not less beautiful face, and Hugh shuddered as he thought how
it must have changed ere this-thought of the anguish which
stole into the dark, brown eyes when first the young girl learned
how cruelly she had been betrayed. Why hadn't he saved her
What had she done to him that he should treat her so, and
where was she now Possibly she was dead. He almost hoped
sho was, for if she were, the two were then together, his golden-
haired and brown, for thus he designated the two.
  Larger and fuller grew the veins upon his forehead, as memory
kept thus faithfully at work, and so absorbed was Hugh in his
reverie that until twice repeated he did not hear his mother's
anxious inquiry:
  " What is that noise It sounds like some one in distress."
  Hugh started at last, and, after listening for a moment he,
too, caught the sound which had so alarmed his mother, and
made 'Lina stop her reading. A moaning cry, as if for help,
mingled with an infant's wail, now here, now there it seemed
to be, just as the fierce north wind shifted its course and drove
first at the uncurtained window of the sitting-room, and then
at the ponderous doors of the gloomy hall.
  "It is some one in the storm, though I can't imagine why
any one should be abroad to-night," Hugh said, going to the
window and peering out into the darkness.
  "Lyd's child, most likely. Negro young ones are always
squalling, and I heard her tell Aunt Chloe at supper time that
Tommie had the colic," 'Lina remarked opening again the book
she was reading, and with a slight shiver drawing nearer to the
fire.
  "Where are you going, my son" asked Mrs. Worthington,
as Hugh arose to leave the room.
  " Going to Lyd's cabin, for if Tommie is sick enough to make
his screams heard above the storm, she may need some help," was
Hugh's reply, and a moment after he was ploughing his way
through the drifts which lay between the house and the negro
quarters.
  "How kind and thoughtful he is," the mother said, softly,
more to herself than to her daughter, who nevertheless quickly
rejoined:
  " Yes, kind to niggers, and horses, and dogs, I'll admit, but
let me, or any other white woman come before him as an object
of pity, and the tables are turned at once. I wonder what does
make him hate women so."



SPRING BANK



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