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It was far into the morning of the following day when Lida opened her eyes, following a sleep with pleasant dreams. As she awoke the sun was streaming into the room from high in the heavens. For a brief spell she surrendered herself to the luxury of being at home and in her own bed, sending her thoughts northward to Bennet. As she built her air castles of romance an intense longing to see her lover gripped her.

Picturing scene after scene in which the spirit of Bennet was present, she began to realize how difficult it would be to break the news of her engagement to her father. Long, long she argued with herself that her case was different, that Bennet was no different from anyone else except as his character and personality stood out above and beyond that of any other man she had ever met. She contrasted Bennet with the people of colored blood with whom she had come in contact during her life but could see nothing in him that was like them. He was as far removed from the plantation hand type of her father's lands and those of their neighbors as she was. After becoming hopelessly involved in speculations for a time she swept all these aside with the words:

"I don't care. I love him. He's all the world to me. Come what will my heart and life are his."

With that decision she arose, threw about her a dressing robe and wrote him a letter full of her heart.

"Dearest One:"—she wrote. "It is morning and I am