Helen covered her face with her hands and stifled a groan.
“His power of gab saved him, Miss Helen,” Braider went on. “It saved them both. It wasn't any begging, either; that wouldn't have gone with that sort of gang. With his hands and feet tied he began to talk—that's what ails his throat now—and the man that confessed it to me said such rapid fire of words and argument never before rolled from human lips. He told them he knew they would kill him; that they were a merciless band of desperadoes; but he was going to fire some truths at them that they would remember after he was gone, I'm no talker, Miss Helen. I can't possibly repeat what the man told me. He said at first Carson couldn't get their attention, but after awhile, when they were getting ready to apply the match, something in Dwight's voice caught their ear and they paused. He talked and talked, until a man behind him, in open defiance, cut the cords that held his hands. Later another cut his feet loose, and then Carson walked boldly up to Pete and stood beside him, and although a growl of fury was still in the air he kept talking. The man that told me about it said Carson first picked up one of the sticks around the prisoner and hurled it from him to emphasize something he said, then another and another, until the mob saw him kicking the sticks away and roaring out an offer to fight the whole bunch single-handed. Gee whiz! I'd have given ten years of my life to have heard it. He hadn't a thing to say in favor of Pete's general character; he said the boy was an idle, fun-loving, shiftless fellow, but he was innocent of the crime charged against him and he should not die like a dog. He spoke of the fine characters of Pete's mother and father and of the old woman's grief, and then, Miss Helen, he said something about you, and the man that told me about it said that one thing did more to soften and quell the crowd than anything else.”
“He said something about me?” Helen cried. “Me?”
“Yes; no names was mentioned, but they knew who he meant,” Braider went on. “Carson spoke of your family and of the close bond of human sympathy between it and all the blacks that had once belonged to your folks, and said that the daughter of that house, the most beautiful womanly character that had ever blessed the South, was praying at that moment for the safety of the prisoner, and if they carried out their plans she would shed tears of sorrow. 'Your intentions are good,' Carson said. 'You are all sincere men acting, as you see it, in the interests of the women of the South. Listen to this gentlewoman's prayer uttered through my mouth to-night for mercy and human justice.'
“It fairly swept them off their feet, Miss Helen. The man that told me about it said he never saw a more thoroughly shamed lot of men in his life; he said they released Pete and led the horses around and stood like mile-posts with nothing to say as Carson drove away. The man that told me said he'd bet ninety per cent, of the gang would vote for Dwight this fall. But I must be going; if that young buck knew I'd been telling you all this he'd give me a tongue-lashing, and I don't want any of his sort in mine.”
Helen waited for about ten minutes alone on the grass—waited for Carson. When he finally came out and hurried towards her, he found her with her handkerchief pressed over her eyes.
“Why, what is the matter, Helen?” he asked, in sudden concern.
She remained silent for a moment, and then with glistening eyes she looked up at him as he stood pale and disturbed, the plaster still marking his wound and gleaming in the starlight.
“Why didn't you tell me?” she asked, laying her hand tenderly on his arm, her voice holding cadences of ineffable sweetness.
“Oh, Braider's been talking to you, I see!” Dwight said, with a frown of displeasure.