STELLA was putting the last touches to a perfect toilet before meeting Steve Hoyle who was waiting impatiently below. She had given him the sign for which he had long prayed, her permission for the formal renewal of his suit. They had remained friends on condition that he keep silent on the subject until she gave him permission to speak. She had done this in the most delicate way in the note of reply she had sent in the afternoon to his request for permission to call.

She had determined to take Steve by storm to-night. The secret on which her heart was set she counted already within her grasp, yet she would leave no stone unturned, neglect no trick in all the known realm of woman’s art to make her victory absolute.

Her refusal to put on black at her father’s funeral, or wear it since, and her declaration that his death was not the act of God but of the devil, had shocked the tradition-loving Southern people beyond measure. Maggie had lost no time in telling her their comments. She heard them with contempt and proceeded to shock her critics still worse by establishing herself permanently in the great lonely house with only Aunt Julie Ann as her guardian.

Her whole being was fused into a single deathless purpose—to take the life of the man who had killed her father. She would stop at no means to accomplish this end, and she would treat with scorn every convention of society which might interfere.

She slowly descended the winding stairs to-night before Steve’s enraptured gaze, dressed in pure white with full train. A single deep red rose was set in her black hair. Her arms were bare and their beauty was perfect—starting with the tiniest wrists and swelling into full voluptuous splendour above the dimpled elbows. She had a way of moving them when she walked which was modest yet subtle in sensuous suggestion.

Steve watched her spellbound. She placed her hand in his with a tender smile, the brown eyes watching the effects of her beauty with quiet triumph.

She allowed Steve to silently lead her to the old davenport under the stairs and take his seat by her side.

“You meant what your letter implied?” he asked eagerly.

“I did,” was the firm answer.

“It seemed too good to be true, dear, yet I felt sure that you would need me in this crisis of your life.”

“I do need you. I wonder if you will prove wanting when put to the test?”

“Try me!” he boldly challenged.

“You are sure that you love me with a love that will endure through good and evil, through life and death, through every test?”

She leaned close, her eyes searching Steve’s soul.

The man drew a deep breath and his hand grasped hers with fierce passion.

“I love you beyond the power of words to tell—I worship you!” he cried, attempting instinctively to draw her into his arms.

“Yes I know,” she answered, lifting her hand in warning, “you love me that way—I don’t say it displeases me—I have a soul and I have a body too. There’s something big, fierce, and strong in you, Steve, that always drew me—that draws me to you to-night—but I want to know if your love goes deeper than the body; if it’s big enough, true enough to dare anything in this world or the next for the woman you love?”

“Yes!” he cried.

“You love me better than money?”

“Yes!”

“Better than power?”

“Yes!”

“Better than your own life?”

“Yes!” he whispered, crushing her hand in his.

“Suppose I should put you to a test and you should fail?”

“With your eyes calling me I’d dare the terrors of hell!”

She took both his hands, fixed her eyes on his until their warm brown light enfolded him with tenderness:

“Give me the name of the Chief of the Ku Klux Klan in North Carolina,” she whispered.

Steve’s face went white, and he stammered:

“Why—why—my dear—how—can—I? I don’t know him. It’s impossible!”

“Nothing is impossible to the man who loves me if I desire it,” she answered, firmly holding Steve with her eyes dilated to extraordinary size under the tens............