HE night had fallen slowly and softly. The stars had stolen out, now dancing gaily in one corner of the heavens, and now a cluster of them marched forth in stately fashion. The air was quiet; even the leaves had quit whispering, the breeze had died away, and they nodded sleepily on their stems. Pretty Alice Whiting sat on the porch of the one-story, old style plantation house, and lazily wished the tea-table, whose disorder showed it had been attacked by hungry mouths, would vanish bodily. But it didn't, and she ruefully contemplated the prospect of clearing it up herself, with much chagrin, for such lovely nights, she declared, were not made to work in.
She had come to Memphis from the North with her husband and brother, who had “settled” in that hospitable city. Frank and Will had gone to the lodge, and she had been dreaming of her far Northern home. As she sat there her head rested against the vines which covered the porch, turning it into a perfect bower of beauty. Her dark brown hair waved and curled around a broad, full forehead; her features were far from regular, but the piquant nose and smiling mouth redeemed them, and gave a saucy charm which was more pleasing than set beauty. And as the moon rose in the sky, until her pale beams lit up the darkened porch, flooding every corner, she made as pretty a picture as one would wish to look upon. Something of this thought evidently passed through the mind of the man who had stolen noiselessly through the garden until he stood by her side, for he looked earnestly upon her as if loth to disturb her, and then longingly at the table, which had abundance, even after the appetites of the household had been appeased.
With a start she sprang to her feet. Her heart beat loud and rapid with fear, as she looked at the stranger. Visions of burglars, guerrillas and all the clan, flitted through her brain, and held her dumb, unable to utter a sound, from pure terror.
Certainly the man before her was not one to reassure her, for he was wild-eyed and dirty, and his ragged clothes had fallen away from his thin frame.
“Don't be afraid, ma'am,” he said, in a voice intended to be gentle and assuring; “all I ask is a bite to eat. I'd never hurt a woman.”
She drew a quick breath of relief.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Hungry? Look at me, ma'am. Do you see any signs of the gourmand about me?” pointing to his pinched face.
“I'll give you something to eat—for Eddie's dear sake,” she added, in a faint whisper.
Bringing clean dishes, she poured out a cup of coffee, and bade him sit down and help himself.