

"You're the prettiest thing that God ever made in this old sinful world-"

"Sh!" Claudia whispered.

She drew her hands from her father's and threw Wilkes a laughing challenge:

"I hope you haven't worked too hard to-day, Mr. Lawyerman?"

Wilkes winced at the impersonal tones of her voice. He had hoped that she would begin to treat him as a real lover now that their engagement would be announced at home. He did his best to answer her banter in kind. He bowed with assumed gravity and said:

"And if I had fainted from overwork, fair lady, the sight of you would revive my drooping spirits."

Claudia smiled.

"That's pretty good, sir. Thank you.'

The Judge touched her arm as Wilkes moved to help her into the buggy.

"Don't stay out too late, darling—”

She smiled as she settled in the seat.

"There's a full moon to-night, Dad-"

Wilkes seized the lines and the little buggy spun down the drive.

Hawkins stood a moment watching it. His deep-set eyes were dimmed as a look of tenderness and pride overspread his rugged face.

CHAPTER III

THE WHITE HOOD

N A DINGY law office over a store on Main Street,

I

Craig paced the floor impatiently. He stopped at the

window and his eyes rested on the white pillars of his old home on the hill at the end of the street. It had always been the show place and pride of the town. The wide-spreading lawn with its stately cedars and magnolias covered ten acres in the heart of the present business section. The town had built around it, yet never encroached on its grounds.

He stared at it now with a new look of rage. This morning before entering the courthouse, he had received the anonymous letter explaining how Hawkins had gotten hold of it in the black days that followed the assassination of Lincoln. He had not yet been mustered out of Johnson's army. When he arrived at last, footsore, worn and heartsick, the home had been sold. Hawkins had bought it and moved in.

He began to understand now the venom with which the old scalawag had treated him in court. It was more than human flesh could bear. He didn't intend to bear it.

As he watched the shadows of dusk creep slowly over the white fluted columns, his face settled into a grim resolution. He came of a race of soldiers and leaders of men. He had accepted the poverty and suffering of defeat in war with a soldier's smile and had gone to work to retrieve his fortunes. He had only asked a man's chance to start life over again. He realized now that

of

rk

at

the cards had been stacked against him. He had at last uncovered the rogue's hand that had swindled him. He would strike now and strike to kill. There was no splutter, no noise, no cursing or raving. Just the deadly

decision to act, and at once.

He turned toward a sideboard which stood just inside the door of his bedroom. This inner room of the office he had fitted up for sleeping quarters and Henry kept it in as good order as a lazy negro of the old régime, unaccustomed to housekeeping, knew how.

He lifted the silver-trimmed decanter, removed the tall stopper and poured a drink of whisky. He raised the glass to his lips, paused, lowered it and stood scowling. His lips twisted, his brow wrinkled and his jaw closed firmly. He threw the whisky into the fireplace and straightened his tall figure.

"No, I don't need that sort of courage, to-night-" He turned at the sound of the closing of the center door as Henry leisurely entered.

Craig scowled:

"Where the devil have you been all this time?"

"Mr. Logan's comin' right away, sah. He be here any minute."

Henry bustled about the room. scowl.

"I said, where have you been?"

Henry grinned:

Craig continued to

"No whar, sah. Des drap round by de ole place ter pass de time er day wid my former wife, sah

"Old Julius will beat the life out of you if he catches you fooling round Aunt Laura-"

"Yassah!" Henry laughed. "But dat's de pint. He can't catch me!"

Henry busied himself with imaginary work in the room

and Craig slowly turned back to his desk, dropped into the chair and turned his face again toward the window through which he could still see the ghostlike pillars in the rays of the rising moon.

Henry moved toward the inner door and closed it softly. He quickly opened the bureau drawer and rummaged through its contents, found the object of his search and held it up admiringly-an old-fashioned red hunting

vest.

"He ain't wore dat since de war!" he murmured. ""Tain't no count lyin' in dar. De moths gwine eat it up ef somebody don't wear it. I'm gwine ter save it.”

He took the gay reminder of better days, folded it with care and wrapped it in a piece of newspaper. Craig's drawling call came through the closed door. He instinctively thrust the vest behind his back and answered:

"Yassah!"

A moment later the second call came in sharper tones: "What are you doing in there?-Come here!" "Yassah! Right away, sah-right-away-sah!" Henry carefully slipped the vest inside his shirt bosom, buttoned the shirt, hummed a tune carelessly, emerged into the outer office, and stood waiting for orders. The young lawyer was slow to speak. In fact he had forgotten the call, forgotten that Henry lived to try his patience. His eyes were set in a far-off look and his fists were slowly opening and closing.

Henry came closer:

"Yassah, you call me, sah?"

Craig turned in surprise, stared a moment and remembered his call:

"You can go now. I don't need you for anything. And don't come back till ten in the morning. I want to sleep late."

His man laughed softly.

"Yassah, dat suits me. I'se er little 'gagement o' my own ter night."

Craig waved his long arm carelessly.

"All right. Get out."

Henry hastened through the outer door and down the narrow stairs to the street. He paused at the entrance and looked up and down. No one was passing at the moment and he slipped the vest out of the folds and spread it carefully on his arm to save it from wrinkling.

The full southern moon flooded the town with a silvery glory. The first mild winds of autumn stirred the leaves in the trees, and swung the weather-stained sign:

JOHN CRAIG

ATTORNEY ANd Counselor at Law

in a weird sigh.

Henry glanced up at the sign with a superstitious shiver and hurried to his room.

As he turned the corner he all but collided with Ben Logan, who stood talking to a group of five men. There was no mistaking Logan. His lanky, sinewy frame rose six inches above the others and his slouch hat sat on his shaggy head in a way all its own.

Henry decided suddenly to cross the street. He care