THE VALLEY FEUD

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XL, Issue 22, 27 May 1908, Page 50

THE VALLEY FEUD

By

CHARLES FRANCIS BOURKE

In which the fiery blood and chivalry of the South war with the valour and skill of France

Chapter !.—THE FEUD. Tl THERE is a beautiful valley, straightaway north as the erows fly, from the Black Belt to the little village of Centerlodge, which nestles in that part justly famed [(before the great war impoverished and devastated I he land) as the paradise of Alabama and the whole South—and one that is sadly* sprinkled with blood. The valley is divided between the Carriston and Taliaferro plantations, by a wooden ridge, a half-mile or so through and, stretching away down its length on either side of the ridge, the cotton-fields, flanked' by long green sheets of waving corn, surge up the terraces of the hillside like white-capped wavesAlong the bridle path to (he Carriston mansion, whose broad, white-columned verandahs were draped with trailing arbutus and cluster of yellow roses —the haunt of a hundred bee-martins —the catbirds teetered on the purple-topped ironwood, and far above the old oaks which shaded) the'wide lawn the mockinir-bix’d, jeertsl a.nd ,jjbed at the waning wnistie of th’e .whippoorwill. Across the valley, over the white, sea V>f c<Vtt(Ui, glinted the whiter clumps of dogwood blossoms on the dividing ridge. Ami the Taliaferro plantation over the ridge, was ('arriston’s counterpart. That is what 1, Gaston Carriston, saw of tin* plantation one autumn day, after Ihe fever had done for my own people in New Orleans. Here, amid peace and plenty, the distant cousin was welcomed as one of the big-hearted* family—and here, too, 1 met Beatrice. Then cam** the long, happy winter during which my little cousin, in our many rides and talks, taught me the history of the old plantation, ami of the old families of Taliaferros and Carriston’s. Dear comrades we were from the first, though it was not long before 1 saw that smile in her eyes which set my heart throbbing with thoughts I only half divined. A happy and care free time, before th** blow fell of which non** of us dreamed, shrdlu shrdlu shrdlu ehmrfdlu It came in the early summer, one evening when we were all on the veranda listening to th** night birds ami the negroes singing in tin* quarters. , There was Cousin Clay Carriston, and Hush, th** second son, who was a lieutenant in the Federal navy, horn** on a visit, and dainty Cousin Beatrice. (’Twas she nicknamed me “Jack Spaniard” for my dark face and tin* foreign ways 1 had from my mother. We were all there—except my youngest rousin Noise, who was away at th** village on a lark—when one of the darkies, a stable-boy camo up to Clay, rolled ibis eyes, ami mumbled. in a frightened way, something about his saddle-mare Rowena having gone oil her I, and asked him to come down and see him at the stables. * “And take this Don Staring Blackeyes with \ou,” quoth dimpled Mistress Beatrice in her charming, (easing way. faith, he bothers me with his eternal earettes ami his wicked tongue.” ough I had but whispered to the little li of her beauty.

(Hay swung oil* the steps and whistled th** dogs and I lounged away after him in idle curiosity. But I stopped at th** end of Iho house to roll a cigarette, and. before 1 reached the .entrance of the big, whitewashed barn. I heard Clay in-

Aide, cursing the barn boy in big lazy good- natured way.

Through the open door I could see a crowd of negroes backed up in the end of the carriage-room. There was a shapeless object upon the floor, and Bob, the overseer, was trying to screen it from Clay. “Yo’-all’s triflin’ nigguhs, shootin’ craps when the moss’s growin’ on my bosses. Alun goin’ to sell the whole kit and passle on ye down t’ the rice bottoms. Yo’, Bob, what yo’ got there on the flo'?* Stan’ away, you black scoundrel!” There was a scuffle ami then a blank silence. 1 looked into the carriage-house. Clay was down on the floor, staring at something partly covered with a blanket. Coining closer, I saw the face of Cousin Nelse—and 1 had seen dead faces before in the New Orleans fever carts. (’lay fetched a deep sobbing breath and pulled out his handkerchief and laid it over Nelse’s face. The overseer motioned to the boy who had come after us. “Yo', Jeff, yo’ tell Marse Clay all erbon t it, jes lak yo’ done tole me, yo’ lieah!” The negro twisted his cap in his hands. “Yessuh, Marse (’lay, I ’low* I’se. gwine tor tell yo' de truf, sah. Hit was.Jes/liik dis yere. ” . ; •/ “I dope down X 9 de creek, washin’ dat Smugglin’ hoss’ sah, an' hit’s pow’ful quiet coinin’ up trough de woods, sah, an’ jes 'fore 1 gets to de folk whar de road tu'n off to ole Marse Taliaferro’s I year Marse Nelse cry out. He cry out lak he’s pow’ful angry: ‘lt’s a dam’ lie!” “Den I year: ‘S-s-sli!’ lak somebody done, hit d*e hoss, an’ terecktly Marse Nelse’s mar’ shoot roun’ de cohnah—buckra! .buykra! buckra!—lak’ de ole debbil's cornin’, but Marse Nelse ain’s in de saddle, sah.” “Den I spects dey's some debbilments goin' on shore; so 1 slide often Smuggler an’ clap mah han’ oveh lies nose twell he git quiet, an’ den 1 goes on easy —easy —trough de bushes. W’en 1 gits to de fo’k 1 gits down on de groun’ an’ crawl in de ragweed, lak ole buckra snake an’ 1 do lie seed ole Marse Abram Taliaferro an’ Marse Win—an’ Marse Nelse, sab. “Marse Win, he stannin’ back holdin’ de bosses, an’ ole Marse Taliaferro he down on de groun’, leanin’ oveh Marse Nelse an’ have lies han’s on him. Putty soon Marse Nelse lif’ up on lies elbow’ an’ star’ at ole Marse lak hit mak mah blood* run shivery. He open lies inouf an’ try

ter speak, but de blood all bu’ out an’ choke uni an’ he fall down ag’in, an’ den —I done seed Ole Marse Abram takken a knife outen him, sah.”

In the yard, close by the door, the barn-boys had thrown out bedding-straw. Some shrew-mice were rustling in it, and a red-backed shrike suddenly dropped down into the straw with a loud clattter. Then, staring with startled eyes, he shot back to the eaves of the barn. It was getting dark. Clay said:

“Bob,” saddle Rowena and Smuggler. You, Lafe, go to my room an’ get mah double ride an’ the duck-gun. Say you’re taking the guns to clean them.’ We went to the back of the carriagehouse, where stood the great family coach that it took four horses to draw. Clay drew the shroud-like covering aside, and then he and 1 fetched the body of Cousin Nelse and laid it on the cushions. Clay closed the door and pulled down the cloth.

As we approached Taliaferro .we pulled up at a snake-fence, meaning to leave the path and make our way through the fields. We knocked down a couple of the top rails and put the horses over. The other side was a grass-meadow and. halfway across it, Clay pulled in his mare. Since leaving the barn we had not passed a word. Only last Sunday pretty Mistress Beatrice and I fed the colts sugar in this same meadow. “Cousin Jack,” said he, “this is no qua’l of yours, boy, an’ I’m wrong to bring you into it.” “It’s a family affair,” said I. “1 am a Carriston.”

Clay looked out over the meadow fog. The night had dropped quickly upon us, as it always does tnere.

“The moon is coming up,” he said. “Better for our business. It’s no qua’l’of yours, though, Jack.” “It’s a blood quarrel,” said I, “and I'm of the family.” “It’s one that you’s safer stop out of,” he replied doggedly. It was the first time I regretted’the distant cousinship. “Very well, then,” said I, thinking of Beatrice. “I have a word of my own to say to Cousin Bill Taliaferro, touching the matter of shooting my setter, Dpn.” With that we pushed on through the wet meadow-grass. It was bleak night when we struck

into the piney woods and stumbled ouxway to the other side, pushing through the bushes and over the grunting masthogs that ran, squealing, into the thicket. When we reached the open trees of the park, an idea occurred to me, and I lit a cigarette and offered one to Clay. “I’ll not have one now,” he said, with some resentment.

“Nevertheless, light it,” I returned. “If we approach the house smoking they’ll not suppose we know what has happened, and we’ll have them at a disadvantage.”

Clay laughed grimly. “The Spaniard’s not in you for nothing; yet I’ll not have it.” So I was constrained to smoke alone. We cantered across the lawn in the brightening moonlight, which was an illadviced venture, seeing they could have potted us in the open. There were no lights in the windows nor about the house. All was quiet. Clay rode up to the verandah with the butt of hisvbgkq the verandah and pounded with the butt of his rifle upon one of the’supporting columns.

After a little, getting no response, he called out’:

“You Bill —Win Taliaferro—ye cowards, come out! Here’s Clay Carriston and Jack. Come out, you .child-killers, here’s but two of us!” I thought of Beatrice, and the little blue veins in her wrist, and ivondered if I should see her again. We waited, sitting our horses fair in the moonlight, Presently a light flickered in the side panes of the door, there was a rattling of chains, and the door swung open. A man stood in view that we did not expect to see, and Clay lowered his rifle.

Old Abram Taliaferro’s first wife was Eunice Carriston, a connection of the Carriston family. Seine years prior to the beginning of the valley troubles he married the daughter of a Frenchman, by name De Basnierres, who clamed to be of the nobility of France, exiled because of the De Berry and the Revolution of ’31.8i1l Taliaferro and Win, Eunice Carriston’s sons, completed the households.

It was the Frenchman who stood in the doorway, holding a candle in one hand and a naked sword in the other.

He-was in his shirt and knee-breeches, and his gaunt face was framed with long white hair that fell upon his bony shoul-

ders. He surveyed us in silence for a moment, sticking the point of his blade into the floor and leaning upon the hilt. The dim flare of the candle-light showed his lips twisted into a sardonic grin, and his gnarled and knotted hands worked nervously. “You’ll not have them this night, Carriston,” he said, after a little, wagging his hoary head. “Where are the cowards?” Clay cried, fingering the lock of his gun. De Basnierres swayed his sword back and forth with his bony hand.

“There’s no one in the house but myself,” he said. “That I believe to be a damned lie,” said Clay savagely.

“And that is the second time the lie has been passed this day,” replied the Frenchman, still swaying the sword. I had watched the upper windows, but they remained closed and black.

“I think it’s likely he tells the truth, cousin,” said I, “renegade that he is.” The fellow’s coolness was exasperating.

De Basnierres showed his yellow teeth.

“You will be in it, too, you—Span-iar-r’, eh? Very good! You will leave a message, Car-riston ?”

Clay stared moodily, and then cursed him and swung his horse around.

“Bah! How abbut Monsieur Jack Bpaniar-r’, then?” said De Basnierres, taunting me, and coming to the edge of the veranda.

“We havs no quarrel yet,” I said. “Nevertheless, you will tell Bill Taliaferro I’ll have a shot at him for Don.”

And, with that, he being quite close to me, I flicked his candle with my ridingwhip, contriving to splash the hot grease over his scrawny hand; at which he cursed and sputtered heartily, all his confounded impudence gone out of him. I gathered up my reins, but he placed his scalded hand upon the bridle, eyeing me under his brows with no good-will. "We shall have a little play together, you and I, some day, Jacques, for that,” he growled. “Look you, and stay alive till then.” He swung the rapier on his finger, by the guard. “With this,” he nodded.

When we had crossed the park, I looked around. De Basnierres was still standing there, balancing his sword and looking after us, for all the world like the ghost-figure in the play. CHAPTER 11. SWORD AND PISTOL. So the valley feud began, and for a time it seemed to end, for the Taliaferros disappeared from the country, and for months we got no trace of them. Every day Clay and Rush beat up the country with rifles and dogs, and sometimes I would go with them. There was no thought of calling upon the law—such as it was. The sheriff rode out from Centerlodge and rode back again; nothing came of that. It was generally underetood that each family looked after its own vendettas.

Beatrice had her hands full at the iiouse, where Uncle Peyton was down with the fever. I looked after the plantation as well as might be, and devised plans to lighten her heart and her labours. The coining of trouble had made Trix spring up into a woman in a day—and it had taught her to turn to me, for her brothers, though God knows they loved her, had grown grim with money troubles and the doings of the past. Who shall blame us if at times I brought the dimples creeping back, and we discounted the future in pure gold? For all the clouds were so heavy, we had the spring in our hearts. The stouthearted little lass tried to be cheerful always, but sometimes she broke down.

"Poor Jack—and I used to scold you bo.” she said penitently one day. “What would I do without you now? Papa frets so about the cotton, and there’s the mortgage and that dreadful lawsuit.”

“We won’t bother about the mortgage and the lawsuit,” I said. “We'll just try to keep the work going and leave the boys free to make ready against the Taliaferros’ return—if they do re-

turn.” Trix’s dark eyes flashed and she clench ed her little fist.

“If they do, Clay and Rush will punish them,” she cried; the spirit of the Carristons flaming out. "But, oh, Jack, if they should meet! ” She softened again with womanly fear, and her sweet lips trembled. “ They may be hiding in the plantation now.” - •

A longing seized me to take her in my arms, and soothe her fears away, but I only straightened myself, and answered cheerfully: “ Never fear, little Trix, we should have learned it by now.” , Her eyes softened, and with half-parted lips she bent toward me as if she would say something. But she only stretched out one dainty hand and passed it caressingly over mine where it lay on a chairback.

“ Dear Jack,” she whispered, and on the instant was gone. One day, after’ the last of the cotton was in, when Clay and Rush rode away as usual toward the ridge with their rifles, 1 went with them, taking my shotgun, in the hope that I might pick up a quail or two for our little housekeeper, Trix.

We went down through the stubblefields, skirting the ridge, and then, the rain beginning to fall heavily, we rode into the pine wood to an old disused ginhouse, where cotton had once been compressed. Here we fastened the horses and went inside.

I sat down on the flat wooden wheel with Rush, who had been telling me some of his navy experiences', and Clay stood in the doorway looking moodily out at the storm.

I was about to light a cigarette and had just reached forward to strike the match upon the wooden floor, when there was a sharp report and the chugging of a bullet into the upright post between us. I jumped to my feet, and there was another shot, and another —a violent stinging blow struck my right arm. Clay shouted “ Taliaferro! ” and jerked his rifle to his shoulder.

Then, as another spurt of fire came from the mule-shed, in one corner of the gin-house, he fired twice in quick succession, and a choking scream followed the reports. I jumped back of the big post, cocking my fowling-piece with my left hand, for my right arm hung uselessly at. my side. A misty drift of wind and rain blew through the door, and I saw old Abram Taliaferro, stooping down with a pistol in his hand, fanning away the smoke and peering from the shed'.

Before I could level my gun. Rush threw his rifle across the wheel and fired, and old Taliaferro pitched forward upon his face.

Clay ran to the door of the shed, and looked inside, and then fell to reloading his rifle.

“We've got the whole crew! ” he said grimly. “ There’s Win Taliaferro, and Bill. Take that, you hound! ” He fired into the shed again; then a dead silence fell upon the scene of the battle.

The pain of my shattered arm must have sent me off my head, for when I came to, Rush was tying up my arm with his handkerchief; a dozen frightened black faces were peering into the doorway, and in the shed I heard Clay giving orders to the negroes. It may seem strange that we, the living actors in that triple tragedy, should have settled down, in the days that followed, without fear of law’ or feudist, in the hope that at last the savage business was at an end.

With vengeance satisfied — with the Taliaferros finally out of the way —we ignored the great mansion over the ridge and its sole occupant, the nncinet French noble. For all that, it was from this improbable source the next blow was to fall, and in a most incredible manner.

A fortnight after the gin-house fight, my shattered arm was the only remaining witness of the affair, and many a time I should have cursed it heartily had it not been for shame of little Mistress Trix, who had cheerfully taken me over as a patient. Besides, there was the delight of having her so much at my side, and the touch of her little hands as she tended my wound made me forget its burning. One Sunday morning We men. with Dr. Loris, a surgeon we had over from Centerlodge. were at breakfast when wc heard a horse’s hoofs on the bridle path, and presently a negro sidled in and' whispered to Clay. He turned a surprised face to us. “De Basnierres! What the dfevil docs he want?” If the Frenchman had come on mischief intent, he had come about the business in most farcical attire. ' He wore a bell-crowned hat (which he kept on his head), a loosely-hanging blade froek coat.reaching below his knees, tight pantaloons with straps, gloves, and a flowing eravat that spread over the lapels of his coat. His whole attire was deep black, and, as he stood' before us, he

handled a thin, lacquered riding-cane, much as 1 had seen him that night on the verandah handle the rapier. Ills grizzled moustache was sharppointed with wax, and his gray old eyes surveyed us with evil composure. “ 1 have come to have a word witli one of you, being the last of my family,’* the Frenchman said, after a moment’s silence. “ Say it and go,” Rush returned-, in his quick way. I knew he was afrai 1 Beatrice would come ip, in the lace of a quarrel. By way of answer, De Basnierres lifted a glass of cold water that stood at his hand, and tossed the contents into Rush’s* face. ( lay sprang to his feet with an oath. Rush grasped his arm and held him back, ■while he wiped the water from his face, coolly enough. * “ 1 should have preferred you,” the Frenchman said, in the same evil way, ** It mailers little -there is yet time! ” He turned' upon his heel and left the Toom, having us staring at each other. “He’s an old fool,” Dr. Loris said, presently. “He thinks he’s still living under the King o’ France. lie has one foot in the grave.” “ Then we'll put the other in for him,” Rush said, who had sat down again, very white ami quiet. Clay was watching him with remorseful face. I think the Frenchman had come for Clay, the real head of the house and the family, but Rush's insulting answer had turned him at the last moment. His own words made that plain in fact. It occurred to me, rather whimsically, what a fine plantation (’arriston and Taliaferro would' make, joined. “You will attend to it. Loris?” Rush said. “ Any weapons he chooses.” “God knows, there’s been enough bloodshed! ” said Clay. “ lie’s brought this upon himself, though.” “ He had nerve to come here, old Bravo! ” said the doctor, as if that view ofMho matter had 'but just occurred to him. Well, we’re told it is better to die before we get too old.” Along in the afternoon the doctor came hack from Taliaferro and told us he had met Selden, a neighbour of the Taliafertos, to whom De Basnierres had referred him. “ I told him we wanted no more killing,” he said, “ and he agreed on swords. That’ll suit your navy training, Rush.” And so. close on to dusk, the four ofus rode up the ridge and reined in under the branches of a big dogwood and under the perch of a squawking cardinal-jay that sat. knowing-eyed, in his blood red robe — find, afterward gripping his perch with human anger, mocked ami scolded the two men. with downs!retched neck, as they prodded and thrust. A chill, drizzling rain filtered through the foliage, wetting us to the skin and setting our teeth to chattering, and, in the raw, nipping air Rush and the Frenchman stripped to the shirt, Rush's muscular arm and stout, thick-set frame showing to almost ludicrous advantage over the scrawny, lean, and shrivelled old man who stepped out into the open. In removing his coat, the Frenchman had thrown it carelessly uport the ground, and something, alighting from it with metallic glitter and jingle, rolled to the

doctor's feet, and he stooped and picked it up oven as the foils grated together.

He looked at the thing curiously, even as a man will observe trifles, and do insignificant acts in the midst of the most

desperate tragedies, and now he gripped my arm and groaned, as he squeezed it, till 1 almost cried out with pain, for the bone bad Iktii but recently set. “ The lad’s done for! God forgive m> for a blundering idiot! That man's a noted swordsman. It's a medal for proficiency at arms — a famous duellist.” The Frenchman parried Rush’.-, thrusts apparently without an effort, twisting ant darting his own blade with the rapidity of light. Once, as he sprang asi Ic, avoiding a rapid, vicious thrust of the old man’s sword. Rush glanced over to where we stood, with a white, set look upon his face. He had found out what I almost knew—that he stood fair to die. Then it occurred to me *twas high time to contrive a different aspect to the affair if he was to be saved, ami I slipped around to where (’lay stood, with clinched hands, his body quivering with excitement, and hurriedly told him what the doctor had found out.

' Even (is he stared at me. half understanding, 1 hoard a shout from the Frenchman, and Rush screamed: “Clay! Oh, Beatrice!” and caught his breath with a sobbing gasp, as the Frenchman’s blade tore its way through him and stuck out a full hand's span from his back.

While the crowd swayed hither and thither. Clay threw off his riding-cloak with a choking curse upon his lips and sprang upon the sword as it fell from

Rush’s nerveless grasp. Disregarding the shouts and confusion, he fell upon De Basnierres, their blades coming together with a savage, sharp clash. Then the crowd surged back and one man ran past me with a white face and inarticulate erv, out into the woods.

The Frenchman was fighting for his life now. His sword quivering like a straw in his big hand. Clay, slashing and sobbing, ignorant of all rules of fence, forced the, old man back into the brush. But ever as De Basnierres fell back and gave way, until he had the briers twisting about his scrawny legs, he guarded himself with that steel snake, watching, with keen, cold eyes —until the thing happened which plainly had been ordained from the first. A series of quick flashes danced and dazzled on the steel, blinding my eyes. Then it came. Stretching his arm up over his head. Clay’s fingers opened wide and the blade dropped from his hand. The Frenchman's sword was in his breast, and, as he twisted half around, he jerked it from his grip as he crashed down upon the trampled ground. CHAPTER 111. THE FENCING MASTER. It was on an autumn day when I first rode into Carriston; it was on an autumn day when I rode away on that mission to the far South which we hoped would bring prosperity again to the old place, so sadly gone to ruin through the terrible events of the year’s feud. At the foot of the bridle-path I had turned to take one last look at the old house. On the broad veranda a solitary little figure in black stood waving her hand in farewell, and Beatrice’s last words rang in my ears: “When you come back we will take up the old life, Cousin Jack,” she ha'd said, lifting her brave little face to me at parting. “That is what will make father well again. You and I will save the honour of the home and the dear old plantation!’’ Those were the words which rang in my ears as I sat in Casenaro’s fencing gallery in New Orleans, after I had miserably failed in the money matters which Uncle Peyton had entrusted to me, and brooded over the desperate plan which I had conceived and meant to carry out -—with Casenaro’s help. We had been practising with the foils, and my nearly useless arm enraged him. “Stupid!” he shouted; “you will . never-r learn. Four weeks I work so faithfully, and you are a disgr-race to my teaching. Must I swear it to you. Monsieur Carriston. that parade of quinte does not guard a feinte of seconds and tierce, and that so great an authority as .Labat says it? Parbleu! you are well called Spaniar-r-r’; you are fit only for the stiletto!” He threw his wire mask and foil into the corner and fell to growling in his waxed moustache, like an old gray dog. “You forget there are other swordsmen who hire themselves for money, Casenaro,” said I, coldly, not relishing his abuse. “There is but one maitre d'armes in North America,” said the old fellow proudly, much cooled down, nevertheless. I thought of De Basnierres. “Nevertheless, there is money in this for you, my friend,” said I, “and no one 1 shall be more pleased to help to it than my father’s old friend and mine.” For I meant, for the purpose you shall presently see, to keep hanging over him his debt to me. Casenaro pulled off his glove and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “To-night we will try Jean du Pradet’s thrust in quarte under the wrist, . with the long rapiers. The tricky Italian method is best for the strength of arm that is lacking,” he'said, after a little. So with that we parted for a time, he to go to the cafe and I to ponder over the wild project which had but half framed itself in my brain. One thing I saw. Casenaro’s little collection of weapons. the stock in trade of the fencinggallery, was narrowing down. Drink! An admirable new revolving pistol, a recent invention, for which Casenaro had exchanged his two-barrelled pistol of damascene work, with incrustations of gold, had also disappeared. Still drink! I judged he was about ripe for the ha!fplanned work I had cut out for him. —

It came, while I was fretting, and sooner than I expected, though at a time when my plan of vengeance and gain was still vague and indefinite. It was

he who brought it to fruition—that wary and gray old fox, who had lived a dozen lives in his time!

One night when he applied to me for a loan—to me—and finding him, by reason of poverty, inclined to listen to any plan promising money, I set the matter out before him. I told him the whole story of the feud; of the broken old man and weak girl who were facing poverty, through the law, at Carriston, and of the vindictive Frenchman heir—sole heir—to

prosperous Taliaferro, who was the living threat and barrier that stood between my kinspeople and happiness—and still greater prosperity.

Through the narrative, which ran into the night, Casenaro sat twisting the waxed ends of his gray mustache. It was only when 1 named De Basnierres that he started and eagerly asked me to repeat the name and to describe the man and to again go over the scene of the sword duel, in every detail.

In the end he thoughtfully cut off a thief from the candle with a Moorish dagger and looked me over slowly, from head to heels, with half-closed eyes. “You did not follow the example of your cousins and challenge this De Basnierres?” he asked, half sneeringly. “With a smashed and useless arm? You see what it is, even now.”

“You first thought of practising with me that you might meet this famous " fencer, n’est-ce pas? Strange you should < not take better to the White Arm,” he went on in his abrupt, sneering way. “A half Spaniard on the mother’s side, too. Ah, it is plain you have a thought in your head which you have not given • me!” “You said yourself, when we first met, ' that we were built alike,” 1 returned, feeling him. “For that reason you promised to school me ” “Ah, ha! I smell a fox! Nothing is truer, Monsieur Gaston Carriston. Except for your black hair and smooth face < and my white locks, I, maitre d’armes des Academies du Roi, and thou—oh, most backward of duellists —are made, . face and face, frame and frame, like ' twin brothers!” And he laughed, wagging his old head. -

How he brought De Basnierres, that other Frenchman, before me! “A famous fencer, too,” he repeated, still grinning. “A master of masters, you said? .That is bad, my poor Gaston, bad! ,You would be butchered uselessly, as our poor cousins were butchered. I know this devil De Basnierres j “You know him?” I cried in surprise. Only as you have described him to me,” he said hastily. “But never mind; your other plan is better, my duellist. I like the other plan. It suits me well—■ and you. impuissant, cannot be blamed.” “You are in with me, then?” I cried eagerly. “You have no doubt of the outcome ?” Casenaro laughed contemptuously. “Our old fencing-master is to die that the property may come, to us—we being next of kin. you and I. Bah! have I not thought this out while you talked? Is there any other heir to the big plantations than this dog in the manger; De Basnierres? Besides, we must wipe the stain from our family honour, is it not so? Helpless as you are, you must “ The revenues of the Carriston plantation alone would suffice. There would be plenty for all,” said I, eyeing him closely, with beating heart, thinking to

appeal to his cupidity. “ And l share and share alike, when the job is done,” he replied, and took a thoughtful turn down the room, then came back, thrusting out his hand with a grim smile. “ You have a head upon your shoulders, Cousin Jack. I shall lay my old bones in Lorraine yet. After all, it will be done in fair fight. And now, fellow conspirator of mine, while I think of it, you shall pay me over some dollars and I will visit with a wig-maker of my acquaintance.” I left Casenaro to pack up such things a 3 we should require upon the journey. He lighted me to the door, singing softly to himself, and I caught the words with curiosity. • “ A swordi for Honour, A sword for Love, A sword for the cure For all things above.” “What may you call that?” I asked him. “ The ‘ Song of the Sword! ’ ” said

Casenaro, showing his white teeth in a grin. “It is a famous song—and suits our case.”

The same thought was with me as I came into the deserted street, and the thought of Beatrice, for Casenaro’s ■words had thrown a light upon the longing in my heart —and I hoped the halfpromise I had seen in her eyes at times in the past would grow to that which 1 now knew I had always hoped for. Heigho! The future would show! As Casenaro said, my helpless arm was my excuse.

A dense fog was over the city, and Somehow the salt taste of it carried! me hack to that night when Cousin Clay amt I rode across the valley to Taliaferro, to that other swordsman. A belated darky accosted me with a bundle of papers. “ Yere’s yo’ night extra, sah! De Linkurn gubermint had cross de Potomac an’ inraded Ferginny! ” Absorbed in the conduct of my own fortunes, I had forgotten the great warcloud whihe was casting its shadow over the land.

CHAPTER IV. THE VENDETTA. In four days by boat and on horseback we made our way up from New Orleans, old Casenaro grumbling at my desperate haste to return to those I had not heard from in so many long weeks;

for we rode late into the night, and were up again and in the saddle by dawn. On the morning of the fifth day we skirted the little village of Centerlodge, which lay somewhat oft’ the broad valley road. While I thought on what reception I could arrange for Casenaro, the old fox solved the problem himself. “ Go you on to your people,” he said, pulling up his horse. “ For my part, I am not suited for family scenes and prefer the tavern in yonder village. Besides, there may be news to learn. Later we shall meet and arrange our plans. In the meantime, haste onward; we have work to do, and it is better that wa get at it quickly.” It seemed better so. I gave him the road to the valley, arranging to meet him some hours hence, and there left him, he taking his way toward the village, ridiijg easily, with a long brown bundle swinging from his saddle bow, and I to spur onward, burning with impatience to learn what had transpired during my long absence. I skirted the ridge and took my way along the plantation road. I was prepared to see the plantation fields deserted, for I knew the negroes had gone long before, but half an hour later, when I passed through the abandoned negro quarters and came in sight of the white columns of the Carriston mansion, I was surprised to see that the shutters were up and that nd smoke was issuing from the chimneys. It occurred to me that the inmates might not yet be up, and 1

rode around to the back to find a servant to take my horse.

Hut a vague fear possessed me.

An old negro was sitting in the doorway of an out-house, smoking. When he saw me he dropped his pipe and tottered up. his white eyes rolling. “Hit’s Marse Jack!” he stammered. “Marse Jack’s come back. Glory be to de Lawd! Now li’l*. Mistis shore’ll be happy!”

“Your mistress is not up yet! How is she? And how is Uncle Peyton? Why don’t those lazy darkies open the house!”

“Marse Peyton! W’y, di’n’ yo’ hear Marse Jack? W’y, ole Marse he done gone to glory free weeks gone. Dey ain’t no darkies o’ny ole Molly an’ me. . . . Bress de Lawd! Dey did go fer to say yo’ runned away—dem no ’count folks in de village. Li’l’ mistis wuz dat lonesome she go down wid de ole doetah’s for free—four days. She done think yo’ cornin’ back, dough ” I listened to the old fellow’s mumbling in a half dream. This was the meaning of the silence and the closed house, then? And for weeks she had been alone here, during my useless wandering and plotting? I was not unprepared to hear of the passing of Uncle Peyton. But little Beatrice?

In my selfish negligence I had not thought what that would mean to her, and now the picture came to me of that brave-hearted little girl waiting day after day in the great empty house, with two old negroes for comapnions—waiting for

what? For me to return empty-hauded as I had gone!

But was it empty-handed. The thought of Casenaro Hashed over me and remorse gave way to rage. They had all given their lives in the bitter feud. She had played her part a s bravely as the others. Now it was time for me to act! She was safe, for a time, at least, and l with friends. \\ ell. much as I hungered to see her again, that meeting must wait until I snatched the reins from old Bob, and bidding him say nothing of my coming, but to prepare for the reception of Casenaro and myself later in the day, turned my horse’s head again down the path. Beatrice would not return again for two days, he had told me, and maybe longer, unless she heard from me. Well, that ought to give me time. It was long before the time wc had arranged to meet on the bridge road, but I was not in a mood even to feel surprised when I found Casenaro there before me. When he saw my face he gave a great shout. “ Ah. I perceive something has happened, and now some one will suffer, eh. Jacques! Sapristi! 1 heard something of it in the village; of the old uncle and the cousin.” 1 told him there was nothing to keep us from the house now . and he agreeing with me that it was safer there, we rode baea. I saw that his meagre belongings, with the brown bundle, were still strapped to his saddle. , “ We shall need our tools this night,”

ho said, following my glance with a glitter in his cold old eyes. “ Ah, old Caosenaro can gather milch that is of interest in a short time! From your fine mansion we shall send a love-letter to friend De Uasnierres.” “ He is there, then?” ’“Surely. Did I not say so? He is there, and this very night—think on it, my duellist? this very night- he gives a party of pleasure—a ball. To this ball We shall go.” “(Jo to a ball in that place—at Taliaferro? You mu tbe drunk or crazy! ” 1 cried, hot with anger. “ Patience, friend Jacques! This ball shall not be altogether of dancing and feasting.” He slapped his hand on the brown bundle. “ Our straight, white friends go with us. Besides, ’tis a ball of masquerade—of masquerade, my word! ” lie threw back his hoary head and laughed long and loud. Before the lire, in the great hall of (arriston, when old Bob had been despatched with Casenaro’s letter to De •Basnierres, wo rehearsed the parts we were to play in the desperate venture tn which we were both committed beyond! retreat — oven if either .had such a thought. “ It is as simple as smoking this cigarette (jr mine,” the obi plotter said. *• Does not he himself make it fall easily to our hand? We have agreed. Thou ishalt become Casenaro and- Casenaro —- oh, strange transformation —shall become Jacques. I, Casenaro yet, with my wigs and grease-paint, my powder and rouge, shall accomplish it. Wo shall become maskers among maskers! ” “ But if you kill him- in his own house •—and in masquerade? To pursue the feud as we proposed Ibefore had seemed hazardous enough—but we had intended to do it, as my cousins iliati met the Frenchman, in the open. And now, this opportunity Casenaro was «so anxious to grasp seemed doubly complicated. But he would not be turned (from his purpose. “Suppose we do!” he cried. “What then are we here for? Besides, it is too Hate to draw back now. Judge if 1 am mot right when his answer comes. There is no drawing' back. Unless you tight (this jackal he will seize thi-s plantation, tis he has brought it to ruin.” “If you tight him, with that worthless arm, he will kill you. Think of some one else, my friend! If you leave him in peace, in this country of yours, so chivalrous, so delica.te of honour, can .you hold your own? No. He will not spare you, know that; for 1 know him of old.” . “ ’ “Do yon know De Basnierres? You have met him before, then?” 1 remembered his attitude when 1 had first mentioned the Frenchman’s name -to him in New Orleans, and the many questions he had asked. A vague suspicion was roused in my mind. “Only through ’your excellent descriptions,” he returned quickly. “1 mean, I know the nature of these old swordsmen. 3, too, have been of them.” “-Suppose ho should decline the challenge?” 'Casenaro smiled grimly. “Then, old as he is, he had better leave the country. But be not afraid; this man will be glad, glad to see us. And even if our disguises were not as clever as they shall be, still, he will be gl.ul to see us. Trust me.” It was the fear .merely that our mad plan of changed identity ’should be deflected that had led me into the discussion, and the smile t hat seemed to speak of some secret knowledge or power that came over Casenaro’s face when I *iou<*h(ul on this led me almost to believe /that the old swordsman was plotting Home plot within our plot, i But I could Biot bring myself to think that he was plotting against me. and for the rest I cared naught. “For my part, I shall take a nap,” Casenaro said, yawning. “This night -we shall get. u little sleep; for, never fear, we shall be guests at the De Basnierres ball welcome guests!” “What did you write him?” I asked; I had for the moment, forgotten the let* Mor, which ( asenaro had not shown me Ibefore sending, “Merely an acceptance to lhai challenge he nude you when you and your Cousin Clay (so re/reHed) spoke at night with the’ jackal at his house ami ihe displayed Ids favourite rapier. It is a little irregular, but wo have a choice of /weapons, and 1 that is, you well, Gaston then chose De Basnierres r own favofintd swords.* Ah, I am hungry for the time to come. Still, 1 will sleep.”

An hour later old Bob rode up the path on Casenaro’s horse, and, going out to receive the mess-age he brought, I stopped and surveyed Casenaro’s slumbering form. He. slept quietly as a child, and on his face I read only perfect contentment. Although the Frenchman’s letter was addressed to Casenarc (“Monsieur Casenaro,” in plain effect-), knowing the formal nature of the contents, I did not scruple to open it without disturbing him. The letter ran: M. De Basnierres will be charmed with the presence at his house tonight, at twelve, of his old acquaintance Gaston Carriston and M. Casenaro. A curious challenge, and a curious method of acceptance! There was another slip of paper enclosed, upon which was pencilled in French: Overjoyed at the opportunity, after all these years, old comrade of the sword. I needed nothing more to convince me that there was a secret understanding between the two old bravos; but it made me the more willing to go on. It might be these two duellists had met in the past and were embracing another opportunity to meet and cross swords. It was too late for me to question plots or methods.

I could not cavil at Casenaro if he were seizing a chance to satisfy an old grudge, or whatever might be between them, when I considered the part that

I myself, in my very helplessness, was constrained to pl-ay. But I was doing it for her. I was giving De Basnierres a chance he did not deserve—for he had murdered in cold blood.

It was not through sympathy for him that I had felt, myself waver for an instant; and, in the hope of what success might bring forth, I forX'l myself not to look too .closely into the role I was about to assume. My heart was with Beatrice down in the little village, and there it strayed with my thoughts and yearnings while the long afternoon wore away...

I must have slept, for it was dark when ! roused from my seat before the smouldering fire - and I heard Casenaro moving about in The iipptg’ j-qbjris. When hg canje down, in momentary forgetfulness t-stared in wonder at .-his-changed appearance. He had shaved. off his long white moustache and had covered his grizzled head with a black wig. His face, was

smooth and wrinkleness with cosmetic that showed mask-like under the light of the candles. I told him so, but he was satisfied with what he had achieved. “Bali! What matters, among maskers?” he said. “Come and get fixed up in my old shell, Jacques; we must be beforehand with time, for we leave at eleven. This I have told our faithful blackamoor, who thinks I am the devil. Besides, be-

tween this and that, sapper is to come.”

His face was flushed, even under the thick rouge, and his eyes sparkled. I found a bottle upon the library table, (the opened letter was there, too, but he did not refer to it) and taxed him with the imprudence of it. “Bah!" he said, shrugging his shoulders •contemptuously. “All the liquor in the world could not throw me to-night, 'there's a bigger intoxicant toward.” ■ “It’s an ill-chosen time to start the drink,” said I. While he raged at me, in his old way, I put the boltle in a locker, out of reach, and then, in his old way, too, he started to stroke his moustache, with that wicked leer in his eyes, and broke into a loud laugh when his fingers encountered his smooth-shaven lip. Afterward, when a better understanding had been established, we went up-stairs, where he had tits brushes and powders, rouge and paints and dyes spread out over a table, and where he tried his hand on me; To such good effect, too, that, he had given the last finishing touch to my face and head, 1 stared into the mirror with a kind of admiration for liis ,art. It was Casenaro’s own self that stared back at mo, and Ire leaned back in his chair, brush in hand, and surveyed me with a self-satisfied air, looking wondripisly young and devilish in his own make-up. now that the lamplight toned

down its incongruous roughness. “Pretty good, ch, Jacques?” “They’ll think we’re a pair of drunken actors,” said I. ‘They’ll think nothing," he replied

calmly; “that will i>e our sah'atib'n. ’Hie flrink will make common c<aiiSe v with us, for they will be drunk, never fear, therefore, we’ll ride slowly, all on the

road to Taliaferro, that they may grow more ribald yet. “For the grass was green And the sky was blue, All on the road to Moscow though I trust we shall come back in better case than poor Corporal Violette.” Surely we were a strange pair, sitting at supper in the dining-hall of Carriston that night, and the eyes of the old black (our sole and solitary servitor) protruded from their sockets wjth the strangeness of it, and I heard him muttering in fear as he. stumbled, pursued by Casenaro’s mad fancies until he went well-night oil his rickety old head. We smoked after supper for an hour, and when I went to order the old fellow to saddle and bring round the horses, he had disappeared, but the horses were there, tied to the post at the door, equipped and ready. As I mounted, • heard the sound of a voice in the outhouse and listened at the doorway, while Casenaro strapped to his pommel a long brown bundle that clanked with the sound of steel. The old slave was kneeling by the fireplace, close to the dying embers, and I listened to him in idlo curiosit v.

“Ya-as,” I heard him mutter, “dis yere ole nigguh’s done gone mad wif mis’ry. Dis am Friday, en’ de blue ay he’s done gone. Ebery Friday- dat ole blue ay goes ov’ yonduh, sah, en’ dis tahme he done cotched ole Bob en’ tuck him along! Dat’s h’y ole Bob done gone mad, sail.

“Yere’s dat wicked Mahs’ Jack Spanner done t’n inter Mahs’ Cas’narrer, en’ Mahs’ Cas’narrer, en’ Mahs’ Cas’narrer tu’n inter Mahs Jack, right afore ole Bob’s own eyes; en’ dat’s proof I’se gone ’long o’ dat ’dick’lous ole blue jay, sah! Ole Bob (poor ole Bob!) he’s a mis’ble sinnuh, sah.”

Casenaro called to me and we rode away, muffled in our horsemen's cloaks, bent on taking fate by the throat.

“And now to Taliaferro!” Casenaro cut the air suddenly and savagely with his riding-whip. “To Taliaferro. To De Basnierres the Terrible, Jacques. To the long knife again, my comrade! Aye, that, is where we two are bound tliis December, pight of.our rising fortunes—to lay a devil. He is a devil, and I have made such devils my particular, st ucly; we .will exorcise this devil!”

He peered curiously at me in the moonlight we -pounded along over tlie ejay road. I had a cold fear in me that the liquor was talking, and made no response.

An owl hooted evilly in the pines. There was a mackerel sky overhead, with an occasional black cloud leaping across the hite ridges as I had seen a collie dog running over sheeps’ backs in the Tennessee grass countries. A catbird sounded a note plaintive as a child’s cry. Hush, Baby Bunting, Your father’s at the hunting,” sang Casenaro, laughing softly. A spot of red-marsh opened out on our left, and a bunch of kildees fluttered up as we passed, and darted away; complaining. Ihe night would be black enough now but for the occasional glimpses*we caught of the moon, pale and melancholy, through the parting cloud-rifts. In a narrow part of the road my horse jostled against that of Caseharto as ke rode side by side, and there was a ranking Of steel from the long brown parcel which ■ he carried at his saddle-bow. “Fitting fools for the last act!” he cried gaily; 1 • ■ “A sword for Honour, '- A sword for Love ——” “You are deejf in with inc, Oaseriartt, are you not?” said I, touched, for Hie moment, with his plainly shown fidelity and forgetting ifiy recent suspicions. • “Comrade,” said he, placing His hand upon my arm for a moment, his voice expressing a kind of solemn joy—“cdjhrade, of all things that to me, old Casenaro, in my life hayc come, most- do I love this house that Jacques bililt!” CHAPTER V. TO THE DEATH! Half an li’biir Afterward wo rode through the firs arid oaks of Taliaferro. A glare of light, strains Of riirilSic, arid the sound of dancing feet floated out of the old house and struck upon our utu'l

as we rode across the leaf-strewn park. The old place was in a garish glare, gleaming with light through the surrounding gloom, and dating figures of strangely costumed men and women flitted behind lace-decked windows.'

“We are making a fete of it, it appears,’’ said Casenaro, laughing softly. “‘A sound of revelry by night.’ Hola! An ancient and wrinkled greybeard, with • plantation like Taliaferro, is not a bad catch for scheming ms. mas burdened with aeantifui, blooming, white-skinned daughters. Oh, these dear ladies! Let us get in to our work.”

Some negroes ran up to take the horses, and Casenaro unbuckled the long, clanking bundle from his saddle, throwing it to a grinning darky. Then we dismounted and entered the house. Across the wide hall, soft with tinted lights, we saw the grotesque company in the ballroom. Casenaro stood looking on, chuckling. “Ah, this is droll now! Oh, Basnierres, the old villian!” Standing in the midst of a laughing group, arrayed in the dandyish attire of an exquisite of the Empire, a beautiful girl hanging on his arm, ogling him with languishing eyes, was the smiling Chev-

alier Armand Valois De Basnierres, Maitre d’Armes des Academies du Roi; Maitre de la Compagnie des Maitres d’Arfnes in Paris—and Heaven knows how many other maitres that I have forgotten; there were a many of them, but those only I knew. He was an exalted man-killer. His eyes fell upon us, muffled in our cloaks', and he came out, bidding us follow him up the broad stairway into a large upper department garnished with candelabra. In this room we found a dozen men, and others followed us. Evidently, we had been expected for some time, and the Frenchman had made his preparations. Except Selden, a planter, the company were strangers to me. He took from the mantel a package, which I saw to be a deck of playing-cards. These he handed by chance or design to Selden. “The arrangement is to draw cards for position,” he said; “the lights are not of the best. Diable! ’Tis a great combinaton, eh, Carriston?” He grinned into Casenaro’s face, a grin that combined malice and sy.,tisfaction, as though something had come to him—a chance ,or opportunity khat he had long waited for. That the man was not deceived, I plainly saw. The man with the cards shuffled them. “The knave of diamonds,’’ said Casenaro, carelessly tossing aside his coat and loosening his cravat. “Choose for me, Selden,” said the Frenchman; ’’l’ll back your Scotch luck.” “Then ye’ll take the nine o’ hearts, and much good ye may get out of it,” returned the other, fluttering the cards to the floor. He held up one presently with a grin: “There it is—the Curse o’ Scotland! There’s luck for ye, Monsieur Frenchman!” The brown parcel, which contained several long rapiers in their leathern cases, was unfastened and the swords thrown upon the floor. De Basnierres picked up the first that came to his hand, his bony fingers gripping and squeezing the hilt in a way that made the muscles of his bared scrawny arm stand out like wires of steti, Casenaro, however, looked to his blade carefully, drawing the funnel flat across his forearm, eyeing it critically.

he said, “and in that case it may inThis Lade has a rust-spot upon it,” convenience you when I pass it through your body, Basnierres, eh?” “Bali! I will endeavour to shorten your regret for the so unfortunate occurrence, then,” answered the other, shrugging his shoulders. Standing near the open window. I heard a horse on the path without, and looked down, putting the curtains aside. In the glare of light I saw Loris, the old doctor, dismounting at the door. A sudden fear came over me that, she had knowledge of what was toward. In another moment the door opened and Lor.s entered the room. Casenaro lowered his .weapon, and the Frenchman surveyed the old doctor with a scowl. “What is the meaning of this visit so unannounced?” he asked. Loris closed the door and placed his back against it. “I have conic here to find Gaston Carriston,’! he said stoutly. “I’ll have a word with him. Ah, he’s here!” His eyes bad fallen upon Casenaro. Before he could go on Casenaro had •prung to hia side and whispered eagerly

in his ear. A look of amazement came over Loris’s face, and his gaze wandered to where I stood. He smiled grimly, and nodded to De Basnierres as Casenaro resumed his place in the middle of the room.

“I’ll look on if I don’t intrude,” the doctor said. “It’s a little game of chance, gentlemen, eh?” “Truly, a game of beggar your neighbour,” Casenaro said with a laugh. “This is an estimable doctor. Besides, he may w® useful. Let us proceed.” The room went silent, and then came the shimmering click of the rapiers. For several minutes the two masters fenced easily but with marvellous skill. I had many times seen Casenaro handle the rapiers, but I had never seen him as he was now, and truly no man but this man before him could match him. Then came a change, and the duellists thrust and parried with deadly purpose, eyeing each other with pin-points of vision, Casenaro twitting the other as they fought. The men in the room had ringed and pressed in upon the duellists, breathless and white-faced. But neither Casenaro nor De Basnierres, taunting and sneering, cursing each other, savage and low Tvoiced, took note of aught but their own dazzling sword-play. The Frenchman of Taliaferro grew paler and paler, and a strange haunted look crept into his cruel, cold eyes, while Casenaro railed at him with bitter, scathing cries, meeting the flashes of those lightning thrusts with a consummate coolness and address, and set him —who had been the best swordsman in all France desperate and lank-jawed with fear. Fear! It was on De Basnierres s face for all men to read. And through it all there was the same undercurrent of intelligence between the two men—an intimate knowledge of each other that broke out plainly when De Basnierres, failing in a thrust under the guard, staggered back, Casenaro following, lunging, not at him, but at his sword-hilt. “Thou fool!” Casenaro cried. “Did I not teach thee once the risk of that (.stroke? Remember Freyville! Remember Danet!” Instantly came the thud of his point against the other’s hilt; the Frenchfnan’s rapier left his band, clanged against the ceiling, and rebounded to the floor. Upon this the crowd purged back again, leaving the combatants glaring at each other, breathing lou£ and hoarsely, De Basnierres with expectant, agonised face and outstretched arms, and Casenaro with his point upon the floor, grimly smiling. “Strike, fool—strike!” screamed the Frenchman, staggering toward him and frothing at the mouth. “Don’t shame me, you!”

Casenaro put his hand upon the ok 1 man’s breast, and shoved him back, still laughing. “Oh, no, Basnierres, old fox! You deserve another chance, for old times in Paris.” He stooped and picked De Basnierres’s sword from the ground and stood holding it by the blade. “We will settle a method, eh, comrade of old? You could never fence fair —never; so I often told you. Look, then, the rules are off—Spanish, Italian, French. I will fight you by the free school, and show you a trick. Bah! You gentlemen, keep back! This is our quarrel—a longstanding one, too.” He struck savagely with his swordhilt at the nearest man as they again gathered in upon him. "Look to your safety, and stand back, will you?” He tossed De Basnierres’s sword to him. and the other picked up the weapon sullenly, his shifty eye rolling from side to side, like a wild beast seeking an avenue of escape. Casenaro, warning the menacing crowd, had momentarily turned from him, when suddenly the Frenchman shifted his rapier from his right hand to his left and lunged viciously, his blade just missing Casenaro and slithering against his side. "Ah, you would, canaille!” Casenaro hissed. "Wait, then!” He leaped back and whirled his blade through the air, crying (as I had once before heard De Basnierres cry) “A mort I”

The sword flew round at arm’s length until it sung and whistled in its course, cutting the air in circles of light. With a shout of “A pig’s death, assassin!” he shot the rapier from his hand straight for De Basnierres’ breast. There was a ery of fear, changing to amazement and wonder us De Busnier-

res, lurching to one side, caught the blade through the muscles of his arm find sprang up, lurch shrdlu cinfwyp and sprang up, lunging forward, passing his sword through Casenaro’s throat yitli a force that brought the bar of the brass guard crashing against his chin and mouth with a rattling thud and forcing him luickward to the iloor with a hissing cry of agony.

De Basnierres whipped out the dripping blade with a savage jerk and dropped on his hands ami knees beside the fallen man, his seamed face working with sudden fear and alarm. “Jean! Jean!” he cried, hoarsely, Tolling the other’s head under his hand. “Ah, it was too high. The lights deceived me. Quick! Quick! The surgeon! lie will die!”

As Loris sprang forward Casenaro feebly waved him aside. His glazing eyes were fixed upon De Basnierres’s face. He strove to speak, but the blood trickled from his lips, and no sound came. His head twisted around, and I saw’ he was trying to seek me out, his painted face distorted with pain. He made a motion of his arm as if in farewell, and lay still.

A change had come over De Basnierres’s wicked old face as he leaned over the swordsman stammering and Availing:

“I aimed for the shoulder, Jean —for the shoulder. Ah! I did not mean it to end so—after all these years. I only meant to cross swords once more before the end. Mon Dieu! He will die! He jvill die !” A sobbing breath of waltz music came tip from the ballroom. Casenaro’s lips were tortured into a faint, twitching smile. He cast his glazing eyes once more around the circle of awestruck faces. His arm was lifted slowly, fell back, and lifted again in a last spasmodic movement of the muscles and was Hung about De Basnierres’s neck, lie struggled to speak; the blood trickled from his lips, and his arm fell back upon the floor.

From the ballroom below came the soft wail of music and the shuffling of dancing feet. I stood wavering, irresolute what to do, when a hand gripped my arm and Loris’s hoarse voice whispered in my car:

“Get gone. Jack. He told me about it; I know how it is, lad; there’ll be no discovery. Go, I tell ye; she’s waiting for you at the plantation. 'Twas she tent me!”

The words rang in my ear as T sped away through the darkness to Carriston. The plot had failed. Well, what more was there to do? 1 saw now’ that the two swordsmen had met with perfect understanding. Whether Gaston Carriston was to remain dead in the person of Casenaro was the business of Loris. 1 gave little thought to that. “She’s waiting for you!” That was all I cared f<^. 1 would plan later.

When I reached Carriston I Hung my Relf from my horse. A little black robed figure was waiting at the door. It was Trix,

She drew me into the great hall, and with her hand on my ar;n, looked up into my face. Her own was pale, but there was a light in her eves that 1 had thought on for many, many weary weeks.

I turned my eyes away, but she drew Inc down into a chair beside her. “Tell me all about it. Jack,’’ she whis--1 I spared myself nothing. I told her of the long struggle in New Orleans, of how I had met Casenaro, of the plot we had arranged to save the old plantation, and of his plan to meet his ancient enemy. I told her of that farcical masquerade, and of how we had gone to the Frenchman’s house determined to put everything to the touch. And finally of the coming of Ix>ris, and of the failure. She listened quietly until I had finished; then she spoke.

“It was not your fault, Jack,” she Baid in her sweet way. “You did the best you could, poor boy—with your helpless arm. You thought it was for the honour of the family. Jack. It was a great mistake —and now ” A thought came to me like a Hash from the sky. “And now," I said, “there is a great war on. Gaston Carriston is dead, in the home of his fraternal enemies. Oh, Trial but for fear of joy, and what will become of you ” Her eyes flashed in the firelight. “Yjuu are right. Jack,” she said. “There lie* your putli, Ho not fear for Bic, Thera are friends who will protect

me while you are gone. Oh, it breaks my heart to send you away again—the last of our dear old home!”

Her voice broke. She was sobbing on my shoulder, but when she lifted hetface I saw that in her dear eyes which drove from my brain all the doubt and trouble that had possessed me so many days.

Softly I lifted her face to mine and bent my head; her arms stole around my neck, and I knew that forgiveness had come from one I loved dearest on earth.

“Go, Jack,” she said, clinging to me. ‘‘But come back to me; come back victorious and brave; come back to the old home when all is forgotten. You will find me waiting. Good-by, sweetheart!” Dawn was breaking when we parted. At the top of the bridle-path I turned to look back. In the dim light again the slender little figure stood on the veranda of the mansion and waved to me farewell.

Then I turned my face to the North, where a greater feud than ours was raging, and before me I saw glory—honour —happiness to come. For after the war I knew I should come into my own.