AS THE hour approached for the masqueraders to appear at the Judge’s John Graham was drawn to the spot by an irresistible impulse. He stood in the shadows of the trees on the sidewalk and watched the little squadron of white and scarlet horsemen wheel into the gate past Isaac’s cottage, and gallop swiftly up to the front door of the old mansion.

They had scarcely passed when Isaac suddenly stepped from the shrubbery through the open gateway and ran into him.

The Apostle gasped in terror:

“De Lawd, marse John, I thought you wuz one er dem ghostes—‘scuse me, sah, I’se er gettin’ away from here!”

John made no reply, merely watching him until he disappeared.

Again he turned toward the house. Every window was gleaming with light. The subdued strains of a string band came stealing through the trailing roses on the porch, and he fancied he could catch the odour of the flowers in their sweet notes. Scarcely knowing what he did, he strolled into the lawn and sank on a rustic bench with a groan. He could hear the gay banter of the masqueraders and the peals of girlish laughter with which their tomfoolery was being received.

A mocking bird began singing in the tree above him, roused by the music of the band. Far off in the corner of the lawn in the clump of holly and cedars at the entrance of the vault a whippoorwill was making the ravine ring with the weird notes of his ghost-like call. The moon flooded the scene with silvery splendour. Crushed with a sense of loneliness and failure, he felt to-night that he would give all the wealth and honours of the earth for one touch of the hand of the girl whose laughter lingered and echoed in his heart. And again the feeling of impending disaster overwhelmed him.

“Of course it’s nonsense!” he kept repeating to himself. “The disaster is within. I’m merely a wounded animal caught in a trap, bleeding and dying of thirst, and no one knows or cares, and I can’t cry for help.”

He tried to rise and go. But something held him in a silent spell to the spot. He sat dreaming out each movement of the gay drama in progress within.

Stella had welcomed her white-robed guests without the aid of a servant. No Negro could be hired for love or money to approach one of these ghostly figures. Maggie had hidden in the closet in her mistress’ room and Aunt Julie Ann had barred herself inside the kitchen and refused to answer a call.

In spite of these little annoyances the beautiful young mistress of the Graham house, resplendent in her ball dress costume, was in her gayest mood.

When the shrill whistles rang their summons at the door, she hastened to greet her mysterious guests.

“And your name, Sir Knight?” she asked the leader with bantering laughter.

“We are Ghouls! And come from beyond the river Styx, my lady!” solemnly answered the tall white figure.

“Welcome shades of Darkness, welcome back to the world of joy and light, song and dance, life and love!” Stella cried, extending her hand.

When they had tied their horses to the posts beside the wide driveway they slowly entered single file into the great hall. Stella, assisted by Susie Wilson, who had become her fast friend, greeted each of them with words of gay welcome.

They were dressed in the regulation raider’s costume of the Klan. The white flowing ulsterlike robe came within three inches of the floor. A scarlet belt circled the waist, from either side of which hung heavy revolvers in leather holsters. A dagger was attached to the centre of the belt, and the scarlet-lined white cape thrown back on the shoulders revealed their militant trappings with startling distinctness. On each breast was wrought the emblem of the Invisible Empire, the scarlet circle, and in its centre a white cross. Spiked helmets of white cloth with flowing masks reached to the cape on each shoulder, completely covering the head and face. With red gauntlets to complete their costume, the disguise was absolute. The only visible part of the body was the eye, gleaming with a strange steady supernatural brilliance through the holes cut in the mask. It was a curious fact that all eyes looked alike in the shadows of these trappings at night. They were simply flashing points of living light with all traces of colour lost in the shadows.

In spite of the fact that the girls felt they had nothing to fear from the white figures, it was with a tremor of excitement they each greeted the mysterious partners of their dance.

Stella left them talking romantic nonsense of knights and tournaments, ghouls and ghosts in the hall and ran up to her father’s room.

“Oh! Papa,” she cried with childish glee. “It’s such fun! They’re all here. You will come down and join the party as you promised?”

“Yes, yes, dear, I’ll come, presently,” said the Judge with evident dread.

Stella slipped her beautiful bare arm around his neck and her cheek rested against his, while the soft little fingers found his hand.

“I’m awfully sorry I was so ugly to-day,” she said gently. “But I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know I had such a temper. I must have gotten it from you Dad.”

“It’s all right, my darling, if you’ll never say such bitter things to me again—will you?” he asked tenderly, tears filling his eyes.

“No, I’ll be good now, if you’ll forgive me?”

Her father answered with a kiss. “You see, you’re all I have in the world, my little girlie. I’m not as strong as I used to be. I don’t think I’m going to live long.”

“Rubbish! you’ve just got the blues. Shake them off and be young again to-night. Imagine you are a boy here with mother the sweetheart you’re trying to steal from the proud rich people who hate you—come, come!”

The Judge smiled in spite of himself. Her mood was contagious. He stroked her hand gently.

“I’ll be down right away. Run on and have a good time.”

“All right, I’ll start the first dance and you’ll be there by the time it’s over and shake hands with your enemies. It will be so jolly!”

Throwing him a kiss she returned to the hall below and led her guests into the big double parlours which had been fitted up for dancing. The French windows, opening as doors on the porches, were raised, and the band stationed outside near one of them.

When the dance had begun the Judge, dressed in his usual broadcloth frock coat which hung in slouching lines from his drooping shoulders, slowly descended the stairs and stood embarrassed and hesitating in the hall a moment, and sat down by the centre table.

A masquerader came in from the ball room for the fan his partner had left, and so soft was his footfall the Judge did not hear or see him until the tall white figure suddenly loomed above him to pick up the fan.

The apparition was so startling the Judge’s nerves collapsed. He leaped to his feet with an inarticulate cry of terror, overturning his chair and started to bolt for the door.

The masquerader smothered a laugh and said:

“I beg your pardon, I only wanted the fan.” Butler stammered:

“Ah—I—must have been dreaming—you—startled me!”

He watched the white figure disappear, mopped the perspiration from his brow, called Aunt Julie Ann and ordered her to bring him a drink of whiskey. She refused to stir at first, but he threatened to discharge her, and she obeyed.

When the Judge raised the glass to his lips his hand trembled so violently that he spilled some of the liquor on his clothes. He gulped it down and glanced nervously about the hall.

He placed the glass back on the tray and Aunt Julie Ann, watching the parlour-door like a hawk, start............