The question had been mooted in both families whether any or all of them should leave the South until the restoration of law and order should render it a safe abiding place for honest, peaceable folk, but unanimously decided in the negative.

The gentlemen scorned to fly from the desperadoes and resign to their despotic rule their poor dependents and the land of their love; nay they would stay and defend both to the utmost of their power; and the wives upheld their husbands in their determination and refused to leave them to meet the peril alone.

Returning from the burial of Uncle Mose, Mr. Dinsmore and Horace spent an hour at Ion before riding back to the Oaks.

The three gentlemen were in the library earnestly discussing the state of affairs, when Elsie, coming down from seeing her little ones settled for the night, heard the sound of wheels in the avenue, and stepping to the door saw the Ashlands carriage just drawing up in front of it.

The vehicle had scarcely come to a standstill ere its door was thrown hastily open and the elder Mrs. Carrington alighted.

Elsie sprang to meet her with outstretched arms, and the exclamation, “My dear old friend!” though her heart beat quickly, her cheek crimsoned, and tears filled her eyes.

The old lady, speechless with grief, fell upon her neck and wept there silently for a moment; then low and gaspingly, in a voice broken with sobs, “I—­have—­come to—­ask about—­George,” she said, “can it, oh can it be that he has done this dreadful thing?” and shuddering she hid her face on Elsie’s shoulder her slight frame shaken with the sobs she vainly strove to suppress.

“Dear Mrs. Carrington, I am so sorry, so very sorry to think it,” Elsie said, in a voice full of tears, “my heart aches for you who love him so; you who have been so sorely afflicted:  may the Lord give you strength to bear up under this new trial.”

“He will! he does!  My sister’s son! oh tis sad, ’tis heart-breaking!  But the proofs:  what are they?”

Elsie named them; first drawing her friend to a seat where she supported her with her arm.

“Yes, yes, his voice, his gait are both peculiar, and—­his hand.  Let me see that—­that garment.”

Leading her into a private room, and seating her comfortably there Elsie had it brought and laid before her.

Mrs. Carrington gave it one glance, and motioning it away with a look and gesture of horror, dropped her face into her hands and groaned aloud.

Elsie kneeling by her side, clasped her arms about her and wept with her.

“A slayer of the weak and helpless—­a murderer—­a midnight assassin!” groaned the half distracted aunt.

“May there not possibly be some mistake.  Let us give him the benefit of the doubt,” whispered Elsie.

“Alas there seems scarcely room for doubt!” sighed Mrs. Carrington, then, with a determined effort to recover her composure, “But don’t think, dear Elsie, that I blame you or your husband.  Can I see him? and your father if he is here?”