"Almighty G.o.d," prayed the old man--"me an' Cap'n Tom an' Jack Bracken here, we thank You for bein' so much kinder to us than we deserves. One of us, lost to his friends, is brought back home; one of us, lost in wickedness but yestiddy, is redeemed to-day; an' me that doubted You only yestiddy, to me You have fotcht Cap'n Tom back, a reproach for my doubts an' my disbelief, lame in his head, it is true, but You've fotcht him back where I can keer for him an' nuss him. An' I hope You'll see fit, Almighty G.o.d, You who made the worl'

an' holds it in the hollow of Yo' han', You, who raised up the dead Christ, to give po' Cap'n Tom back his reason, that he may fulfill the things in life ordained by You that he should fulfill since the beginning of things.

"An' hold Jack Bracken to the mark, Almighty G.o.d,--let him toe the line an' shoot, hereafter, only for good. An' guide me, for I need it--me that in spite of all You've done for me, doubted You but yestiddy. Amen."

It was a simple, homely prayer, but it comforted even Captain Tom, and when Jack Bracken put him to bed that night, even the outlaw felt that the morning of a new era would awaken them.

CHAPTER X

THE SWAN-SONG OF THE CREPE-MYRTLE

It was twilight when Mrs. Westmore heard the clatter of horses' hoofs up the gravelled roadway, and two riders cantered up.

Richard Travis sat his saddle horse in the slightly stooping way of the old fox-hunter--not the most graceful seat, but the most natural and comfortable for hard riding. Alice galloped ahead--her fine square shoulders and delicate but graceful bust silhouetted against the western sky in the fading light.

Mrs. Westmore sat on the veranda and watched them canter up. She thought how handsome they were, and how well they would look always together.

Alice sprang lightly from her mare at the front steps.

"Did you think we were never coming back? Richard's new mare rides so delightfully that we rode farther than we intended. Oh, but she canters beautifully!"

She sat on the arm of her mother's chair, and bent over and kissed her cheek. The mother looked up to see her finely turned profile outlined in a pale pink flush of western sky which glowed behind her.

Her cheeks were of the same tinge as the sky. They glowed with the flush of the gallop, and her eyes were bright with the happiness of it. She sat telling of the new mare's wonderfully correct saddle gaits, flipping her ungloved hand with the gauntlet she had just pulled off.

Travis turned the horses over to Jim and came up.

"Glad to see you, Cousin Alethea," he said, as she arose and advanced gracefully to meet him--"no, no--don't rise," he added in his half jolly, half commanding way. "You've met me before and I'm not such a big man as I seem." He laughed: "Do you remember Giant Jim, the big negro Grandfather used to have to oversee his hands on the lower place? Jim, you know, in consideration of his elevation, was granted several privileges not allowed the others. Among them was the privilege of getting drunk every Sat.u.r.day night. Then it was he would stalk and brag among those he ruled while they looked at him in awe and reverence. But he had the touch of the philosopher in him and would finally say: 'Come, touch me, boys; come, look at me; come, feel me--I'm nothin' but a common man, although I appear so big.'"

Mrs. Westmore laughed in her mechanical way, but all the while she was looking at Alice, who was watching the mare as she was led off.

Travis caught her eye and winked mischievously as he added: "Now, Cousin Alethea, you must promise me to make Alice ride her whenever she needs a tonic--every day, if necessary. I have bought her for Alice, and she must get the benefit of her before it grows too cold."

He turned to Alice Westmore: "You have only to tell me which days--if I am too busy to go with you--Jim will bring her over."

She smiled: "You are too kind, Richard, always thinking of my pleasure. A ride like this once a week is tonic enough."

She went into the house to change her habit. Her brother Clay, who had been sitting on the far end of the porch un.o.bserved, arose and, without noticing Travis as he pa.s.sed, walked into the house.

"I cannot imagine," said Mrs. Westmore apologetically, "what is the matter with Clay to-day."

"Why?" asked Travis indifferently enough.

"He has neglected his geological specimens all day, nor has he ever been near his laboratory--he has one room he calls his laboratory, you know. To-night he is moody and troubled."

Travis said nothing. At tea Clay was not there.

When Travis left it was still early and Alice walked with him to the big gate. The moon shone dimly and the cool, pure light lay over everything like the first mist of frost in November. Beyond, in the field, where it struck into the open cotton bolls, it turned them into December snow-banks.

Travis led his saddle horse, and as they walked to the gate, the sweet and scarcely perceptible odor of the crepe-myrtle floated out on the open air.

The crepe-myrtle has a way of surprising us now and then, and often after a wet fall, it gives us the swan-song of a bloom, ere its delicate blossoms, touched to death by frost, close forever their scalloped pink eyes, on the rare summer of a life as spiritual as the sweet soft gulf winds which brought it to life.

Was it symbolic to-night,--the swan-song of the romance of Alice Westmore's life, begun under those very trees so many summers ago?

They stopped at the gate. Richard Travis lit a cigar before mounting his horse. He seemed at times to-night restless, yet always determined.

She had never seen him so nearly preoccupied as he had been once or twice to-night.

"Do you not think?" he asked, after a while as they stood by the gate, "that I should have a sweet answer soon?"

Her eyes fell. The death song of the crepe-myrtle, aroused by a south wind suddenly awakened, smote her painfully.

"You know--you know how it is, Richard"--

"How it was--Alice. But think--life is a practical--a serious thing.

We all have had our romances. They are the heritage of dreaming youth. We outlive them--it is best that we should. Our spiritual life follows the law of all other life, and spiritually we are not the same this year that we were last. Nor will we be the next. It is always change--change--even as the body changes. Environment has more to do with what we are, what we think and feel--than anything else. If you will marry me you will soon love me--it is the law of love to beget love. You will forget all the lesser loves in the great love of your life. Do you not know it, feel it, Sweet?"

She looked at him surprised. Never before had he used any term of endearment to her. There was a hard, still and subtle yet determined light in his eyes.

"Richard--Richard--you--I"--

"See," he said, taking from his vest pocket a magnificent ring set in an exquisite old setting--inherited from his grandmother, and it had been her engagement ring. "See, Alice, let me put this on to-night."

He took her hand--it thrilled him as he had never been thrilled before. This impure man, who had made the winning of women a plaything, trembled with the fear of it as he took in his own the hand so pure that not even his touch could awaken sensuality in it.

The odor of her beautiful hair floated up to him as he bent over. A wave of hot pa.s.sion swept over him--for with him love was pa.s.sion--and his reason, for a moment, was swept from its seat. Then almost beside himself for love of this woman, so different from any he had ever known, he opened his arms to fold her in one overpowering, conquering embrace.

It was but a second and more a habit than thought--he who had never before hesitated to do it.

She stepped back and the hot blood mounted to her cheek. Her eyes shone like outraged stars, dreaming earthward on a sleeping past, unwarningly obscured by a pa.s.sing cloud, and then flashing out into the night, more brightly from the contrast.

She did not speak and he crunched under his feet, purposely, the turf he was standing on, and so carrying out, naturally, the gesture of clasping the air, in establishing his balance--as if it was an accident.

She let him believe she thought it was, and secured relief from the incident.

"Alice--Alice!" he exclaimed. "I love you--love you--I must have you in my life! Can you not wear this now? See!"

He tried to place it on her finger. He held the small beautiful hand in his own. Then it suddenly withdrew itself and left him holding his ring and looking wonderingly at her.

She had thrown back her head, and, half turned, was looking toward the crepe-myrtle tree from which the faint odor came.

"You had better go, Richard," was all she said.

"I'll come for my answer--soon?" he asked.

She was silent.