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THE CABIN ACROSS THE BAYOU.
Tom Ware was seated alone over his breakfast.

He had left his bed as the pale morning light crept across the great fields that were alike his pride and his despair--what was the use of trying to sleep when sleep was an impossibility! The memory of that tragedy at the church door was a black horror to him; it gave substance to his dreams, it brought him awake with writhing lips that voiced his fear in the dead stillness of the night.

The days were scarcely less terrible.

Steeled and resolute as his will could make him, he was not able to speak of what he had seen with composure.