TWO days after McLeod and his bride reached Asheville on their wedding trip, General Worth received a letter which threw him into a paroxysm of rage. Sallie’s wedding had been fixed for the day of the inauguration of the Governor. The invitations were out and society in a flutter of comment and gossip over the romantic and brilliant career of young Gaston, and his luck in winning power, love, and fortune in a day.

The letter was from McLeod, at Asheville, informing him that his daughter was already married, and that Gaston was simply seeking his fortune by a subterfuge, and showing his power over him by humiliating him at the last moment before the world. He enclosed a transcript of the marriage record, signed by the Rev. John Durham, and witnessed by Mrs. Durham and Stella Holt. This record was certified before the Clerk of the Court and bore his seal. There was no doubt whatever of the facts.

When the General handed this letter to Sallie she flushed, looked wistfully into his face, saw its hard expression of speechless anger, turned pale and burst into tears.

Her father without a word went to his room, and locked himself in for twenty-four hours, refusing to see her or speak to her.

On the following day she forced her way into his presence, and they had the last great battle of wills. All the iron power of his unconquered pride, accustomed for a lifetime to command men and receive instant obedience, was roused to the pitch of madness.

“If you marry him I swear to you a thousand times you shall never cross my doorstep, and you shall never receive one penny of my fortune. He is a gambler and an adventurer, and seeks to make me a laughing stock for the world!”

“Papa, nothing could be further from his thoughts. He has always loved and respected you. I assume all the responsibility for our secret marriage.”

“Then sharper than a serpent’s tooth is the ingratitude of a disobedient child!”

“But, Papa, I waited five years of patient suffering trying to obey you,” she protested.

“I had rather see you dead than to see you marry that man now, and have him sneer his triumph in my face.”

“We are already married. Why talk like that?” she pleaded tearfully.

“I deny it. I am going to annul that marriage. Felony is ground for the dissolution of the marriage tie. A ceremony performed under such conditions, when one of the parties is in prison charged with felony without bail, is illegal, and I ’ll show it. The lawyers will be here in an hour and I will take action to-morrow.”

“Never, with my consent!” she firmly replied. She left the room, consulted with her mother, and hastily despatched a telegram to Hambright summoning Gaston to Independence immediately.

When this telegram came he was in his office hard at work on his inaugural address, outlining the policy of his administration. He was in a heated argument with the Preacher about the article on education, which followed his recommendation of the disfranchisement of the Negro.

He had advised large appropriations for the industrial training of negroes along the lines of the new movement of their more sober leaders.

“It’s a mistake,” argued the Preacher, “if the Negro is made master of the industries of the South he will become the master of the South. Sooner than allow him to take the bread from their mouths, the white men will kill him here, as they do North, when the struggle for bread becomes as tragic. The Negro must ultimately leave this continent. You might as well begin to prepare for it.”

“But we propose to train him principally in Agriculture. We need millions of good farmers,” persisted Gaston.

“So much the worse, I tell you,” replied the Preacher. “Make the Negro a scientific and successful farmer, and let him plant his feet deep in your soil, and it will mean a race war.”

“It seems to me impracticable ever to move him.”

“Why?” asked the Preacher. “Those over certain ages can be left to end their days here. The Negro has cost us already the loss of $7,000,000,000, a war that killed a half million men, the debauchery of our suffrage, the corruption of our life, and threatens the future with anarchy. Lincoln was right when he said, ‘There is a physical difference between the white and the black races, which I believe will forever forbid them living together on terms of social and political equality.’

“Even you are still labouring under the delusions of ‘Reconstruction.’ The Ethiopian can not change his skin, or the leopard his spots. Those who think it possible will always tell you that the place to work this miracle is in the South. Exactly. If a man really believes in equality, let him prove it by giving his daughter to a negro in marriage. That is the test. When she sinks with her mulatto children into the black abyss of a Negroid life, then ask him! Your scheme of education is humbug. You don’t believe that any amount of education can fit a negro to rule an Anglo-Saxon, or to marry his daughter. Then don’t be a hypocrite.”

“But can we afford to stop his education?”

“The more you educate, the more impossible you make his position in a democracy. Education! Can you change the colour of his skin, the kink of his hair, the bulge of his lips, the spread of his nose, or the beat of his heart, with a spelling book? The Negro is the human donkey. You can train him, but you can’t make of him a horse. Mate him with a horse, you lose the horse, and get a larger donkey called a mule, incapable of preserving his species. What is called our race prejudice is simply God’s first law of nature—the instinct of selfpreservation.”

Gaston was gazing at the ceiling with an absent look in his eyes and a smile playing around his lips.

“You are not listening to me now, you young rascal! You are dreaming about your bride.”

Gaston quickly lowered his eyes, and saw the messenger boy who had been standing several minutes with his telegram.

He read Sallie’s message with amazement.

“What can that mean?” He handed the telegram to the Preacher.

“It means he has discovered the facts, and there is going to be trouble. He is a man of terrific passions when his pride is roused.”

“I must go immediately.”

He closed his office and caught his train after a hard drive. When he reached Independence he sprang into a carriage and ordered the driver to take him direct to Oakwood. What had happened he did not know and he did not care. Of one thing he was now sure—Sallie’s love and the swift end of their separation.

His heart was singing with a great joy as he drove over the familiar avenue through the deep shadows of the woods, and turning through the gate saw the light gleaming from her room.

“God bless her, she’s mine now—I hope I can take her home to-night!” he cried.