"Is that you, Frank?" said a soft voice near at hand.
He looked up with a joyful thrill. Rena was peering intently at him, as if trying to distinguish his features in the darkness. It was a bright moonlight night, but Frank stood in the shadow of the piazza.
"Yas 'm, it's me, Miss Rena. Yo' mammy said I could come over an' see you-all dance. You ain' be'n out on de flo' at all, ter-night."
"No, Frank, I don't care for dancing. I shall not dance to-night."
This answer was pleasing to Frank. If he could not hope to dance with her, at least the men inside—at least this snake in the grass from down the country—should not have that privilege.
"But you must have some supper, Frank," said Rena. "I'll bring it myself."
"No, Miss Rena, I don' keer fer nothin'—I did n' come over ter eat—r'al'y I didn't."
"Nonsense, Frank, there's plenty of it. I have no appetite, and you shall have my portion."
She brought him a slice of cake and a glass of eggnog. When Mis' Molly, a minute later, came out upon the piazza, Frank left the yard and walked down the street toward the old canal. Rena had spoken softly to him; she had fed him with her own dainty hands. He might never hope that she would see in him anything but a friend; but he loved her, and he would watch over her and protect her, wherever she might be. He did not believe that she would ever marry the grinning hypocrite masquerading back there in Mis' Molly's parlor; but the man would bear watching.
Mis' Molly had come to call her daughter into the house. "Rena," she said, "Mr. Wain wants ter know if you won't dance just one dance with him."