"Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather."

Suddenly he found that he was trembling, and that a sensation of faintness
and of dull and sick revolt against all things under the stars was upon
him. Sitting down in the shadow of the tree, he rested his face in his
hands and shut his eyes, preferring the darkness within to that outer
night which hid not and cared not, which was so coldly at peace. He was
young, and though stories of such dismal things as that before him were
part of the stock in trade of every ancient, garrulous man or woman of his
acquaintance, they had been for him but tales; not horrible truths to
stare him in the face. He had seen his father die; but he had died, in his
bed, and like one who went to sleep.

The negro had followed him, and now stood with his eyes upon the dying
flames, muttering to himself some heathenish charm. When it was ended, he
looked about him uneasily for a time; then bent and plucked his master by
the sleeve. "We cyarn' do nothin' here, Marse Duke," he whispered. "An'
the wolves may get the horses."

With a laugh and a groan, the young man rose to his feet. "That is true,
Juba," he said. "It's all over here,--we were too late. And it's not a
pleasant place to lie awake in, waiting for the morning. We'll go back to
the hilltop."

Leaving the tree, they struck across the grass and entered the strip of
corn. Something low and dark that had lain upon the ground started up
before them, and ran down the narrow way between the stalks. Haward made