We'll sing no moah by de glimmer ob de moon,
On de bench by de old cabin doah.
"De days go by like de shadow on do heart,
Wid sorrer, wha' all wuz so bright;
De time am come when do darkies hab to part--
Den, my ole Kaintucky home, good night."
Sandy's arm was against the grating and his head was bowed upon it.
Through all the hours of trial one image had sustained him. It was of
Ruth, as he had seen her last, leaning toward him out of the
half-light, her brown hair blowing from under her white cap and her
great eyes full of wondering compassion.
But to-night the darkness obscured even that image. The judge's life
still hung in the balance, and the man who had shot him lay in a
distant city, unconscious, waiting for death. Sandy felt that by his
sacrifice he had put the final barrier between himself and Ruth.
With a childish gesture of despair, he flung out his arms and burst
into a passion of tears. The intense emotional impulse of his race
swept him along like a feather in a gale. His grief, like his joy,
was elemental.
When the lull came at last, he pressed his hot head against the cold
iron grating, and his thoughts returned again and again to Ruth. He
thought of her tender ministries in the sick room, of her intense love
and loyalty for her brother.
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