When Courtland's eyes opened again, he was in bed in his own room at Redlands, with the vivid morning sun occasionally lighting up the wall whenever the closely drawn curtains were lightly blown aside by the freshening breeze.

The whole events of the night might have been a dream but for the insupportable languor which numbed his senses, and the torpor of his arm, that, swollen and discolored, lay outside the coverlet on a pillow before him.

Cloths that had been wrung out in iced water were replaced upon it from time to time by Sophy, Miss Dows' housekeeper, who, seated near his bedhead, was lazily fanning him.

Their eyes met.
"Broken ?" he said interrogatively, with a faint return of his old deliberate manner, glancing at his helpless arm.
"Deedy no, cunnle! Snake bite," responded the negress.
"Snake bite!" repeated Courtland with languid interest, "what snake ?" "Moccasin o' copperhead--if you doun know yo'se'f which," she replied.
"But it's all right now, honey! De pizen's draw'd out and clean gone.
Wot yer feels now is de whiskey.

De whiskey STAYS, sah.