After the first panic had subsided there was nothing to do but stand and watch the graphic scene; and while thus engaged the attention of some was attracted by a face white and drawn as with pain among the by-standers.  It was that of one of the mysterious ladies of the southern cottages.  But even as they noted the faded beauty and aristocratic bearing of the stranger she was hurried away by another figure closely wrapped and hooded.  Not before she had ejaculated:  “Oh, what is it?  Is she——?” and there the words were lost.

It was somewhere near the early morning when Egbert Mason who had been foremost in fighting the fire, was aroused by a voice just outside his window, which was left open for the faint breeze of the summer night.

“Come quick iz you kin, young marster, fur de lub o’heb’n.”

Between sleeping and waking the young man jumped up and peered out of the window.  He could just discern the prim red and yellow turban of the black keeper of the strange ladies.

“Iz you a doctor, Marster?  Dey says you iz.”

“Yes—­a very young one—­what is wanted?”

The negress spoke a few very hurried words in a lower tone.

“All right.  In one moment—­stay—­never mind—­I have it—­I’m coming.”  And catching up something from the shelf of his closet the young doctor sped away to the mysterious door of the southern guests.

He was met on the threshold by an anxious, grief-stricken face, and the words half sobbed out: 

“Was there no one else?  None older?  You—­why, you are a boy.”

“True, madam, but I am not without experience.  I hope—­I think, you may trust me, unless——­”

But she drew him hurriedly within the door, and on to an inner chamber, where lay his patient, so guarded that he never once saw her face.  Before the earliest risers were called to the long breakfast hall there echoed the cry of a little child in the southern cottages—­a girl baby that opened its eyes first in an atmosphere of secrecy and mystery.

* * * * *

Sixteen years had gone by.  It was the eighth of January, and the Capitol Hotel at Frankfort was a blaze of military glory.  It was the annual commemorative ball, and Strauss’ band was pouring forth inspiring strains, as the dancers, in fancy costumes of every age and clime, flitted to and fro.  The beauty, wealth and chivalry of Kentucky were there.  The stars and stripes were draped about the speaking portraits of dead heroes, and munitions of war glittered on every side.

Among those wearing the neat broadcloth evening dress of the plain American citizen was Dr. Egbert Mason, the famous surgeon, now a distinguished looking man of thirty-five.  It was rather late in the evening when he appeared, and he was soon captured by his friend, the Hon. Leslie Walcott, who bore the distinction of being the youngest member of the House, and presented to Miss Eleanor Carleton, the most popular of all