all set in a little book. They don't know this—nor does the world dream I've been so soft-hearted"
He drew a miniature album from his pocket and fumbled it aimlessly:
"You know Phil was my first-born"
His voice broke, and he looked at the doctor helplessly.
The Southerner slipped his arm around the old man's shoulders and began a tender and reverent prayer.
The sudden thunder of a squad of cavalry with clanking sabres swept by the hotel toward the jail.
Stoneman scrambled to his feet, staggered, and caught a chair.
"It's no use," he groaned, "—they've come with his body—I'm slipping down—the lights are going out—I haven't a friend! It's dark and cold—I'm alone, and lost—God—has—hidden—His—face—from—me!"
Voices were heard without, and the tramp of heavy feet on the steps.
Stoneman clutched the doctor's arm in agony:
"Stop them!—Stop them! Don't let them bring him in here!"
He sank limp into the chair and stared at the door as it swung open and Phil walked in, with Ben and Elsie by his side in full clansman disguise.
The old man leaped to his feet and gasped:
"The Klan!—The Klan! No? Yes! It's true—glory to God, they've saved my boy!—Phil—Phil!"
"How did you rescue him?" Doctor Cameron asked Ben.
"Had a squadron lying in wait on every road that led
