roots of his hair, and then--the light pressure on his scalp of what
seemed the lips of a child.

He leaped to his feet, yet before he could turn completely round--a
difficulty the young lady had evidently calculated upon--he was too
late! The floating draperies of the artful and shameless Miss Sally were
already disappearing among the tombs in the direction of the hollow.


CHAPTER V.


The house occupied by the manager of the Drummond Syndicate in
Redlands--the former residence of a local lawyer and justice of the
peace--was not large, but had an imposing portico of wooden Doric
columns, which extended to the roof and fronted the main street. The
all-pervading creeper closely covered it; the sidewalk before it was
shaded by a row of broad-leaved ailantus. The front room, with French
windows opening on the portico, was used by Colonel Courtland as a
general office; beyond this a sitting-room and dining-room overlooked
the old-fashioned garden with its detached kitchen and inevitable negro
cabin. It was a close evening; there were dark clouds coming up in the
direction of the turnpike road, but the leaves of the ailantus hung
heavy and motionless in the hush of an impending storm. The sparks of
lazily floating fireflies softly expanded and went out in the gloom of
the black foliage, or in the dark recesses of the office, whose windows
were widely open, and whose lights Courtland had extinguished when he
brought his armchair to the portico for coolness. One of these sparks
beyond the fence, although alternately glowing and paling, was still so
persistent and stationary that Courtland leaned forward to watch it more