It began in a semi-tropical rain storm that swept the state. All day it poured in blinding torrents, the wind steadily rising in velocity until at noon it was scarcely possible to walk the streets.
At eight o'clock the rain ceased to fall and by nine glimpses of the moon could be seen as the fast flying clouds parted for a moment. But for these occasional flashes of moonlight the night was pitch dark. The Governor's company of nondescript soldiers in camp at the Capitol, drenched with rain, had abandoned their water-soaked tents for the more congenial atmosphere of the low dives and saloons of the negro quarters.
The minute the rain ceased to fall, Norton's wife sent his supper—but to-night by a new messenger. Cleo smiled at him across the little table as she skillfully laid the cloth, placed the dishes and set a tiny vase of roses in the center.
"You see," she began, smiling, "your wife needed me and I'm working at your house now, major."
"Indeed!"
"Yes. Mammy isn't well and I help with the baby. He's a darling. He loved me the minute I took him in my arms and hugged him."
"No doubt."
"His little mother likes me, too. I can pick her up in my arms and carry her across the room. You wouldn't think I'm so strong, would you?"
"Yes—I would," he answered slowly, studying her with a look of increasing wonder at her audacity.
"You're not mad at me for being there, are you? You can't be—mammy wants me so"—she paused—"Lordy, I forgot the letter!"