The old Captain extended his hand. "Let's shake," he said. "I think

more of that youngster than anybody else in the world. If you're his

friend, I'm yours."

"I'm very glad to hear it. Do you know," the stranger answered, meeting

the Captain's look with a keener interest, "I haven't seen him since we

parted at college. I hardly think that I would know him now--and

particularly since he has grown so famous."

"Famous! Well, I reckon! Why, sir, you ought to have been here a month

ago when he come back from a speech-makin' trip. It would 'a' done your

heart good to see how the people turned out to give him a welcome. They

had a torch-light procession that night and fired a cannon, and had an

all 'round jollification! I was sure proud for him. It showed up

plainer that day how everybody felt about him. That was a grand speech

he made at Jackson! Did you hear anything about it, up in your

country?"

"No. But I hope I'll have an opportunity to hear him speak while I'm

down here. You have heard him often, I suppose?"

"Not half as often as I'd like to," the old Captain answered. "I heard

him make his first speech, and 'pon my word, it's a wonder--the way he

gets under your skin and makes you feel what he's a-sayin'. It ain't so

much his words you hear when you're listening to him--it's more the

sound of his voice and the look of his face. He jest takes all a

feller's idees away from him and makes him think jest like he does. But

I reckon you won't get a chance to hear him if you're only here for a

week or two." The old fellow gave a gesture of disappointment. "He's

running for Congress now. I'm kinder sorry, too, cause I ain't much on

politics--I can't look at things but one way myself, and that's straight

at 'em, and politicians seem to me to spend all their time a-beatin'

'round the bush. But I reckon Sargent'll show 'em a new way. He knows

how--you can bet your bottom dollar on that!"

"I should like for Natalia to hear you talk about him. I believe I'll

go find her," the young man said, turning away with the decision. "He

used to be her tutor when she lived down here."

"It ain't no use," the Captain raised a detaining hand. "It won't do

her a bit of good to hear about him. He don't give a snap of his

fingers about the lady folks. I heard some of 'em call him a

woman-hater--of course that ain't so," he added, laughing easily to

himself, "but jest because he don't spend his time a-flyin' 'round with

'em, they're bound to resent it."

"And he has never married," the other added.

"Married! Well, I reckon not! He lives all by himself in a mighty fine

house that he's built up there on the hill, and if you want to be

entertained in real style, you must take a meal with him, for he's got

the finest cook in the town. But as for women--" Captain Mentdrop

lowered his voice confidentially and drew closer to the stranger. "You

know it kinder worries me, but I can't make it out. Some say he's jest

timid, and absorbed in his work, and then we all know he's mighty touchy

about his bad leg, but for the sakes of me, I don't see why he thinks

limpin' makes him objectionable to the ladies. I heard one gal say she

thought it made him lots more picture-like, and made her think of Lord

Byron, and you know he was a lady-killer, right!"

"And he is wealthy, too, I understand."

"Well, I reckon! He made dead oodles of money out of a lawsuit that him

and Judge Houston had together. See that ridge south of the town?" He

waved his hand in the direction. "There was a whole lot of property

there, that was left to a number of heirs, and it seems the whole crowd

could never be got together to sign the deeds, so half of 'em signed for

the other half and sold the property, and when the other half turned up

you can see what the mix-up was. Well, sir, Sargent and old man Houston

took the case for the heirs that hadn't signed, with the arrangement

that they was to get half. And they did. That put the youngster way up

in the pictures. He had money to burn, but I never seen him do any of

them blamed tricks you hear tell about down here. He never lit a cigar

with a ten dollar bill like I've seen some dern fools do. He's got too

much sense. Do you know, I believe he's got more learnin' crammed in

his head than any other man I ever seen."

"He was that way at Bowdoin College. The rest of his class did not have

a chance."

"And I'm mightily afeard it's goin' to be the death of him yet. He

over-does things. And after every big case, you can hear tell about the

crazy things he does. Of course I know how 'tis, for he once told me

that when he got through a case and making a big speech, he couldn't

rest one minute--that everything was flyin' round in his head like fire,

and it takes him a day or two to get quieted down again. It went mighty

hard with him at first, he took things so serious-like, and I just found

out one day that the thing he needed worst in the world, was to take

every blamed situation in life with a pinch of humour. Well, sir," the

old fellow slapped his sides and let out a gust of laughter, "I soon

found out he had it in him and didn't know it. Since then he's been

makin' people laugh till the tears roll down their cheeks; and then, by

Jingo, before he's through they're cryin' sure enough. I thought I'd

split my sides the other night, when a feller was tellin' about his

experience with him in a country tavern, away off in the backwoods."

The Captain spread his legs apart and rammed his hands deep into his

pockets. When a fresh Havana was between his lips he was completely at

his ease. "Seems like Sargent had a big case down there, wherever it

was," he continued, "and after it was all over, he had to spend the

night in a room with another feller--the tavern was so crowded. Well,

sir, in the middle of the night, it seems that his bed-feller was

mightily put out by a gallaniper peckin' at him. He raised such a

racket about it that Sargent told him to shut up and let him go to

sleep--that the thing wouldn't bite him if it wan't for his good.

Mighty poor comfort to the other feller, I says. Anyhow the feller got

up and caught it, and showed it to Sargent. Then, bless you, both of 'em

got up and argued whether it was good or bad for gallanipers to be in

the world. Nothin' would suit Sargent but that they settle the question

by law. So they went all over the tavern at three o'clock in the

mornin', mind you, and waked up everybody until they got twelve men to

come to their room, and sit like a jury while they argued the case. It

must 'a' been rich!" The old fellow stopped, overcome by laughter,

while the tears rolled down his cheeks. "Can't you see 'em? Twelve

sleepy men, all sittin' in a row in their night-shirts, while two

lunatic lawyers went into vigorous harangues. It must 'a' been

side-splittin'. They say Sargent placed a table before the jury, put

the gallaniper under a tumbler on the table, and made everybody take a

look at it. Then his companion began the prosecution, while he spoke in

defence. They tell me that by that time the whole tavern had adjourned

to that room, and they kept up the argument till broad daylight."

"So Sargent has developed a talent for humour?" laughed the newcomer.

"Humour--well, I reckon! He's got a-plenty of it. In fact, and this is

strictly between you and me--it's his humour that makes him so popular.

That's what brings him close to the people; and if he didn't have it,

he'd be too far away and above all the rest of us common, ordinary

folks." The old fellow's face softened suddenly. "Sometimes when I've

talked to him a while," he continued in a quiet voice, "I go back to my

boat and stay out on her all by myself at night, wondering if just

knowing him hasn't done me a powerful lot o' good." The Captain's eyes

grew almost wistful, even the steely twinkle growing gentle and kindly.

"Jest to show you," he went on, "I told him I was goin' to leave him

every cent I had, and d'you know, he said not to do that--that he had

enough, and there was a world of people that needed it. So, together,

we've fixed it to go to an orphan asylum in New 'leans. That's the

first man it's been my luck to meet that ever refused to take a red

cent. Whoa! there."

In a second the whole aspect of the Captain changed, as he strode

forward to the front of the deck and called out directions for the

landing of the boat.

In the interest of his discussion the boat had gone many feet beyond the

landing, and in the chagrin of his preoccupation, the old fellow made

the air about him resound with a splendid outburst of oaths.

"It jest goes to prove," he said to himself, when the ropes had been

swung over the piles and the boat was settling easily against the wharf.

"It jest goes to prove that I'm gettin' old and played out--standin' up

here a-talkin' about a blamed lawyer, and lettin' my boat slide clean

past the landin'. Shucks!"

*CHAPTER II*

*THE VOICE OF THE PAST*

Judge Houston was in the crowd that day that lined the wharf, impatient

to board the new boat. No one was in more gala attire than he, with a

fresh ribbon on his queue, wearing a suit of fine blue linen, so stiffly

starched that the tails of his long coat stood far out on each side of

him, and in his lapel, to give a finishing touch to his Colonial

appearance, Mrs. Houston had placed, with characteristic precision, a

pink japonica.

It was a great day to both of them, and often, as the boat drew nearer,

the old gentleman would smile sweetly toward his wife, who was waiting

by his side. Seven years had passed over them lightly, the touches of

age showing more like caresses than cares; leaving snow-white hair

instead of flecked grey; touching their features with many fine lines,

so full of character and accomplishment, that, as they came, one

wondered over all they meant. Only, perhaps, in the stoop of the

shoulders, in the sometimes trembling hand, and the heavy stick upon

which he always rested, did the old gentleman's friends see the

encroachments of age. It was only in that, however, for his eyes were

as clear and blue as they had always been, shedding about him even more

sympathy and benignity. His wife, the one who had stood beside him from

the first days of their pioneer voyage, had grown along with him into

the realm of approaching shadows, not lagging behind nor rushing before,

but beside him hand in hand as they had always been.

A little distance from the wharf, seated in a high-swung chariot of

modish trappings, sat Lemuel Jervais and his wife.

Mrs. Jervais watched the approaching boat with mingled pride and

apprehension. Her thoughts were travelling backward over the years that

had passed since she had sent the little girl so far away. They had

never loved each other; Mrs. Jervais seeing in Natalia too many of the

characteristics of her husband's first wife, to be drawn to the child,

and Natalia realizing this and shrinking from it. "But she had done her

duty," Mrs. Jervais sighed contentedly as she viewed the approaching

boat. "She had seen that the plantations brought Natalia an income that

left no wish unsatisfied. But now," she mused, "Natalia was no longer a

child, she was coming back a woman, and a woman who seemed to have

suddenly become imbued with the memories of her childhood and a desire

to visit her old home again."

For several years Natalia's letters had dwindled, until recently they

had become merely notes of thanks in reference to the management of the

estate and a few lines about her plans. Then, quite without warning, a

letter had come to Mrs. Jervais from her, in which she had told of her

approaching marriage, and of her wish to return to her home for that

occasion. "Probably you will think it strange," the letter read, "when I

tell you I want to be married in my old home. It does seem a long

journey to make for such a short visit, especially as Morgan and I shall

make Boston our home; but in thinking about the dear, old place that has

come down to me from my Spanish ancestors, the idea has taken possession

of me that I would like my marriage to be solemnized amid those

surroundings. Uncle Felix would call it quixotic in me, I know, and at

the same time, understand; I feel sure that you appreciate my sentiment

in regard to the old place, too, and that will explain better than words

what I am going to ask of you.

"I want you to help me in arranging the wedding. You wrote that the

house had been closed ever since your marriage to Mr. Jervais, so do not

go to much trouble in fixing it up. Left to my own wishes, the wedding

would be simple, but Morgan insists that it be elaborate, as it will be

my only wedding--he hopes. Perhaps it is only right that I should ask

all our old friends, indeed, I want them about me at that time. It is a

time in a girl's life when such things count most, and I feel that it

will start me out on my new life happier for carrying away as many dear

memories as possible; so ask every one we used to know.

"Of course I need not mention that I want you and Mr. Jervais to be the

hosts for me, and stay at the old home until the wedding--after that I

shall not keep you, for it is my idea to spend our honeymoon there,

Morgan and I alone in the sweet old place. I am writing Aunt Maria

also, and I know she will be glad to help you all she can. Be sure to

insist upon her making the wedding cake--one of those wonderful, tall

affairs which I remember so well. In reading over what I have written,

I can not help wondering if I have asked too much of you; but then, you

must remember, there is no one else except the boys, and they are much

too interested in college even to go down there with me. I could go on

indefinitely with plans--but I shall wait until we meet, to tell you

everything."

The letter had caused no end of consternation in the town. Mrs. Jervais

had driven, the day it came, to Mrs. Houston, finding the old lady

holding a similar letter in her lap and weeping copiously over the news

it contained. Together they had driven out to the old house and opened

it once more to the golden warmth of the June sun. A corps of slaves

was brought from the cotton fields, back to their former quarters, and

in so short a time it seemed like magic, the old home of the Spaniards

shone resplendent again. The garden was put in trim shape and the broad

drive to the gate was cleared of the weeds that had so long grown in

neglected luxuriance.

Invitations were sent out broadcast, and for many days garrets were

being ransacked, and old brocades and laces that had lain idle for a

generation or more were again brought to life to do duty for such a

grand occasion. It was an exceptional time for the gossips and when the

report spread over the town that all the refreshments were coming from a

distance, and that it was actually a fact that the fiddlers were to be

brought up from New Orleans, the whole place thrilled with expectancy.

At last the day of the arrival came. As the boat eased itself against

the wharf and the great ropes were thrown ashore and made fast, Judge

Houston stepped forward and shaded his eyes with his hand. At last his

face lighted up with a smile as he saw the face of the little girl

peering out of the crowd of passengers. She was just as he had

remembered her--yet strangely different, too. There were the same

beautiful grey eyes, grown darker with the years, still full of a

sympathy that had deepened through the wide outlook of travel and

experience; there was still the delicate oval of the face; the rich,

creamy complexion, as smooth and flawless as in childhood; the hair, if

possible, blacker, and worn parted and brought back over the ears and

coiled low on the neck. The sprite-like look of the child still clung

to her, for even in the voluminous folds of her fashionable frock, her

figure showed fragile and lithe and gracefully poised; and as she walked

down the stage plank, her face bent forward intently searching for a

familiar face, the old man knew that the little girl had come back

dearer to them than ever before.

Natalia rushed into his arms, when she had seen him, her eyes searching

his face and lingering on every feature as the memories crowded about

her thick and overflowing. Neither of them had said a word.

"Natalia! Natalia!" the old gentleman finally spoke, holding her a

little way from him. "I believe you are the same little girl. Changed?

Not one bit!"

"Yes, Uncle Felix," Natalia answered, smiling through tear-dimmed eyes,

"the same little girl--but changed--a great deal. Oh!" and she broke

away to embrace Mrs. Houston. "And Morgan, where are you? This is

Uncle Felix and Aunt Maria; and this is Millicent Talbot, Aunt

Maria--and Morgan's brother, Joel. Aren't we a large family party? And

where are the Jervais? Oh, I see them coming."

Mrs. Jervais came forward with outstretched arms. Evidently the past was

bringing her and Natalia closer than they had ever expected. Then came

Lemuel Jervais a portly man of forty, handsome and more affably haughty

than ever.

"And there's the old carriage! How good of you to bring it out!"

Natalia cried, with a grateful glance at Mrs. Jervais. "And bless my

heart--if it isn't old Zebby on the box! Zebby! Zebby!" she called

aloud, pushing her way through the crowd and running towards the

carriage. "Zebby! Zebby! Isn't it wonderful? Hasn't it been a long

time?" She clasped both his hands as the old negro almost fell from the

box to reach her. "And Mammy Dicey, Zebby where is she? Why didn't she

come to meet me? The mean old thing! I wouldn't treat _her_ this way."

Zebediah's face fell at the mention of Dicey's name, and he made a great

fuss at opening the carriage door.

There were three carriages to carry them, and Mrs. Jervais insisted that

Natalia should ride in her new smart one, but Natalia had already urged

Judge Houston and his wife and Morgan into the old one Zebediah

commanded, into which she quickly followed.

"Now, Zebby," she cried breathlessly, sinking back into the seat.

"Drive very, very slowly, and let me see everything."

So they started up the hill, the other carriages following and a

procession of wagons which were to bring the trunks and all the

wonderful wedding delicacies that had come on the same boat.

Natalia was exclaiming, laughing, and often tears were standing in her

eyes, as they drove along. Pointing out familiar old buildings to

Talbot and asking Mrs. Houston and the Judge a thousand questions, they

passed through the town where many curious glances were cast towards the

bride.

Not until the town was left behind and the river was showing now and

then through the rifts in the trees, did Natalia grow calmer. Where the

road to the house met the highway, she suddenly called to Zebediah to

stop.

"I want to get out and walk to the house, Aunt Maria," she explained.

"It will come back to me gradually then; I don't want to hurry or miss

anything. Come with me, Morgan?" Talbot helped her out and in a few

moments they stood alone in the road, the other carriages having passed

on. "I love this place very, very dearly, Morgan," Natalia said,

slipping her hand through his arm and walking slowly. "It is where my

father and mother were very happy. It is where I was the most

unhappy--and the happiest of little girls, and now--it is where my

perfect happiness will come to me. I have felt all through my life that

this old place would mean everything to me, one day--that all that was

worth while would happen to me here. And it will," she ended, smiling

up at him, "for we are to spend our honeymoon here."

Morgan Talbot looked before him intently, curious to see what manner of

place it was that held his sweetheart's love so deeply. And as he

looked through the dense shade of the trees to the wide open gate and

beyond to the gleaming columns, he felt the charm of the old world

surroundings creep over him. Turning finally towards Natalia and

meeting her look, anxious for his approval, he saw with a sudden flash

of insight, that the girl before him--intense, passionate, and oddly

beautiful--was the culmination of the old house and all that had gone

before.

"It is beautiful, Natalia," he said softly, drawing her closer to him.

"It is more than you told me."

"And you will love it with me, Morgan?"

"I shall love it because it is a part of you."

They were directly before the iron gate now. Everything was very still

in the glowing warmth of the sunshine. Natalia leaned against the gate,

and drank in the view like a thirsty traveller. It spoke eloquently of

the coming in and going out of the many who had gone before her, and of

her own days, too; and as she gazed at it, little incidents of her

childhood--long forgotten but safely stored away, came forward and made

their bows and claimed her attention. The scene suddenly became peopled

to her. Everything was significant. The depths of the magnolia grove

were filled with mysterious ghosts of the past, and the red tiles of the

roof, gleaming just above the dark line of the trees, called to her with

the cry of familiar voices. The present slipped entirely from her under

the rush of the pent-up memories crowding about on all sides.

"Shall we walk on now?"

The voice of her lover startled her. She looked up at him and smiled

vaguely.

"Isn't it beautiful, Morgan? I wish you could see it as I do.

Everything means so much to me that it can never mean for you. It makes

me sad, dear, that you did not know it with me."

Talbot laughed down into her intense eyes. "It is happiness enough for

me to know you now--why bother about what has gone before?"

Natalia did not answer for a moment. "Perhaps you do not understand,

Morgan, or perhaps the old characteristics of my childhood are coming

back to me. Do you know, they used to call me 'peculiar'? I wasn't like

other children."

"I know--you were so much more beautiful."

"That reminds me," Natalia laughed, with a sudden change of mood, "of

how dreadfully afraid I was that I would not be good-looking when I grew

up. There was only one person who really comforted me about it, and he

always insisted that my claim to a goodly appearance would not disappear

with age."

"That was a man who knew the standards of beauty. I should like to meet

him. What was his name?"

"You will laugh when I tell you. It was Sargent Everett."

"Dear old Sargent!" Talbot exclaimed, his face lighting up with

pleasure. "I wonder if he got my letter. The Captain on the boat is a

great friend of Sargent's. He told me a great deal about him, but he

said he was not here now. Wouldn't it be unfortunate if he were not at

our wedding? Did you ask any one if he would be here?"

"No--I didn't ask," Natalia answered slowly. "It's very odd--I haven't

thought of him for a long time; not since you said you were going to

write him about our wedding. Did you receive an answer?"

"No--I did not have time. I didn't expect one until I saw him here."

"I wonder if he has forgotten me," Natalia murmured, sinking on the

bench near the gate, and motioning Talbot to the seat beside her.

"Let's sit down here for a while. You don't mind my dreaming aloud to

you, do you?"

His arm slipped about her until her head rested against his shoulder,

and her eyes closed for a moment as if she had suddenly grown weary.

"No, indeed, dear, dream all you want, and tell me about your old school

days with Sargent. Aren't you proud that your tutor has become so

celebrated?"

"I knew he would be, some day, for even when I knew him he was a

wonderful speaker. I never heard him make but one speech--it was

beautiful and awful--all in one. I cried for weeks afterwards whenever

I thought of it. And now, Morgan, I am going to make you terribly

jealous. I'm going to tell you something that will surprise you very

much."

She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing with the quaint habit of

childhood.

"You are not my first love."

She straightened up and faced him, finally breaking into her soft, merry

laugh. "I was desperately in love with Sargent Everett once."

"Seven years ago," Talbot answered lightly. "I can hear about it

calmly--_now_."

"But it was very serious," Natalia insisted. "I really was in earnest,

and after he left our house and fought a duel, he became a real hero to

me. It was terrible when we had to part. I just made up my mind to

die. But you see--I didn't," sighing happily. "And the night before I

went away I made my old Mammy take me to him so I could say good-bye. I

made him swear not to forget me, for I was coming back a beautiful woman

some day and would expect him to marry me. You can imagine how terribly

smitten I was!"

"And at twelve! Did he promise?"

"Indeed he did, and said I could not come back more beautiful than I was

at that moment. Then I kissed him, Morgan, and he said I must send for

him, even if it were to the ends of the earth, if I ever needed him. So

we plighted our troth and parted. It was all just like a fairy book,

and it seems hundreds of years ago. We used to walk right along here

together. You see his mother was a long way off, up in Maine, and mine

was gone for ever, and that drew us very close together. Seriously,

Morgan, I loved him very dearly. The day I went away I sent him a

miniature of myself, all in a locket with a chain, and told Mammy to

tell him to keep it before him always. It was only when I became so

occupied in school, and growing up, that I finally forgot all about him.

Then, since I've known you, the past seems to have counted for very

little with me--until to-day." Her words ended softly, and for a moment

silence fell between them.

"I believe I shall get jealous if you go on talking much more about old

Sargent." Talbot leaned over and looked into her face, smiling.

"Really, did you think that you loved Sargent? I can't get used to the

idea," he laughed. "And to think of Sargent Everett being in love with

anybody! He was always too deep in books when I knew him. It would be

very easy to realize that people would love him--all of us did at

school. But somehow, I always felt that people did not mean much to

him."

At his words, Natalia drew herself away in mock hauteur. "Am I to

infer, sir, that you understand why I should have loved him, but not how

he could have loved me?"

Morgan drew her hands into his, laughing all the time. "Yes, Natalia,

I'll wager if it came to a point, that you were very much more in love

with him than he was with you."

"Perhaps you are right, Morgan," Natalia answered his laugh happily.

"But I did love him--I assure you."

"And it makes me wonder all the more that you fell in love with me after

loving Sargent. We are not a bit alike. But then I suppose you are

variable--indeed I know you are. But it's to be hoped that you will not

be any more. It's a wonderful thing--how people do change their loves,

isn't it?"

Natalia's eyes narrowed for a moment as she looked beyond the gate.

"Don't try to analyze love," she replied. "I tried once and it did no

good. I always came back to the point that I loved you and nothing else

mattered. How did I fall in love with you?" She repeated the words

after him, taking hold of his hand and counting his fingers as she

narrated her reasons. "Well--first, it must have been your frank

admiration that touched me--I am always very sensitive to admiration.

Then, you look upon life with so bright an eye, so smilingly, that it

makes me feel safe and contented to know that my own too sensitive

nature will bloom under your brightness. It's the contrast, Morgan,

that's it. You give me what I have not. You meet a demand of my

nature. It is that which makes the perfect love."

Talbot looked at her a moment, his face grown serious and almost sad.

"It is not my own happiness that I ever think of--there is only one

thing that could ruin that for me--losing you," he said, Natalia's hand

still clasped in his own. "But when I think of the great difference

between us, I wonder if it is possible for me to make you happy. I love

gaiety and the world, and people, and deep down in your heart, I don't

believe you do. And I can't help thinking that you do many things for

my sake, isn't it so?"

Natalia shook her head slowly, and smiled. "No, I'm not doing a thing

for you, Morgan, that doesn't give me pleasure. Don't try to find flaws

in our love, or search for some hidden reason for unhappiness. It's too

perfect as it is, and I love you better, Morgan dear, when you are not

attempting an analytical state of mind." She laughed at him gayly.

"You're the old-fashioned lover who brings nosegays to his lady-love,

and writes her billet-doux, and is always telling her how beautiful she

is--that is why I love you so, Morgan. That has always been my ideal of

a lover since I was a little girl. Be that way always, please. Now

shall we walk on towards the house? Oh, look, the magnolias have put on

their wedding garments to do us honour. They are in full bloom!"

They passed through the gate and into the shadow of the grove where the

trees were filled with gorgeous white velvety blossoms, and where in the

dream shadows they lingered awhile.

They came finally upon the others grouped in the shade of the deep

veranda, where Lemuel Jervais was playing the part of host by mixing

them his famous sangaree, and Mrs. Houston was insisting that every one

should have at least three slices of her equally famous jelly cake.

Morgan and Natalia looked at them from the protection of a column until

Millicent Talbot spied them. "Well--you'd better hurry or you'll miss

the party," she called to them. "We thought you were lost. I was sure

Natalia had forgotten the way."

"No, I was only dreaming aloud to Morgan, over the old days. He was

very kind and listened, for all the world as if he were not bored. I'll

not do it often, though, for fear it might get monotonous. You don't

know how beautiful everything looks," Natalia continued, putting her arm

about Mrs. Jervais' waist. "How good of you to do it all for me."

Suddenly she stopped and looked about the group, then made a step

towards the open hall door. "Do you know," she said, with a catch in

her voice, that showed her fear, "I have let all this time go by, and

haven't seen Mammy Dicey yet. Poor old soul--is she very feeble? Where

_is_ she? I know she is anxiously waiting for me."

For a few minutes silence fell upon every one, while Natalia searched

each face for an answer. At last when her eyes began to fill with tears

over the certainty that she was never to see her old nurse again, Mrs.

Houston rose, and casting a swift glance at Mrs. Jervais, led Natalia a

little way from the others. When they had reached the front door, quite

beyond hearing of the others, Natalia stopped and faced Mrs. Houston.

"Is she dead?" she exclaimed in a low voice. "I shall never forgive

myself for not writing to her more. Poor old Mammy!"

"No, she is not dead," Mrs. Houston answered, hesitating a moment over

the information, "but she is not here any more."

Natalia's brows wrinkled in bewilderment. "Not here! But she belonged

to me! Surely she is not hired to any one?"

"You are mistaken, Natalia. She did not belong to you, as we all

thought. She was included in the property your father left his wife.

Felix looked up the matter and found it that way. When you were sent

away--"

"Yes?" Natalia asked, breathlessly.

"Mrs. Jervais sold her. You know she never liked her, and as soon as

the opportunity was propitious I suppose she thought it would be better

for them to separate. Of course she never had an idea you would care

one way or the other."

Natalia lifted her head suddenly, while the colour mounted to her

cheeks; her eyes flashed and her lips trembled in quick anger. "She did

belong to me! I know it! My father told me so when he was dying. It was

a trick she played to get Mammy away from me."

Mrs. Houston stared into the passionate face before her, startled as the

resemblance to the little girl of earlier days became so vivid. If

Natalia had only stamped her foot, as of old, the likeness would have

been identical.

"My dear child," the old lady expostulated in a lowered voice. "Please

don't take it that way. I'm sure you misjudge her. Even if it is true,

don't say anything now,--not until after the wedding. She has really

done a great deal for you."

Natalia leaned forward and kissed the old lady. "Of course I'll behave,

dear Aunt Maria," her voice controlled, but tears still in her eyes.

"But I loved Mammy so. To have anything happen to her, or for her to

suffer hurts me like it would myself." Then eagerly, "But I can buy her

back. Do you know who owns her?"

Mrs. Houston looked away, smiling vaguely. "Some one who has found her

too valuable to part with, I'm thinking."

"Who?" Natalia murmured, her eagerness disappearing in her greater

disappointment.

The keen old lady watched the vivid face before her, searching it with a

sudden earnestness when she answered, "Sargent Everett owns her now."

*CHAPTER III*

*MAMMY DICEY'S STORY*

Natalia stood on the front veranda after dinner, leaving the others

gathered about the table, the men sipping their Madeira, and discussing

the admission of the Lone Star State to the Union, and the wonderful new

invention of the magnetic telegraph; while the ladies pulled their

rocking chairs close together and went into the minutest details of the

wedding.

Morgan had risen with Natalia, following her out of the room, but she

had sent him back, pleading as an excuse that she wished to be alone to

live over once more in memory the incidents of her childhood. So many

things had lain dormant through the years almost forgotten in the rush

and interest of the life about her, that she felt dazed into a mood of

introspection when she found herself once more in the surroundings of

the long ago.

She sighed aloud when Morgan had gone back into the house, and leaning

against one of the massive columns of the porch, felt a sensation of

relief stealing over her at finding herself alone. In the flood of

re-awakened memories there had come to her a feeling that Morgan was not

a part of them, could never be, and with this realization she knew that

in some way the bond of sympathy between them had, for the moment,

widened. He could never feel with her all the place represented; even

with years and years in the narration of little incidents, he would

still not see it as she did, know what it meant to her, nor find in each

surrounding the stories that cried aloud to her. It was the moment in

her love when she realized for the first time that two people can never

be _wholly_ one--that a vast gulf of early years and childhood and

dreams would always separate them, no matter how great became the love

of their maturer years.

So sensitive was she to his moods and preferences, that she had

understood as they lingered before the gate and looked into the grove of

magnolias, that the charm of the spot and the happiness of a honeymoon

spent in it would be hers so much more fully than his. For a little

while this realization had brought her unhappiness, and a wish to be

alone; after her dreams she knew that she would go back to her lover

more contented than ever before.

She strolled away from the house, and passing on into the cool shadows

of the grove, came at last to the brow of the hill. Here she sat down

and leaned against a tree, letting herself drift back across the bridge

of years.

In a moment of restlessness she let down her hair and unconsciously

began braiding it in the two long plaits of her childhood. Suddenly she

found herself laughing with the care-free merriment of a little girl. It

was the same old world, after all; seven years had made no difference,

everything was exactly as she had left it.

Resting her hands back of her head, her fingers touching the cool bark

of the tree with a luxurious sensation, she gazed out through half

closed lashes upon the broad, golden river and the misty lowlands

beyond, floating in the haze of the languid June day.

Everything now was as yesterday. She was feeling it all over again,

going over every little incident. The little log school-house recalled

so vividly a dreadful example in fractions, and as she worried over it

again, she found herself listening for the low, beautiful voice making

it plain to her. On and on she drifted until she felt once more the

presence of the schoolmaster and her old adoration of him.

Suddenly in the swirling of her memories she halted. That love of the

little girl made her open her eyes wide. It had been ideal, beautiful,

innocent. Would there be anything in her life like it again? Was that

which had taken its place, equal? Could anything take its place? Again

the utter devotion of it came back to her; the beginning of it in her

self-anger for wounding him the day she had called him the cripple. Ah!

now she could understand how she had hurt him! Their first long talk

together where she sat now; his kind, deep, hazel eyes, changing

Protean-like, as he listened to her while she recounted stories Dicey

had told her of her mother; his patience and kindness through the long

school hours; the night she waited for his return, and the fear that

Phelps had waylaid him; that first case when his voice had thundered in

her ears and made her shudder; and at last,--the pain of parting with

him!

She sat up quickly and stared about her. Why had she forgotten all

this? Why had it not been in her thoughts for so many years? And

he--had he forgotten also? Gradually she rose to her feet with the

childish impulse of seeking Dicey, who would answer so satisfactorily

all her questions. Then came the clashing of reality against dreams,

and unconsciously the tears rushed into her eyes for what had gone from

her for ever.

But the old yearning for her nurse remained, and with a sudden

determination, she walked quickly through the grove, skirting the house

and garden so as not to be interrupted, and made her way to the slaves'

quarters.

The door of Dicey's room stood open. On the steps before it sat two

negro women shelling beans into large pans. Natalia passed on quickly,

a sharp pain in her heart for the empty room which used to be so crowded

with happy moments.

When she came to the barn she smiled again, for there was old Zebediah,

washing the carriage that had brought them from the boat, as familiar

and complacent as if there were no such thing as seven years to pass by.

"Why didn't you tell me, Zebby?" she exclaimed, without explanation.

"Why didn't you tell me at the boat?"

The old negro lifted his head in dismay.

"Wha' yer talkin' 'bout, lil Miss?"

"About Mammy, Zebby. They tell me she belongs to Mr. Everett now."

"Yas'm, she sho' do. I done seen her day befo' yistiddy."

"Did she know I was coming?"

"Not tell I done tole her."

"What did she say, Zebby?"

Zebediah's hand went up to his head, scratching thoughtfully.

"She didn said nuthin', lil Miss. She jest th'od her apron ober her

face and went ter moanin'."

Natalia's lips suddenly trembled.

"Take me there, Zebby--now! I want to see her. I can't wait. Saddle

the horse and go with me."

But Zebediah did not respond to her enthusiasm. He stood staring at her

as if he had not comprehended her words.

"Yer cyant go ter dat house, lil Miss. Dar ain' nobody libs dar

'ceptin' Marse Everett. Dar ain' no lady fo'ks in de house."

"I don't care, Zebby," Natalia laughed. "I'm not going to see him. I'm

going to see Mammy Dicey. I'll be back in a minute, so hurry and get the

horses ready."

She ran up the steps on the back porch, and to her room, scattering the

mass of clothes which had just been unpacked, until she found the riding

habit she was looking for. Very quietly, without meeting any one, she

went back to the barn where Zebediah stood holding the horses, and

showing his row of fine white teeth in a smile of admiration and

pleasure.

"Yer ain't er bit lak grown up fo'ks, lil Miss. Yer jest de lil gal dat

went 'way frum heah long time ergo."

"I'm just the same little girl, Zebby," Natalia smiled back at him,

putting her foot into his broad palm, "until you help me to mount--and

then," as she settled herself in the saddle, "you'll find I've gained a

pound or two."

The afternoon had advanced until the rays of sun were slanting through

the trees, and as they rode along the old road, Natalia gave the horse

the reins, while she drank in the beauty of the woods and open fields,

and looked for landmarks that brought back with them incidents and

stories. Once, she stopped before the place where the Puckett house

formerly stood--now only a crumbling chimney remaining, surrounded by a

grove of China trees: and again, along the brow of a hill, where there

was another view of the river as it swept into a broad bend and

disappeared in the fertile delta. Finally the town lay before them in

its setting of beautiful trees.

"I don't know where he lives, Zebby," Natalia said, drawing in the

reins, and looking back to Zebediah. "You see, I am a stranger, after

all."

"Dar's de house," Zebediah answered, pointing towards a dwelling which

stood close to the road, in the suburbs of the town.

"That house!" Natalia exclaimed. "I passed it this morning, and Mammy

did not even wave to me."

"I seen her, dough. She wuz down on de landin' an' lookin' at yer. I

knowed she be fer seein' yer somehow."

"Why didn't you tell me, Zebby?"

The old negro again went silent.

"I tell yer, lil Miss,--Dicey she so perculiar. I dunno ef she wants me

ter tell yer or not; den agin I never knows if yer wuz feelin' like Ole

Miss did or no. I jest keep mah mouf shet for dem reasons."

"Shame on you, Zebby! Do you think that I would ever forget any one who

was as good to me as you and Mammy were? Now, hold my horse. I want to

go in by myself."

Natalia paused before the gate, and stood a moment irresolutely before

entering. The thought that she might be doing something a little rash,

never came to her until that moment; then in her great desire to see her

old nurse, all considerations left her, and she went up the walk and

rang the bell. The reverberation echoed down the hall as she waited,

and it was not until she had rung several times that she heard some one

coming. Then the door opened, and Dicey stood facing her.

Zebediah, watching intently from the road, saw Natalia suddenly

enveloped in the old negro woman's arms, and drawn into the house and

the door closed after them.

Dicey had not uttered a sound when she found Natalia at the door; only

her arms opened and she pressed the girl to her bosom, their tears

mingling as the old slave covered her face and hands with kisses.

"Honey-chile, honey-chile, honey-chile!"

Natalia's head rested on the old familiar bosom, with the comforting

feeling of dependence and trust which she had not known since she had

last nestled there. When she looked up again she found herself sitting

on the stair steps, her head leaning against Dicey's knee and the well

known voice ringing in her ears.

"Yer hasn't fergotten me, has yer, honey-chile? I knowed yer hadn't."

Natalia's eyes answered for her eloquently.

"Your hair has turned white, Mammy," she said, when she had dried her

tears; "and you are so--so fat, Mammy--and Mammy, you don't belong to me

any longer," the last with a look of reproach.

"She didn' want me no longer when yer went away," Dicey answered, her

dark eyes glistening suddenly with an expression of malignant anger.

Natalia saw the wrinkling of the brows that she had dreaded when a

child, for it never came except when Dicey's deep anger was kindled; and

even now she felt a reflection of her childish dread at the familiar

signal.

"She put me up fer sale lak as ef I wuz any udder nigger! She put me up

in de slabe-market fer anybody--fer anybody to buy! Dar wuz'n no use

fer her doin' me dat way. She could ha' sold me at home. But she

wouldn'. She hated me--she wanted ter make me out cheap--dat wuz it.

She didn' want me and she didn' ker who it wuz got me!"

Natalia put her hand gently over the old woman's lips.

"Sh-h! Don't say that about her, Mammy. It could not have been that

bad."

"But it wuz, I tell yer! Now I kin hate her 'cause I don' berlong ter

her no longer. No good'll cum ter her!"

The words rang out in the deserted hall forebodingly. A ray of sunlight

penetrated the coloured fan light above the door, dwelling for a moment

with a strange significance, illumining the old negro's snow-white hair,

her heavily lined features, her reddish brown skin and weird eyes.

"I did not know all this, Mammy," Natalia answered in a low voice. "I

did not know. If I had it would have been different."

"Cose yer didn' know--yer done jes' fergit all 'bout Dicey--nebber think

'bout things down heah a bit, did yer, honey? I knowed dat wuz hit--hit

wuz nateral enough. Yer wuzn't nuthin' but er lil gal when yer lef me."

"But you never sent me a letter, Mammy. You never got any one to answer

mine for you."

Again the old woman's features contracted.

"She nebber gib me no letters frum yer. I nebber knowed whar yer wuz."

"You never got my letters?"

Dicey shook her head violently. Natalia looked at her a long time

during the silence that followed, still holding her hand tight in her

own.

"And to think that Sargent Everett should have bought you, Mammy," she

said finally. "If it had to be--I'm glad he was the one."

"De Lawd'll sho' bless him fer hit," the old slave answered. "Ef hit

hadn' been fer him I'd 'a' kilt mase'f. Hit would 'a' been easy

enough."

Natalia pressed the long-coarsened fingers as they clung to hers.

"Tell me about it, Mammy; tell me everything. Let's make up for those

long years of separation. How long was it after I left you, that it

happened?"

"Jes' 'bout six months, honey. I'se mos' fergit now--hit seem so long

ago; and I wuz feelin' so down-in-de-mouf and glum when you done gone, I

didn't take no notice ob de time. Hit wuz one day in de summer time dat

Ole Miss cum out ter mah room, an' say she want ter speak ter me. I

knows hit wuz goin' powerful ha'd wid me cause I could tell by de looks

in her eyes. She say she wouldn' hab no mo' use fer me sence yer gone

away, and de boys would be goin' soon--and dat she done made up her min'

ter sell me. 'But yer cayn't, Ole Miss,' says I, 'yer cyant sell me

'cause I doan belong ter yer--I belongs ter lil Miss. Marse Brandon say

so fo' he died.' Den she turn red an' white, all in a sudden, and says

dat he mont 'a' say dat, but he done made no sich statemen' in his will,

and dat she wuz goin' ter sell me neberdeless. 'Yer knows he said dat,'

says I to her, 'an' ef lil Miss wuz heah yer wouldn' dar do hit.' Den

she get powerful mad and tole me ter git mah things togedder and be

reddy ter go ter de Co't house de nex' mawnin'. Den I jes' gib way an'

cry, cause I neber b'liebe I'd be put up wid all dem udder niggers an'

sole lak dem. But she didn' listen ter me no mo', and went away....

Zebby drive me ter town de nex' mawnin' an' Ole Miss han' me ober ter de

trader-man, and didn' say no wo'd ter me when she leabe. Dar wuz a big

crowd ob people dar ter see de slabes--two hundred ter be sole dat day

and a lot ob plantation fo'ks done cum ter town ter buy."

Suddenly Dicey stopped, and stared before her silently, her hands

clasping Natalia's until she winced from the pain.

"Den mah time cum," she resumed, her voice lowered, and long pauses

between the sentences. "De trader-man read out a whole lot ob things

she done writ bout me, sayin' I wuz er fust class cook an' could sew and

a whole lot ob things I could do--I done seen em sell slabes befo' dis,

but I nebber 'spected ter be one ob dem dat wuz sole--nebber! Nebber!

I wouldn' look up when dey read all 'bout me 'til I heerd somebody say

five hundred dollars fer me. Seem lak ter me I knowed de voice--hit wuz

Jedge Houston. Den anudder one bid seben hundred dollars an' anudder

one say er thousan'.... Sumthin' tell me ter look up when dey call out

er thousan', an' I see Marse Everett a-standin' under er tree 'cross de

street, an' I look at him so ha'd dat he finerlly see me and start ter

runnin' whar I wuz. 'Dicey, what do dis mean?' says he ter me. 'Yer

cyant be sole. Yer belongs ter Miss Natalia.' 'I knows I does,' says I,

and begin ter cry out loud. I couldn' he'p it when he done look at me

so kin' and gentle-lak.... Den I heerd him tell de trader-man dar wuz

some mistake, but de man said Missus Brandon owned me and wuz sellin'

me. I cried all de mo' when I seen him turn away hopeless lak, 'cause I

think he wuz goin' away an' leabe me ter dem people. Den de trader-man

begin callin' out louder and louder--'One thousan' dollars--one thousan'

dollars' tell I feel like hollerin' myself, fer I wuz nigh crazy, an'

den when he wuz 'bout ter turn me ober ter er stranger man Marse Everett

come up an' says sumthin' ter him and he yell out 'Twelve hundred.' Den

de udder man say 'Thirteen hundred!' Den Marse Everett fourteen

hundred, den fourteen hundred fifty an' den dar wuz er long silence....

Den I heerd Marse Everett say in er easy low voice--'Fifteen hundred'

jes' easy and quiet, lak he kin, and den, Bless de Lawd! I seen de

udder man go away.... De trader-man and Marse Everett talk er long time

after dat and den Marse Everett cum ter me and say, 'Cum with me, Dicey,

everything's all right now. Hit's done took de las' cent I had ter buy

yer, Dicey, but she lubbed yer, and I'm goin' ter keep yer fer her tell

she cum back.' Den I jes' went down on mah knees and kiss his hands and

say, 'Yer won't hab no regrets, Marse Sargent, I'll serbe yer tell I

die, and she'll make it up ter yer--one ob dese days.'"

The hall was filling with shadows. The sunshine through the fan light

had died away, yet the two did not move.

"And then, Mammy," Natalia whispered.

"Den he tuk me ter Jedge Houston's house and lef me dar wid dem an' I

done stay dar two years tell he begin ter look up in de worl'. Yer know

him and de Jedge done win er suit for er heap ob property an' dat's whar

he fust got his money. After dat he built dis house and he been libin'

heah eber sence. I keeps de house fer him and does de cookin'--an' all

de time we's both been bidin' our time an' waitin' fer yer ter cum

back."

"Waiting for me!" Natalia exclaimed, drawing away quickly.

Dicey bowed her head in answer.

"He done tole me once dat when yer tole him good-bye dat night, yer tole

him he mus'n' lub no oder woman tell yer cum back--all grown up. So yer

sees, he's been keepin' his wo'd all de time, an' once, he showed me de

picture you sent him. De same lil picture de artis'-man tuk so long ter

paint ob yer, fo' yer pa died. An' when I seen hit, I jes' cry and cry

and cry, cause hit set me a thinkin' 'bout ole times when yer ma and me

wuz lil gals togedder--cause de picture's jes' lak her."

"But, Mammy, he doesn't still think I meant what I said then, does he?

I was only a child when I said that. Surely he has forgotten by this

time."

"Fergit! Lawd bless yer, honey, he don' fergit nuthin' 'bout yer. He

used ter talk ebery day 'bout yer tell lately--"

Natalia waited silently for the old woman to continue, her hands

clasping and unclasping in her lap.

"Tell lately when we heerd yer wuz a-comm' home ter git married. Sence

den he hain't sed nothin' much. I tole him hit wuzn't so, dat yer sho'

wouldn' marry nobody but him."

Natalia winced under the last words; then broke abruptly into a laugh.

"But I am going to be married, Mammy. I'm going to be married next

week, and then I'm going away again for good, and you are going with me.

I'm going to buy you back from Mr. Everett, and take you with me."

Dicey looked at her hard, moving her head from side to side.

"No, honey-chile." she said slowly. "I cyant leabe him now--even fer

yer."

"Yes, you can, Mammy, dear," and Natalia leaned her head on the old

woman's bosom. "That is one of the principal things I came back for--to

get you. I want to be a little girl again and get you to tell me stories

about mamma, and go to sleep at night holding your hand--just like I

used to do, Mammy. Oh, if we could only stay _little_ always," she

sighed wistfully. "If the world would only stop moving and let us stay

just the same all the time--we could be so--_so_ happy. But here I

am--a woman now, and you, Mammy, you are an old woman, with your white

hair and your wrinkles--but I love you, all the same--more than any one

in the world except--"

"'Cept who?"

"Except my sweetheart."

Dicey's eyes flashed.

"Dat curly-headed, pretty man in de green coat, dat was settin' in frunt

ob yer in de ca'iage?"

"Yes, that was he. But 'pretty' is not the word that describes him,

Mammy. 'Handsome' suits him better."

For a second Dicey deigned no answer.

"Wait tell yer sees Marse Sargent--den yer'll see whut er han'some

gemman is, sho' 'nough."

"You are entirely too faithful to him, Mammy Dicey," Natalia laughed.

"He has stolen your love from me."

"An' wait tell yer hears him speak in public. De people goes wild ober

him. Las' week dey fired off cannons when he cum home frum Jackson, and

dat night dey built bon-fires all ober de town ter do him honour, an'

when he begin ter speak in de Co't-house squar' and eberybody went ter

heah him, yer could er heerd er pin drap, eberything wuz so quiet. An'

when de words cum dey soun' so beautiful an' sweet dey set me ter

stedyin' 'bout mos' ebery thing in jineral."

"I heard him speak once, don't you remember?" Natalia's eyes narrowed

as if she were again reviewing that time. "It was wonderful, too. I

can remember it now just as if it were yesterday."

"Dat wuzn't nothin'. He done been all ober de State now and he's

cellibrated ebery whar he goes. Honey-chile, yer jes' wait tell yer heah

him agin."

"It's no use, Mammy." Natalia sighed leniently. "You see I'm interested

in only one man now, and as I'm going to be married next week, I don't

believe it's proper for me to listen to the praises of another as you

are singing them."

Rising, with her arm still about Dicey, she walked slowly to the door.

"You see how dark it is getting. You have almost made me forget that

Morgan will be waiting for me and wondering where I am. Tell him,

though, Mammy--your Marse Sargent--that he must come out to see me

to-morrow, and be sure to make him promise to let me have you. I am not

going away without you."

"He's away on er speakin' trip now. He won't be back fer er week."

"So he will not be here for my wedding!" Natalia frowned with evident

disappointment. "Then I must write him about you at once."

Dicey stared at Natalia a moment, and then drawing her face down until

it rested on her bosom, she kissed her as she used to do, on the top of

her head, in the wide part.

"Listen, honey-chile," she whispered, halting at the door, with the old

strange look of visions in her eyes. "Does yer 'member de night yer

axed Mammy to fin' picters in de fire fer yer?"

"Of course I remember, Mammy," Natalia answered from the steps. "You

always were finding them for me. Do you do it still?"

"I'se speakin' 'bout one time in perticula'," Dicey answered gravely.

Natalia halted, drawing her brows together thoughtfully.

"No, I don't remember particularly, Mammy," she cried gaily, blowing a

kiss back to the old woman. "Come out to-morrow and tell me about it.

Good-bye!"

Dicey turned back into the hall and locked the door after her. It was

almost dark now, and as she stood alone among the grey shadows of the

twilight the old look of visions burned wildly in her eyes.

Suddenly she went to the back door and out into the yard. Stopping at

last before the wood house, she called to a negro man inside.

"Jonas! Jonas! Does yer know whar Marser is?"

"He mighty nigh two days' good ridin' way from heah. Whut yer wants ter

know fer?"

"Nebber yer min', nigger. Yer go ter Jedge Houston's ter-night an' fin'

out fer certin whar Marse Sargent am ter be found. We'se goin' ter be

needin' him in er mighty few days."

*CHAPTER IV*

*SLAVES FOR STAKES*

The Mansion House was still the gathering place of all the prominent

citizens, as it had been when Sargent Everett had landed there; only now

the little tavern had grown into a famous hostelry. Its facade had been

dignified with the addition of a third story; its front pavement had

been widened into a spacious terrace, where tables and chairs were

placed invitingly beneath the trees; and along its front was an

extensive row of large rocking chairs, gay and hospitable with bright

red paint, and always occupied at the hours the coaches were expected.

But the real glory of the tavern was its bar and so-called club room,

decorated with trophies brought there by its wealthy patrons--Indian

relics, muskets from some pioneer campaign, skins and furs belonging to

celebrated hunters, and most prominent of all, a huge pair of antlers,

silver tipped and engraved with the name of Captain Mentdrop, which he

had won in a boat race from St. Louis to New Orleans.

Almost any hour of the day and late into the night, wealthy planters of

the surrounding country and prominent men of the town were to be found

there, discussing politics, consummating large land deals, gambling,

with bales of cotton, slaves, and some times whole plantations as

stakes. "We call it 'flush' times," Jervais said, as he drove into the

town with Morgan and Joel Talbot. "With State banks issuing bills by

the sheet, and no showing of credit asked except for a fellow to prove

that he needs money, there is no better name for it. Why, man, there

don't seem to be anybody about here that isn't flush; property has gone

beyond reach, and the whole Southwest is wide open. Only last month I

was talking to a fellow that used to be my overseer. He had just been

to New York, and with a letter avouching his citizenship, and a clean

shirt, he had gotten all the money he wanted. No wonder everybody's

flocking this way."

"It can't last. It's fictitious. Wait until the Specie Circular begins

to take effect," Morgan replied.

"Ah, there you have it. But while all this fun is going on, I say a

fellow's a fool not to enjoy it and make all he can out of it. I, for

one," and Jervais blew a cloud of cigar smoke luxuriously about him, "I,

for one, am not asleep. It's the time in a century for a lawyer!"

"So it seems. See how my old friend is rising on the wave," Talbot

commented.

"Your old friend?"

"Yes--Sargent Everett. You know he came down here through me."

Jervais leaned back in his seat with assumed indifference. "Why d'ye

know, that surprises me," he said, viewing Talbot with the lazy hauteur

of his younger days. "What can you possibly find to interest you in a

fellow like Everett?"

Morgan did not answer at once. Sitting beside Jervais, he had been

observing him closely during the drive. He had already felt a growing

dislike for the man, seeing beneath the suave manners a certain cold

insolence; but thinking that this was perhaps a reflection of Natalia's

attitude towards him, Morgan had attempted to overcome it. Now, with

the sneering words about his old friend, he felt this dislike deepening.

"He is going to Congress, I hear," Joel put in during the moment of

silence.

"That's not certain, by a long shot. Wait until you see the ballot, and

then, from what I know, Sargent Everett will realize that he never did

stand a show. But here's the tavern." Jervais spoke with evident

relief. "Now, I'll have a chance to introduce you to some of my

friends. This fellow coming toward us," he continued, as they stepped

from the carriage, "is a good example of what the flush times are doing.

A few years ago he was a poor, down-in-the-mouth land agent; now kindly

observe him--he has ambitions towards the Governor's mansion if you

please! Come over, Mr. Suggs, and shake hands with Mr. Talbot and his

brother--from Boston."

Mr. Suggs advanced with his usual appreciation of an important occasion.

A chimney pot hat and a tight frock coat, closely buttoned across his

narrow chest, accentuated his gaunt figure, and increased the air of

prosperity which his recent admission to the bar demanded.

"Mighty glad to meet you, gentlemen. From Boston--did I understand?"

"Of course, Suggs, the original members of the Tea Party," Jervais put

in with a wink towards Morgan. "Mr. Suggs wants to give you the

impression that he never heard of you before, Talbot. And I'll bet you

the juleps he knows more about you now than you do about yourself. But

come, let's sit down. What's your last case, Suggs?"

In a moment Jervais had drawn a crowd about them, every one coming up to

extend a cordial welcome to the Northerners. There was Colonel Andrews,

a gentleman of flowing beard and manners, who told of his exploits in

the Battle of New Orleans, with all the enthusiasm of the original

moment; there was another just back from the Florida campaign; another

on his way to New Orleans to purchase half a hundred slaves for his

plantations--and many men of the town, young and old, each evidently

glad of an opportunity to meet and converse with men from the far

distant North.

Jervais was at his best as host of the occasion, doing the honours with

the elegance of manner which had made him so successful with a certain

class. Reports of Talbot's wealth and position had preceded him, and

nothing was more to Jervais' pleasure than to introduce such a personage

to the town.

"It's certainly a great pleasure to meet you gentlemen," Mr. Suggs was

saying to Joel, having placed his chair confidentially near him. "I was

only wishing to-day that I could have had some one from a distance to

hear me argue a case. Now, you would have appreciated it, I know. A

long toddy," to the waiter. "I was defending a boy who had stolen his

neighbour's calf. It was a mighty ticklish case, too, I'd let you

know--because all the neighbourhood was against the poor devil." Suggs

stopped a moment impressively.

"Of course you cleared him," some one called out, who had been

listening.

"But tell me how," Joel laughed. "It seems an impossible feat."

"Well, sir, you would think so," Mr. Suggs continued seriously, "though

when I looked into the matter, I found the poor fellow was starving, and

you know yourself, Mr. Talbot, a man that's starving ain't responsible

for his acts--ain't I right?"

"And if he's dying of thirst, Suggs--what then?" some one broke in.

"Of course the jury saw it that way. I made it so plain to them they

_had_ to. Now, I've a theory--"

"Joel, I want you to meet Mr. Morancy. He's our national hero in this

part of the world. D'you ever hear of him in Boston--the fellow who won

fifty thousand dollars in one poker game!"

Joel found himself shaking hands with a florid faced man with iron grey

hair. Beneath the shade of a broad brimmed felt hat, the calm features

gave no clue to such an extravagant reputation.

"But it occurred on a Mississippi River steamboat, Mr. Talbot." Mr.

Morancy laughed, as he shook hands.

"He wants to give you the impression that it was an accident," Colonel

Andrews put in, "but it was as premeditated as the fellow who had waited

for a Royal Flush."

"Tell us, Colonel! Sh'h! The Colonel's on for a story!" came from the

crowd.

The old fellow threw back his shoulders and swelled portentously.

"Gentlemen," he said, in his rolling, grandiloquent style, "I never tell

that story except when there is a chance for me to hold what that fellow

had waited for."

It was a signal for the crowd to move to the club room just back of the

bar. There, three cloth-covered tables were placed in the centre of the

room. About one, several men were already hard at it, the sound of the

chips, the boisterous laughter and oaths telling that the game was at

its height.

Jervais was the first to sit down, his eyes surveying the crowd with the

glitter of a devotee of the game. "Sit down, Talbot," he cried to

Morgan. "I want you to have a little taste of how we play poker down

here. Come on, Colonel Andrews, and you, Morancy, although I don't want

you to look forward to fifty thousand on this game. We'll go it easy in

consideration for the strangers," he ended, with a glance towards Morgan

that brought a rush of blood to his face.

"I beg you gentlemen will not let my presence dampen your game in the

least," Morgan said quietly taking his seat next Colonel Andrews. "I

shall be delighted to play your game as you play it, and I shall not

object even to a table stake, if that is your custom." He looked at

Jervais with this last thrust, and smiled broadly.

"We usually start," Colonel Andrews hastened to explain, clearing his

throat and glancing about the crowd, "on a modest limit, and sometimes

end up on table stakes. But we might begin there to-day, if you

gentlemen are agreeable. I think it will be swift enough for any of you

if we make it all jacks with a dollar ante. Shall we each buy a

thousand for Stakes? ... Very well, then."

The Colonel, acting as banker, dealt out to each player a thousand

dollars' worth of chips, and each gave him his I.O.U. for the amount.

"Let's see who deals." he continued, dealing a card to each player.

"Ah! a king: I deal. Well," the deck of cards falling together between

his long fingers, "well, gentlemen, everybody come in and look

pleasant!" Another moment and each chipped in his ante, and the cards

began flying around.

"Now I can continue my story," Colonel Andrews went on, draining a tall

tumbler of champagne, and looking at Morgan with a glance of

approbation. He was keen enough to have caught the stranger's

refutation of Jervais' remark, and liked his bold stroke.

"Yes--I'm anxious to hear it. You said it was a Royal Flush?"

"That is what it is about. Ever hold one?"

"No, I've never been so lucky as that," Morgan answered, picking up his

cards. "It's worth living for, though, I expect."

"Well--I reckon. Yes, sir, he believed it would come to him some day,

and..." The Colonel became silent suddenly, as he looked at his cards.

All hands passed, and the deal went to Jervais.

"Yes, as I was saying, he knew it would come to him one of these days.

He got it at last, too, and as luck would have it, the game was the

biggest he had ever got mixed up in." The Colonel paused again when the

cards had been dealt, and when Morancy opened with but Jervais staying,

he continued: "And, bless your soul, when he actually did see that Royal

family staring up at him, he had to tie his handkerchief around his neck

to keep from yelling."

Jervais opened the next pot for twenty-five dollars, saying to the

Colonel, "Go on, I'm listening. You said the fellow got at last what he

was looking for."

But the Colonel was too much occupied then to notice. In the pause

Morgan glanced about the room. The third table had been taken now, and

the room was gradually filling with a crowd of onlookers. In those days

it was not a crime to stand behind a man and watch his game, for such

was the common feeling of good-fellowship, that each man trusted the one

behind him and accepted him as a gentleman of honour. Besides, the

Mansion House was only open to gentlemen.

The sound of clinking chips, the dense clouds of smoke, and the endless

hubbub of voices in many keys, were steadily making the room stifling.

Waiters were rushing around to supply every want at the same time.

With the rapid succession of pots and the unusually brisk plays, the

Colonel had evidently forgot to proceed with his story--or at least had

deferred concluding until the present absorbing interest of the game had

subsided. Jervais was losing steadily; his hands were just large enough

to keep him in nearly every play--and almost invariably small enough to

lose the pots. In the meantime he had bought another thousand chips,

and that now was nearly gone. Morgan's luck was unprecedented; it

seemed he could draw to anything and win.

The last pot--opened by Jervais--had gone to Morgan, and the deal was

now his. Jervais had ordered a bowl of punch for the crowd, and was

just testing the first glass. Measuring the pile of chips before

Morgan, he suddenly asked the Colonel for four thousand more, with the

apparent purpose of matching Morgan's money in anticipation of an

opportunity for favourable encounter.

"Here's to bridegroom's luck," he called to Morgan. Talbot smiled and

drained his glass.

"As I was saying," the Colonel began again, "he was in a big game and

they'd gotten the pot up to ten thousand dollars--yes, sir,--there was

ten thousand in the pot and that fellow bet ten thousand, naturally.

The crowd wouldn't stand for it though: wanted to give him only a show

down; they said the fellow didn't have ten thousand dollars to his name.

Did he? Well, to tell the truth--no, he didn't."

The cards had been dealt again, and the table went silent. Morancy

opened, the Colonel raised, Jervais doubled, and Morgan stayed.

Morancy, too raised, and the Colonel, Jervais, and Morgan called.

After the draw the betting became lively once more,--confined, though,

to Jervais and Talbot. Morancy and the Colonel having but relatively

small amounts before them, came in for a show down. Finally Morgan

"tapped" Jervais, the former laying down four Aces, the latter four

Queens. Both had drawn the fourth card.

"There's something in bridegroom's luck, after all," commented Morancy,

smiling good-humouredly at Jervais, who had not won a hand, and was

begin to show it.

"Pretty good for you," commented the Colonel, as the deal flew again

from his fingers. "Take my advice, and don't keep your host in this

game much longer," he added in an aside to Morgan. "He's always hard

up, the darned fool, and never was known to have sense enough to quit.

You see, he's getting pretty far gone, already." Then aloud, "but you

couldn't bluff that fellow, even if he didn't have the ten thousand. He

wrote out a check on the best bank in the town and threw it on the

table. What did the others do? Why, they gave him the laugh. They

didn't want checks--they wanted hard cash."

"Five cards," called Jervais irritably.

Morancy's caught the Colonel's eye and his own closed eloquently. "Give

me two," he said.

Morgan took two. As the hands went down, Morgan got the pile again.

"Well--I suppose your man was bluffing with his ten thousand?

"When they wouldn't take his check, he called for paper and ink, and

wrote to the President of the bank. I've got what I've been looking for

all my life. Am I good for ten thousand dollars?"

"For God's sake shut up, Colonel," cried Jervais. "We're playing poker."

The next deal was Morgan's. Candles were being brought in as the room

gradually darkened, and with the soft light the surroundings took on a

new aspect. lire newcomers were growing numerous with the approaching

evening, until a double circle of men was around the tables. A general

interest was being displayed in the Northerner's luck, accounts of which

had reached to the outside of the tavern.

Morgan stopped before dealing and looked at his watch. Then he looked

at Jervais. "They expect us back at seven o'clock," he said. "Shall we

stop now?"

"No," Jervais cried, his voice shaking slightly, his face flushing from

the effects of too much liquor. "Your luck's too good for me to quit."

Morgan looked up quickly, then glanced at the others. "Well, one more

hand around then--but the last," he said deliberately. "We are expected

at home at seven," he continued in explanation to the others. "Possibly

Mr. Jervais does not understand my impatience."

"Nor your luck." suggested the Colonel.

"Go on--go on," Jervais muttered. "If you're in a hurry, let's get

through. I'll show you something this time."

"Better walk around your chair," Morancy laughed.

Jervais wheeled towards him. "Is it your money I'm losing?"

Jervais now replaced his depleted pile by a further purchase of chips,

and announced that, as it was the last hand around, he would not limit

his stake to the money in front of him, but would, so far as he was

concerned, allow or make any bet.

The cards were dealt in silence.

"Three for me," cried Jervais, his hand falling heavily upon the table.

The Colonel looked around the table, his face elaborately

expressionless.

"I stand pat," said Morgan. After the others had drawn he bet fifty

dollars.

"I raise you two hundred," added Jervais, who had filled.

"That let's me out," came from Morancy, with the resignation of an old

fighter. He was followed by the three other men.

"One thousand more," said Morgan, facing Jervais squarely.

"Gentlemen, you will have to excuse me," and the Colonel laid down his

hand.

"Fifteen hundred more."

"Two thousand better," from Morgan.

"Twenty-five hundred better than you."

Morgan studied his hand intently for a few seconds. "Well, we'll make

it three thousand more. Colonel, I'm very anxious to hear the end of

that story."

Jervais' face was livid now.

"Four thousand--d'you hear? I say four! You can't bluff _me_!"

Morgan met his look with a sudden realization that the affair had gone

too far, although a glance around the room told him that he could not

afford to end the game; that must be done by Jervais.

"I make it five thousand." Morgan's voice trembled a little.

"By God, I'll call you!" Jervais answered. "And pay you in slaves if I

lose."

Morgan was on his feet in a moment. "I'm not gambling for slaves," he

cried angrily, throwing four deuces on the table. "You know, Mr.

Jervais, how I feel on that subject."

Jervais had risen also, steadying himself against the back of his chair.

"Easy, gentlemen, easy," cried the Colonel, leaning across the table

between the two men. "Call the game off for this evening. You're both

a little excited now."

"Jervais can call the game off or not as he chooses," Morgan said

sharply, turning away. "But he can't pay me in slaves."

Jervais steadied himself with an effort. "Well, I won't then, since

you're so particular. You and I can settle this affair ourselves.

Let's go home now--only--you've got to come back here again and show

these gentlemen how long that luck of yours can keep up." As he turned

sullenly toward the door Morancy and several others quietly surrounded

him, without saying a word.

"Oh, I'll come back," Morgan smiled easily at the prospect of getting

away with so little trouble. "I'm here for two weeks, gentlemen," and

bowing to the crowd, he left the club-room, followed by Joel.

"It's a great failing of his," the Colonel explained, as he walked with

Morgan to the carriage. "Getting worse and worse all the time. Sorry

it happened this evening, but you forget all about it--Lem won't

remember a thing by morning."

They were nearly at the carriage now, where Jervais had been safely

landed on the back seat.

"Oh, I almost forgot to finish that story," said the Colonel, his hand

holding Morgan's in a tight clasp. "The fellow had talked so much about

that hand he was living for that the banker knew what he meant. So he

said it was all right, and on the strength of that the crowd accepted

the fellow's ten-thousand-dollar bet, and every one dropped out. But if

it had come to a show-down, by jingo, there wasn't a damn thing in his

hand but a pair of deuces. Good night, my boy,--see you to-morrow."

And he went off laughing.

*CHAPTER V*

*CANDLELIGHT*

After supper that evening, when they were leaving the dining-room,

Natalia slipped her arm through Judge Houston's, and drew him towards

the big salon across the hall.

"Let's you and I run away from the others for a while," she whispered as

they entered the room. "I haven't had any talk at all with you, and if

we slip in here and sit over on that old davenport in the corner,

they'll never find us, and we can talk, and talk, and talk--like we used

to. There is so much that I want you to tell me; so much that I want to

tell you."

She led him across the highly polished floor, the old gentleman

playfully assuming that he might slip.

"Suppose I should fall, Natalia," he complained; "I never did like these

slippery floors. I won't let Maria have them at home."

"Lean on me, Uncle Felix," she answered, smiling. "I know it will be

difficult for you to do, though--you never leaned on any one in your

life, did you? Put your arm through mine and take a step--so. Any one

would think we were dancing a minuet or a Virginia reel! But you will

dance the quadrille with me at my own wedding, won't you, Uncle Felix?

Now!" she ended, landing him safely on the deep sofa.

"The time is coming, Natalia, when I must lean on some one all the

time," the old gentleman sighed. "It isn't very far off, either. Do

you know, I find myself deferring to Maria for the smallest things, and

when not Maria--it is Sargent."

"Sargent Everett," Natalia repeated after him, piling some cushions on

the horse-hair upholstery so that the old gentleman would lean back

comfortably. Then she pushed a small stool before the sofa, and sat

down upon it, resting her chin in her hand while the other one lay

across his knee. "Sargent Everett," she said again thoughtfully. "That

is one of the things I want you to tell me, Uncle Felix--all about him."

The late twilight of the warm June day still glowed through the windows.

The whispering of the birds as they sought shelter for the night in the

magnolia grove floated in to them, lending a potent charm to the quiet

surroundings. Judge Houston did not answer at once, and in the long

silence that widened between them, he felt for a while that almost any

words would jar the contentment of the moment. Occasionally his hand

moved across Natalia's hair--a touch so gentle and loving that she

wondered if her father would have meant more to her than this dear old

man.

"There is so much to tell," he began at last, "and I would gain so much

pleasure in the telling that you would fall asleep long before I was

half through. Indeed, Natalia, Sargent is making these last days of my

life very happy, for in his success I seem to get a pleasure so deep

that at times I imagine his triumphs are my own."

Natalia moved restlessly, as if to rise, then sank back on the stool

again.

"Why is it that every one I meet seems to worship him?" she murmured,

half complaining. "You have always loved him more than me--yes, you

have, dear Uncle Felix, and now, when I come back home, I find Dicey is

his slave--and willingly, too. He has stolen the love of you both from

me. I am growing very, very jealous of him. Do you know, Uncle Felix,

Dicey says she will not leave him, but I believe she will, don't you?"

"I did not know you had seen her. Was she here to-day?"

"No. I went to her."

"At Sargent's house--to-day?"

"Yes, that is where I was all the afternoon. He was not there. Dicey

said he was out of town on some political tour. Tell me about him,

Uncle Felix--it has been years and years since I heard from him or about

him. Occasionally I have seen articles in the papers about his

speeches. Are they so wonderful? Have you some of them that I could

read?"

Judge Houston's eyes glowed with the enthusiasm that was always in them

when he spoke of Sargent, nor did Natalia miss the sudden quickening of

interest and kindling of energies that so obviously manifested his

devotion.

"His speeches are remarkable works of beauty and construction, but they

are nothing in comparison with his delivery. It always saddens me when

I think of his future reputation--when he goes down in history--as he

surely will--for people will not realize half his power in reading his

speeches; his magnetism, his charm, his force that holds one spellbound

in listening--all that will be lost to the next generation, and it is

that, more than anything else, that has made him remarkable. I took out

my watch one day to see how long he would take for a certain speech, and

I found myself at the end of the speech still holding the watch in my

hand, entirely forgotten."

"Then the years have brought him success," Natalia reflected. "I

remember his great ambition, and a phrase of his--'I want to show the

world that because a man is a cripple he can still be a great man.'"

The Judge bowed his head, enthusiastically "My one great hope is that I

shall live to hear his voice sounding in the walls of the Capitol at

Washington. It will, too, one of these days."

"Tell me about his success," Natalia said leaning back comfortably

against his knees.

"It is a long, long story, Natalia, and would weary you in the telling.

It began when you were here. Don't you remember the trial of Phelps?

That started him on the upward path, and it also had a much deeper

significance than the world ever supposed. When he had convicted Phelps

it troubled him so that he went to the jail with the object of releasing

the fellow. Fortunately for Sargent Phelps never knew his intention,

and killed himself and ever since then Sargent has defended any and

every criminal that comes to him. He calls it his life-work--saving men

so as to give them another chance. After that case, he was sent to the

Legislature and now we are going to send him to Congress--the election

takes place this week. After that he says he is coming back here and

settle down in his home and be content to practise criminal law, which

he has made his special work. Some day, when you meet him, get him to

tell you about his theory in regard to it; it is beautiful."

"When I meet him," Natalia reflected softly. "It seems that I shall not

see him again, Uncle Felix; and yet, do you know, this place is not the

same to me as it used to be, and I believe that it is because he is not

here. In some way he seems to be very closely woven into all the

impressions of my childhood--he and Dicey." Suddenly she turned and

looked up into the old man's face. "Uncle Felix, Dicey told me that he

always talked of the time when I should come back to him. Is it really

so? Did he think that?"

Judge Houston leaned back, so that the protecting shadows would betray

no expression on his face. It was too late now for her to know. He

would tell her nothing that would in any way tinge her happiness with a

shade of sadness or regret. When he answered her, his voice was steady,

almost gay, in an attempt at carelessness.

"That was a dream of mine, Natalia. You and he were dearer to me than

any others in the world. It was only natural that I should have hoped

that you two might have loved each other. But you see," he sighed in

mock despair, "I am carrying out the words of the prophet--'your old men

shall dream dreams'--and I am a very old man, Natalia. I shall be

seventy-six my next birthday."

"Seventy-six years," Natalia repeated, absently, wondering over the

reason for his not replying to her question. Could it be that what

Dicey said was true? She hurriedly drove the doubt from her thoughts,

for a strange fear had suddenly crept into her consciousness--the fear

that her great happiness might come to her through the suffering of

another. With the intuitive perception she rose from her stool with a

start. The room had become totally dark; only the light from the hall

threw a faint shaft into the room.

She groped her way to the tall black marble mantel, over which hung the

portrait of her mother, and lit the two seven-branched candlesticks.

Going back to the stool, she sat down as before, resting her face in her

hands and gazing at the portrait.

In the soft glow of candlelight the room looked enormous. The vista

made by the two mirrors at each end and directly opposite to each other

created a perspective that was without limit in its repeated reflection.

The portrait gained a semblance of life from the deep shadows and high

lights, and looked down from its gorgeous gilt frame on the crimson

damask upholstery and rosewood carvings, with the affection that years

of association had created. The gleaming mahogany floor gathered into

its embrace the reflection, and in the subdued light and the strange

fragrance of passed years breathing life into the speechless objects,

Natalia felt that she was growing nearer to what it all represented to

her than she had ever been before.

"Seventy-six years," she said again thoughtfully. "How beautiful to grow

old as you have done, Uncle Felix. Nay, is it growing old? It seems to

me that with you and Aunt Maria it has been a gradual growing nearer to

a beautiful future life--a gentle approach towards God. I wonder if I

shall grow old that way, or die in the heyday of my youth and

happiness--as my mother did. To think that I never knew her," she

sighed, when she had looked a long time at the portrait. "And now when

I seem to think of her most, when I feel that I need her--she is gone.

Can there be a greater loss to a girl than not to know a mother? And I

shall never know what it is! Sometimes it makes me very sad when I

realize there is no one from whom I can claim anything--no one to whom I

can go and demand things because of the ties of blood. Even you and

Aunt Maria are really no kin--are not tied except by love."

The old man leaned forward and turned her face towards him.

"Could any ties be stronger than those of love?" he smiled into her

eyes.

"I know, dear Uncle Felix," she pressed his hands as she answered, "but

the tie of blood is a very wonderful thing. It makes me feel so

dreadfully lonely at times, to know that you, that Morgan, that every

one is doing for me not because they ought to, but because they love

me--perhaps pity me. Probably I express myself badly, and yet--you must

know what I mean. It is lack of that _right_ to lean on some one for

help and protection, and feel that you are only demanding of him what it

is his duty to give. That is what I expect my marriage to bring me."

Judge Houston leaned nearer to her, intently watching the changing

expressions that played across her face, and which seemed to gather

brilliancy from the portrait towards which she looked. His eye wandered

from the painted face to the living reproduction, then back again--and

between them there rose before him his old bridge of dreams--dreams

which the last month had shattered. Again he felt an almost

overwhelming desire to tell her of that dream which was but the

reflection of the dream of another; if it were only possible to let her

know of the plans and talks and hopes that he and the other one had made

their guiding star for years! But he could not--his duty to her kept

him silent, and in her love he realized the hopelessness of his own

desires.

Then in the more than three-score years of calm restraint and

self-denial, his deep affection for the man who had become his son

rushed over him and made him speak.

"Natalia," he hurried over the words, "there is something I want to

know--from your own lips."

"You can ask me anything, Uncle Felix." She turned her face towards him

with the frankness of a child. "I have no secrets that I would not tell

you."

His hand rested on her shoulder while he searched her eyes.

"How great is your love for Morgan Talbot?"

Natalia met his eyes seriously for a few moments; and then she laughed

softly.

"What a question, Uncle Felix, and particularly when it comes from you!

How great is my love for the man I am going to marry? Do you know me so

little that you deem such a question necessary?"

"No. But I know you so well that I know that you will tell me the

truth--that is, if you answer me seriously."

Gradually the smile faded into a pensive expression, and Natalia turned

slowly back to where the gleaming portrait held her attention again.

"How great is my love," she murmured as if in self-questioning. "How

great is my love? Why, Uncle Felix, how do I know how great it is?

What is there for me to compare it to?"

The old man leaned towards her, and though her face was turned from him

when he spoke, she felt that there was something left unsaid behind his

words.

"Is this the first time you have loved? Is there nothing that went

before, by which you can judge?"

"No, nothing." Natalia turned and searched his eyes for the hidden

meaning. "I have never been in love before, unless--" her face flushed

slightly as she found his meaning, "unless it were my old admiration for

Sargent Everett. But then I was too young to know."

Judge Houston leaned back once more into the protecting shadows of the

wall, it had come at last he sighed to himself, and she had been the

first to mention it.

"And is this love that you now feel, like the first?"

"No." She shook her head, her face saddening sweetly. "No. I adored

Sargent Everett. It was worship. A girl only has that experience once

in life; fortunately it came to me early and I outgrew it. But I

remember it painfully well. It is the sort of feeling that one must

have who bows down and worships a god, and sees that god returning his

affection--can there be any sensation more wonderful! And all the

incidents of our association naturally added a picturesqueness that

impressed my childish imagination, coloured it, and made his image sink

very deep upon mv mind. This morning when I went out to the old bench

under the magnolias where he and I used to sit, I actually felt a return

of my old love for him. I actually forgot Morgan for the moment!" She

ended with a happy laugh.

"Tell me then," Judge Houston asked after a pause. "How does this other

love differ from the first?"

She clasped her hands in her lap and leaned back against the sofa, her

eyes half closed in meditation. Finally, with a graceful movement, she

put out her hand and drew the old man's into hers.

"My love for Morgan," she began slowly. "How can I ever describe it! It

did not come to me suddenly--it was more the outgrowth of association--a

drifting into it without realization. Is it not always that way?" She

lifted her face towards the old man intently, and found him looking down

at her with a sad expression that she did not understand.

"You say you found it that way?"

"Yes, Uncle Felix," Natalia answered gayly. "Now please don't upbraid me

for not falling in love at first sight. You know such things don't

happen nowadays. I first met Morgan at the boarding school where Mamma

Brandon sent me. Millicent was there with me at the time, and through

our friendship I began to hear stories of her beautiful brother whom she

described as the acme of all that was handsome and brave and wonderful.

You must remember we were only twelve then. It is rather a strange

thing, now, as things have eventuated, that I used to answer all her

descriptions of Morgan with effusions about Sargent Everett. Then I met

him. You can see the impression he would be likely to make upon a

lonely little school-girl away from the few people who had ever loved

her. Naturally the absent scene faded as the years passed, and I found

myself living only in the world about me--a world filled with all the

interests of the school and my broadening education, and made a place of

enchantment to me by the kindness and affection of Morgan's family.

They made me one of them. And when the day of real freedom came, when I

left school to enter the world, with the enormous accretions from my

plantations which you and Mamma Brandon had so skilfully managed for

me--everything was perfect. Ah, it was beautiful! That first year of

my real life. I can remember exactly my sensations the night I made my

debut. We went to the opera first to hear Jenny Lind sing, and

afterwards there was a big ball. I carried a beautiful bouquet of

lilies of the valley--oh, Uncle Felix, it was gorgeous! That was two

years ago. Since then, you know how I have travelled, how I spent a year

in Europe, losing myself in the shadows of all that historic past, all

that overpowering procession of events that has left its monuments for

us to wonder over.... Those were carefree days, happy and thoughtless,

with no suspicion of a to-morrow, and in them, with me--for long periods

of travel--was Morgan--always faithful, always attentive, always an

ideal lover. I never thought of marrying him then--at least never

seriously, until I came back from Europe, and found that the same things

that filled my life before amused me no longer. I was tired of playing,

Uncle Felix, I had played too much. Something within called me to the

great problems of life--I felt that I wanted to be in touch with people

whose lives were amounting to something, who were doing good in the

world and helping others. I seemed to realize then, for the first time,

that I was drifting along in a happiness that would bring me nothing in

the future, and I saw myself in my old age, when my youth and freshness

and beauty were all gone, as a little child, without any one dependent

upon me for their happiness. I think it was that, Uncle Felix," and she

drew his hand gently to her cheek, "that opened my eyes to Morgan's

love. He was there, waiting to give me a protection and haven from that

awful lonely future. And I thought of you and Aunt Maria growing old

together so beautifully, and I know now, Uncle Felix, that Morgan and I

shall do the same.... When I have a child, Uncle Felix, think how

everything that has gone before will be as nothing! When I have one

that is mine, a part of me--that is what will make my life divine!"

Suddenly she put her hands up to his face and kissed him. "Forgive me!

Forgive me! I did not mean to wound you. I did not mean to thrust my

happiness at you--so."

There were tears in the old man's eyes as she talked on, lost in her own

narration, and when she looked up at him again, they were streaming down

his cheeks, she rose from the stool and slipped on to the sofa beside

him, pulling his arm around her waist, so that her face lay close

against his, with the silence deepening between them.

"Uncle Felix," she began again, after having risen and carefully snuffed

the candles on the mantel. "I have never told any one what I have told

you to-night; indeed, there was no one to tell--not even Morgan. It was

my thought of you and this dear old place that made me wish to solemnize

my marriage here. It may be the last time I shall ever be here, at

least for many, many years; yet now that I have come back, and all the

past has rushed over me with all its old charm and fascination--I feel

that I should like to remain here always. There is something so

protected and safe here--an aloofness from the world that would save one

from almost every suffering. But of course it is impossible." She

stirred restlessly. "Already Morgan is growing impatient, and wants to

get back to the rush and stir of a city." She rose and with both hands

pulled the old gentleman up after her. "Let's go back to the others

now. But first--I may never have the chance to speak to you of it

again--tell Sargent Everett of my deep affection for him still--tell him

that I shall always be grateful for his having made me a very happy

little girl, and that the only thing that marred my happiness on my

wedding day was his absence. Now, let's go back to Morgan."

*CHAPTER VI*

*HIS WEDDING PRESENT*

The wedding day came--a beautiful day, filled with the glory of June

sunshine, warm, sweet, brilliant--bringing in its perfection omens of

great happiness.

The old home gained in beauty as the grove about it grew heavily laden

with the honeyed fragrance of the magnolia blossoms, and the deep green

leaves became even more varnished and glistening. The cool shadows and

the topaz patches of sunlight mingled upon the tall columns; the

red-tiled roof glowed as if with an understanding of its responsibility

that day.

Natalia rose in the early morning and passing through the hall, where

already there were signs of much stirring and preparation, went out into

the garden. It was still very early. The first smoke from the quarters

was curling lazily upward, and from the barn came the tinkling sound of

bells as the cows were led into the pens for milking; and all through

the atmosphere, insistent and penetrating, was that indefinable,

vibrating sound of nature awakening in the early morning.

The garden greeted her with a burst of bloom, veiled timidly in its

protection of dew. She lifted her face to the soft air, and breathed

the delicious fragrance of the honeysuckle. Everything was perfect to

her at this moment. She looked through the eyes of one to whom the

world has become a consummation of ideals.

She lingered beside the pomegranate bush, smiling as she vainly sought

for the jay-bird's nest that she had found there when a child; then she

strolled on into the depths of the grove. How fortunate she was, she

reflected, as her eyes lingered on all her surroundings, to have this

quiet, beautiful spot in which to solemnize the marriage that was to

bring her completeness. How perfect that her honeymoon should be spent

in the surroundings that her mother and father had known at such a time.

In each detail she imagined she could discover some preference of

theirs; in the quiet and aloofness of the early morning she felt

intuitively that they were with her.

The sound of a step behind her made her turn quickly, a quick frown at

the interruption changing instantly into a smile of happiness, for

Morgan had seen her from his window and followed her.

"It is our wedding day, sweetheart," he said when he had reached her and

put his arm about her. "Our wedding day--think of it! May I be the

first to kiss you on such an important day?"

Natalia looked up at him thoughtfully, dwelling with a tender glance

upon his bright, manly face and fair hair. In the morning brilliance he

shone resplendent, catching, as if by natural attraction, all the beauty

and freshness of the day in his brilliant colouring and deep blue eyes.

"Is it such an important day?" Natalia answered softly. "I sometimes

wonder if marriage is not an anticlimax. The greatest moment to me was

when I realized that I loved you. Nothing will ever equal the joy of

that--not even our wedding."

"That is a girl's way of looking at it," Morgan laughed easily. "With a

man it is quite different. You see, dear, he fears so that the girl

might change her mind, that he is not really happy and satisfied until

she actually belongs to him."

"There you go, Morgan." Natalia looked away, answering his smile

half-heartedly. "Joking when I am serious. But it is very fortunate, I

suppose. I should always see the serious side of life if it were not

for you. I am so glad that we are different, dear. You see--we are

antidotes. You correct my seriousness--I sober your lightheartedness."

Morgan looked at her curiously.

"Yet you can be as gay as I, Natalia. You were so at school; you were

on our long voyage together. It is only since we have been engaged that

you have changed. What is it? Are you not entirely happy?"

"Of course I am--the happiest woman in the world! Only I feel my

happiness differently from you. It is a more serious thing to me. It's

my nature, I suppose. I've been trying all my life to let people know

how happy I was, and even when in my most melancholy spells I found a

certain quiet peace, I had to appear gay to keep others from thinking I

was miserable. It's a trick of mine, to hide my real feelings, I

suppose. We're all acting, anyhow, don't you think so?"

"No, I'm not," Talbot smiled down at her gayly. "I honestly believe I am

as nearly frank as people get. I never could hide my emotions, and I've

never yet learned to control my anger."

"How dreadfully you frighten me, Morgan." Natalia frowned in assumed

fear. "Suppose you should get angry with me--would you treat me very

badly? Would you whip me?" She laughed outright. "Dicey says there used

to be an old farmer here who whipped his wife every Saturday night

because he said it was the only way a man could make a woman respect

him. And she also says that when the man was sent to jail for stealing

his neighbour's cow, that his wife would go with him. Such a case makes

one ponder, doesn't it, Morgan, as to which is the right way to hold

another's love?"

"I'll never treat you that way, Natalia, because," and he hesitated,

half-serious, "I'm almost afraid of you at times--when your eyes grow

very black and the colour fades out of your face. I don't know whether

it is anger, or what. It makes you wonderfully beautiful, though."

"I know--it is when I'm very intense. It's when my Spanish blood is

aroused. Sometimes I have felt that I was acting without my own

volition--that some one else, a new nature within me, was compelling me

on to something I was helpless to combat. I will tell you about it some

day, but not this morning. I've determined to let nothing mar our

happiness to-day. But I have a request to make," she ended tentatively.

"Anything in the world--you have only to name it," Morgan replied

promptly, swinging her hand in his, to and fro, like a happy schoolboy.

"Do you know, sir," Natalia began, with mincing manner and chiding

voice, "that you spent all of yesterday afternoon and the one before,

away from me--and worst of all--with Mr. Jervais!"

Morgan's face showed his evident surprise.

"You don't mean to tell me, Natalia, that you objected to that!

Certainly you didn't want me to stay here all the time listening to you

women folks discuss trousseaux and wedding cakes!"

Natalia smiled at him silently.

"That must be a very attractive place--that Mansion House," she

commented archly.

"The tavern! What do you know about it?"

"Uncle Felix told me how popular you were there--how many friends you

had made already. It doesn't take a very lively imagination to picture

the poker games there, for I've heard of them ever since I could

remember. There were great old days, then, and still are, I fancy, if

you men would only tell about it. But, seriously, Morgan, don't go this

afternoon. Promise me."

Morgan's face had clouded as she ended, and slipping his arm around her

he led her towards the bench on the brow of the hill.

"Listen, Natalia," he said, when they had sat down. "Something happened

yesterday which I did not want you to know. Now, I see I had best tell

you. Lemuel Jervais and I got into a pretty reckless game of poker all

the afternoon. Towards the end I think he must have reached the limit

of his ready resources, for when every one had withdrawn and he and I

were sticking it out, he said he was going to pay me in slaves, if he

lost. You know my feelings in regard to slavery. So when it came to

that, I threw down my hand and said I was not gambling for human

beings!" Morgan dropped his hands between his knees and stared before

him in silence. "It was all rather unfortunate, but I suppose couldn't

be helped," he continued. "What makes it a little embarrassing to me is

that Jervais insisted that I should go back again to-day and finish the

game."

"But you didn't agree to it, did you?" Natalia exclaimed.

"What else could I do?" Morgan answered rather gloomily. "He is my host

and yours, and would take offence--particularly as I have been the

winner all along. Besides, it wouldn't do not to go for a little while.

Do you know what I've decided to do?" he added, bright again. "I'm

going to let Jervais win rather heavily, and then suggest that we come

back here."

Natalia met his brightness only half-way.

"I suppose you will have to do it, but you _will_ come back soon?"

"You have my word for it."

"Well, then, I suppose I'll have to be contented." Natalia smiled

again. "But after to-day, when everybody has gone away, and Brother

Joel and Millicent are on their way to New Orleans, and we shall be here

all alone--you must not let a single thing, no matter how great, take

you away from me. Just you and I--all alone! I've planned each

day--almost every moment!"

They strolled a little way down the hill, to where the ground rolled

precipitately to the river. The opposite shore was still grey and misty

with the retreating night, and over the stretch of wilderness hung a

blue veil of mystery.

"The Indians call it 'The Land of the Setting Sun,'" Natalia said,

looking out before her. "Poor wild creatures! It seems the only land

left them now. To me it always seemed the future. One thinks one sees

it, yet it is all vague and unknown."

"That is not the way with our future, though," Morgan replied, gathering

Natalia in his arms. "Ours is neither vague nor unknown. This day is a

symbol of what it is to be. It will be only happiness," he kissed her,

"happiness--and happiness again!"

The day deepened in beauty as the hours passed, and all the while

elaborate decorations were being arranged throughout the house. Many

friends came, bringing wagon loads of trailing vines and ferns and wild

hydrangeas. Festoons of Southern smilax were twined about the columns

and draped from one to the other, so that the old house looked gay and

youthful, as it had many years ago; and along the veranda, tables were

placed on which stood tall crystal globes protecting the candles which

were to illumine the place at nightfall; and along the balustrade of the

upper balcony was a row of candles which encircled the house, and would

make it a blaze of glory.

In the grove hundreds of transparences were hung high among the thick

foliage, vying with the white blossoms in doing honour to the occasion;

two big piles of brush were placed far out on the road beyond the gate,

which were to be set ablaze in the evening and light the late arrivals

on their way.

Within, the large salon was heavy with the odour of gardenias. The

walls were covered with the fragrant blossoms and from the corners of

the ceiling to where the bronze chandelier swung with its hundred and

fifty candles, garlands of ivy were draped. Across the hall, the

dining-room floor was waxed until Zebediah pronounced it too slippery

for any one to stand upon, much less attempt dancing. Even the library

was thrown open, a thing never done before in entertaining, and all the

wedding presents displayed there--presents that brought smiles and tears

to Natalia, for in many of these gifts she realized that the friends of

her parents were parting with their heirlooms to do her honour. There

were priceless pieces of Sevres china; a huge punch bowl of Bohemian

glass, the sides cut in broad panels which showed layers of rose and

cream; candlesticks in bronze and brass and silver; many pieces of

Sheffield plate and silver that had come to America with its early

settlers; and, causing more trouble and amusement than all the other

presents, a magnificent peacock sent by old Mrs. Buckingham, which

thought its special duty was to make the air ring with hideous cries.

In the late afternoon Natalia went down the stairs on the back veranda

to inspect the last touches that Mrs. Jervais and Mrs. Houston were

giving the supper table. The veranda had been enclosed the whole length

in osnaburgs, and a long table extended from one end to the other,

literally groaning under the weight of appetizing delicacies.

Already the front of the house was gay with the people who had driven

many miles to the wedding, and whose carriages and wagons were encamped

without the gates awaiting the return to them in the early morning; for

it was the custom of those days to spend the entire night in

jollification, the fiddlers never resting their bows until the sunlight

clashed with candle-light.

"Oh, Natalia, look at those nougat pyramids! Aren't they dreams!"

Millicent cried. "I know they must be six feet high."

"They were made in New Orleans," commented Mrs. Jervais, proudly,

following the two girls as they moved down the table inspecting

everything.

"Won't it be a pity to break them? But of course every one will want a

souvenir to take home. Natalia, I think you ought to keep one whole in

memory of the day. And there's the wedding cake! In five terraces!

Isn't it beautiful? Where in the world did you get it, Mrs. Houston?"

Mrs. Houston's eyes lit up with enthusiasm.

"I made every bit of it myself. It took the whites of fifty eggs!"

"What on earth did you do with the yelks?" exclaimed Millicent,

dumbfounded.

"Is there nothing I can do?" Natalia said, putting her arms about the

old lady, and kissing her cheek. "How good you all are to me! I seem to

grow happier every moment--"

The clang of the door-bell broke on her unfinished words, and in the

next moment a servant had entered with a note. Natalia took it from the

salver, and glanced at the address, drawing her brows together, as if in

recollection. The others waited silently impatient.

"Do open it, Natalia," Millicent cried. "I _know_ it's another wedding

present. Won't you read it aloud?"

Natalia still held the note in her hand, thoughtfully regarding it.

"I'm trying to remember whose writing it is. It's very familiar. Oh, I

know now! It's Sargent Everett's."

She tore open the envelope, letting it fall to the floor as she

hurriedly read the note. When she looked up again, the tears were

streaming down her face.

"He has sent me the most precious wedding present in the world," she

cried with a sob in her voice. "He has given Mammy back to me!"

She ran through the dining-room, and down the full length of the hall,

and out on to the front porch, throwing herself into the old slave's

arms.

"He has given you to me, Mammy! He has given you to me! You're

mine--you dear old Mammy Dicey! Come on upstairs to my room, and tell

me all about it. Mammy, I'm getting everything in the world to-day.

Isn't it wonderful? And now you've come back to me!"

She pulled the old woman up the steps beside her, and into the big room

where they had spent many hours together.

It was about dusk, and the room was in the quiet gloom of twilight.

Natalia locked the door after they had entered, and pushing a big arm

chair close beside the bed, she led Dicey who stood in the centre of the

room, dazed into forgetfulness by the familiar objects about her, to it,

and made her sit down while she threw herself on the bed and drew the

old slave's hands into both her own.

"It's like old times, isn't it, Mammy? Just exactly like it used to

be--you there beside me when I went to sleep. Oh, Mammy, I'm so happy!

I want to cry just a little like I used to, and you hold my hand and pat

it and sing to me,--very soft and low, ah! now!"

And with the light gently fading from behind the bowed blinds, and the

room sinking into darkness, the old slave chanted softly, with the tears

streaming down her furrowed cheeks:

"Whar, oh, whar am de Hebrew chillun,

Whar, oh, whar am de Hebrew chillun,

Whar, oh, whar am de Hebrew chillun,

Way ober in de promis' lan'."

*CHAPTER VII*

*THE HOUR OF THE WEDDING*

Evening closed about the old home; the candles in the garden began to

glimmer and throw a fairylike glow through the shrubbery; the two great

bonfires on each side of the gate were lighted and illumined the road

for near a mile. Carriages began rolling up to the front door and

discharging their elaborately costumed occupants. The sound of laughter

and merry voices floated up in waves, and in the distance came the wail

of fiddles being tuned.

Suddenly a rap sounded on the door; the sanctuary of the two reunited

women was broken.

"Natalia! Natalia! All the guests are arriving," Millicent called in

an excited voice. "Have you begun to dress? Do let me in! It's

scandalous for them to be so late!"

Natalia sprang from the bed and hurried to the door.

"Is it really late?" she exclaimed, as Millicent burst into the room.

"I hadn't an idea time was flying so. Mammy and I had gone back years

and years, and forgotten everything. Is Morgan ready?"

"Ready! I should think not!" Millicent answered. "Do you know, neither

he nor Joel nor Mr. Jervais have come back yet; and they have been gone

for hours. Mrs. Houston sent the Judge in an hour ago to bring them

back. It's perfectly dreadful for them to behave like this, and I

intend to tell them so as soon as they come!"

Natalia listened calmly, then turned away to hide the anxiety in her

eyes.

"They will be here before we know it," she answered, after a little

while, forcing a smile to her lips.

"I suppose they became interested in some discussion and forgot all

about the time. Just like men! But do hurry, Millicent, and come back

as soon as you can to help me dress. Now, Mammy," she turned back to

Dicey, stopping a moment to survey herself in the cheval glass. "Are

you going to help make me very beautiful to-night? I believe I'll wear

my hair like I used to. It's dreadfully unfashionable now, but I

believe it's becoming."

She sat down in the chair, and unloosening her hair, let it fall in

waves about her. Clasping her hands tight in her lap, she looked

steadily before her the anxiety creeping back into her eyes. All the

while Dicey watched her closely. In the old woman's eyes the strange

look had come again. It was burning brilliantly now.

"I wish he had come sooner. I wish--" Natalia lifted her head

resolutely--"I mean platted in a crown, Mammy, like you did it when I

was a little girl. Have you forgotten how?"

"No--I hain't fergit."

"Then you arrange it for me, and I'll wear the daisies in it that you

brought me. Won't that be fetching? I'll sit very still, Mammy, while

you fix it. Do you remember," she laughed plaintively, "how I used to

wriggle and fidget when you would do it that way?"

Dicey did not move toward her. Shaking her head firmly she only stared.

"I won't fix hit dat way fer yer," she suddenly burst out. "I won't! I

won't!"

"Why, Mammy, don't you think it's becoming?"

"I won't fix hit dat way 'cause he allus said he lak hit dat way."

Natalia looked at her bewildered.

"But Morgan never saw me wear it that way. How could he know?"

"I don' mean him. I means Marse Sargent."

Natalia broke into a merry laugh and drew the old woman's face down to

her own.

"You dear--old--foolish--Mammy! Of course I didn't know you were

talking about Sargent Everett. Besides--what difference does he make

now? I believe you were teasing me about him, anyhow. If he thought so

much of me he would have come to my wedding."

Dicey shook her head unconvinced.

"Is dat all de larnin' yer done pick up in yer trabbelin', honey? Hit's

'cause he lubs yer so dat he cyant b'ar seein' yer marryin' anoder man.

Dat's hit, honey-chile."

Natalia narrowed her eyes a moment; then smiled, a little wistfully.

"You are entirely too wise, Mammy. Sometimes I almost fear you. You

are trying to make me unhappy on my wedding night, by telling me my

happiness is breaking another's heart. You know it isn't really so--now

is it, Mammy?"

Dicey's face was turned away from Natalia as she moved about the room,

pulling down the shades and lighting the candles. Twice she opened her

lips to speak, then closed them tight and went on. Suddenly she stopped

and went back to Natalia.

"Yer is breakin' his heart--yer is--yer is. Yer tole him yer wuz gwine

come back ter him an' yer ought ter done hit. Yer know yer ought

to--cause yer done pledge yerself ter him." Her face was close to

Natalia's as she whispered the words, and involuntarily the girl drew

back, startled. The intensity of the old woman's eyes was ominous. The

next moment Natalia rose from her chair and faced her.

"Mammy, you are trying your best to make me miserable. I never thought

it of you. You have lost all your love for me for your new master.

Because you love him so, you think every one must--but I do not--do you

hear, Mammy? I don't love him one bit any more; he doesn't love me

either. It's all your imagination! And if you don't stop talking about

him, I'm going to send you right back to him!"

Natalia's voice was calm, but her eyes flashed into the old woman's,

speaking her anger. In another moment Dicey was on her knees with her

arms about her.

"Fergive me! honey-chile, I didn' mean nothin'!" she cried. "I lubs yer

more'n ennybody in de worl', but I cyant help er feelin' kinder

perturbed 'bout pore Marse. Yer hain't gwine sen' me erway, will yer?

Say yer won', honey, 'cause he'll be powerful mad wid me ef he knows

I'se done made yer mad. I'll do yer ha'r anyway yer says ef yer'll only

say yer hain't gwine sen' me erway."

Natalia's anger went as it had come. The next moment she was seated

before the mirror, with Dicey brushing and platting her hair.

"We always did quarrel, Mammy," she laughed happily again. "I suppose

it proves our love, don't you? But it does make me so jealous to find

you loving somebody more than you do me," she added, reflectively. "It

really is odd how he makes people love him," glancing at Dicey's

enigmatic face reflected in the mirror. "I'm talking about your master,

Mammy. I see now that I have lost your love entirely. But if he does

for others as he has done for me, I do not wonder at it," she sighed.

"Who else would have thought of sending you to me for a wedding

present?"

"Eberybody do lub him," Dicey rejoined, her eyes once more sparkling

with her enthusiasm of the subject. "An' de young ladies--yer ought ter

see how dey turns out in dere fine kerridges, all rigged up in finery

and foolishness, when he's gwine ter speak. Dey all jes' makes sheep

eyes at him all de time, an' he neber takes no notice ob none ob dem."

"That's your way of seeing him, Mammy. I'll wager he's in love with

half a dozen girls this very minute. Now begin putting in the daisies,

please. Yes, three at a time. Honestly, now, Mammy, crossing your heart

and body, you don't think he is as handsome as Morgan, do you?"

"I neber did lak bloo eyes," Dicey answered firmly. "'Specially when dey

is light bloo."

"But his are not light blue. They are very dark and beautiful. Wait

until you see him close. Now, my wedding dress, Mammy. Isn't it a

dream?" Natalia went to the sofa where the wedding finery was

displayed. "I brought it all the way from Paris last year. You see,

Mammy, it has three skirts."

"Lawdy 'bove us!" cried Dicey, touching the gown gingerly. "Hit's got

sho' nuff leabes on hit, hain't hit?"

"Yes, they are arbour-vitae leaves. Millicent has been sewing them on,

all day. The design represents the walls of Troy. You know all about

that, don't you, Mammy?" she laughed merrily. "You see there is a

border on each flounce, and on the waist, too. I saw the Princess

Amelie wear one just like it. Now call Millicent, Mammy, for she will

have to help me get into it. And Aunt Maria, too, and ask Mrs. Jervais

to bring the jewel box."

Left alone, Natalia peered through the closed blinds into the yard

below. From the lights and moving figures, she turned her eyes towards

the heavens. There, too, the stars shone in a gay brilliance.

"My wedding night!" She whispered happily. "My wedding night!" She

turned away from the window with a strange new excitement rushing over

her. Her eyes grew deep black, glowing with intensity. Her face became

flushed with a gorgeous colour.

Millicent burst into the room, completely arrayed. "How do I look,

Natalia? Do you like the ribbon here, or there? It's so dreadfully

hard to decide. Would you believe it--those hateful men have not come

yet! I don't believe this ribbon is the right colour, after all. Do

you suppose anything has happened to them?"

Natalia looked quickly towards the clock.

"It's only half after seven. The ceremony is at eight," she said

slowly--then eagerly, "Perhaps they have come and you didn't know it."

"No, I have just come from Morgan's room, and he is not there. But you

_must_ dress, Natalia," Millicent urged, picking up the wedding gown.

"Here--get into this, while I help you. Aren't you glad the leaves look

fresh? They are as green as if they had just been picked. Can't you

see the girls wondering if they are real? And the wedding bouquet--it's

wonderful! Mrs. Houston has just been telling me how it was made. She

says she took a stick and covered it with green silk, then she laid

sprays of cedar, fan shape, all over that, then in the centre she sewed

the cape jessamines, all real close together. It's the most beautiful

bouquet I ever saw!" Millicent ended breathlessly.

Natalia made no comment. She stood silently docile while the gown was

fastened.

"It is very strange that he should do this way," she murmured to

herself, "and he promised me-- Perhaps their carriage broke down on the

way out!" she exclaimed. "It must be something like that!"

Mrs. Jervais entered the room, her face beaming her approval upon

Natalia. In her hand she carried a large, elaborately carved sandal

wood box.

"Do you know where they are? Have you heard from them?" Natalia cried,

rushing towards her.

Mrs. Jervais answered her with her calm smile.

"Don't worry, clear, they will be here in plenty of time. Nothing has

happened, I'm sure. If you knew Lemuel as I do, you'd know that he had

taken them all to the Mansion House, where he always gets involved in

those eternal political discussions. You know there is much talk now of

a war with the Cherokees--so they are trying to settle it, I know. But

here are the jewels, Natalia. They have not been opened since your

mother's death."

Natalia took the box in her arms, pressing it to her affectionately.

"I have never seen them," she said, taking a key that Judge Houston had

brought her that day, and slipping it into the lock. "I always said I

would never wear them until I was married." She placed the box on a

chair and knelt down before it. "I have always thought," she began,

very softly, "that there are a few things that one should wear very

seldom--some things only once. I am never going to wear this dress

again." She laid her hand softly into the folds of the white tarletan.

"I'm going to put it away in the cedar chest after to-night--way up in

the attic--and only take it out on my anniversaries, to dream over."

She turned the key in the lock and lifted the lid. Lying on a white

velvet lining, grown yellow with age, was a magnificent collection of

jewels. There was a necklace formed of oblong pearl medallions, the

centre of each filled by a large sapphire; there were ear-rings of the

same design which would hang to the wearer's shoulder; four bracelets

completed the set. There were several quaint brooches of onyx and pearls

and diamonds, and some heavy pieces of white coral, elaborately carved.

Mrs. Houston had entered while Natalia was gazing into the case, and

stood just behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder.

"You saw her wear them, Aunt Maria," Natalia murmured, finally. "Then

place them on me just as she would have liked them to be."

Leading her up to the cheval glass, the old lady clasped the necklace

about her throat, slipped the bracelets far up her arms, and adjusted

the ear-rings to her minute satisfaction; leaving for the last the veil,

which she pinned to Natalia's blue-black hair with a broad band of

sapphires, her own present to the bride, and one that had done duty a

century before, along the banks of the James River.

"Now you are wonderfully beautiful, Natalia," she said, giving a last

touch and stepping away to gain a better view of the arrangement. "Your

eyes have caught the glow of the sapphires. Look at her, Millicent!

Isn't she lovely?"

Any one who now sees the portrait of her, painted by Weygant, will

realize how beautiful she must have been that night; for the artist

seems to have caught, with a remarkable inspiration, the gorgeous depths

of her eyes, and even in the canvas one sees the faint, velvety shadows

that gradually faded away from her heavy black lashes. This, probably,

was what accentuated their brilliancy and gave the effect of an inner,

glowing light. As she faced the others and felt their admiration, the

excitement rushed over her again, and for a moment she was dazzling.

Dicey was the first to turn from her and gaze towards the window.

"Do you see them coming, Mammy?" Natalia asked, still before the mirror.

"No, ma'am, dey's all done quit comin'," came Dicey's low murmur.

Natalia turned swiftly towards Mrs. Houston, searching her face for some

sign of anxiety. She found none.

"You all go downstairs and entertain the people," she said at last.

"Mammy will stay here with me until Morgan comes."

"I _do hope_ they will come soon," Millicent said, kissing Natalia for

the tenth time. "I'm terribly impatient and flustered, and I always get

so red in the face when I am excited."

"It will not be long now," Mrs. Houston said cheerfully, "I sent Felix

for them an hour ago, and you may be sure he will find them. I'll send

you word, dear, as soon as I see them coming."

Left alone with Dicey, Natalia turned slowly back to the mirror and

looked at herself a long time. The veil was still thrown back from her

face, and in the soft glow of the candles, the reflection gained a

vague, misty charm.

During the long silence the sound of fiddling floated up to the room.

Surely he had come now! That was the reason for the music. As she

listened, the music faded softly and finally stopped altogether. Still

there was no sound of a carriage on the driveway. Finally she sank into

a chair and looked at Dicey, who was peering intently through the

shutters. Then she glanced at the clock. It was exactly eight--the

marriage hour. The fiddling began again, and mingling with it, the

sounds of laughter in the garden and the swishing of silks along the

veranda.

She rose from the chair, walking about the room, while the clock ticked

off the minutes relentlessly. In the stillness of the room her voice

sounded harsh and unnatural.

"Mammy--do you see him coming?"