The Sins of the Father: A Romance of the South. Thomas Dixon

leader quietly walked out the door, a cheer from a hundred men rent the air.

      The shivering clerk cowered in his seat over his desk and pretended to be very busy. In reality he was breathing a prayer of thanks to God for sparing his life and registering a solemn vow to quit politics and go back to farming.

      The editor hurried to his office and sent a message to each district leader of the Klan to secure bail for the accused men in the same quiet manner.

      CHAPTER VII

      THE IRONY OF FATE

      His political battle won, Norton turned his face homeward for a struggle in which victory would not come so easily. He had made up his mind that Cleo should not remain under his roof another day. How much she really knew or understood of the events of the night he could only guess. He was sure she had heard enough of the plans of his men to make a dangerous witness against him if she should see fit to betray the facts to his enemies.

      Yet he was morally certain that he could trust her with this secret. What he could not and would not do was to imperil his own life and character by a daily intimate association with this willful, impudent, smiling young animal.

      His one fear was the wish of his wife to keep her. In her illness she had developed a tyranny of love that brooked no interference with her whims. He had petted and spoiled her until it was well-nigh impossible to change the situation. The fear of her death was the sword that forever hung over his head.

      He hoped that the girl was lying when she said his wife liked her. Yet it was not improbable. Her mind was still a child's. She could not think evil of any one. She loved the young and she loved grace and beauty wherever she saw it. She loved a beautiful cat, a beautiful dog, and always had taken pride in a handsome servant. It would be just like her to take a fancy to Cleo that no argument could shake. He dreaded to put the thing to an issue – but it had to be done. It was out of the question to tell her the real truth.

      His heart sank within him as he entered his wife's room. Mammy had gone to bed suffering with a chill. The doctors had hinted that she was suffering from an incurable ailment and that her days were numbered. Her death might occur at any time.

      Cleo was lying flat on a rug, the baby was sitting astride of her back, laughing his loudest at the funny contortions of her lithe figure. She would stop every now and then, turn her own laughing eyes on him and he would scream with joy.

      The little mother was sitting on the floor like a child and laughing at the scene. In a flash he realized that Cleo had made herself, in the first few days she had been in his house, its dominant spirit.

      He paused in the doorway sobered by the realization.

      The supple young form on the floor slowly writhed on her back without disturbing the baby's sturdy hold, his little legs clasping her body tight. She drew his laughing face to her shoulder, smothering his laughter with kisses, and suddenly sprang to her feet, the baby astride her neck, and began galloping around the room.

      "W'oa! January, w'oa, sir!" she cried, galloping slowly at first and then prancing like a playful horse.

      Her cheeks were flushed, eyes sparkling and red hair flying in waves of fiery beauty over her exquisite shoulders, every change of attitude a new picture of graceful abandon, every movement of her body a throb of savage music from some strange seductive orchestra hidden in the deep woods!

      Its notes slowly stole over the senses of the man with such alluring power, that in spite of his annoyance he began to smile.

      The girl stopped, placed the child on the floor, ran to the corner of the room, dropped on all fours and started slowly toward him, her voice imitating the deep growl of a bear.

      "Now the bears are going to get him! – Boo-oo-oo."

      The baby screamed with delight. The graceful young she-bear capered around her victim from side to side, smelling his hands and jumping back, approaching and retreating, growling and pawing the floor, while with each movement the child shouted a new note of joy.

      The man, watching, wondered if this marvelous creamy yellow animal could get into an ungraceful position.

      The keen eyes of the young she-bear saw the boy had worn himself out with laughter and slowly approached her victim, tumbled his happy flushed little form over on the rug and devoured him with kisses.

      "Don't, Cleo – that's enough now!" the little mother cried, through her tears of laughter.

      "Yessum – yessum – I'm just eatin' him up now – I'm done – and he'll be asleep in two minutes."

      She sprang to her feet, crushing the little form tenderly against her warm, young bosom, and walked past the man smiling into his face a look of triumph. The sombre eyes answered with a smile in spite of himself.

      Could any man with red blood in his veins fight successfully a force like that? He heard the growl of the Beast within as he stood watching the scene. The sight of the frail little face of his invalid wife brought him up against the ugly fact with a sharp pain.

      Yet the moment he tried to broach the subject of discharging Cleo, he hesitated, stammered and was silent. At last he braced himself with determination for the task. It was disagreeable, but it had to be done. The sooner the better.

      "You like this girl, my dear?" he said softly.

      "She's the most wonderful nurse I ever saw – the baby's simply crazy about her!"

      "Yes, I see," he said soberly.

      "It's a perfectly marvellous piece of luck that she came the day she did. Mammy was ready to drop. She's been like a fairy in the nursery from the moment she entered. The kiddy has done nothing but laugh and shriek with delight."

      "And you like her personally?"

      "I've just fallen in love with her! She's so strong and young and beautiful. She picks me up, laughing like a child, and carries me into the bathroom, carries me back and tucks me in bed as easily as she does the baby."

      "I'm sorry, my dear," he interrupted with a firm, hard note in his voice.

      "Sorry – for what?" the blue eyes opened with astonishment.

      "Because I don't like her, and her presence here may be very dangerous just now – "

      "Dangerous – what on earth can you mean?"

      "To begin with that she's a negress – "

      "So's mammy – so's the cook – the man – every servant we've ever had – or will have – "

      "I'm not so sure of the last," the husband broke in with a frown.

      "What's dangerous about the girl, I'd like to know?" his wife demanded.

      "I said, to begin with, she's a negress. That's perhaps the least objectionable thing about her as a servant. But she has bad blood in her on her father's side. Old Peeler's as contemptible a scoundrel as I know in the county – "

      "The girl don't like him – that's why she left home."

      "Did she tell you that?" he asked quizzically.

      "Yes, and I'm sorry for her. She wants a good home among decent white people and I'm not going to give her up. I don't care what you say."

      The husband ignored the finality of this decision and went on with his argument as though she had not spoken.

      "Old Peeler is not only a low white scoundrel who would marry this girl's mulatto mother if he dared, but he is trying to break into politics as a negro champion. He denies it, but he is a henchman of the Governor. I'm in a fight with this man to the death. There's not room for us both in the state – "

      "And you think this laughing child cares anything about the Governor or his dirty politics? Such a thing has never entered her head."

      "I'm not sure of that."

      "You're crazy, Dan."

      "But I'm not so crazy, my dear, that I can't see that this girl's presence in our house is dangerous. She already knows too much about my affairs – enough, in fact, to endanger my life if she should turn traitor."

      "But