day was darkening fast. The gloom of its decline came on with the abruptness of a mountain region, and the world. seemed suddenly to shrink away from the lonely spot and forget it.

Mrs. Matthews locked up the animals, fastened the doors and windows of the house carefully, and looked at the clock. It was half-past six. She must have a cup of tea; but supper should wait for Levi, who needed something solid after Friday evening meeting. She busied herself with these details assiduously.

When Mrs. Matthews had taken her cup of tea and sung, "How firm a foundation" till she was afraid she should be tired of it, she walked about the house, looking cautiously after her. It was very still.

Seven-eight-half-past eight o'clock. She tried to sew a little, mending his old coat. She tried to read the religious news in "Zion's Herald"; this failing, she even ventured on the funny column, for it was not Sunday. But nothing amused her. Life did not strike her as funny that night. She folded the coat, she folded the paper, she got up and walked, and walked again.

Nine o'clock. It was time to peek between the hollyhock curtains and put her hands against her eyes, and peer out across the cornfield. It was time to grow nervous, and restless, and flushed, and happy. It was not time, thank God, to worry.

The color came to her withered cheek. She was handsomer as an old lady than she had been as a young one, and and the happier she grew the better she looked, like all women, young or old. She bustled about, with neat, housewifely fussiness.

It was quarter-past nine. Mrs. Matthews's head grew a little muddled from excitement. She began again at the top of her voice, "How firm a foundation."

The clock struck half-past nine with an ecclesiastical tone. Mrs. Matthews stopped singing and went to the window.

She leaned, listening for the sedate hoofs of old Hezekiah, or the lame rumble of the blue wagon wheels. Impatiently, she shut the window and came back into the middle of the room. She looked at the Methodist clock. It lacked seven minutes of ten.

The woman and the clock faced each other. She sat down before it. Now she and the clock would have it out. She looked the thing in the eye.

Five minutes before ten-three-two. Ten o'clock. Ten o'clock, said in a loud, clerical tone.

"But, oh, not quite time to worry yet!" Ten minutes past. A quarter past. Twenty minutes. The woman and the clock eyed each other like duelists. Twenty-five minutes past ten. Half-past-Deborah Matthews gasped for breath. She turned her back on the clock and dashed up the window full-length.

The night seemed blacker than ever. A cloud had rolled solemnly over the mountain, and hung darkly above the house. A flash of unseasonable lightning darted and shot; it revealed the arm of the locust tree pointing down the road. A low mutter of distant thunder followed; it rolled away, and lapsed into a stillness that shook her soul.

She came back to her chair in the middle of the room, by the center-table. The final struggle with hope had set in. Half-past ten. Twenty-five minutes of eleven-a quarter

of

The woman has ceased to look the clock in the eye. It has conquered her, poor thing. Her head has dropped into her hands; her hands to her knees; her body to the floor. Buried in the cushions of the old rocking-chair, her face is invisible. She crouched there like a murdered thing.

She must not, cannot, will not bear it. Eleven o'clock. She sprang to her feet, gave one piteous, beaten look at the clock and dashed out-on past the burned trees and out towards the highway. It was very dark. It was as still as horror. Oh, there

What tidings? For good or for ill, they had come at last. Deep in the distance the wheels of a bow-legged wagon rumbled dully, and the hoofs of a tired horse stumbled on the half-frozen ground. Whether she clambered over the wheels to him, or he sprang out to her, whether she rode, or walked, or flew, she could not have told; nor, perhaps, could he. Hezekiah probably knew better than either of these two excited old people how they together got his harness off, with shaking hands, and rolled the wagon into the shed, and locked the outbuildings, nor forgetting the supper of the virtuous horse.

"Lock the doors," said the minister, abruptly, when they had gone into the house-place.

His wife turned him about, full in the firelight, gave one glance at his face, and obeyed him to the letter. Perhaps, for the first time in her life, she did not ask a question. His

mouth had a drawn, ghastly look, and his sunken eyes did not seem to see her.

"You are used up," she said; "you are tuckered out! Here, drink your coffee, Levi.”

He drank in great gulps exhaustedly. When she came up with the corn-cake she saw that his right hand closed over something which he would have hidden from her.

It was the old pistol; he was loading it, rust and all. "It's all we have," he said. "A man must defend his own. Don't be frightened, Deborah. I'll take care of you." "You might as well out with it, I'm not a coward."

"Well, the fact is, I was warned at the meeting. We had a gratifying meeting. The Spirit descended on us. Several arose to confess themselves anxious

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66 Never mind the anxious seat. I've sat on it long enough for one night. What's the matter? Who warned you?"

"I was warned against the Ku Klux Klan. They lay in wait for me on the road home. I had to come round over the mountain, the other way."

"Tell me who warned you. Tell me everythin', this minute!"

"A colored brother warned me-that convert brought to me privately, a few weeks ago, by our new brother, Deacon Memminger. I was taken one side, after the benediction, without the building, and warned, on peril of my life, and on peril of his, not to go home to-night, and to tell no man of the warning."

"But you did-you came home! "

66

Certainly, my dear; you were here."

She clung to him, and he kissed her.

"When they don't find you-what will they do?"

"My dear wife my dear wife, God knows."

66 What shall you do? What can we do?"

"I think," said the minister, in his gentle voice," that we may as well conduct family prayers."

Very well," said his wife, "if you've had your supper. I'll put away the dishes first."

She did so, methodically and quietly, as if nothing out of the common course of events had happened, or were liable to. Her matter-of-fact, housewifely motions calmed him; as she thought they would.

When she had washed her hands and taken off her apron, she came back to the lounge and they sang together one verse of their favorite hymn, "How firm a foundation."

Then the parson read, in a firm voice, a psalm-the ninetyfirst; and then he took the hand of his wife in his, and they both knelt down by the lounge, and he prayed aloud, his usual, simple, trustful, evening prayer.

"O Lord, or heavenly Father. We thank Thee that though danger walketh in darkness, it shall not come nigh us. We thank Thee that no disaster hath rendered us homeless, and that the hand of violence hath not been raised against us. We pray Thee that Thou wilt withhold it from us this night, that we may sleep in peace, and awake in safety-"

"Levi!"

"Levi! There are footsteps in the corn!"

"And awake in safety," proceeded the minister, firmly, "to bless Thy tender care

Suddenly voices clashed, cries upsprang, and a din surrounded the house.

"Come out! Come out! Out with the Yankee parson! Out with the nigger-praying preacher! Show yourself!" "Come out! Come out to us! Show yourself, you sneaking, Yankee parson! Out to us!"

A terrific knock thundered on the door. Steadily the calm voice within prayed on:

"We trust Thee, O Lord,-"

Open the door, or we will pull your shanty down-” "Preserve us, O Lord, for Thy loving kindness endureth forever”

"Open the door, and burn you out!

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"Protect us, O God—”

you, or we'll set the torches to it,

The light lock yielded, and the old door broke down. With a roar the mob rushed in. They were all masked, and all armed to the teeth.

"For Christ's sake, Amen," said the parson. He rose from his knees, and his wife rose with him. The two old people confronted the desperadoes silently.

"Gentlemen! gentlemen!" pleaded the parson. He took the hand of his wife as he spoke, and lifted it to his shrunken breast, and held it there, delicately.

"In the name of civil justice, O my neighbors, wherein have I offended you?"

"You've admitted a

darky among respectable white Own up!

citizens. Come now, haven't you? The old man's dim eyes flashed.

He raised his rusty pis

tol, examined it, and laid it down. Before sixteen wellarmed men he began to comprehend the uselessness of his old weapon.

"And you've preached against that which was no business of yours. Come, now, own to it! You've meddled with the politics and justice of the State. You have preached against the movements of the Klan-what's left of it."

"I own to it," said the parson, quietly. "I felt called of heaven to do it. Is that all ye have against me?"

"Have him out! Right smart, now!" yelled the hoarse man. "Have him out without more words! A rope! A rope! Where's a rope?"

The rope was Mrs. Matthews's clothes-line. The hoarse man gave it to the leader, with an oath. The noise from the gang now increased brutally. Cries, oaths, curses, calls to death resounded through the pure and peaceful room. The hoarse man lassoed the rope, and threw it around the parson's neck. At this moment a terrible sound rang above the

confusion.

It was the cry of the wife. She flung herself to her knees before the members of the Klan. She cried to them for the love of their own wives:

"For the sake of his gray hair! For the sake of an old wife"

But there they pushed her off, and were dragging him out, when the parson said in a clear voice:

"Men! Ye are at least men. I pray you to leave me alone for the space of a moment, with this lady, my wife, that we may part one from the other, and no man witness our parting."

At a signal from the big leader the men hustled out of the broken door.

"Deborah! Kiss me, my dear. You've been a good wife to me. Oh-God bless you, my dear. Why don't you speak to me? Deborah, Deborah! why don't you answer me? O my wife, my wife, my wife!"

But she was past answering. She had dropped from his breast, and lay straight and still as the dead at his feet.

"God is good. Leave her to the swoon which He has mercifully provided for her relief at this moment-and do with me as ye will before she awakens."

They took him out and arranged to have it over as quickly as might be. It must be admitted that the posse were nerv

ous.