BY THE SAME AUTHOR "THE DESCENDANT" AND "PHASES OF AN INFERIOR PLANET" CROWNED MASTERPIECES OF MODERN FICTION SPECIAL SUBSCRIPTION EDITION The Voice of the People BY Ellen Glasgow NEW YORK, DOUBLEDAYPAGE & COMPANY, 1904 Copyright, 1900, byELLEN GLASGOW Published September, 1902 TO REBE GORDON GLASGOW THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE BOOK I FAIR WEATHER AT KINGSBOROUGH I The last day of Circuit Court was over at Kingsborough. The jury had vanished from the semicircle of straight-backed chairs inthe old court-house, the clerk had laid aside his pen along with his airof listless attention, and the judge was making his way through thestraggling spectators to the sunken stone steps of the platform outside. As the crowd in the doorway parted slightly, a breeze passed into theroom, scattering the odours of bad tobacco and farm-stained clothing. The sound of a cow-bell came through one of the small windows, from thegreen beyond, where a red-and-white cow was browsing among thebuttercups. "A fine day, gentlemen, " said the judge, bowing to right and left. "Afine day. " He moved slowly, fanning himself absently with his white straw hat, pausing from time to time to exchange a word of greeting--secure in theaffability of one who is not only a judge of man but a Bassett ofVirginia. From his classic head to his ill-fitting boots he upheld thetraditions of his office and his race. On the stone platform, just beyond the entrance, he stopped to speak toa lawyer from a neighbouring county. Then, as a clump of men scatteredat his approach, he waved them together with a bland, benedictorygesture which descended alike upon the high and the low, upon the rectorof the old church up the street, in his rusty black, and upon thered-haired, raw-boned farmer with his streaming brow. "Glad to see you out, sir, " he said to the one, and to the other, "Howare you, Burr? Time the crops were in the ground, isn't it?" Burr mumbled a confused reply, wiping his neck laboriously on his redcotton handkerchief. "The corn's been planted goin' on six weeks, " he said more distinctly, ejecting his words between mouthfuls of tobacco juice as if they werepebbles which obstructed his speech. "I al'ays stick to plantin' yo'corn when the hickory leaf's as big as a squirrel's ear. If you don't, the luck's agin you. " "An' whar thar's growin' corn thar's a sight o' hoein', " put in analert, nervous-looking countryman. "If I lay my hoe down for a spell, the weeds git so big I can't find the crop. " Amos Burr nodded with slow emphasis: "I never see land take so naturalto weeds nohow as mine do, " he said. "When you raise peanuts you'reraisin' trouble. " He was a lean, overworked man, with knotted hands the colour of thesoil he tilled and an inanely honest face, over which the frecklesshowed like splashes of mud freshly dried. As he spoke he gave his bluejean trousers an abrupt hitch at the belt. "Dear me! Dear me!" returned the judge with absent-minded, habitualfriendliness, smiling his rich, beneficent smile. Then, as he caughtsight of a smaller red head beneath Burr's arm, he added: "You've aright-hand man coming on, I see. What's your name, my boy?" The boy squirmed on his bare, brown feet and wriggled his head frombeneath his father's arm. He did not answer, but he turned his brighteyes on the judge and flushed through all the freckles of his uglylittle face. "Nick--that is, Nicholas, sir, " replied the elder Burr with anapologetic cough, due to the insignificance of the subject. "Yes, sir, he's leetle, but he's plum full of grit. He can beat any nigger I everseed at the plough. He'd outplough me if he war a head taller. " "That will mend, " remarked the lawyer from the neighbouring county withfacetious intention. "A boy and a beanstalk will grow, you know. There'sno helping it. " "Oh, he'll be a man soon enough, " added the judge, his gaze passing overthe large, red head to rest upon the small one, "and a farmer like hisfather before him, I suppose. " He was turning away when the child's voice checked him, and he paused. "I--I'd ruther be a judge, " said the boy. He was leaning against the faded bricks of the old court-house, onesunburned hand playing nervously with the crumbling particles. Hishonest little face was as red as his hair. The judge started. "Ah!" he exclaimed, and he looked at the child with his kindly eyes. Theboy was ugly, lean, and stunted in growth, browned by hot suns andpowdered by the dust of country roads, but his eyes caught the gaze ofthe judge and held it. Above his head, on the brick wall, a board was nailed, bearing in blackmarking the name of the white-sand street which stretched like achalk-drawn line from the grass-grown battlefields to the pale oldbuildings of King's College. The street had been called in honour of aduke of Gloucester. It was now "Main" Street, and nothing more, thoughit was still wide and white and placidly impressed by the slow passageof Kingsborough feet. Beyond the court-house the breeze blew across thegreen, which was ablaze with buttercups. Beneath the warm wind theyellow heads assumed the effect of a brilliant tangle, spreading overthe unploughed common, running astray in the grass-lined ditch thatbordered the walk, hiding beneath dusty-leaved plants in unsuspectedhollows, and breaking out again under the horses' hoofs in the sandystreet. "Ah!" exclaimed the judge, and a good-natured laugh ran round the group. "Wall, I never!" ejaculated the elder Burr, but there was no surprise inhis tone; it expressed rather the helplessness of paternity. The boy faced them, pressing more firmly against the bricks. "There ain't nothin' in peanut-raisin', " he said. "It's jest farmin' furcrows. I'd ruther be a judge. " The judge laughed and turned from him. "Stick to the soil, my boy, " he advised. "Stick to the soil. It is thebest thing to do. But if you choose the second best, and I can help you, I will--I will, upon my word--Ah! General, " to a jovial-faced, wide-girthed gentleman in a brown linen coat, "I'm glad to see you intown. Fine weather!" He put on his hat, bowed again, and went on his way. He passed slowly along in the spring sunshine, his feet crunching uponthe gravel, his straight shadow falling upon the white level betweencoarse fringes of wire-grass. Far up the town, at the street's suddenend, where it was lost in diverging roads, there was visible, as througha film of bluish smoke, the verdigris-green foliage of King's College. Nearer at hand the solemn cruciform of the old church was steeped inshade, the high bell-tower dropping a veil of English ivy as it roseagainst the sky. Through the rusty iron gate of the graveyard the marbleslabs glimmered beneath submerging grasses, long, pale, tremulous likereeds. The grass-grown walk beside the low brick wall of the churchyard led onto the judge's own garden, a square enclosure, laid out in straightvegetable rows, marked off by variegated borders of floweringplants--heartsease, foxglove, and the red-lidded eyes of scarletpoppies. Beyond the feathery green of the asparagus bed there was a bushof flowering syringa, another at the beginning of the grass-trimmedwalk, and yet another brushing the large white pillars of the squarefront porch--their slender sprays blown from sun to shade likefluttering streamers of cream-coloured ribbons. On the other side therewere lilacs, stately and leafy and bare of bloom, save for a fewashen-hued bunches lingering late amid the heavy foliage. At the foot ofthe garden the wall was hidden in raspberry vines, weighty with ripeningfruit. The judge closed the gate after him and ascended the steps. It was notuntil he had crossed the wide hall and opened the door of his study thathe heard the patter of bare feet, and turned to find that the boy hadfollowed him. For an instant he regarded the child blankly; then his hospitalityasserted itself, and he waved him courteously into the room. "Walk in, walk in, and take a seat. I am at your service. " He crossed to one of the tall windows, unfastening the heavy insideshutters, from which the white paint was fast peeling away. As they fellback a breeze filled the room, and the ivory faces of microphylla rosesstared across the deep window-seat. The place was airy as a summer-houseand odorous with the essence of roses distilled in the sunshine beyond. On the high plastered walls, above the book-shelves, rows of bygoneBassetts looked down on their departed possessions--stately and severein the artificial severity of periwigs and starched ruffles. They lookeddown with immobile eyes and the placid monotony of past fashions, smiling always the same smile, staring always at the same spot of flooror furniture. Below them the room was still hallowed by their touch. They assertedthemselves in the quaint curves of the rosewood chairs, in the bluepatterns upon the willow bowls, and in the choice lavender of the oldWedgwood. Their handiwork was visible in the laborious embroideries ofthe fire-screen near the empty grate, and the spinet in one unlightedcorner still guarded their gay and amiable airs. "Sit down, " said the judge. "I am at your service. " He seated himself before his desk of hand-carved mahogany, pushing asidethe papers that littered its baize-covered lid. In the half-gloom of thehigh-ceiled room his face assumed the look of a portrait in oils, and heseemed to have descended from his allotted square upon the plasteredwall, to be but a boldly limned composite likeness of his race, awaitingthe last touches and the gilded frame. "What can I do for you?" he asked again, his tone preserving itsunfailing courtesy. He had not made an uncivil remark since the close ofthe war--a line of conduct resulting less from what he felt to be due toothers than from what he believed to be becoming in himself. The boy shifted on his bare feet. In the old-timed setting of thefurniture he was an alien--an anachronism--the intrusion of thehopelessly modern into the helplessly past. His hair made a rich spot inthe colourless atmosphere, and it seemed to focus the incoming lightfrom the unshuttered window, leaving the background in denser shadow. The animation of his features jarred the serenity of the room. Hisprofile showed gnome-like against the nodding heads of the microphyllaroses. "There ain't nothin' in peanut-raisin', " he said suddenly; "I--I'druther be a judge. " "My dear boy!" exclaimed the judge, and finished helplessly, "my dearboy--I--well--I--" They were both silent. The regular droning of the old clock soundeddistinctly in the stillness. The perfume of roses, mingling with themusty scent from the furniture, borrowed the quality of musk. The child was breathing heavily. Suddenly he dug the dirty knuckles ofone fist into his eyes. "Don't cry, " began the judge. "Please don't. Perhaps you would like torun out and play with my boy Tom?" "I warn't cryin', " said the child. "It war a gnat. " His hand left his eyes and returned to his hat--a wide-brimmed harvesthat, with a shoestring tied tightly round the crown. When the judge spoke again it was with seriousness. "Nicholas--your name is Nicholas, isn't it?" "Yes, sir. " "How old are you?" "Twelve, sir. " "Can you read?" "Yes, sir. " "Write?" "Y-e-s, sir. " "Spell?" The child hesitated. "I--I can spell--some. " "Don't you know it is a serious thing to be a judge?" "Yes, sir. " "You must be a lawyer first. " "Yes, sir. " "It is hard work. " "Yes, sir. " "And sometimes it's no better than farming for crows. " The boy shook his head. "It's cleaner work, sir. " The judge laughed. "I'm afraid you are obstinate, Nicholas, " he said, and added: "Now, whatdo you want me to do for you? I can't make you a judge. It took me fiftyyears to make myself one--a third-rate one at that--" "I--I'd l-i-k-e to take a bo-b-o-o-k, " stammered the boy. "Dear me!" said the judge irritably, "dear me!" He frowned, his gaze skimming his well-filled shelves. He regrettedsuddenly that he had spoken to the child at the court-house. He wouldnever be guilty of such an indiscretion again. Of what could he havebeen thinking? A book! Why didn't he ask for food--money--his best pieceof fluted Royal Worcester? Then a loud, boyish laugh rang in from the garden, and his face softenedsuddenly. In the sun-scorched, honest-eyed little figure before him hesaw his own boy--the single child of his young wife, who was lyingbeneath a marble slab in the churchyard. Her face, mild andMadonna-like, glimmered against the pallid rose leaves in the deepwindow-seat. He turned hastily away. "Yes, yes, " he answered, "I will lend you one. Read the titlescarefully. Don't let the books fall. Never lay them face downwards--anddon't turn down the leaves!" The boy advanced timidly to the shelves between the southern windows. Heran his hands slowly along the lettered backs, his lips moving as hespelled out the names. "The F-e-d-e-r-a-l-i-s-t, " "B-l-a-c-k-s-t-o-n-e-'sC-o-m-m-e-n-t-a-r-i-e-s, " "R-e-v-i-s-e-d Sta-tu-tes of the U-ni-tedSta-tes. " The judge drew up to his desk and looked over his letters. Then he tookup his pen and wrote several replies in his fine, flowing handwriting. He had forgotten the boy, when he felt a touch upon his arm. "What is it?" he asked absently. "Ah, it is you? Yes, let me see. Why!you've got Sir Henry Maine!" The boy was holding the book in both hands. As the judge laughed heflushed nervously and turned towards the door. The judge leaned back in his chair, watching the small figure cross theroom and disappear into the hall. He saw the tracks of dust which theboy's feet left upon the smooth, bare floor, but he was not thinking ofthem. Then, as the child went out upon the porch, he started up. "Nicholas!" he called, "don't turn down the leaves!" II A facetious stranger once remarked that Kingsborough dozed through thepresent to dream of the past and found the future a nightmare. Had hebeen other than a stranger, he would, perhaps, have added thatKingsborough's proudest boast was that she had been and was not--adistinction giving her preėminence over certain cities whose charterswere not received from royal grants--cities priding themselves not onlyupon a multiplicity of streets, but upon the more plebeian fact that thefeet of their young men followed the offending thoroughfares to theundignified music of the march of progress. But, whatever might be said of places that shall be nameless, it wasotherwise with Kingsborough. Kingsborough was the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. She who had feasted royal governors, staked andlost upon Colonial races, and exploded like an ignited powder-horn inthe cause of American independence, was still superbly conscious of thehonours which had been hers. Her governors were no longer royal, nor didshe feast them; her races were run by fleet-footed coloured urchins onthe court-house green; her powder-magazine had evolved throughdifferentiation from a stable into a church; but Kingsborough clung toher amiable habits. Travellers still arrived at the landing stage someseveral miles distant and were driven over all but impassable roads tothe town. The eastern wall of the court-house still bore the sign"England Street, " though the street had vanished beneath encroachingbuttercups, and the implied loyalty had been found wanting. Kingsboroughjuries still sat in their original semicircle, with their backs to thejudge and their faces, presumably, to the law; Kingsborough farmersstill marketed their small truck in the street called after the Duke ofGloucester; and Kingsborough cows still roamed at will over the vaultsin the churchyard. In time trivial changes would come to pass. Touristswould arrive with the railroad; the powder-magazine would turn from achurch into a museum; gardens would decay and ancient elms would fall, but the farmers and the cows would not be missed from their accustomedhaunts. On the hospitable thresholds of "general" stores battle-scarredveterans of the war between the States dealt in victorious reminiscencesof vanquishment. They had fought well, they had fallen silently, andthey had risen without bitterness. For the people of Kingsborough hadopened their doors to wounded foes while the battle raged through theirstreets, succouring while they resisted. They lived easily and they diedhard, but when death came they met it, not in grim Puritanism, but witha laugh upon the lips. They made a joy of life while it was possible, and when that ceased to be, they did the next best thing and made afriend of death. Long ago theirs had been the first part in Virginia, and, as they still believed, theirs had been also the centre of allthings. Now the high places were laid low, and the greatness had passedas a trumpet that is blown. Kingsborough persisted still, but itpersisted evasively, hovering, as it were, upon the outskirts of modernadvancement. And the outside world took note only when it made tours tohistoric strongholds, or sent those of itself that were adjudged insaneto the hospitable shelter of the asylum upon the hill. It was afternoon, and Kingsborough was asleep. Along the verdurous, gray lanes the houses seemed abandoned, shuttered, filled with shade. From the court-house green came the chime ofcow-bells rising and falling in slow waves of sound. A spotted calfstood bleating in the crooked footpath, which traversed diagonally thewaste of buttercups like a white seam in a cloth of gold. Against thearching sky rose the bell-tower of the grim old church, where thesparrows twittered in the melancholy gables and the startled face of thestationary clock stared blankly above the ivied walls. Farther away, atthe end of a wavering lane, slanted the shadow of the insane asylum. Across the green the houses were set in surrounding gardens like cardsin bouquets of mixed blossoms. They were of frame for the most part, with shingled roofs and small, square windows hidden beneath climbingroses. On one of the long verandas a sleeping girl lay in a hammock, agray cat at her feet. No sound came from the house behind her, but abreeze blew through the dim hall, fluttering the folds of her dress. Beyond the adjoining garden a lady in mourning entered a gate wherehoneysuckle grew, and above, on the low-dormered roof, a white pigeonsat preening its feathers. Up the main street, where a few sunken bricksof a vanished pavement were still visible, an old negro woman, sittingon the stone before her cabin, lighted her replenished pipe with ataper, and leaned back, smoking, in the doorway, her scarlethandkerchief making a spot of colour on the dull background. The sun was still high when the judge came out upon his porch, a smileof indecision on his face and his hat in his hand. Pausing upon thetopmost step, he cast an uncertain glance sideways at the walk leadingpast the church, and then looked straight ahead through the avenue ofmaples, which began at the smaller green facing the ancient site of thegovernor's palace and skirted the length of the larger one, which tookits name from the court-house. At last he descended the steps with hisleisurely tread, turning at the gate to throw a remonstrance to an oldnegro whose black face was framed in the library window. "Now, Cęsar, didn't I--" "Lord, Marse George, dis yer washed-out blue bowl, wid de little whitecritters sprawlin' over it, done come ter pieces--" "Now, Cęsar, haven't I told you twenty times to let Delilah wash myWedgwood?" "Fo' de Lord, Marse George, I ain't breck hit. I uz des' hol'n it inbofe my han's same es I'se hol'n dis yer broom, w'en it come right terpart. I declar 'twarn my fault, Marse George, 'twarn nobody's fault'cep'n hit's own. " The judge closed the gate and waved the face from the window. "Go about your business, Cęsar, " he said, "and keep your hands off mychina--" Then his tone lost its asperity as he held out his hands to a prettygirl who was coming across the green. "So you are back from school, Miss Juliet, " he said gallantly. "I wastelling your mother only yesterday that I didn't approve of sending ourfairest products away from Kingsborough. It wasn't done in my day. Thenthe prettiest girls stayed at home and gave our young fellows a chance. " The girl shook her head until the blue ribbons on her straw hatfluttered in the wind, and blushed until her soft eyes were likeforget-me-nots set in rose leaves. She possessed a serene, luminousbeauty, which became intensified beneath the gaze of the beholder. "I have come back for good, now, " she answered in a serious sweetness ofvoice; "and I am out this afternoon looking up my Sunday-school class. The children have scattered sadly. You will let me have Tom again, won'tyou?" "Have Tom! Why, you may have him every day and Sunday too--the luckyscamp! Ah, I only wish I were a boy again, with a soul worth saving andsuch a pair of eyes in search of it. " The girl dimpled into a smile and flushed to her low, white forehead, onwhich the soft hair was smoothly parted before it broke into sunny curlsabout the temples. She exhaled an atmosphere of gentleness mixed with asaintly coquetry, which produced an impression at once human and divine, such as one receives from the sight of a rose in a Bible or a curl inthe hair of a saint. The judge looked at her warmly, sighing halfhappily, half regretfully. "And to think that the young rogues don't realise their blessings, " hesaid. "There's not one of them that wouldn't rather be off fishing thanlearn his catechism. Ah, in my day things were different--things weredifferent. " "Were you very pious, sir?" asked the girl with a flash of laughter. The judge shook his stick playfully. "I can't tell tales, " he answered, "but in my day we should have takenmore than the catechism at your bidding, my dear. When your father wascourting your mother--and she was like you, though she hadn't your eyes, or your face, for that matter--he went into her Bible class, though hewas at least five and twenty and the others were small boys under ten. She was a sad flirt, and she led him a dance. " "He liked it, " said the girl. "But, if you will give my message to Tom, I won't come in. I am looking for Dudley Webb, and I see his mother ather gate. Good-bye! Be sure and tell Tom to come Sunday. " She nodded brightly, lifted her muslin skirts, and recrossed the street. The judge watched her until the flutter of her white dress vanished downthe lane of maples; then he turned to speak to the occupants of acarriage that had drawn up to the sidewalk. The vehicle was of an old-fashioned make, bare of varnish, with rickety, mud-splashed wheels and rusty springs. It was drawn by an ill-matchedpair of horses and driven by a lame coloured boy, who carried a peeledhickory branch for a whip. "Ah, General Battle, " said the judge to a stout gentleman with a redface and an expansive shirt front from which the collar had wilted away;"fine afternoon! Is that Eugenia?" to a little girl of seven or eightyears, with a puppy of the pointer breed in her arms, and "How are you, Sampson?" to the coloured driver. The three greeted him simultaneously, whereupon he leaned forward, resting his hand upon the side of the carriage. "The young folks are growing up, " he said. "I have just seen JulietBurwell, and, on my life, she gets prettier every day. We shan't keepher long. " "Keep her!" replied the general vigorously, wiping his large face with alarge pocket handkerchief. "Keep her! If I were thirty years younger, you shouldn't keep her a day--not a day, sir. " The little girl looked up gravely from the corner of the seat, tossingher short, dark plait from her shoulder. "What would you do with her, papa?" she asked. "We've got no place to put her at home. " The general threw back his great head and laughed till his wide girthshook like a bag of meal. "Oh, you needn't worry, Eugie, " he said. "I'm not the man I used to be. She wouldn't look at me. Bless your heart, she wouldn't look at me if Iasked her--" Eugenia clasped her puppy closer and turned her eyes upon her father'sjovial face. "I don't see how she could help it if you stood in front of her, " sheanswered gravely, in a voice rich with the blending of negrointonations. The general shook again until the carriage creaked on its rustysprings, and the coloured boy, Sampson, let the reins fall and joined inthe hilarity. "She won't let me so much as look at a girl!" exclaimed the generaldelightedly, stooping to recover the brown linen lap robe which hadslipped from his knees. "She's as jealous as if I were twenty and had ascore of sweethearts. " The little girl did not reply, but she flushed angrily. "Don't, precious, " she said to the puppy, who was licking her cheek with hiswarm, red tongue. "What have you named him, Eugie?" asked the judge, changing the subjectwith that gracious tact which was mindful of the least emergency. "He isnicely marked, I see. " "I call him Jim, " replied Eugenia. She spoke gravely, and the gravitycontrasted oddly with the animation of her features. "But his real nameis James Burwell Battle. Bernard and I christened him in thespring-house--so he'll go to heaven. " "Cap'n Burwell gave him to her, you know, " explained the general, wholaughed whenever his daughter spoke, as if the fact of her talking atall was a source of amazement to him, "and she hasn't let go of himsince she got him. By the way, Judge, you have a first-rate garden spot. I hear your asparagus is the finest in town. Ours is very poor thisyear. I must have a new bed made before next season. Ah, what is it, daughter?" "You've forgotten to buy the sugar, " said Eugenia, "and Aunt Chris can'tput up her preserves. And you told me to remind you of the whip--" "Bless your heart, so I did. Sampson lost that whip a month ago, andI've never remembered it yet. Well, good-day--good-day. " The judge raised his hat with a stately inclination; the general noddedgood-naturedly, still grasping the linen robe with his plump, red hand;and the carriage jolted along the green and disappeared behind theglazed brick walls of the church. The judge regarded his walking-stick meditatively for a moment, andcontinued his way. The smile with which he had followed the vanishingfigure of Juliet Burwell returned to his face, and his features softenedfrom their usual chilly serenity. He had gone but a short distance and was passing the iron gate of thechurchyard, when the droning of a voice came to him, and looking beyondthe bars, he saw little Nicholas Burr lying at full length upon a marbleslab, his head in his hands and his feet waving in the air. Entering the gate, the judge followed the walk of moss-grown stonesleading to the church steps, and paused within hearing of the voice, which went on in an abstracted drawl. "The most cel-e-bra-ted sys-tem of juris-pru-dence known to the worldbegins, as it ends, with a code--" He was not reading, for the book wasclosed. He seemed rather to be repeating over and over again words whichhad been committed to memory. "With a code. From the commencement to the close of its history, theex-posi-tors of Ro-man Law con-sistently em-ployed lan-guage whichimplied that the body of their sys-tem rested on the twelveDe-cem-viral Tables--Dec-em-vi-ral--De-cem-vi-ral Tables. " "Bless my soul!" said the judge. The boy glanced up, blushed, and wouldhave risen, but the judge waved him back. "No--no, don't get up. I heard you as I was going by. What are youdoing?" "Learnin'. " "Learning! Dear me! What do you mean by learning?" "I'm learnin' by heart, sir--and--and, if you don't mind, sir, what doesj-u-r-i-s-p-r-u-d-e-n-c-e mean?" The judge started, returning the boy's eager gaze with one of kindlyperplexity. "Bless my soul!" he said again. "You aren't trying to understand that, are you?" The boy grew scarlet and his lips trembled. "No, sir, " he answered. "I'mjest learnin' it now. I'll know what it means when I'm bigger--" "And you expect to remember it?" asked the judge. "I don't never forget, " said the boy. "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the judge for the third time. For a moment he stood looking silently down upon the marble slab withits defaced lettering. Of the wordy epitaph which had once redounded tothe honour of the bones beneath there remained only the words "whodeparted, " but he read these with a long abstracted gaze. "Let me see, " he said at last, speaking with his accustomed dignity. "Did you ever go to school, Nicholas?" "Yes, sir. " "When?" "I went 'most three winters, sir, but I had to leave off on o'count o'pa's not havin' any hand 'cep'n me. " The judge smiled. "Ah, well, " he returned. "We'll see if you can't begin again. My boy hasa tutor, you know, and his playmates come to study with him. He's aboutyour age, and it will give you a start. Come in to-morrow at nine, andwe'll talk it over. No, don't get up. I am going. " And he passed out of the churchyard, closing the heavy gate with ametallic clang. Nicholas lay on the marble slab, but the book slippedfrom his hands, and he gazed straight before him at the oriel window, where the ivy was tremulous with the shining bodies and clamorous voicesof nesting sparrows. They darted swiftly from gable to gable, fillingthe air with shrill sounds of discord, and endowing with animation theinanimate pile, wrapping the dead bricks in a living shroud. On the other side swept the long, colourless grasses, rippling in faintwaves like a still lake that reflects the sunshine and swaying lightlybeneath myriads of gauzy-winged bees that flashed with a droning noisefrom blade to blade, to find rest in the yellow hearts of the damaskroses. Across the white vaults and the low-lying marble slabsinnumerable shadows chased, and from above the gnarled old locust treesswept a fringe of vivid green, the slender blossoms hanging in tasselsfrom the branches' ends, and filling the air with a soft and ceaselessrain of fragrant petals. Pale as the ghosts of dead leaves, they fellalways, fluttering night and day from the twisted boughs, settling increamy flakes upon the bending grasses, and outlining in delicatetracery the epitaphs upon the discoloured marbles. Nicholas lay with wide-open eyes, looking up at the oriel window wherethe sparrows twittered. On a near vault a catbird poised for an instant, surveying him with bright, distrustful eyes. Then, with an impetuousflutter of slate-gray wings, it fled to the poisonous oak on the farbrick wall. A red-and-white cow, passing along the lane outside, stoppedbefore the closed gate, and stood philosophically chewing the cud as shelooked within through impeding bars. From the judge's garden came thefaint sound of a negro voice as the old gardener weeded the vegetables. Nicholas rolled over again and faced the outstretched wings of thenoseless angel on the nearest tombstone. The loss of the nose haddistorted the marble smile into a grimace, which gave a leer to theremaining features. As the boy looked at it he laughed suddenly, and hisvoice startled him amid the droning of bees. Then he sat up and glancedat his brier-scratched feet stretched upon the slab, and laughed againfor the sheer joy of discord. III Nicholas followed the main street to its sudden end at King's College, and turned into one of the diverging ways which skirted the whitewashedplank fence of the college grounds, and led to what was known in theneighbourhood as the Old Stage Road. Passing a straggling group of negrocabins, it stretched, naked, bleached, and barren, for a good half-mile, dividing with its sandy length the low-lying fields, which were sown onthe one side in a sparse crop of grain and on the other in the richleaves and round pink heads of ripening clover. At the end of thehalf-mile the road ascended a slight elevation, and the character of thesoil changed abruptly into clay of vivid red, which, extending a dozenyards up the rain-washed hillside, appeared, in a general view of thelandscape, like the scarlet tongue protruding from the silvery body of aserpent. Far ahead to the right of the highway and beyond the thinly sown wheat astretch of pine woodland was darkly limned against the western horizon, standing a gloomy advance guard of the shadows of the night. At its footthe newer green of the late spring foliage took a frivolous aspect, presenting the effect of deep-tinted foam breaking against theimpenetrable mass of darkness. The boy trudged resolutely along the sandy road, reaching at intervalsto grasp handfuls of sassafras leaves from the bushes beside the way. From the ditch on the left a brown toad hopped slowly into the dust ofthe road. On the worm-eaten rails of the fence, on the other side, agray lizard glided swiftly like a stealthy shadow of the leaves of thepoisonous oak. Nicholas picked up a stone from the roadside and aimed it at the slimylittle body, but his throw erred, and the missile fell harmlessly intothe wheat field beyond, startling a blackbird with scarlet marks, whichsoared suddenly above the bearded grain and vanished, with a tremulouscry and a flame of outstretched wings, into the distant wood. The sun had gone down behind the pines and a warm mist steamed up fromthe cooling earth, condensing into heavy dew on the dusty leaves of theplants in the ditch. Above the lowering pines the horizon burned to adeep scarlet, like an inverted brazier at red heat, and one gigantictree, rising beyond the jagged line of the forest, was silhouettedsharply against the enkindled clouds. Suddenly, from the shadows of thelong road, a voice rose plaintively. It was rich and deep andcolourific, and it seemed to hover close to the warmth of the earth, weighed down by its animal melody. It had mingled so subtly with thestillness that it was as much a part of nature as the cry of awhip-poor-will beyond the thicket or the sunset in the pine-guardedwest. At first it came faintly, and the words were lost, but as Nicholasgained upon the singer he caught more clearly the air and the song. "_Oh, de Ark hit came ter res' On-de-hill, Oh, de Ark hit came ter res' On-de-hill, En' dar ole Noah stood, En' spread his han's abroad, Er sacri-fice ter-Gawd On-de-hill. _" Nicholas quickened his pace into a run and, in a moment, saw thestooping figure of an old negro toiling up the red clay hillside, astaff in his hand and a bag of meal on his shoulder. In the vivid lightof the sunset his stature was exaggerated in size, giving him anappearance at once picturesque and pathetic--softening his ruggedoutline and magnifying the distortion of age. As he ascended the gradual incline he planted his staff firmly in thesoil, shifting his bag from side to side and uttering inaudible gruntsin the pauses of his song. "_En' dar, mid flame en smoke, De great Jehovah s-poke. En' awful thunder b-roke, On-de-hill. _" "Uncle Ish!" called the boy sharply. The old man lowered the bag fromhis shoulder and turned slowly round. "Who dat?" he demanded severely. "Ain't I done tell you dar ain' noha'nts 'long dis yer road?" "It's me, Uncle Ish, " said the boy. "It's Nick Burr. I heard you singinga long ways off. " "Den what you want ter go a-hollerin' en a-stealin' up on er ole niggerfer des' 'bout sundown?" "But, Uncle Ish, I didn't mean to scare you. I jest heard--" "Skeer! Who dat you been skeerin'? Ain't I done tole you dar ain' noha'nts round dese parts? What I gwine ter be skeered fer uv er little no'count white trash dat ain' never own er nigger in dere life? Who youdone skeer dis time?" He picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder and went on his way, the boy trotting beside him. For a time the old man muttered angrilybeneath his breath, and then, becoming mollified by the boy's silence, he looked kindly down on the small red head at his elbow. "You ain't said howdy, honey, " he remarked in a fault-finding tone. "Darain' no manners dese days, nohow. Dey ain' no manners en dey ain' nonuttin'. De niggers, dey is gwine plum outer dey heads, en de po' whitetrash dey's gwine plum outer dey places. " He looked at Nicholas, who flinched and hung his head. "Dar ain' nobody lef to keep 'em ter dey places, no mo'. In Ole Miss'time der wa'nt no traipsin' roun' er niggers en intermixin' up er dequality en de trash. Ole Miss, she des' pint out der place en dey staydar. She ain' never stomach noner der high-ferlutin' doin's roun' her. She know whar she b'long en she know whar dey b'long. Bless yo' life, Ole Miss wuz dat perticklar she wouldn't drink arter Ole Marster, hisself, 'thout renchin' out de gow'd twel t'wuz mos' bruck off dehandle. " He sighed and shifted his bag. "Ef Ole Miss 'ud been yer thoo' dis las' war, dar wouldn't er been noslue-footed Yankees a-foolin' roun' her parlour. She'd uv up en show'd'em de do'--" "Are all Yankees slue-footed, Uncle Ish?" "All dose I seed, honey--des' es slue-footed. En dar wuz Miss Chris' enole Miss Grissel a-makin' up ter 'em, en a-layin' out er demselves fer'em en a-spreadin' uv de table, des' de same es ef dey went straight ondey toes. Dar wan't much sense in dat ar war, nohow, an' I ain' neverknowed yit what 'twuz dey fit about. Hit wuz des' a-hidin' en a-teckin'ter de bushes, en a-hidin' agin, en den a-feastin', en a-curtsin' ter deYankees. Dar wan't no sense in it, no ways hits put, but Ise heeredMarse Tom 'low hit wuz a civil war, en dat's what it wuz. When deYankees come a-ridin' up en a-reinin' in dere hosses befo' de frontpo'ch, en Miss Chris come out a-smilin' en a-axin' howdy, en den deystan' dar a-bowin' en a-scrapin', hit wuz des' es civil es ef dey'd comea-co'tin'. But Ole Miss wuz dead en buried, she wuz. " Nicholas shook his head without speaking. There was a shade ofconsolation in the thought that the awful "Ole Miss" was below the earthand beyond the possibility of pointing out his place. The brazier in the west snapped asunder suddenly, and a single forkedflame shot above the jagged pines and went out in the dove-colouredclouds. In a huge oak beyond the rail fence there was a harsh rustlingof wings where a flock of buzzards settled to roost. "Yes, Lord, she wuz dead en buried, " repeated Uncle Ish slowly. "En darain' none like her lef' roun' yer now. Dis yer little Euginny is des'de spit er her ma, en it 'ud mek Ole Miss tu'n in her grave ter heartell 'bout her gwines on. De quality en de po' folks is all de same terher. She ain' no mo' un inspecter er pussons den de Lord is--ef Ole Misswuz 'live, I reckon she'd lam 'er twel she wuz black en blue--" "Is she so very bad?" asked Nicholas in an awed voice. Uncle Ish turned upon him reprovingly. "Bad!" he repeated. "Who gwine call Ole Miss' gran'chile bad? I don'treckon it's dese yer new come folks es hev des' sprouted outer de dut esis gwine ter--" At this instant the sound of a vehicle reached them, gaining upon themfrom the direction of Kingsborough, and they fell to one side of theroad, leaving room for the horses to pass. It was the Battle carriage, rolling heavily on its aged wheels and creaking beneath the general'sweight. "Howdy, Marse Tom!" called Uncle Ishmael. The general respondedgood-naturedly, and the carriage passed on, but, before turning into thebranch road a few yards ahead, it came to a standstill, and the bright, decisive voice of the little girl floated back. "Uncle Ish--I say, Uncle Ish, don't you want to ride?" "Dar, now!" cried Uncle Ishmael exultantly. "Ain't I tell you she wuzplum crazy? What she doin' a-peckin' up en ole nigger like I is?" He hastened his steps and scrambled into the seat beside the driver, settling his bag between his knees; and, with a flick of the peeledhickory whip, the carriage rolled into the branch road and disappeared, scattering a whirl of mud drops as it splashed through the shallowpuddles which lingered in the dryest season beneath the heavy shade ofthe wood. Nicholas turned into the branch road also, for the poor lands of hisfather adjoined the slightly richer ones of the Battles. He felt tiredand a little lonely, and he wished suddenly that a friendly cart wouldcome along in which he might ride the remainder of the way. Between thedensely wooded thicket on either side, the road looked dark and solemn. It was spread with a rotting carpet of last year's leaves, soft and dampunder foot, and polished into shining tracks in the ruts left by passingwheels. Through the dusk the ghostly bodies of beech trees stood outdistinctly from the surrounding wood, as if marked by a silver lightfalling from the topmost branches. The hoarse, grating notes ofjar-flies intensified the stillness. Nicholas went on steadily, spurred by superstitious terror of thesilence. He remembered that Uncle Ish had said there were no "ha'nts"along this road, but the assurance was barren of comfort. Old UncleDan'l Mule had certainly seen a figure in a white sheet rise up out ofthat decayed oak stump in the hollow, for he had sworn to it in theboy's presence in Aunt Rhody Sand's cabin the night of her daughterViny's wedding. As for Viny's husband Saul, he had declared that onenight after ten o'clock, when he was coming through this wood, the"booger-boos" had got after him and chased him home. At the end of the wood the road came out upon the open again, and inthe distance Nicholas could see, like burnished squares, the windows ofhis father's house. Between the thicket and the house there was a longstretch of clearing, which had been once planted in corn, and nowsupported a headless army of dry stubble, amid a dull-brown waste ofbroomsedge. The last pale vestige of the afterglow, visible across thelevel country, swept the arid field and softened the harsh outlines ofthe landscape. It was barren soil, whose strength had been exhaustedlong since by years of production without returns, tilled by hands thathad forced without fertilising. There was now grim pathos in itsabsolute sterility, telling as it did of long-gone yields of grain andhistoric harvests. Nicholas skirted the waste, and was turning into the pasture gate on theopposite side of the road, when he heard the shrill sound of a voicefrom the direction of the house. "Nick!--who--a Nick!" On one of the cedar posts of the fence of the cow-pen he discerned thesmall figure and green cotton frock of his half-sister, Sarah Jane, whowas shouting through her hollowed palms to increase the volume of sound. "I say, Nick! The she-ep hev' been driv-en u-p! Come to sup-per!" She vanished from the post and Nicholas ran up the remainder of the roadand swung himself over the little gate which led into the small squareyard immediately surrounding the house. At the pump near the back doorhis father, who had just come from work, was washing his hands beforegoing into supper, and near a row of pointed chicken coops the threeyounger children were "shooing" up the tiny yellow broods. The yard wasunkempt and ugly, run wild in straggling ailanthus shoots and litteredwith chips from the wood-pile. As he entered the house he saw his stepmother placing a dish of friedbacon upon the table, which was covered with a "watered" oilcloth of abright walnut tint. At her back stood Sarah Jane with a plate of cornbread in one hand and a glass pitcher containing buttermilk in theother. She was a slight, flaxen-haired child, with wizened features andsore, red eyelids. As his stepmother caught sight of him she stopped on her way to thestove and surveyed him with sharp but not unkindly eyes. "You've been takin' your time 'bout comin' home, " she remarked, "an' Ireckon you're powerful hungry. You can sit down if you want to. " She was long and lean and withered, with a chronic facial neuralgia, which gave her an irritable expression and a querulous voice. For thepast several years Nicholas had never seen her without a large cottonhandkerchief bound tightly about her face. She had been the boy's auntbefore she married his father, and her affection for him was proved byher allowing no one to harry him except herself. "How's your face, ma?" asked Nicholas with the indifference of habit ashe took his seat at the table, while Sarah Jane went to the door to callher father. When Burr came in the inquiry was repeated. "Face any easier, Marthy?" It was a form that had been gone throughwith at every meal since the malady began, and Marthy Burr, while shedeplored its insincerity, would have resented its omission. "Don't you all trouble 'bout my neuralgy, " she returned with resignedexasperation as she stood up to pour the coffee out of the large tinboiler. "It's mine, an' I've borne worse things, I reckon, which ain'tsayin' that 'tain't near to takin' my head off. " Amos Burr drank his coffee without replying, the perspiration standingin drops on his large, freckled face and shining on his heavy eyebrows. Presently he looked at Nicholas, who was eating abstractedly, his gazeon his plate. "I got that thar piece of land broke to-day, " he said, "an' I reckon youcan take the one-horse harrow and go over it to-morrow. Them peanutsought to hev' been in the ground two weeks ago--" "They ain't hulled yet, " interrupted his wife. "Sairy Jane ain't donemore'n half of 'em. She and Nick can do the balance after supper. Hurryup, Sairy Jane, and get through. Nannie, don't you touch another sliceof that middlin'. You'll be frettin' all night. " Nicholas looked up nervously. "I don't want to harrow the landto-morrow, pa, " he began; "the judge said I might come in to school--" Amos Burr looked at him helplessly. "Wall, I never!" he exclaimed. "Did you ever hear the likes?" said his wife. "I can go, pa, can't I?" asked Nicholas. "He can go, pa, can't he?" repeated Sarah Jane, looking up with hermouth wide open and full of corn bread. Burr shook his head and looked at his wife. "I don't see as I can get any help, " he said. "You're as good as a hand, and I can't spare you. " Then he concluded with a touch of irritation, "Idon't see as you want any more schoolin'. You can read and write now aheap better'n I can. " Nicholas choked over his bread and his lips trembled. "I--I don't want to be like you, pa!" he cried breathlessly, and theunshed tears stung his eyelids. "I want to be different!" Burr looked up stolidly. "I don't see as you want any more schoolin', "he repeated stubbornly, but his wife came sharply to the boy'sassistance. "I wish you'd stop pesterin' the child, Amos, " she said, inspired lessby the softness of amiability than by the genius of opposition. "I don'tsee how you can be everlastingly doin' it--my dead sister's child, too. " Nicholas swallowed his tears with his coffee and turned to his father. "I can get up 'fore day and do a piece of the land, and I can help you'bout the sowin' when I get back in the evening. I'll be back bytwelve--" "Oh, I reckon you can go if you're so set on it, " said Amos gruffly. Herose and left the room, stopping in the hall to get a bucket ofbuttermilk for the hogs. Nicholas went over to the window and joinedSarah Jane, who was shelling the peanuts, carefully separating the outerhulls from the inner pink skins, which were left intact for sowing. Marthy Burr, who was clearing off the table, let fall a china dish andbegan scolding the younger children. "I declare, if you don't all but drive me daft!" she said, flinchingfrom a twinge of neuralgia and raising her voice querulously. "Why can'tyou take yourselves off and give me some rest? Nannie, you and Jake goout to the old oak and see if all the turkeys air up. Be sure and count'em--and take Jubal (the youngest) 'long with you. If you see your patell him I say to look at the brindle cow. She acted mighty queer atmilkin', and I reckon she'd better have a little bran mash--Sairy Jane, "turning suddenly upon her eldest daughter, "if you eat another one ofthem peanuts I'll box your jaws--" Nicholas finished the peanuts and went upstairs to his little atticroom. He was not sleepy, and, after throwing himself upon his corn-shuckmattress, he lay for a long time staring at the ceiling, thinking of themorrow and listening to the groans of his stepmother as she tossed withneuralgia. IV In the first glimmer of dawn Nicholas dressed himself and stole softlydown from the attic, the frail stairway creaking beneath his tread. Ashe was unfastening the kitchen door, which led out upon a rough plankplatform called the "back porch, " Marthy Burr stuck her head in from theadjoining room where she slept, and called his name in a high-pitched, querulous voice. "Is that you, Nick?" she asked. "I declar, I'd jest dropped off to sleepwhen you woke me comin' down stairs. I never could abide tip-toein', nohow. I don't see how 'tis that I can't get no rest 'thout bein' rousedup, when your pa can turn right over and sleep through thunder. Whar yougoin' now?" Nicholas stopped and held a whispered colloquy with her from the backporch. "I'm goin' to drag the land some 'fore pa gets up, " he answered. "Then I'm goin' in to town. You know he said I might. " His stepmother shook her bandaged head peevishly and stood holding thecollar of her unbleached cotton gown. "Oh, I reckon so, " she responded. "I was think-in' 'bout goin' in myselfand hevin' my tooth out, but I s'pose I can wait on you. The Lord knowsI'm used to waitin'. " Nicholas looked at her in perplexity, his arm resting on the littleshelf outside, which supported the wooden water bucket and thelong-handled gourd. "You can go when I come back, " he said at last, adding with an effort, "or, if it's so bad, I can stay at home. " But, having asserted her supremacy over his inclinations, Marthy Burrrelented. "Oh, I don't know as I'll go in to-day, " she returned. "Iain't got enough teeth left now to chew on, an' I don't believe it's theteeth, nohow. It's the gums--" She retreated into the room, whence the shrill voice of Sairy Janeinquired: "Air you up, ma? Why, 'tain't day!" Nicholas closed the door and went out upon the porch. The yard lookeddeserted and desolated, giving him a sudden realisation of his ownlittleness and the immensity of the hour. It was as if the wheels oftime had stopped in the dim promise of things unfulfilled. A brokenscythe lay to one side amid the straggling ailanthus shoots; near thewood-pile there was a wheelbarrow half filled with chips, and at alittle distance the axe was poised upon a rotten log. From the smallcoops beside the hen-house came an anxious clucking as the fluffy yellowchickens strayed beneath the uneven edges of their pointed prisons andmade independent excursions into the world. In the far east the day was slowly breaking, and the open country wasflooded with pale, washed-out grays, like the background of animpressionist painting. A heavy dew had risen in the night, and as theboy passed through the dripping weeds on his way to the stable they lefta chill moisture upon his bare feet. His eyes were heavy with sleep, and to his cloudy gaze the familiar objects of the barnyard assumedgrotesque and distorted shapes. The manure heap near the doorwaypresented an effect of unreality, the pig-pen seemed to have sufferedwitchery since the evening before, and the haystack, looming vaguely inthe drab distance, appeared to be woven of some phantasmal fabric. He led out the old sorrel mare and followed her into the large ploughedfield beyond the cow-pen, where the harrow was lying on one side of thebrown ridges. As he passed the pen the startled sheep huddled into a farcorner, bleating plaintively, and the brindle cow looked after him withsoft, persuasive eyes. When he had attached the clanking chains of theplough harness to the single-tree, he caught up the ropes which servedfor reins and set out laboriously over the crumbling earth, whichyielded beneath his feet and made walking difficult. The field extended from the cow-pen and the bright, green rows ofvegetables that were raised for market to the reedy brook which dividedhis father's land from that belonging to General Battle. The brook wasalways cool and shady, and silvery with minnows darting over the shiningpebbles beneath the clear water. As Nicholas looked across the neutralfurrows he could see the feathery branches of willows rising from thegray mist, and, farther still up the sloping hillside, the dew-drenchedgreen of the mixed woodlands. The land before him had been upturned by shallow ploughing some dayssince, and it lay now pale and arid, the large clods of earth showingthe detached roots of grass and herbs, and presenting a hint ofmenacing destruction rather than the prospect of the peaceful art ofcultivation. It was the boy's duty to drag the soil free from grass, after which it would be laid out into rows some three feet apart. Whenthis was done two furrows would be thrown together to give what thefarmers called a "rise, " the point of which would be finally levelled, when the ground would be ready for the peanut-sowing, which wasperformed entirely by hand. The boy worked industriously through the deepening dawn, giving anoccasional "gee up, Rhody!" to the mare, and following the track of theharrow with much the same concentration of purpose as that displayed byhis four-footed friend. He was strong for his years, lithe as a sapling, and as fearless of elemental changes, and as he walked meditativelyacross the bare field he might have suggested to an onlooker thepossible production of a vast fund of energy. Presently the gray light was shot with gold and a streak of orangefluttered like a ribbon in the east. In a moment a violet cloud floatedabove the distant hill, and as its ends curled up from the quickeningheat it showed the splendour of a crimson lining. A single ray ofsunshine, pale as a spectral finger, pointed past the woodlands to thebrook beneath the willows, and the vague blur of the mixed forest warmedinto vivid tints, changing through variations from the clear emerald ofyoung maples to the olive dusk of evergreens. Last of all the ploughed field, which had preserved a neutral cast, blushed faintly in the sunrise, glowing to pale purple tones where thesod was newly turned. From the fugitive richness of the soil a warmbreath rose suddenly, filling the air with the genial odour of earth andsunshine. The shining, dark coils of worms were visible like threads inthe bright brown clods. Nicholas raised his head and stared with unseeing eyes at the gorgeouseast. A rooster crowed shrilly, and he turned in the direction of thebarnyard. Then he flicked the ropes gently and went on, his gaze on theground. His thoughts, which at first were fixed solely upon the teeth ofthe harrow, took tumultuous flight, and he reviewed for the hundredthtime his conversation with the judge and the vast avenue of the futurewhich was opening before him. He would not be like his father, of thishe was convinced--his father, who was always working with nothing toshow for it--whose planting was never on time, and whose implements werenever in place. His father had never had this gnawing desire to knowthings, this passionate hatred of the work which he might not neglect. His father had never tried to beat against the barriers of his ignoranceand been driven back, and beat again and wept, and read what he couldn'tunderstand. The teacher at the public school had told him that he wasfar ahead of his years, and yet they had taken him away when he wasdoing his level best, and put him to dragging the land, and gatheringthe peanuts, and carrying the truck to market, and marking the sheepwith red paint, and bringing up the cows, and doing all the odd, innumerable jobs they could devise. He let the ropes fall for an instantand dug his fist into his eye; then he took them up again and went onstolidly. At last the sun came out boldly above the hill, and thehollows were flooded with light. In the centre of the field the boy'shead glowed like some large red insect. A hawk, winging slowly abovehim, looked down as if uncertain of his species, and fluttered offindifferently. At six o'clock his stepmother came to the back door and called him tobreakfast. When the meal was over Amos Burr went out to the field, and Nicholas wassent to drive the sheep to the pasture. With vigorous wavings of a pieceof brushwood, and many darts from right to left, he succeeded finally indriving them across the road and through the gate on the opposite side, after which he returned to assist his stepmother about the house. Notuntil nine o'clock, when he had seen the Battle children going up theroad, was he free to set off at a run for Kingsborough. As he sped breathlessly along, past the wastelands, into the woods, downthe road to the hillside, and down the hillside to the road again, hewent too rapidly for thought. The fresh air brushed his heated facegently, and, at the edge of the wood, where the shallow puddleslingered, myriads of blue and yellow butterflies scattered intovariegated clumps of colour at his approach, darting from the moistheaps of last year's leaves to the shining rivulets in the wheel ruts bythe way. A partridge whistled from the yellowing green of the wheat, anda rabbit stole noiselessly from the sassafras in the ditch and shot shyglances of alarm; but he did not turn his head, and his hand held noready stone. Though he had run half the way, when at last he reached the judge'shouse, and stood before the little office in the garden where the schoolwas held, his courage misgave him, and he leaned, trembling, against thearbour where a grapevine grew. The sound of voices floated out to him, mingled with bright, girlish laughter, and, looking through the openwindow, he saw the light curls of a little girl against the darker headof a boy. He choked suddenly with shyness, and would have hesitatedthere until the morning was over had not the judge's old servant, Cęsar, espied him from the dining-room window. "Look yer, boy, what you doin' dar?" he demanded suspiciously, and thencalled to some one inside the house. "Marse George, dat ar Burr boy isa-loungin' roun' yo' yawd. " The judge did not respond, but the tutor came to the door of the officeand intercepted the boy's retreat. He was a pale, long-faced young manin spectacles, with weak, blue eyes and a short, thin moustache. Hisname was Graves, and he regarded what he called the judge's "quixotism"with condescending good-nature. "Is that you, Nicholas Burr?" he asked in a slightly supercilious voice. "The judge has told me about you. So you won't be a farmer, eh? And youwon't stay in your class? Well, come in and we'll see what we can makeof you. " Nicholas followed him into the room and sat down at one of the pinedesks, while the judge's son, Tom, nodded to him from across the room, and Bernard Battle grinned over his shoulder at his sister Eugenia, anda handsome boy, called Dudley Webb, made a face which convulsed littleSally Burwell, who hid her merriment in her curls. There were severalother children in the room, but Nicholas did not see them distinctly. Something had got before his eyes and there was a lump in his throat. Hesat rigidly in his seat, his straw hat, with the shoestring around thecrown, lying upon the desk before him. He looked neither to the rightnor to the left, keeping his frightened gaze upon the tutor's face. Mr. Graves asked him a few questions, which he could not answer, andthen, giving him a book, turned to the other children. As the lessonswent on it seemed to Nicholas that he had never known anything in hislife; that he should never know anything; and that he should alwaysremain the most ignorant person on earth--unless that lot fell to SairyJane. The difficulties besetting the path of knowledge appeared to beinsurmountable. Even if he had the books and the time he could neverlearn anything--his head would prevent it. "Bound Beloochistan, Tom, " said the tutor, and Tom, a stout, fair-hairedboy with a heavy face, went through the process to the satisfaction ofMr. Graves and to the amazement of Nicholas. The office was a plain, square room, containing, besides the desks andtables, an old secretary and a corner cupboard of an antique pattern, which held an odd assortment of cracked china and chemist bottles. Therewas also a square mahogany chest, called the wine-cellar, which had beensent from the dining-room when the last bottle of Tokay was opened todrink the health of the Confederacy. Before the war the place had been used by the judge as a generalbusiness room, but when the slaves were freed and there were fewerservants it was found to be little needed, and was finally given overentirely to the children's school. When recess came the tutor left the office, telling Nicholas that hemight go home with the little girls if he liked. "I shall try to havethe books you need by to-morrow, " he said, and, his natural amiabilityovercoming his assumed superciliousness, he added pleasantly: "I shouldn't mind being backward at first. The boys are older than you, but you'll soon catch up. " He went out, and Nicholas had started towards the door, when Tom Bassettflung himself before him, swinging skilfully over an intervening table. "Hold up, carrot-head, " he said. "Let's have a look at you. Are allheads afire where you come from?" "He's Amos Burr's boy, " explained Bernard Battle with a grin. "He lives'long our road. I saw him hoeing potatoes day before yesterday. He's gotfreckles enough to tan a sheepskin!" In the midst of the laugh which followed Nicholas stood awkwardly, shifting his bare feet. His face was scarlet, and he fingered indesperation the ragged brim of his hat. "I reckon they're my freckles, " he said doggedly. "And I reckon you can keep 'em, " retorted Bernard, mimicking his tone. "We ain't going to steal 'em. I say, Eugie, here're some freckles forsale!" The dark little girl, who was putting up her books in one corner, looked up and shook her head. "Let me alone!" she replied shortly, and returned to her work, tuggingat the straps with both hands. Dudley Webb--a handsome, upright boy, well dressed in a dark suit and linen shirt--lounged over as he muncheda sandwich. He looked at Nicholas from head to foot, and his gaze was returned withstolid defiance. Nicholas did not flinch, but for the first time he feltashamed of his ugliness, of his coarse clothes, of his briar-scratchedlegs, of his freckles, and of the unalterable colour of his hair. Hewished with all his heart that he were safely in the field with hisfather, driving the one-horse harrow across upturned furrows. He didn'twant to learn anything any more. He wanted only to get away. "He's common, " said Dudley at last, throwing a crust of bread throughthe open window. "He's as common as--as dirt. I heard mother say so--" "Father says he's _un_common, " returned Tom doubtfully, turning hishonest eyes on Nicholas again. "He told Mr. Graves that he was a mostuncommon boy. " "Oh, well, you can play with him if you like, " rejoined Dudleyresolutely, "but I shan't. He's old Amos Burr's son, anyway, who neverwore a whole shirt in his life. " "He had on one yesterday, " said Bernard Battle impartially. "I saw it. It was just made and hadn't been washed. " Nicholas looked up stubbornly. "You let my father alone!" he exclaimed, spurred by the desire to resent something and finding it easier tofight for another than himself. "You let my father alone, or I'll makeyou!" "I'd like to see you!" retorted Dudley wrathfully, and Nicholas hadsquared up for the first blow, when before his swimming gaze a defenderintervened. "You jest let him alone!" cried a voice, and the flutter of a bluecotton skirt divided Dudley from his adversary. "You jest let him alone. If you call him common I'll hit you, an'--an' you can't hit me back!" "Eugie, you ought to be--" began Bernard, but she pushed the combatantsaside with decisive thrusts of her sunburned little hand, and plantedherself upon the threshold, her large, black eyes glowing like shadedlamps. "He wan't doin' nothin' to you, and you jest let him be. He's goin' totote my books home, an' you shan't touch him. I reckon I know what'scommon as well as you do--an' he ain't--he ain't common. " Then she caught Nicholas's arm and marched off like a dispensingprovidence with a vassal in tow. Nicholas followed obediently. He wassufficiently cowed into non-resistance, and he felt a wholesome awe ofhis defender, albeit he wished that it had been a boy like himselfinstead of a slip of a girl with short skirts and a sunbonnet. At thebottom of his heart there existed an instinctive contempt of the sexwhich Eugenia represented, developed by the fact that it was not forcebut weakness that had vanquished his victorious opponent. Dudley Webbwas a gentleman, and only a bully would strike a girl, even if she werea spitfire--the term by which he characterised Eugenia. He rememberedsuddenly her exultant, "an' you can't hit me back!" and it seemed to himthat, even in the righteous cause of his deliverance, she had taken anunfair and feminine advantage of the handsome boy for whom he cherisheda shrinking admiration. As for Eugenia herself, she was troubled by no such misgivings. Shewalked slightly in front of him, her blue skirt swinging briskly fromside to side, her white sunbonnet hanging by its strings from hershoulders. Above the starched ruffles rose her small dark head and whiteprofile, and Nicholas could see the determined curve of her chin and thehumorous tremor of her nostril. It was a vivid little face, devoid ofcolour except for the warm mouth, and sparkling with animation whichburned steadily at the white heat of intensity--but to Nicholas she wasonly a plain, dark, little girl, with an unhealthy pallor of complexion. He was grateful, nevertheless, and when his first regret that she wasnot a boy was over he experienced a thrill of affection. It was thefirst time that any one had deliberately taken his part in the face ofopposing odds, and the stand seemed to bring him closer to hiscompanion. He held her books tightly, and his face softened as he lookedat her, until it was transfigured by the warmth of his emotion. Then, asthey passed the college grounds, where a knot of students greetedEugenia hilariously, and turned upon the Old Stage Road, he reached outtimidly to take the small hand hanging by her side. "It's better walkin' on this side the road, " he said with a mildassumption of masculine supremacy. "I wouldn't walk in the dust. " Eugenia looked at him gravely and drew her hand away. "You mustn't do that, " she responded severely. "When I said you weren'tcommon I didn't mean that you really weren't, you know; because, ofcourse, you are. I jest meant that I wouldn't let them say so. " Nicholas stood in the centre of the road and stared at her, his faceflushing and a slow rage creeping into his eyes. For a moment he stood in trembling silence. Then he threw the books fromhim into the sand at her feet, and with a choking sob sped past her tovanish amid a whirl of dust in the sunny distance. Eugenia looked thoughtfully down upon her scattered possessions. She wasall alone upon the highway, and around her the open fields rolled offinto the green of far-off forests. The sunshine fell hotly over her, andstraight ahead the white road lay like a living thing. She stooped, gravely gathered up the books, and walked resolutely on herway, a cloud of yellow butterflies fluttering like loosened petals offull-blown buttercups about her head. V Battie Hall was a square white frame house with bright-green windowshutters and a deep front porch, supported by heavy pillars, and reachedfrom the gravelled walk below by a flight of rugged stone steps. In therear of the house, through which a wide hall ran, dividing the rooms ofthe first floor, there was another porch similar to the one at thefront, except that the pillars were hidden in musk roses and the longbenches at either side were of plain, unpainted pine. At the foot of theback steps a narrow, well-trodden path led to the vegetable garden, which was separated from the yard by what was called "Cattle Lane"--aname derived from the morning and evening passage of the cows on theirway to and from the pasture. Beginning at the gate into the garden, where the tall white palings weregay with hollyhocks and heavy-headed sunflowers, a grapevine trellisextended to the farmyard at the end of the lane, whence an overgrownwalk led across tangled meadows to the negro "quarters"--a long, whitewashed row of almost deserted cabins. Since the close of the warthe "quarters" had fallen partly into disuse and had decayed rapidly, though some few were still tenanted by the former slaves, who gatheredas of old in the doorways of an evening to strum upon broken-stringedbanjos and to wrap the hair of their small offspring. Beyond this rowthere was a slight elevation called "Hickory Hill, " where Uncle Ishmaelhad lived for more than seventy years; and at the foot of the hill, onthe other side, near "Sweet Gum Spring, " there were several neatlypatched log cabins occupied by the house servants, who held in socialcontempt the field hands in the neighbouring "quarters. " Overlooking the"Sweet Gum Spring, " on a loftier hill, was the family graveyard, whichwas walled off from the orchard near by, where the twisted old fruittrees had long since yielded the larger part of their abundance. At the front of the Hall the view was vastly different. There the greatblue-grass lawn was thickly studded with ancient elms and maples, whoseshade fell like a blanket upon the velvety sod beneath. The gravelledwalk, beginning at the front steps, was bordered on either side by rowsof closely clipped box, which ended in the long avenue of cedars leadingfrom the lawn to the distant turnpike. To the right of the house therewere three pointed aspens, which shivered like skeletons in silver, holding grimly aloof from the vivid pink of the crźpe myrtle at theirfeet. Beyond them was the well-house, with a long moss-grown troughwhere the horses and the cows came to drink, and across the road beganthe cornlands, which stretched in rhythmic undulations to the dark beltof the pine forest. On the left of the box walk, in a direct line fromthe three aspens, towered a huge sycamore, and from one of itsprotecting arms, shaded by large fan-like leaves, a child's swingdangled by a thick hemp rope. Near the sycamore, where an old oak hadfallen, the rotting stump was hidden by a high "rockery, " edged withconch shells, and over the rough gray rocks a tangle of garden flowersran wild--sweet-william, petunias, phlox, and the mossy stems of red andyellow portulaca. On the western side of the house there was a spreadingmimosa tree, its sensitive branches brushing the green shutters of awindow in the second story. The Hall had been built by the general's father when, because of familydissensions, he had decided to move from a central county to the morethinly settled country surrounding Kingsborough. There the general hadpassed his boyhood, and there he had left his wife when he had gone tothe war. At the beginning of the struggle he had freed his slaves andbuckled on his sword. "They may have the negroes, and welcome, " he had said to the judge. "Doyou think I'd fight for a damned darkey? It's the principle, sir--theprinciple!" And the judge, who had not freed his servants, but who would as soonhave thought of using a profane word as of alluding in disrespectfulterms to a family portrait, had replied gravely: "My dear Tom, you will find principle much better to fight for than tolive on. " But the general had gone with much valour and more vehemence. He hadenlisted as a private, had risen within a couple of years to acolonelcy, and had been raised to the rank of general by the unanimousvoice of his neighbours upon his return home. After an enthusiasticreception at Kingsborough he had mounted a heavy-weight horse and riddenout to the Hall, to find the grounds a tangle of weeds and his wifewith the pallor of death upon her brow. She had rallied at his coming, had lingered some sad years an invalid in the great room next theparlour, and had died quietly at last as she knelt in prayer beside herhigh white bed. For days after this the empty house was like a coffin. The children ranin tears through the shuttered rooms, and the servants lost theirlingering shred of discipline. When the funeral was over, the generalmade some spasmodic show of authority, but his heart was not in it, andhe wavered for lack of the sustaining hold of his wife's frail hand. Hedismissed the overseer and undertook to some extent the management ofthe farm, but the crops failed and the hay rotted in the fields beforeit was got into the barn. Then, as things were galloping from bad toworse, a letter came from his sister, Miss Christina, and in a few daysshe arrived with a cartload of luggage and a Maltese cat in a wickerbasket. From the moment when she stepped out of the carriage at the endof the avenue and ascended the box-trimmed walk to the stone steps, thedifficulties disentangled and the domestic problems dwindled into thesimplest of arithmetical sums. By some subtle law of the influence ofthe energetic she assumed at once the rights of authority. From themaster of the house to the field hands in the "quarters, " all bent toher regenerating rule. She opened the windows in the airy rooms, cleanedoff the storeroom shelves with soda and water, and put the maraudingsmall negroes to weeding the lawn. Before her passionate purificationthe place was purged of the dust of years. The hardwood floors of thewide old halls began to shine like mirrors, the assortment of odds andends in the attic was relegated to an outhouse, and even the general'saunt, Miss Griselda Grigsby, was turned unceremoniously out of herapartment before the all-pervading soap-suds of cleaning day. As for the servants, a sudden miraculous zeal possessed them. Within afortnight the garden rows were hoed free from grass, the hops weregathered from the fence, and the weeds on the lawn vanished beneathsmall black fingers. Even the annual threshing of the harvest wasaccomplished under the overseeing eye of "Miss Chris, " as she was calledby the coloured population. During the week that the old machine pouredout its chaffless wheat and the driver whistled in the centre of thetreadmill Miss Chris appeared at the barn at noon each day to warn thehands against waste of time and to see that the mules were well watered. But the revolutions without were as naught to the internal ones. AuntVerbeny, the cook, whose tyranny had extended over thirty years, wasassisted from her pedestal, and the hen-house keys were removed from thenail of the kitchen wall. "This will never do, Verbeny, " said Miss Chris a month after herarrival. "We could not possibly have eaten three dozen chickens withinthe last week. I am afraid you take them home without asking me. " Aunt Verbeny, a fat old woman with a shining black skin, smoothed herchecked apron with offended dignity. "Hi! Miss Chris, ain't I de cook?" she exclaimed. But Miss Chris preserved her ground. "That is no excuse for you taking what doesn't belong to you, " shereplied severely. "If this keeps up I shall be obliged to let Delphy dothe cooking. There won't be a chicken in the hen-house by the end of themonth. " Aunt Verbeny still smoothed her apron, but her authority was shaken, andshe felt it. She gave a slow grunt of dissatisfaction. "Dese ain't de doin's I'se used ter, " she protested, and then, beneaththe undaunted eyes of Miss Chris, she melted into propitiation. "Des' let dat ar chicken alont, Miss Chris, " she said, skilfullyreducing the charge to a single offence. "Des' let dat ar chicken alont. 'Tain' no use yo' rilin' yo'se'f 'bout dat. Hit's done en it's beendone. Hit don't becomst de quality ter fluster demse'ves over de gwineson uv er low-lifeted fowl. You des' bresh yo'se'f down an steddy likehit ain' been fool you ef you knowed yo'se'f. You des' let dat archicken be er little act uv erdultery betweenst you en me. Ef'n it'sgone, hit'll stay gone!" Whereupon Miss Chris retreated, leaving her opponent in possession ofthe kitchen floor. But from this day forth the hen-house was locked at night and unlockedin the morning by the hand of Miss Chris, and Aunt Verbeny's overweeningill-temper diminished with her authority. Miss Chris had been a beauty in her day, but as she passed middle agethe family failing seized upon her, and she grew huge and unwieldy, thedisproportion of her enormous figure to her small feet giving her anawkward, waddling walk. She had a profusion of silvery-white hair, worn in fluffy curls abouther large pink face, soft brown eyes, and a full double chin that fellover a round cameo brooch bearing the head of Minerva set in a plaingold band. In winter she wore gowns of black Henrietta cloth, made withplain bodices and full plaited skirts; in summer she wore the sameskirts with loosely fitting white linen sacques, trimmed in delicateembroideries, with muslin ruffles falling over her plump hands. When shecame to the Hall she brought with her innumerable reminiscences of herchildhood, which she told in a musical voice with girlish laughter. After his sister's arrival the general discontinued his fitfuloverseering. He rose early and spent his long days sitting upon thefront porch, smoking an old briar pipe and reading the Richmond papers. Occasionally he would ride at a jogging pace round the fields, givingcasual directions to the workers, but as his weight increased he foundit difficult to mount into the saddle, and, at last, desisted from theattempt. He preferred to sit in peace in his cane rocking chair, lookingdown the box walk into the twilight of the cedar avenue, or gazingplacidly beyond the aspens and the well-house to the streaked ribbons ofthe ripening corn. It was said that he had never been the same man sincethe death of his wife. Certainly he laughed as heartily and his jovialface had taken a ruddier tint, but there was a superficiality in hisexuberant cheerfulness which told that it was not well rooted below thesurface. His jokes were as ready as ever, but he had fallen into anabsent-minded habit of repetition, and sometimes repeated the samestories at breakfast and supper. He talked freely of his dead wife, heeven made ill-placed jests about his widowerhood, and he never failed tokiss a pair of red lips when the chance offered; but, for all that, hisgaze often wandered past the huge sycamore to the family graveyard, where rank periwinkle grew and mocking-birds nested. Through the longsummer not a Sunday passed that he did not take fresh flowers to one ofthe neatly trimmed mounds where the marble headpiece read: "AMELIA TUCKER, BELOVED WIFE OF THOMAS BATTLE, DIED APRIL 3RD. , 18--. '_I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord. _'" Sometimes the children were with him, but usually he went alone, andonce or twice he returned with red eyelids and asked for a julep. There was little to fill his life now, and he divided it between Bernardand Eugenia, whom he adored, and the negroes, whom he reviled fordiversion and spoiled to make amends. "They will break me!" he would declare a dozen times a day. "They willturn me out of house and home. Here's old Sambo's Claudius come back andmoved into the quarters. He hasn't a cent to his name, and he's the mostno 'count scamp on earth. It's worse than before the war--upon my soulit is! Then they lived on me and I got an odd piece of work out ofthem. Now they live on me and don't do a damned lick!" "My dear Tom!" Miss Chris cheerfully remonstrated. She had long beenreconciled to her brother's swearing propensities, which she regarded asan amiable eccentricity to be overlooked by a special indulgenceaccorded the male sex, but she never knew just how to meet him in adiscussion of the servants. "What is to be done about it?" she inquired gravely. "Claudius left hereat the beginning of the war, Aunt Griselda says, and he has never beenback until now. It seems he has brought his family. He haslung-trouble. " "Done about it!" repeated the general heatedly. "What's to be done aboutit? Why, the rascal can't starve. I've just told Sampson to wheel himdown a barrel of meal. Oh, they'll break me! I shan't have a morselleft!" The next time it was an opposite grievance. "What do you reckon's happened now?" he asked, marching into the brickstoreroom, where his sister was slicing ripe, red tomatoes into a bluechina bowl. "What do you think that fool Ish has done?" Miss Chris looked up attentively, her large, fresh-coloured faceexpressing mild apprehension. She had rolled back her linen sleeves, andthe juice of the tomatoes stained her full, dimpled wrists. "He hasn't killed himself?" she inquired anxiously. "Killed himself?" roared the general. "He'll live forever. I don'tbelieve he'd die if he were strung up with a halter round his neck. He's moved off. " "Moved off!" echoed Miss Chris faintly. "Why, I believe Uncle Ish wasliving in that cabin on Hickory Hill before I was born. I remember goingup there to help him gather hickory nuts when I wasn't six years old. Icouldn't have been six because mammy Betsey was with me, and she diedbefore I was seven. I declare there were always more nuts on those treesthan any I ever saw--" But the general broke in upon her reminiscences, and she took up a freshtomato and peeled it carefully with a sharp-edged knife. "Some idiots got after him, " said the general, "and told him if he wenton living on my land he'd go back to slavery, and, bless your life, hehas gone--gone to that little one-room shanty where his daughter used tolive, between my place and Burr's--as if I'd have him, " he concludedwrathfully. "I wouldn't own that fool again if he dropped into my lapstraight from heaven!" Miss Chris laughed merrily. "It is the last place he would be likely to drop from, " she returned;"but I'll call him up and talk with him. It is a pity for him to bemoving off at his age. " So Uncle Ishmael was summoned up to the porch, and Miss Chris explainedthe error of his ways, but to no purpose. "I ain' got no fault ter fine, " he repeated over and over again, scratching his grizzled head. "I ain' got no fault ter fine wid you. You've been used me moughty well, en I'se pow'ful 'bleeged ter you--enMarse Tom, he's a gent'mun ef ever I seed one. I ain' go no fault terfine. " The general lost his temper and started up. "Then what do you mean by turning fool at your age?" he demandedangrily. "Haven't I given you a roof over your head all these years?" "Dat's so, suh. " "And food to eat?" "Dat's so. " "And never asked you to do a lick of work since you got the rheumatism?" "Dat's es true es de Gospel. " "Then what do you mean by going off like mad to that little, broken-downshanty with half the roof gone?" Uncle Ishmael shuffled his heavy feet and scratched his head again. "Hit's de trufe, Marse Tom, " he said at last. "Hit's de Gospel trufe. Iain' had so much ter eat sence I'se gone off, en I ain' had much uv erroof ter kiver me, en I ain' had nuttin' ter w'ar ter speak on--but, fo'de Lawd, Marse Tom, freedom it are er moughty good thing. " Then the general flew into the house in a rage and Uncle Ishmael left, followed by two small negroes, bearing on their heads the donations madeby Miss Chris to his welfare. On the day that Eugenia encountered Nicholas at school the general wassitting, as usual, in his rocking chair upon the front porch, when hesaw the flutter of a blue skirt, and Eugenia emerged from the avenue andcame up the walk between the stiff rows of box. It was two o'clock, andthe general was peacefully awaiting the sound of the dinner bell, butat the sight of Eugenia his peacefulness departed, and he calledangrily: "Eugie, where's Bernard?" "Comin'. " "Coming!" returned the general indignantly. "Haven't I told you a dozentimes not to walk along that road by yourself? Why didn't you wait forthe carriage? Are you never going to mind what I say to you?" Eugenia came up the steps and threw her books on one of the long greenbenches. Then she seated herself in a rocking chair and untied hersunbonnet. "I wa'n't by myself, " she said. "A boy was with me. " "A boy? Where is he?" "He ran away. " The general's great head went back, and he shook with laughter. "Blessmy soul! What did he mean by that? What boy was it, daughter?" Eugenia sat upright in the high rocker, fanning her heated face with hersunbonnet. "The Burr boy, " she answered. The general gasped for breath, and turned towards the hall. "Come out here, Chris!" he called. "Here's Eugie been walking home withthe Burr boy!" In a moment Miss Chris's large figure appeared in the doorway, and shehanded a brimming mint julep to the general. "I don't know what Eugie can be made of, " she remarked. "Amos Burr wasoverseer for the Carringtons before he got that place of his own, and Iremember just as well as if it were yesterday old Mr. Phil Carringtontelling me once, when I was on a visit there, that the more his man Burrworked the less he accomplished. But, as for Eugenia, that isn't theworst about her. Just the other morning, when I was looking out of thestoreroom window, I saw her with her arm round the neck of AuntVerbeny's little Suke. I declare I was so upset I let the quart pot fallinto the potato bin!" "But there isn't anybody else, Aunt Chris, " protested Eugenia, lookingup from her father's julep, which she was tasting. "And I'm 'bliged tohave a bosom friend. " The general shook until his face was purple and the ice jingled in theglass. "Bosom friend, you puss!" he roared. "Why can't you choose a bosomfriend of your own colour? What do you want with a bosom friend as blackas the ace of spades?" "O papa, she ain't black; she's jes' yellow-brown. " "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Eugie, " said Miss Chris severely. "Now go upstairs and wash your face and hands before dinner. It isalmost ready. I wonder where Bernard is!" "Can't I wait twell the bell rings?" Eugenia asked; but Miss Chris shookher head decisively. "Eugenia, will you never stop talking like a darkey?" she demanded. "Howoften must I tell you that there's no such word as 'twell'? Now, goright straight upstairs. " Eugenia rose obediently and went into the hall. She had learned from herfather and the servants not to dispute the authority of Miss Chris, though she yielded to it with a mild surprise at her own docility. "She don't really manage me, " she had once confided to Delphy, thewasherwoman, "but I jes' plays that she does. " VI When Eugenia came downstairs she found the family seated at dinner, MissChris and her father beaming upon each other across a dish of friedchicken and a home-cured ham. Bernard was on Miss Chris's right hand, and on the other side of the table Eugenia's seat separated the generalfrom Aunt Griselda, who sat severely buttering her toast before a brownearthenware teapot ornamented by a raised design of Rebecca at the well. Aunt Griselda was a lean, dried-up old lady, with a sharp, curved noselike the beak of a bird, and smoothly parted hair brushed low over herears and held in place by a tortoise-shell comb. There were deepchannels about her eyes, worn by the constant falling of acrid tears, and her cheeks were wrinkled and yellowed like old parchment. Twenty years ago, when the general had first brought home his youngwife, before her buoyancy had faltered, and before the five littlehead-boards to the five stillborn children had been set up amid theperiwinkle in the family graveyard, Aunt Griselda had written from thehome of her sister to say that she would stop over at Battle Hall on herway to Richmond. The general had received the news joyfully, and the best chamber hadbeen made ready by the hospitable hands of his young wife. Delicate, lavender-scented linen had been put on the old tester-bed and curtainsof flowered chintz tied back from the window seats. Amelia Battle hadplaced a bowl of tea-roses upon the dressing table and gone graciouslydown to the avenue to welcome her guest. From the family carriage AuntGriselda had emerged soured and eccentric. She had gone up to the bestchamber, unpacked her trunks, hung up her bombazine skirts in thecloset, ordered green tea and toast, and settled herself for theremainder of her days. That was twenty years ago, and she still slept inthe best chamber, and still ordered tea and toast at the table. She hadgrown sourer with years and more eccentric with authority, but thegeneral never failed to treat her crotchets with courtesy or to open thedoor for her when she came and went. To the mild complaints of MissChris and the protestations of Eugenia he returned the invariablewarning: "She is our guest--remember what is due to a guest, my dears. " And when Miss Chris placidly suggested that the privileges of guestshipwore threadbare when they were stretched over twenty years, and Eugeniafervently hoped that there were no visitors in heaven, the generalresponded to each in turn: "It is the right of a guest to determine the length of his stay, and, asa Virginian, my house is open as long as it has a roof over it. " So Aunt Griselda drank her green tea in acrid silence, turning atintervals to reprove Bernard for taking too large mouthfuls or torequest Eugenia to remove her elbows from the table. To-day, when Eugenia descended, she was gazing stonily into MissChris's genial face, and listening constrainedly to a story at which thegeneral was laughing heartily. "Yes, I never look at these forks of the bead pattern that I don't seeAunt Callowell, " Miss Chris was concluding. "She never used any otherpattern, and I remember when Cousin Bob Baker once sent her a set ofteaspoons with a different border, she returned them to Richmond to beexchanged. Do you remember the time she came to mother's when we werechildren, Tom? Eugie, will you have breast or leg?" "I don't think I could have been at home, " said the general, his facegrowing animated, as it always did, in a discussion of old times; "but Ido remember once, when I was at Uncle Robert's, they sent me eighteenmiles on horseback for the doctor, because Aunt Callowell had such aqueer feeling in her side when she started to walk. I can see her nowholding her side and saying: 'I can't possibly take a step! Robert, Ican't take a step!' And when I brought the doctor eighteen miles fromhome, on his old gray mare, he found that she'd put a shoe on one footand a slipper on the other. " The general threw back his head and laughed until the table groaned, while Miss Chris's double chin shook softly over her cameo brooch. Aunt Griselda wiped her eyes on the border of her handkerchief. "Aunt Cornelia Callowell was a righteous woman, " she murmured. "I neverthought that I should hear her ridiculed in the house of hergreat-nephew. She scalloped me a flannel petticoat with her own hands. Eugenia, in my day little girls didn't reach for the butter. They waiteduntil it was handed to them. " Congo, the butler, rushed to Eugenia's assistance, and the general shookhis finger at her and formed the word "guest" with his mouth. Miss Chrischanged the subject by begging Aunt Griselda to have a wing of chicken. "I don't believe in so much dieting, " she said cheerfully. "I think yournerves would be better if you ate more. Just try a brown wing. " "I know my nerves are bad, " Aunt Griselda rejoined, still wiping hereyes, "though it is hard to be accused of a temper before my own nephew. But I know I am a burden, and I have overstayed my welcome. Let me go. " "Why, Aunt Griselda?" remonstrated Miss Chris in hurt tones. "You know Ididn't accuse you of anything. I only meant that you would feel betterif you didn't drink so much tea and ate more meat--" "I am not too old to take a hint, " replied Aunt Griselda. "I haven'treached my dotage yet, and I can see when I am a burden. Here, Congo, you may put my teapot away. " "O Lord!" gasped the general tragically; and rising to the occasion, hesaid hurriedly: "By the way, Chris, they told me at the post-officeto-day that old Dr. Smith was dead. It was only last week that I met himon his way to town with his niece's daughter, and he told me that he hadnever been in better health in his life. " "Dear me!" exclaimed Miss Chris, holding a large spoonful ofraspberries poised above the dish to which she was helping. "Why, oldDr. Smith attended me forty years ago when I had measles. I remember hemade me lie in bed with blankets over me, though it was August, and hewouldn't let me drink anything except hot flax-seed tea. They say allthat has been changed in this generation--" "Leave me plenty of room for cream, Aunt Chris, " broke in Bernard, withan anxious eye on Miss Chris's absent-minded manipulations. She reachedfor the round, old silver pitcher, and poured the yellow cream on thesugared berries without pausing in her soft, monotonous flow of words. "But even in those days Dr. Smith was behind the times, and he has beenso ever since. He used to say that chloroform was invented by infidels, and he would not let them give it to his son, Lawrence, when he brokehis leg on the threshing machine. It was a mania with him, for, when Iwas nursing in the hospitals during the war, he told me with his ownlips that he believed the Lord was on our side because we didn't havechloroform. " "He had a good many odd ideas, " said the general, "but he is dead now, poor man. " "He raised up my dear father when he was struck down with paralysis, "murmured Aunt Griselda. When dinner was over the general returned to the front porch, andEugenia and the puppy went with Bernard to the orchard to look for greenapples. They started out in single file; Bernard, a bright-faced, snub-nosed boywith a girlish mouth, a little in advance, Eugenia following, and thepuppy at her heels. On the way across the meadow, where myriads ofgrasshoppers darted with a whirring noise beneath the leaves of coarsemullein plants or the slender, unopened pods of milkweed, the puppy madesudden desperate skirmishes into the tangled pathside, pointingineffectually at the heavy-legged insects, his red tongue lolling andhis short tail wagging. Up the steep ascent of the orchard a rocky trailran, bordered by a rail fence. From the point of the hill one could seethe adjoining country unrolled like a map, olive heights melting intoemerald valleys, bare clearings into luxuriant crops, running achromatic scale from the dry old battlefields surrounding Kingsboroughto the arable "bottoms" beside the enrichening river. After an unsuccessful search for cherries Bernard climbed a tree wheresummer apples hung green, and tossed the fruit to Eugenia, who held upher blue skirt beneath the overhanging boughs. The puppy, having dodgedin astonishment a stray apple, went off after the silvery track of asnail. "That's enough, " called Bernard presently, and he descended and filledhis pockets from Eugenia's lap. "They set my teeth on edge, anyway. Gotany salt?" Eugenia drew a small folded envelope from her pocket. Then she threwaway her apple and pointed to the little brook at the foot of the hill. "There's that red-winged blackbird in the bulrushes again. I believeit's got a nest. " And they started in a run down the hillside, the puppy waddling behindwith shrill, impertinent barks. At the bottom of the hill they lost the blackbird and found NicholasBurr, who was lying face downwards upon the earth, a fishing line at hisside. "He's crying, " said Eugenia in a high whisper. Nicholas rolled over, saw them, and got up, wiping his eyes on thesleeve of his shirt. "There warn't nobody lookin', " he said defiantly. "You're too big to cry, " observed Bernard dispassionately, munching agreen apple he had taken from his pocket. "You're as big as I am, and Ihaven't cried since I was six years old. Eugie cries. " "I don't!" protested Eugenia vehemently. "I reckon you'd cry too if theymade you sit in the house the whole afternoon and hem cup-towels. " "I'm a boy, Miss Spitfire. Boys don't sew. I saw Nick Burr milking, though, one day. What made you milk, Nick?" "Ma did. " "I'd like to see anybody make me milk. You're jes' the same as a girl. " "I ain't!" "You are!" "I ain't!" "'Spose you fight it out, " suggested Eugenia, with an eye for sport, settling herself upon the ground with Jim in her lap. Nicholas picked up his fishing line and wound it slowly round the cork. "There's a powerful lot of minnows in this creek, " he remarked amicably. "When you lean over that log you can catch 'em in your hat. " "Let's do it, " said Eugenia, starting up, and they went out upon theslippery log between the reedy banks. Over the smooth, pebbly bed ofthe stream flashed the shining bodies of hundreds of minnows, passingback and forth with brisk wriggles of their fine, steel-coloured tails. On the Battle side of the bank a huge, blue-winged dragonfly buzzedabove the flaunting red and yellow faces of three tiger-lilies. Jim sat on the brookside and watched the minnows, having ventured midwayupon the log, to retreat at the sight of his own reflection in thewater. "He's a coward, " said Bernard teasingly, alluding to the recreant Jim. "I wouldn't have a dog that was a coward. " "He ain't a coward, " returned Eugenia passionately. "He jes' don't likelooking at his own face, that's all. Here, Nick, hand me your hat. " Nick obediently gave her his hat, and Eugenia leaned over the stream, her bare arms and vivid face mirrored against the silvery minnows, whena shrill call came from the house. "Nick! Who-a Ni-ck!" "That's Sairy Jane, " said Nicholas, reaching for his hat. "Ma wants me. " "Who is Sairy Jane?" "Sister. " Eugenia handed him his dripping hat, and stood shaking her fingers freefrom the sparkling drops. "Will you come and fish with me to-morrow?" she asked. "If I ain't got to work in the field--" "Don't work. " "Can't help it. " The call was repeated, and Nicholas sped over the mossy log and acrossthe ploughed field, while Bernard and Eugenia toiled up the hillside. As they passed the Sweet Gum Spring they saw Delphy, the washerwoman, standing in her doorway, quarrelling with her son-in-law, Moses, who washoeing a small garden patch in the rear of an adjoining cabin. Delphywas a large mulatto woman, with a broad, flat bosom and enormous handsthat looked as if they had been parboiled into a livid blue tint. "'Tain' no use fer to hoe groun' dat ain' got no richness, " she wassaying, shaking her huge head until the dipper hanging on the lintel ofthe door rattled, "en'tain' no use preachin' ter a nigger dat ain' gotno gumption. Es de tree fall, so hit' gwine ter lay, en es a fool's donebeen born, so he gwine ter die. 'Tain' no use a-tryin' fer to do over ajob dat de Lawd done slighted. You may ding about hit en you may dungabout hit, but ef'n it won't, hit won't. " Moses, a meek-looking negro with an honest face, hoed silently, makingno response to his mother-in-law's vituperations, which grew volublebefore his non-resistance. "Dar ain' no use er my frettin' en perfumin' over dat ar nigger, " sheconcluded, as if addressing a third person. "He wuz born a syndicate enhe'll die er syndicate. De Debbil, he ain' gwine tu'n 'm en de Lawd hecan't. De preachin' it runs off 'im same es water off er duck's back. I'se done talked ter him day in en day out twell dar ain' no breff leffer me ter blow wid, an' he ain' changed a hyar f'om what de Lawd made'im. Seems like he ain' got de sperit uv--" "Why, Delphy!" exclaimed Bernard, interrupting the flow of speech. "What's the matter with Moses?" Delphy snorted contemptuously and took breath for procedure, when thesharp cry of a baby came from Moses' cabin, and Eugenia broke inexcitedly: "Why, there's a baby in there, Delphy! Whose baby is that?" "Git er long wid you, chile, " said Delphy. "You knows er plum sight mo'now'n you ought ter. " Then she added with a snort: "Hit's es black es ercrow's foot. " "Is it Betsey's baby?" "I reckon'tis. Moses he says ez what'tis, but he's de mos' outlandishnigger on dis yer place. Dar ain' no relyin' on him, noways. " "When did it come, Delphy? Who brought it? I saw Dr. Debs yesterday, an'his saddle-bag bulged mightily. " "De Lawd didn't brung hit, " returned Delphy emphatically. "De Lawdwouldn't er teched hit wid er ten-foot pole. Dis yer Moses, he ain' wuthde salt dat's put in his bread. He's de wuss er de hull lot--" "Why doesn't Betsey get rid of him?" asked Bernard, eyeing the shrinkingMoses with disfavour. "I heard Aunt Chris say that Mrs. Willie Wilson inRichmond got a divorce from her husband for good and all--" "Lawdy, chile! Huccome you think I'se gwine ter pay fer a dervoge fersech er low-lifeted creetur ez dat? He ain' wuth no dervogin', he ain'. When it come ter dervogin', I'll dervoge 'im wid my fis' en foot--" Here the baby cried again, and the irate Delphy disappeared into Moses'cabin, while the meek-looking son-in-law hoed the garden patch andmuttered beneath his breath. The children passed the spring, crossed the meadow, and followed thegrapevine trellis to the back steps, when Eugenia rushed through thewide hall with an impetuous flutter of short skirts. "Papa!" she cried, bursting upon the general as he sat smoking upon thefront porch. "What do you think has happened? There's a new baby came toMoses' cabin, an' Delphy says it's as black as--" "Well, I am blessed!" groaned the general, knocking the ashes from hispipe. "Another mouth to feed. Eugie, they'll ruin me yet. " "I reckon they will, " returned Eugenia hopelessly. She seated herselfupon the topmost step and made a place for Jim beside her. The general was silent for some time, smoking thoughtfully and staringpast the aspens and the well-house to the waving cornfield. When hespoke it was with embarrassed hesitation. "I say, daughter. " Eugenia looked up eagerly. "Didn't that spotted cow of Moses' die last week?" "That it did, " replied Eugenia emphatically. "It got loose in yourclover, pasture and ate itself too full. Moses says it bu'st. " "Pish!" exclaimed the general angrily. "My clover! I tell you, theywon't leave me a roof over my head. They'll eat me into the poorhouse. But I'll turn them off. I'll send them packing, bag and baggage. Myclover!" "Moses ain't got much of a garden patch, " said Eugenia. "It looks mightypoor. The potato-bugs ate all his potatoes. " The general was silent again. "I say, daughter, " he began at last, blowing a heavy cloud of smoke uponthe air, "the next time you go by Sweet Gum Spring you had just as welltell Moses that I can let him have a side of bacon if he wants it. Therascal can't starve. But they won't leave me a mouthful--not one. AndEugie--" "Yes, sir. " "You needn't mention it to your Aunt Chris--" At that instant a little barefooted negro came running across the lawnfrom the spring-house, a large tin pail in his hand. "Here, boy!" called the general. "Where're you off to? What have you gotin that pail?" "It's Jake, " said Eugenia in a whisper, while Jim barked franticallyfrom the shelter of her arms. "He's Delphy's Jake. " The small negro stood grinning in the walk, his white eyeballs circlingin their sockets. "Hit's Miss Chris, suh, " he said at last. "Miss Chris, you rascal!" shouted the general. "Do you expect me tobelieve you've got Miss Chris in that pail? Open it, sir; open it!" Jake showed a shining row of ivory teeth and stood shaking the pail fromside to side. "Miss Chris, she gun hit ter me, suh, " he explained. "Hit's Miss Chrisherse'f dat's done sont me ter tote dish yer buttermilk ter Unk Mose. " "Bless my soul!" cried the general wrathfully. "Get away with you! Thewhole place is bent on ruining me. I'll be in the poorhouse before theweek's up. " And he strode indoors in a rage. VII Twice a year, on fine days in spring and fall, Aunt Griselda's bombazinedresses were taken from the whitewashed closet and hung out to air uponthe clothesline at the back of the house, while pungent odours of tarand camphor were exhaled from the full black folds. On these days AuntGriselda would remain in her room, sorting faded relics which she tookfrom a cedar chest and spread beside her on the floor. The door was keptlocked at such times, but once Eugenia, who had gone with Congo to carryAunt Griselda her toast and tea, had caught a glimpse of a yellowedswiss muslin frock and the leather case of a daguerreotype containingthe picture of a round-eyed girl with rosy cheeks. Aunt Griselda hadhidden them hastily away at the child's entrance--hidden them with thatnervous, awkward haste which dreads a dawning jest of itself; butEugenia had seen that her old eyes were red and her voice more raspingthan usual. Sixty years ago Aunt Griselda had had her romance, and she still kepther love-letters tied up with discoloured ribbons and laid away in thecedar chest. It was but the skeleton of a love story--the adolescentardours of a high-spirited country girl and the high-spirited son of aneighbouring farmer. When the quarrel came the letters were overlookedwhen the ring went back. Griselda Grigsby had tossed them carelesslyinto the cedar chest and gone out to forget them. Her heart had notbeen deeply touched and it soon mended. No other lovers came, and shelived her quiet life in her father's house, gathering garden flowers forthe great, blue bowls in the parlour, teaching the catechism to smallblack slaves, and making stiff, old-fashioned samplers in crewels. Thehigh-spirited lover had loved elsewhere and died of a fever, and, beyonda passing regret, she thought little of him. There were nearerinterests, and she was still the petted daughter of her father'shouse--the eldest and the best beloved. Then the crash came. The oldpeople passed away, the house changed hands, Aunt Griselda was strandedupon the high tide of hospitality--and crewel work went out of fashion. In her sister's home she became a constant guest--one to be offered thefavoured share and to be treated with tender, increasing tolerance--notto be loved. Since the death of her parents none had loved her, thoughmany had borne gently with her spoiled fancies. But her coming in hadbrought no light, and her going out had left nothing dark. She was oldand ill-tempered and bitter of speech, and, though all doors openedhospitably at her approach, all closed quickly when she was gone. Herspoiled youth had left her sensitive to trivial stings, unforgivable tofancied wrongs. In a childish oversight she detected hidden malice andimplacable hate in a thoughtless jest. Her bitterness and her yearswaxed greater together, and she lost alike her youth and herself-control. When she had yearned for passionate affection she hadfound kindly tolerance, and the longings of her hidden nature, whichnone knew, were expressed in rasping words and acrid tears. Once, someyears after Bernard's birth, she had called him into her room as she satamong her relics, and had shown him the daguerreotype. "It's pitty lady, " the child had lisped, and she had caught him suddenlyto her lean old breast, but he had broken into peevish cries andstruggled free, tearing with his foot the ruffle of the swiss muslingown. "Oo ain't pitty lady, " he had said, and Aunt Griselda had risen andpushed him into the hall with sharp, scolding words, and had sat down todarn the muslin ruffle with delicate, old-fashioned stitches. It was only when all living love had failed her that she returned to thedead. She had gathered the letters of nearly sixty years ago from thebottom of the cedar chest, reading them through her spectacles withbleared, watery eyes. Those subtle sentimentalities which linger likearomas in a heart too aged for passion were liberated by the bundle ofyellow scrawls written by hands that were dust. As she sat in her stiffbombazine skirts beside the opened chest, peering with worry-ravagedface at the old letters, she forgot that she was no longer one with thegirl in the muslin frock, and that the inciter of this exuberant emotionwas as dead as the emotion itself. When the dresses were brought up to her she would put them on again andgo down to flinch before kindly eyes and to make embittered speeches inher high, shrill voice. Outwardly she grew more soured and moreeccentric. On mild summer evenings she would come down stairs with herhead wrapped in a pink knitted "nubia, " and stroll back and forth alongthe gravelled walk, her gaunt figure passing into the dusk of the cedaravenue and emerging like the erratic shadow of one of the sombre trees. Sometimes Eugenia joined her, but Bernard, her favourite, held shylyaloof. In her exercise she seldom spoke, and her words were peevishones, but there was grim pathos in her carriage as she moved slowly backand forth between the straight rows of box. After supper the family assembled on the porch and talked in a desultoryway until ten o'clock, when the lights were put out and the houseretired to rest. Eugenia slept in a great, four-post bedstead with AuntChris, and the bed was so large and soft and billowy that she seemed tolose herself suddenly at night in its lavender-scented midst, and to beas suddenly discovered in the morning by Rindy, the house-girl, when shecame with her huge pails of warm water. Those fresh summer dawns of Eugenia's childhood became among her dearestmemories in after years. There were hours when, awaking, wide-eyed, before the house was astir, she would rise on her elbow and look outacross the dripping lawn, where each dewdrop was charged with opalescenttints, to the western horizon, where the day broke in a cloud of gold. The song of a mocking-bird in the poplars of the little graveyard cameto her with unsuspected melody--a melody drawn from the freshness, theloneliness, the half-awakened calls from hidden nests and the lyricecstasy of dawn. Then, with the rising of the sun, Aunt Chris would turn upon her pillowand open her soft, brown eyes. "It is not good for little folks to be awake so early, " she would say, and there would rush upon the child a sense of warmth and tenderness andcomfort, and she would nestle closer to her sweet, white pillow. Withthe beginning of day began also the demands upon the time of Miss Chris. First the new overseer, knocking at her door, would call through thecrack that a cow had calved, or that one of the sheep was too ill to goto pasture. Then Rindy, entering with her pails, would shake apessimistic head. "Lawd, Miss Chris, one er dem ole coons done eat up er hull pa'cel eryo' chickens. " And Miss Chris, at once the prop and the mainstay of theBattle fortunes, would rise with anxious exclamations and put on herfull black skirt and linen sacque. When breakfast was over Miss Chris went into the storeroom each morningand came out with a basin of corn-meal dough, followed by Sampsonbearing an axe and Aunt Verbeny jingling the hen-house keys. The slowprocession then filed out to the space before the hen-house, the door ofwhich was flung back, while Aunt Verbeny clucked at a little distance. Miss Chris scattered her dough upon the ground and, while herunsuspecting beneficiaries made their morning meal, she pointed out toSampson, the executioner, the members of the feathered communitydestined to be sacrificed to the carnivorous habits of their fellowmortals. "Feel that one with the black spots, Sampson, " she said with theindifference of an abstract deity. "Is it fat? And the domineca pullet, and the two roosters we bought from Delphy. " And when Sampson had seized upon the victims of the fiat she turned toinspect the bunches of fowls offered by neighbouring breeders. To-day it was Nicholas Burr who stood patiently in the background, threedrooping chickens in each hand, their legs tied together with strips ofa purple calico which Marthy was making into a dress for Sairy Jane. Seeing that Miss Chris had delivered her judgments, he came forward andproffered his captives with an abashed demeanour. "How much are they worth?" asked Miss Chris in her cheerful tones, whileAunt Verbeny gave a suspicious poke beneath one of the flapping wings, followed by a grunt of disparagement. Nicholas stammered confusedly: "Ma says the biggest ought to bring a quarter, " he returned, blushing asAunt Verbeny grunted again, "and the four smallest can go for twentycents. " But when the bargain was concluded he lingered and added shamefacedly:"Won't you please let that red-and-black rooster live as long as youcan? I raised it. " "Why, bless my heart!" exclaimed Miss Chris, "I believe the child isfond of the chicken. " Eugenia, who was hovering by, burst into tears and declared that therooster should not die. "Twenty cents is s-o ch-ea-p for a li-fe, " she sobbed. "It shan't bekilled, Aunt Chris. It shall go in my hen-h-ou-se. " And she rushed offto get her little tin bank from the top bureau drawer. When the arrangements were concluded Nicholas started empty-handed downthe box walk, the money jingling in his pocket. At the end of the longavenue of cedars there was a wide, unploughed common which extended fora quarter of a mile along the roadside. In spring and summer the groundwas white with daisies and in the autumn it donned gorgeous vestments ofgolden-rod and sumach. In the centre of the waste, standing alike grimand majestic at all seasons, there was the charred skeleton of agigantic tree, which had been stripped naked by a bolt of lightning longyears ago. At its foot a prickly clump of briars surrounded theblackened trunk in a decoration of green or red, and from this futilescreen the spectral limbs rose boldly and were silhouetted against thefar-off horizon like the masts of a wrecked and deserted ship. A railfence, where a trumpet-vine hung heavily, divided the field from theroad, and several straggling sheep that had strayed from the distantflock stood looking shyly over the massive crimson clusters. When Nicholas came out from the funereal dusk of the cedars the fieldwas almost blinding in the morning glare, the yellow-centred daisiesrolling in the breeze like white-capped billows on a sunlit sea. Fromthe avenue to his father's land the road was unbroken by a singleshadow--only to the right, amid the young corn, there was a solitarypersimmon tree, and on the left the gigantic wreck stranded amid thetossing daisies. The sun was hot, and dust rose like smoke from the white streak of theroad, which blazed beneath a cloudless sky. The boy was tired and thirsty, and as he tramped along the perspirationrose to his forehead and dropped, upon his shoulder. With a sigh ofsatisfaction he came upon the little cottage of his father and saw hisstepmother taking the clothes in from the bushes where they had beenspread to dry. It was Saturday, and ironing day, and he hoped for achance at his lessons before night came, when he was so tired that thefacts would not stick in his brain. He thought that it must be very easyto study in the mornings when you were fresh and eager and before thatleaden weight centred behind your eyeballs. When Marthy Burr saw him she called irritably: "I say, Nick, did they take the chickens?" Nicholas nodded, and, crossing the weeds in the garden, gave her themoney from his pocket. "They didn't say nothing 'bout wantin' more, I 'spose? Did you tell 'emI was fattenin' them four pairs of ducks?" Nicholas shook his head. No, he hadn't told them. "Well, your pa wants you down in the peanut field. You'd better get adrink of water first. You look powerful red. " An hour later, when work was over, he carried his book to the orchardand flung himself down beneath the trees. The judge had given him abiography of Jefferson, and he had learned his hero's life with lips andheart. The day that it was finished he put the volume under his arm andwent to the rector's house. "I want to join the church, " he said bluntly. The rector, a kindly, middle-aged man, with a love for children, turnedto him in half-puzzled, half-sympathetic inquiry. "You are young, my child, " he replied, "to be so zealous a Christian. " "'Tain't that, sir, " said the boy slowly. "I don't set much store bythat. But I've got to go to heaven--because I can't see Thomas Jeffersonno other way. " The rector did not smile. He was wiser than his generation, for he leftthe great man's own religion to himself and God. He said merely: "When you are older we shall see, my boy--we shall see. " Nicholas left with a chill of disappointment, but as he passed along thestreet his name was called by Juliet Burwell, and she fluttered acrossto him in all her mystifying flounces and her gracious smile. "I was at the rector's, " she said, "and he told me that you wanted to beconfirmed--and I want you to come into my Sunday-school class. " Nicholas met the kind eyes and blushed purple. Her beauty took away hisbreath and made his pulses leap. The slow, musical drawl of her speechsoothed him like the running of clear water. He felt the image of ThomasJefferson totter upon its pedestal, but it was steadied with atremendous lurch. Jefferson was a man, after all, and this was only awoman. "Will you come?" asked the soft voice, and he stammered an amazed andawkward assent. VIII On the Saturday after the day upon which Nicholas had pledged himself toattend Sunday-school Juliet Burwell asked him to come into Kingsboroughand talk over the lesson for the following morning. At five o'clock inthe afternoon he dressed himself with trembling hands and a perturbedheart; and for the first time in his life turned to look at hisreflection in the small, cracked mirror hanging above the washstand inhis stepmother's room. As a finishing touch Marthy Burr tied a flaming plaid cravat beneath hiscollar. "You ain't much on looks, " she remarked as she drew back to survey him, "but you've got as peart a face as I ever seed. I reckon you'll beplenty handsome for a man. I was al'ays kind of set against one of thesepink an' white men, somehow. They're pretty enough to look at whenyou're feelin' first-rate, but when you git the neuralgy they sort ofturns yo' stomach. I've a taste for sober colours in men and caliky. " "I think he looks beautiful, " said Sairy Jane, her eyes on the cravat, and Nicholas felt a sudden glow of gratitude, and silently resolved tosave up until he had enough money to buy her a hair ribbon. "I ain't sayin' he don't, " returned Marthy Burr with a severe glance inthe direction of her eldest daughter, who was minding Jubal in thekitchen doorway. "Thar's red heads an' red heads, an' his ain't noredder than the reddest. But he came honestly by it, which is more thansome folks can say as is got yellow. His father had it befo' him, an'thar's one good thing about it, you've got to be born with it or youain't goin' to come by it no other way. I never seed a dyer that couldset hair that thar colour 'cep'n the Lord Himself--an' I ain't one todeny that the Lord has got good taste in His own line. " Then, as Nicholas took up his hat, she added: "If they ask after me, Nick, be sure an' say I'm jes' po'ly. " Nicholas nodded and went out, followed to the road by Sairy Jane andJubal, while his stepmother called after him to walk in the grass andtry to keep his feet clean. When he reached Kingsborough and crossed the green to the Burwell'shouse, which was in the lane called "Back Street, " he fell to a creepingpace, held back by the fluttering of his pulses. Not until he saw Julietstanding at the little whitewashed gate did he brace himself to the fullcourage of approaching. When he spoke her name she opened the gate andgave him her hand, while all sense of diffidence fell from him. "I've been looking at you for a long ways, " he said boldly, "an' youwere just like one of them tall lilies bordering the walk. " She blushed, turning her clear eyes upon him, and he felt a great desireto kiss the folds of her skirt or the rose above her left temple. He hadnever seen any one so good or so kind or so beautiful, and he vowedpassionately in his rustic little heart that he would always love herbest--best of all--that he would fight for her if he might, or work forher if she needed it. There was none like her--not his stepmother--notSairy Jane--not even Eugenia. She was different--something of finerclay, made to be waited upon and worshipped like the picture of thegoddess standing on the moon that he had seen in the judge's study. Juliet smiled upon his ardour, and, leading him to a bench beneath aflowering myrtle, made him sit down beside her, while she spoke piousthings about Adam and the catechism and the salvation of the world--toall of which he listened with wide-opened eyes and a fluttering heart. He wondered why no one had ever before told him such beautiful thingsabout God and the manifold importance of keeping a clean heart andloving your neighbour as yourself. It seemed to him that he had beenliving in sin for the twelve years of his life and he feared that heshould find it impossible to purge his mind of evil passions and to lovethe coloured boy Boss who had stolen his best fishing line. He askedJuliet if she thought he would be able to withstand the assaults ofSatan as the minister told him to do; but she laughed and said thatthere was no Satan who went about like a roaring lion--only cruelty andanger and ill-will, and that he must be kind to his brothers andsisters, and to animals, and not rob birds' nests, which was very wrong. Then she added as an afterthought, with a saintly look in her eyes, thathe must love God. He promised that he should try to do so, though hewished in his heart that she had told him to love herself instead. Ashe sat in the soft light, watching her beautiful face rising against abackground of lilies, his young brain thrilled with the joy of life. Itwas such a glorious thing to live in a great, kind world, with a big, beneficent God above the blue, and to love all mankind--not harbouringan angry thought or an ill feeling! He looked into the kind eyes besidehim and felt that he should like to be a saint or a minister--not alawyer, which might be wicked after all. Then he remembered thewaxen-faced, choleric clergyman of the church his stepmother attended, but he put the memory away. No, he would not be like that; he would notpreach fire and brimstone from a white-pine pulpit. He would be largeand just and merciful like God; and Juliet Burwell would come to hearhim preach, looking up at him with her blue, blue glance. In themeantime he would not rob that marsh hen's nest which he had found. Hewould never steal another egg. He wished that he didn't have thatdrawerful at home. He would give them to Sairy Jane if she wantedthem--all except the snake's egg, which he might keep, because serpentswere an accursed race. Yes, Sairy Jane might have them all, and hewouldn't pull her hair again when he caught her looking at them on thesly. Presently Juliet called Sally and took him into the quaint olddining-room and gave him cakes and jam on a table that shone like glass. There he saw Mr. Burwell--a pink-cheeked, little gentleman who wore anexpansive air of innocence and a white piqué waistcoat--and Mrs. Burwell, a pretty, gray-haired woman, who ruled her husband with thevelvet-pawed despotism which was the heritage of the women of her raceand day. She had never bought a bonnet without openly consulting hisjudgment; he had never taken a step in life without unconsciouslyfollowing hers. "Really, my dear Sally, " he had said when he heard of Nicholas'sreception by his daughter, "Juliet must a--a--be taught to recognise theexistence of class. Really, I cannot have her bringing all these peopleinto my house. You must put a stop to it at once, my dear. " Mrs. Burwell had smiled placidly as she patted her gray fringe. "Of course you know best, Mr. Burwell, " she had replied with thattouching humility which forbade her to address her husband by hisChristian name. "Of course you know best about such matters, and I'lltell Juliet what you say. Poor child, she has such confidence in yourjudgment that she will believe whatever you say to be right; but shedoes love so to feel that she is exerting a good influence over theboys, and, perhaps, helping them to work out their future salvation. Shethinks, too, that it is so well for them to have a chance of talking toyou. I heard her tell Dudley Webb that he must take you for anexample--" "Ah!--ahem!" said Mr. Burwell, who worshipped the ground his daughtertrod upon. "I suppose it would be a pity to interfere with her, eh, mydear?" "Well, I can't help wishing myself, Mr. Burwell, that she would selectchildren of her own class in life, but, as you say, she has taken afancy to that Burr boy, and he seems to be a decent, respectful kind ofchild. Of course I know it is your soft heart that makes you look at itin this way--but I love you all the better for it. I remember the dayyou proposed to me for the sixth time, I had just seen you bandage upthe head of a little darkey that had cut himself--and I accepted you onthe spot. " "Yes, yes, my love, " Mr. Burwell had responded, kissing his wife as theyleft the room. "I am convinced that I am right, and I am glad that youagree with me. We won't speak of it to Juliet. " In the hall below they met Nicholas Burr, and greeted him withhospitable kindness. "So this is your new scholar, eh, Juliet? You must do justice to yourteacher, my boy. " Juliet laughed and went out into the yard to meet several young men whowere coming up the walk, and Nicholas noticed with a jealous pang thatshe sat with them beneath the myrtle and talked in the same soft voicewith the same radiant smile. She was not speaking of heaven now. She waslaughing merrily at pointless jokes and promising to embroider ahandkerchief for one and to make a box of caramels for another. He knew that they all loved her, and it gave him a miserable feeling. Hefelt that they were unworthy of her--that they would not worship heralways and become ministers for her sake, as he was going to do. He evenwondered if it wouldn't be better, after all, to become a prize fighterand to knock them all out in the first round when he got a chance. In a moment Juliet called him to her side and laid her hand upon hisarm. "He has promised not to rob birds' nests and to love me always, "she said. But the young men only laughed. "Ask something harder, " retorted one. "Any of us will do that. Ask himto stand on his head or to tie himself into a bow knot for your sake. " Nicholas reddened angrily, but Juliet told the jester to try suchexperiments himself--that she did not want a contortionist about. Thenshe bent over the boy as he said good-bye, and he went down the walkbetween the lilies and out into the lane. He recrossed the green slowly, turning into the main street at thecourt-house steps. As he passed the church, a little further on, theiron gate opened and the rector came out, jingling the heavy keys in hishand as he talked amicably to a tourist who followed upon his heels. "Yes, my good sir, " he was saying in his high-pitched, emphaticutterance, "this dear old churchyard is never mowed except by livinglawn-mowers. I assure you that I have seen thirty heads of cattle uponthe vaults--positively, thirty heads, sir!" But the boy's thoughts were far from the church and its rector, and thewords sifted rapidly through his brain. He touched his hat at thetourist's greeting and smiled into the clergyman's face, but his actionswere automatic. He would have nodded to the horse in the street or havesmiled at the sun. As he passed the small shops fronting on the narrow sidewalk andfollowed the whitewashed fence of the college grounds until it ended atthe Old Stage Road, he was conscious of the keen, pulsating harmony oflife. It was good to be alive--to feel the warm sunshine overhead andthe warm dust below. He was glad that he had been born, though the ideahad never formulated itself until now. He would be very good all hislife and never do a wicked thing. It was so easy to be good if you onlywanted to. Yes, he would study hard and become learned in the law, likethose old prophets with whom God spoke as man with man. Then, when hehad grown better and wiser than any one on earth, his tongue wouldbecome loosened, and he would go forth to preach the Gospel, and Julietwould listen to him for his wisdom's sake. Oh, if she would only lovehim best--best of all! This evening the road through the wood did not frighten him, though thesun was down. He thought neither of the ghosts that Uncle Dan'l hadseen, nor of the bug-a-boos that had chased Viney's husband home. He wastoo old for these things now. He had grown taller and stronger in a day. When he reached the pasture gate opposite the house he opened it andwent in to look for the sheep. The west was fast losing colour, like a bright-hued fabric that has beendrenched in water, and a thick, blue mist, shot with fireflies, shroudedthe wide common. A fresh, sharp odour rose from the dew-steeped earth, giving place, as he gained upon the flock, to the smell of moist wool. As he brushed the heavy, purple tubes of Jamestown weeds long-leggedinsects flew out and struck against his arm before they fell in adrunken stupor to the grass below. The boy made his way cautiously, his figure becoming blurred as themist wrapped him like a blanket. The darkness was gathering rapidly. From the far-off horizon clouds of lavender were melting, and the pineshad gone gray. Presently a white patch glimmered in the midst of the pasture, and hebegan to call softly: "Coo-sheep! Coo-sheep!" A tremulous bleat answered, but as he neared the flock it scatteredswiftly, the errant leaders darting shyly behind the looming outlines ofsassafras bushes. Again he called, and again the plaintive cryresponded, growing fainter as several fleeter ewes sped past him to thebeech trees beside the little stream. The space before the boy was suddenly spangled with fireflies, and themist grew denser. He broke off a branch of sassafras and started at a brisk run, roundingby some dozen yards the startled ewes. The scattered white blotchesclosed together as he ran towards them, and fled, bleating, to the flockwhere it clustered at the pasture gate. In a moment he had driven them across the road and behind the bars ofthe cow-pen. When he entered the house a little later he found that the family hadhad supper, a single plate remaining for himself. His stepmother, looking jaded and nervous, was putting salted herring to soak in anearthenware bowl, while she scolded Sairy Jane, who was patching Jubal'sapron. "It's goin' on ten years sence I've stopped to draw breath, " said MarthyBurr, "an' I'm clean wore out. 'Tain't no better than a dog's life, nohow--a woman an' a dog air about the only creeturs as would put upwith it, an' they're the biggest pair of fools the Lord ever made. HereI've been standin' at the tub from sunrise to sunset, with my jaw a'mostsplittin' from my face, an' thar's yo' pa a-settin' at his pipe asunconsarned as if I wa'nt his lawful wife--the more's the pity! It's thelawful wives as have the work to do, an' the lawfuller the wives thelawfuller the work. If this here government ain't got nothin' better todo than to drive poor women till they drop I reckon we'd as well stoppayin' taxes to keep it goin'. " Nicholas wiped his heated brow on his shirt-sleeve and hung his hat onthe back of a bottomless chair. Jubal, who was rolling on the floor, gave a gurgle and made a grab at it, to be soundly boxed by his motheras she reseated him at Sairy Jane's feet. His gurgle wavered dolorouslyand rose into a howl. "Have you been to supper, ma?" asked Nicholas cheerfully. "Lord, Nick, it's a long ways past supper-time, " answered Sairy Jane, relieved by the interruption. "The things air all washed up, ain't they, pa?" Amos Burr scowled heavily upon the boy's head, his phlegmatic naturegoaded into resentment by his wife's ill-temper and the lamentations ofJubal. "I don't reckon you expect supper to keep waitin' till breakfast, " hesaid. "You've given your ma trouble enough 'thout makin' her do an extrawashin' up on your o'count. You've gone clean crazy sence you've beenloafin' round with them Battles. I don't see as you air much o'count, nohow. " Nicholas raised his eyes to his father's face and looked at himfixedly. For a moment he did not speak, and then he said slowly: "I'm as good as a hand to you. " He was thinking doggedly that he had never hated any one so much as hehated his own father, and that he liked the sensation. He wished hecould do him some real harm--hit him hard enough to hurt or make thepeanuts rot in the ground. He should like also to choke Jubal, who neverleft off yelling. Amos Burr spat a mouthful of tobacco juice through the open window, flinching before the boy's steady glance. He was a mild-natured man atbest, whose chief sin was his softness. It would not have entered hisslow-witted head to protest against the accusations of his wife. Whenthey stung him into revolt he revolted in the opposite direction. But his failures were faults in his son's eyes. To the desperatedetermination of the boy, weakness became as contemptible as crime. Whatwas a man worth who worked from morning until night and yet achievednothing? Of what account was the farmer whom the crows outwitted and theweather made a mockery? Did not the very crops cry out as they rottedthat his father was a fool, and the unploughed land proclaim him acoward? Had he ever dared a venture in his life or risked a season? Andyet what had ever returned at his bidding or brought forth at hisplanting? "You've been mighty little use of late, " repeated Amos Burr stubbornlywhen his wife placed the earthenware bowl on the shelf and came to thetable--her arm outstretched. "Now, you jes' take yourself right off, Amos Burr, " she said. "If youcan't behave decently to my dead sister's child you shan't hang roundthem as was her own flesh and blood kin. Sairy Jane, you bring thatplate of hot corn pones from the stove. Here, Nick, set right down an'eat your supper! There's some canned cherries if you want 'em. " Nicholas sat down, but the cornbread stuck in his throat and the coffeewas without aroma. He looked at the figured oilcloth on the table andthought of the shining glass and silver at Juliet Burwell's. The flavourof the cake she had given him seemed to intensify his distaste for thefood before him. He felt that he cared for nobody--that he wantednothing. He looked at his stepmother and thought that she was dried andbrown like a hickory nut; he looked at Sairy Jane and wondered why shedidn't have any eyelashes, and he looked at Jubal and saw that he wasall gums. When he went up to his little attic room after supper he sat on hisshucks pallet in the darkness and thought of all the evil that he shouldlike to do. He should like to pull Sairy Jane's plait and to slap Jubal. He should even like to tell Juliet Burwell that he didn't want to keep aclean heart, and to call God names. No, he would not become a ministerand preach the Gospel. He would be a thief instead and break intohen-houses and steal chickens. If his father planted watermelons hewould steal them from the vines as soon as they were ripe. PerhapsEugenia would help him. At any rate he would go halves with her if shewould be his partner in wickedness. He had just as soon go to hell, after all--if it were not for Thomas Jefferson. He leaned his head on his hands and looked through the narrow window towhere the peanut fields lay in blackness. From the stable came the faintneigh of the old mare, and he remembered suddenly that he had forgottento put straw in her stall and to loosen her halter that she might liedown. He rose and stole softly downstairs and out of the house. IX One evening in late autumn Nicholas went into Delphy's cabin aftersupper and found Eugenia seated upon the hearth, facing Uncle Ish andAunt Verbeny. Between them Delphy's son-in-law, Moses, was helpingBernard mend a broken hare trap, while Delphy, herself, was crooning alullaby to one of her grandchildren as she carded the wool which she hadtaken from a quilt of faded patchwork. On the stones of the greatfireplace the red flames from lightwood splits leaped over a smoulderinghickory log, filling the cabin with the penetrating odour of burning, resinous pine. From the wall above the hearth a dozen roasting appleswere suspended by hemp strings, and as the heat penetrated the russetcoats the apples circled against the yawning chimney like small globesrevolving about a sun. Eugenia was sitting silently in a low, split-bottomed chair, her handsfolded in her lap and her animated eyes on the dark faces across fromher, over whose wrinkled surfaces the dancing firelight chased in ruddylights and shadows. Uncle Ish had stretched his feet out upon the stones, and the mudadhering to his rough, homemade boots was fast drying before the blazeand settling in coarse gray dust upon the hearth. His gnarled old palmslay upward on his knees, and his grizzled head was bowed upon his chest. At intervals he muttered softly to himself, but his words wereinaudible--suggested by some far-off and disconnected vision. AuntVerbeny was nodding in her chair, arousing herself from time to time togive a sharp glance into the face of Uncle Ish. "Huccome dey let you out ter-night, honey?" asked Delphy suddenly, turning her eyes upon Eugenia as she drew a fresh handful of wool frombetween the covers of the quilt. "I ran away, " replied the child gravely. "I saw Bernard with his haretrap, and Bernard shan't do nothin' that I can't do. " "Yes, I shall, " rejoined Bernard without looking up from his trap. "Youcan't wear breeches. " "I like to know why I can't, " demanded Eugenia. "I put on a pair of yourold ones and they fit me just as well as they do you--only Aunt Chrismade me get out of them. " "Sakes er live!" exclaimed Aunt Verbeny, awaking from her doze. Uncle Ish stared dreamily into the flames. "Ole Miss wuz in her grave, she wuz, " he muttered, while Delphy looked at him and shook her headmysteriously. Then, as Nicholas entered, they made a place for him upon thehearthstones, treating him with the forbearing tolerance with which thewell-born negro regards the low-born white man. "Pa wants you all to help him in peanut-picking to-morrow, " saidNicholas, addressing the group indiscriminately. "He's late at it thisyear, but he's been laid up with rheumatism. " "Dar ain' nuttin' ez goes on two foot er fo' ez won' len' er han' at apickin', " remarked Uncle Ish as the boy sat down. "Dar ain' nuttin' inde shape, er man er crow ez won't he'p demse'ves w'en dey's lyin' roun'loose, nuther. " "Dar's gwine ter be er killin' fros' fo' mawnin', " said Moses, his teethchattering from the draught let in by the opening door. "Hit kilt allMiss Chris' hop vines las' year, en it'll kill all ez ain't under kiverter-night. Hit seems ter sort er lay holt er yo' chist en clean griphit. " "You ain' never had no chist, nohow, " remarked Delphy disdainfully. "Hitdon't take mo'n er spit er fros' ter freeze thoo you. You de coldestinnered somebody I ever lay eyes on. Dar mought ez well be er fence railer roun' on er winter night fer all de wa'mth ez is in yo' bones. " "Dat's so, " admitted Moses shamefacedly. "Dat's so. Dese yer nights, when de fire is all gone, is moughty near ter freezin' me out er houseen home. I ain' never seed ne'r quilt ez wuz made fur er hull famblyyit. Wid me ter pull en Betsey ter pull en de chillun ter pull, whar dequilt?" "Dar ain' no blankets dese days, " said Uncle Ish sadly. "Dey ain' gotmo'n er seasonin' er wool in dese yer sto' stuff. Dey wa'nt dat ar wayin ole times, sis Verbeny. Bless yo' soul, sis Verbeny, dey wan't dat arway. " "Ole Miss she use ter have eve'y stitch er her wool carded fo' her owneyes, " said Aunt Verbeny. "What wa'nt good enough fer her wuz goodenough fer de res', en we got hit. Ef'n de briars wouldn't come out'n itsoon ez she laid her han' on 'em, Ole Miss she turnt up her nose enthowed de wool on ter de niggers' pile. Hit had ter be pisonous whiteen sof fo' hit 'ud tech Ole Missusses skin. Noner yo' nappy stuff donecome near her. " Uncle Ish chuckled and hung his head on his breast. "Doze wuz times!" he cried, "doze wuz times, en dese ain't times!" Then he looked at Nicholas, who was watching the apples spinning in theheat. "De po' white trash ain' set foot inside my do', " he added, "en deleetle gals ain' flirt roun' twell dar wa'nt no qualifyin' der legs f'omder arms. " "I don't care!" said Eugenia, looking defiantly at Uncle Ish. "Lor', chile, don't teck on dat way, " remonstrated Aunt Verbeny. "Youain't had no raisin' noways, en dar ain' been nobody ter brung you up'cep'n yo' pa. Hit's de foolishness uv Miss Chris ez has overturnt dehull place. " "She's a-settin' moughty prim now, " continued Uncle Ish, his eyes on thelittle girl. "She des' es prim es ef she wuz chiny en glass, but I'sehad my eye on 'er afo' dis. I'se done tote 'er in dese arms when shewa'nt knee high ter Marse Tom's ole mule Jenny, en she ain't cut nairyer caper dat I ain't 'sperienced hit. " "I don't care, " retorted Eugenia. "Ain't I done see her plump right out whar sis Delphy wuz a-wallopin'her Jeetle nigger Jake, en holler out dat Jake ain' done lay ban's onher pa's watermillion--'case she done steal 'em herse'f?" "I don't care!" repeated Eugenia with tearful defiance. "An' she ain' no mo' steal dat ar watermillion den I is, " finishedUncle Ish triumphantly. "It was just a lie, " said Bernard. "Eugie, you know where liars go. " "Des' ez straight ter de bad place ez dey kin walk, " added Aunt Verbenyseverely. "Des' ez straight ez de Lord kin sen' 'em dar. " "It was a good lie, " declared Nicholas, in manful defence of the weak. "I don't believe she's goin' to be damned for a good lie and a littleone, too. " "Well, dar's lies en dar's lies, " put in Delphy consolingly, "an' I 'lowdat dar's mo' in de manner uv lyin' den in de lie. Some lies is er longways sweeter ter de tas' den Gospel trufe. Abraham, he lied, en it ain'tdiscountenance him wid de Lord. Marse Tom, he lied when he wuz young, enit spar'd 'im er whoppin'. Hit's er plum fool ez won't spar' dere ownhinder parts on er 'count uv er few words. " "George Washington didn't, " said Bernard. "I wish he had, " added Eugenia. "Aunt Chris made me read about him andhis old cherry tree when I told her the red rooster was setting, becauseI didn't want her to kill him. " "Ma asked me once if I had been fishin' when she told me to clean outthe spring, " said Nicholas thoughtfully, "an' I said yes. " "What did she say?" asked Bernard. "Nothin'. She whacked me on the head. " Just then Betsey came in with her baby in her arms, and Moses shuffledaside to give place to her, cowed by an admonishing glance from hismother-in-law. "Bless de Lord!" exclaimed Uncle Ish, lifting his withered, old hands. "Ef dar ain' anur er Betsey's babies! How many is de, Mose?" Moses scratched his head and shrank into the corner. "I ain' done straighten 'em out yit, Unk Ish, " he returned slowly. "'Pears like soon es I done add 'em all up anur done come, an' I has terkac'late f'om de bottom agin. I ain' got no head fer figgers, nohow. Betsey, she lays dat dar's ten uv 'em, but ter save my soul I can't mekout mo'n eight. " "Dar's nearer er dozen, " rejoined Betsey with offended pride, "dar'snearer er dozen 'cordin' ter de way I count. " "Dar now!" cried Aunt Verbeny. "I ain' never trus' no nigger'scac'lations yit, en I ain' gwine ter now. When I wants countin', I wantwhite folks' countin'. " "Dey tell me, " said Delphy, glancing sternly at the head on Betsey'sknee, "dat de quality don' set demse'ves up on er pa'sel er chillun nomo'. De time done gone by. My Mahaly, she went up ter some outlandishplace wid er wild Injun name, like Philadelphy, en she sez de smaller defambly de mo' stuck up is de heads er it. She sez ef Ole Miss had goneup dar a-puttin' on airs 'case er her fifteen chillun, she wouldn'tnever have helt up 'er head no mo'. Mahaly, she ain' mah'ed no man, sheain't. She sez en ole maid in Philadelphy des' looks right spang overall de heads, she's so sot up. " "'Tain' so yer, " said Aunt Verbeny feelingly. "'Tain' so yer. Hit seemslike de 'oman nairy a man is laid claim ter ain' wuth claimin'. Ain' datso, bro' Ish?" But Uncle Ish only grunted in retort, his head nodding drowsily. Thetremulous tracery the wood-fire cast upon his face gave it an expressionof dumb intensity which adumbrated all the pathos and the patience ofhis race. "Mahaly wuz er likely gal, " went on Aunt Verbeny, "an' when she las'come home, she wuz a-warin' spike-heeled shoes en er veil uv skeeternettin'. 'Tain' so long sence Rhody's Viney went to Philadelphy, too, but she ain' had no luck sence she wuz born er twin. Hit went clean agin'er. " "Lord a-mercy, Aunt Verbeny, she ain't a-comin' back dis way?" askedBetsey, probing the apples with a small pine stick and giving thesoftest to Eugenia. Aunt Verbeny shook her head. "She ain' never had no luck on er 'count er bein' er twin, " she said. "When she sot herse'f on a-gwine up ter de Yankees, Marse Tom, he tucker goose quill en wrote out 'er principles [recommendations] des' esplain es writin' kin be writ--which ain't plain enough fer my eyes--enhe gun' 'em ter Viney wid his own han's. Viney tuck 'n put 'em safe 'waydown in de bottom uv 'er trunk en went 'long ter de Yankees. But sheain' been dar mo'n er week when one night she went a-traipsin' out on destreet en lef er principles behint 'er, en, bless yo' life, oner dem arYankees breck right in en stole 'em smack 'way f'om 'er. Yo' trunk is amoughty risky place ter kyar yo' principles, but Viney, she wuz dat sotup. " A nod of assent passed round the group. The children ate their applessilently, and Moses got up to put fresh wood on the fire. As the greenlog fell among the smouldering chips vivid tongues of flame shot up thesmoked old mortar of the chimney, and the remaining apples burst theirbrown peels and sent out little rivulets of juice. The crackling of thefresh bark made a cheerful accompaniment to the chirping of a crickethidden somewhere in the hearthstones. "Dar now, bro' Ish!" exclaimed Aunt Verbeny, watching Eugenia as she satin the dull red glare. "Ef dat chile ain't de patt'en er young MissMeeley, I'se clean cracked in my head, I is. I 'members Miss Meeley des'ez well ez 'twuz yestiddy de day Marse Tom brung her home en de niggersstood a-bowin' en axin' howdy at de gate. She wuz all black en white encold lookin' twell she smiled, en den it wuz des' like er lightwoodblaze in 'er eyes. " Uncle Ish nodded dreamily. "I use ter ride erlong wid Marse Tom ter co'te 'er, " he said, "en degent'men wuz a-troopin' ter see her in vayous attitudes. Dey buzzedroun' 'er de same ez bees, but she ain' had no eyes fer none 'cep'nMarse Tom. " At that instant the door opened, and Rindy rushed in, breathleslypursuing Eugenia. "Miss Chris is pow'ful riled, " she announced, "an' Marse Tom isa-stampin' roun' same ez er bull. I reckon you'se gwine ter ketch itwhen dey once gits dere han's on you. " Then, as her eye fell onNicholas, she assumed an indignant air. "Dis ain't de place fer po'folks, " she added. Eugenia rose and put a roasted apple in her pocket. "I ain't goin' to catch anything that Bernard doesn't catch, " she said. "When he goes I'm goin' too. " And she went out, followed by Rindy and the boys. The first breath of the chill atmosphere brought a glow to Nicholas'scheek, and he started at a brisk run across the fields. He had gone buta few yards when he was checked by Eugenia's voice. "Nick!" she called. Her small, dark shadow was falling on the ground beside him, and by thelight of the pale moon he could see the fog of her breath. As he went towards her she held out her hand. "Here's an apple I saved for you, " she panted. "And--and I don't mindabout your being poor white trash!" He took the apple, but before the reply left his lips she had dartedfrom him and was speeding homeward across the glimmering whiteness ofthe frost. BOOK II A RAINY SEASON I Mrs. Jane Dudley Webb was a lady who supported an impossible presentupon an important past. She had once been heard to remark that if shehad not something to look back upon she could not live: and, as herretrospective view was racial rather than individual, the consolationattained might be considered disproportionate to the needs of the case. The lines of her present had fallen in a white frame house in the mainstreet of Kingsborough; those of her past began with the first Dudleywho swung a lance in Merry England, to end with irascible old William ofthe name, who slept in the family graveyard upon James River. Mrs. Webb herself was straight and elegant, and inclined to theironical, when, as Jane Dudley, the belle of the country-side, she firedthe fancy of young Julius Webb, an officer in the cavalry of the UnitedStates. He danced a minuet with her at a ball in Washington, was heardto swear an oath by her eyes at punch before the supper was over; andproceeded the following week to spur his courtship upon old William asdaringly as he had ever spurred his horse upon an Indian wigwam. The last Dudley of the Virginian line withstood, through several stormyyears, the united appeals of his daughter and her lover. In the end heyielded, subdued by opposition and gout, retaining the strength toinsert but a single stipulation in the marriage contract, to the effectthat his daughter should drop the name of Jane and be known as Dudley inher husband's household. To this the dashing bridegroom acquiesced withreadiness, and when, within a year of the wedding, his wife presentedhim with a son, he called the boy, as he called the mother, by hermaiden name. He was a jovial young buck, who lived in his cards and his cups andloathed a quarrel as he loved a fight. When the war between the States arose he went with Virginia, caringlittle for either cause, but conscious that his heart was where his homewas. So he kissed the young mother and the boy at her side and rodelightly away with a laugh upon his lips, to fall as lightly in the madcharge of cavalry at Brandy Station. When the news came Jane Dudley listened to it in silence, her handsclasping the worsteds she was winding. After the words were spoken shelaid the worsteds carefully aside, stooping to pick up a fallen ball. Then she crossed the room and went upstairs. She said little, refusing herself alike to consolation and toacquaintances, spending her days in the shuttered house with her boybeside her. When he fretted at the restraint she tied a band of crźpe onhis little jacket and sent him to play on the green, while she took upher worsteds again and finished the muffler she had been crocheting. Ifshe wept it was in secret, when the lights were out. Some years later the house was sold over her head, but when she stood, penniless, upon the threshold it was to cross it as haughtily as she haddone as a bride. The stiff folds of her black silk showed no waveringripple, the repose of her lips betrayed no tremor. The smooth, highpompadour of her black hair passed as proudly beneath the arched doorwayas it had done in the days of her wifehood and Julius Webb. Her neighbours opened their wasted stores to her need, and out of theirpoverty offered her abundance, but she put aside their profferedassistance and undertook, unaided, the support and education of herchild, maintaining throughout the struggle her air of unflinching irony. She moved into a small white frame house opposite the church, and letout her spare rooms to student boarders. Her pride was never lowered andher crźpe was never laid aside. She sat up far into the night to darnthe sleeves of her black silk gown, but the stitches were of suchexquisite fineness that in the dim light of her drawing-room they seemedbut an added gloss. From behind the massive coffee urn at the head of her table she regardedher boarders as so many beneficiaries upon her bounty. When she passed acup of coffee she seemed to confer an honour; when she returned areceipted bill it was as if she repulsed an insult. People said that shehad been born to greatness and that she had never adapted herself to theobscurity that had been thrust upon her--but they said it when her backwas turned. To her face the subject was never broached, and her formerprosperity was ignored along with her present poverty. Of her ownsorrows she, herself, made no mention. When she spoke from the depths ofher bitterness of the war and the ruin it had left, her resentment wasgeneral rather than personal. Above the mantel in her room hung thesword of Julius Webb, sheathed under the tattered colours of theConfederate States. At her throat she wore a button that had been cutfrom a gray coat, and, once, after the close of the war, she had pointedto it before a Federal officer, and had said: "Sir, the women of theSouth have never surrendered!" The officer had looked at the face abovethe button as he answered: "Madam, had the women of the South fought itsbattles, surrender would have been for the men of the North. " But JaneWebb had smiled bitterly in silence. To her the Federal officer was butan individual member of a national army of invasion, and the rights ofthe victors, the wrongs of Virginia. Her neighbours regarded her with almost passionate pride--rebuking theirmore generous natures by the sight of her unbowed beauty and hersolitary revolt. When young Dudley grew old enough to attend school thegeneral and the judge called together upon his mother and offered, withhesitancy, to undertake his education. "He is only a year or two older than my Tom, " began the judge, trippingin his usually steady speech. "I assure you it will give me pleasure tohave the boys thrown together. " Mrs. Webb bowed in unaffirmative fashion. "On my life, ma'am, I can't forget that Julius Webb fell at BrandyStation, " put in the general hotly. "Your husband died for Virginia, andyour boy shall not want while I have a penny in my pocket. I'll send himto college with Bernard, and feel it to be a privilege!" Mrs. Webb bowed again. "A great privilege, ma'am, " protested the general, uneasily. Mrs. Webb smiled. "The greatest privilege of my life, ma'am!" cried the general, his faceflushing and his eyes growing round with agitation. In the end they gained their point, and Mrs. Webb consented, but with areluctance of reserve which caused the general to choke withembarrassment and the judge to become speechless from perplexity. Whenthey rose to leave both thanked her with effusion and both bowedthemselves out as gratefully as if it were a royal drawing-room and theyhad received the honours of knighthood. "She is a remarkable woman!" exclaimed the general, wiping his eyes onhis white silk handkerchief as they descended the steps. "A most unusualwoman! Why, I feel positively unworthy to sit in her presence. Hermanner brings all my past indiscretions to mind. It is an honour to havesuch a character in the community, sir!" The judge acquiesced silently. The interview had tried his Epicurean fortitude, and he was wondering ifit would be necessary to repeat the call before Christmas. "If Julius Webb had lived she would have made a man of him, " continuedthe general enthusiastically, the purple flush slowly fading from hisflabby face. "A creature who could live with that woman and not be madea man of wouldn't be human; he'd be a hound. There is dignity in everyinch of her, sir. I will allow no man to question my respect for ourimmortal Lee--but if Jane Webb had been the commander of our armies, weshould be standing now upon Confederate soil--" "Or upon the ashes of it, " suggested the judge, adding apologetically, "she is indeed a woman in a thousand. " He held it to be a lack of courtesy to dissent from praise of any womanwhose chastity was beyond impeachment, as he held it to be an absence ofpropriety to unite in admiration of one who was wanting in the supremestof the feminine virtues. His code was an obvious one, and he had neverseen cause to depart from it. "I hope the boy will be worthy of her, " he said. "It is a good name thathe bears. " The general took off his straw hat and mopped his brow. "Worthy of her!" he exclaimed. "He's got to be worthy of her, sir. If hetakes any notion in his head not to be, I'll thrash him within an inchof his life. Let him try it, the young scamp!" The judge laughed easily, having regained his self-possession. "Well, well, there's no telling, " he said; "but he's as bright as a steel trap. I wish Tom had half his sense. " Then he turned past the church on hisway home, and the general, declining an invitation to dinner, went on tothe post-office, where he awaited his carriage. From this time Dudley Webb attended classes at the judge's house andbecame the popular tyrant of his little schoolroom. He was a dark, high-bred looking boy, with a rich voice and a nature that was generousin small things and selfish in large ones. There was a convincing air ofgood-fellowship about him, which won the honest heart of slow-witted TomBassett, and a half-veiled regard for his own youthful pleasures, whicharoused the wrath of Eugenia. "I can't abide him, " she had once declared passionately to SallyBurwell. "Somehow, he always gets the best of everything. " When, after the first few years, Nicholas Burr entered the schoolroomand took his place upon one of the short green benches, Mrs. Webb calledupon the judge in person and demanded an explanation. "My boy has been carefully brought up, " she said; "he is a gentleman, and he will not submit to association with his inferiors. Hisgrandfather would not have done so before him. " The judge quailed, but it was an uncompromising quailing--a surrender ofthe flesh, not the spirit. "My dear lady, " he began in his softest voice, "your son is a fine, spirited fellow, but he is a boy, and he doesn't care a--a--pardon me, madam--a continental whether anybody else is his inferior or not. Nowholesome boy does. He doesn't know the meaning of the word--nor doesTom--and I shan't be the one to teach him. Amos Burr's son is a clever, hard-working boy, and if he will take an education from me, he shallhave it. " The judge was firm. Mrs. Webb was firm also. The judge assumed his legal manner; she assumed her hereditary one. "It is folly to educate a person above his station, " she said. "Men make their stations, madam, " replied the judge. He sat in his great arm-chair and looked at her with reverent butdetermined eyes. His head was slightly bent, in deference to herdissenting voice, and his words wavered, but his will did not. In hisattitude his respect for her sexually and individually was expressed, but he had argued the opposing interests in his mind, and his decisionwas judicial. "I am deeply pained, my dear lady, " he said, "but I cannot turn the boyaway. " Mrs. Webb did not reply. She gathered up her stiff skirt and departedwith folded lips. After she had gone the judge paced his study nervously for a half-hour, giving uncertain glances towards the hall door, as if he expected theadvent of an incarnate thunderbolt. In the afternoon he sent over abottle of his best Madeira as a peace-offering. Mrs. Webb acknowledgedthe Madeira, not the truce. The following day General Battle called uponthe judge and requested in half-hearted tones the withdrawal of AmosBurr's son. He looked excited and somewhat alarmed, and the judgerecognised the hand of the player. "My dear Tom Battle, " he said soothingly, "you do not wish the poorchild any harm. " "'Fore God, I don't, George, " stammered the general. "He's a quiet, unoffending lad. " The general fingered his limp cravat with agitated plump fingers. "Inever passed him on the road in my life that he didn't touch his hat, "he admitted, "and once he took a stone out of the gray mare's shoe. " "He has a brain and he has ambition. Think what it is to be born in alower class and to have a mind above it. " The general's great chest trembled. "I wouldn't injure the little chap for the world George; on my soul, Iwouldn't. " "I know it, Tom. " "My own great-grandfather Battle raised himself, George. " The judge waved the fact aside as insignificant. "Of course, Mrs. Webb is a woman, " he said with sexual cynicism, "andher views are naturally prejudiced. You can't expect a woman to look atthings as coolly as we do, Tom. " The general brightened. "'Tisn't nature, " he declared. "You can't expect a woman to go againstnature, sir. " "And Mrs. Webb, though an unusual woman (the general nodded), is still awoman. " The general nodded again, though less emphatically. "On my soul, she's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Why, damme, sir, if I hadthat woman to brace me up I shouldn't need a julep. " And the judge, flinching from his friend's profanity, called Cęsar tobring in the decanters. Some time later the general left and Mr. Burwell appeared, to be metand dispatched by the same arguments. "Naturally my instincts prompt me to side with an unprotected widow, "said Mr. Burwell. "No Virginian could feel otherwise, " admitted the judge in the slightlypompous tone in which he alluded to his native State. "But as I said to my wife, " continued Mr. Burwell with convincingearnestness, "these matters had best be left to men. There is no needfor our wives and daughters to be troubled by them. It is for us, whoare acquainted with the world and who have had wide experience, tosettle all social barriers. " The judge agreed as before. "I am glad to say that my wife takes my view of it, " the other went on. "Indeed, I think she has expressed what I have said to Mrs. Webb. " "Your wife is an honour to her sex, " said the judge, bowing. Then Mr. Burwell left, and the judge spent another half-hour walking upand down his study floor. He had gained the victory, but he would havefelt pleasanter had it been defeat. It was as if he had taken somesecret advantage of a woman--of a widow. But the future of Amos Burr's son was sealed so far as it lay in thejudge's power to settle with circumstances, and each morning during theschool term Mrs. Webb frowned down upon his hurrying figure as it spedalong the street and turned the corner at the palace green. Sometimes, when snow was falling, he would shoot by like an arrow, and Dudley wouldsay with quick compassion, as he looked up from his steaming cakes:"It's because he hasn't any overcoat, mother. He runs to keep warm. " But Mrs. Webb's placid eyes would not darken. When the boys grew too old for school Tom and Dudley went to King'sCollege for a couple of years, while Nicholas returned to the farm. Thejudge still befriended him, and the contents of Tom's class books foundtheir way into his head sooner or later, with more information thanTom's brain could hold. One of the instructors at the college--aconsumptive young fellow, whose ambitions had leaned towards thebar--gave the boy what assistance he needed, and when the work of theclass-room and the farm was over, the two would meet in the dim oldlibrary of the college and plod through heavy, discoloured pages, whilethe portraits of painted aristocrats glowered down upon the intrusiveplebeian. Despite the hard labour of spring ploughing and the cold of early winterdawns, when he was up and out of doors, the years passed happily enough. He beheld the future through the visions of an imaginative mind, and itseemed big with promise. Sitting in the quaint old library, surroundedby faded relics and colourless traditions, he felt the breath of hushedoratory in the air, and political passion stirred in the surroundingdust. There was a niche in a small alcove, where he spent the sparehours of many a day, the words of great, long-gone Virginians lyingbefore him; behind him, through the small square window, all theblue-green sweep of the college grounds ending where the Old Stage Roadled on to his father's farm. He plodded ardently and earnestly, the consumptive young instructorfollowing his studies with the wistful eyes of one who sees anotherstriving where he has striven and failed. The students met him withtolerant hilarity, and Tom Bassett, who would have kicked theDeclaration of Independence across the campus in lieu of a ball, watchedhim with secret mirth and open championship. There had sprung up astrong friendship between the two--one of those rare affections whichbend but do not break. Dudley Webb, the most brilliant member of hisclass and the light of his mother's eyes, began life, as he would endit, with the ready grasp of good-fellowship. He had long since outgrownhis artificial, childish distrust of Nicholas, and he had as long agoforgotten that he had ever entertained it. As for Nicholas himself, hehad not forgotten it, but the memory was of little moment. He had a workto do in life, and he did it as best he might. If it were the ploughingof rocky soil, so much the worse; if the uprooting of dead men'sthoughts, so much the better. He slighted neither the one nor the other. As he grew older he became tall and broad of chest, with shoulders whichsuggested the athlete rather than the student. His hair had darkened toa less flaming red, his eyes had grown brighter, and the freckles hadfaded into a general gray tone of complexion. "He will be the ugliest man in the State, " said Mr. Burwell, inflatinghis pink cheeks, with a return of youthful vanity, "but it is theugliness that attracts. " Nicholas had not heard, but, had he done so, the words would have lefta sting. He possessed an inherent regard for physical perfection, rendered the greater by his own tormented childhood. He was strong andvigorous and of well-knit sinews, but he would have given his muscle forDudley Webb's hands and his brains for the other's hair. Once, as a half-grown boy, in a fit of jealousy inspired by Dudley'sgood looks, he had called him "Miss Nancy, " and knocked him down. Whenhis enemy had lain at his feet on the green he had raised him up andmade amends by standing motionless while Dudley lashed him with a smallriding-whip. The jealousy had vanished since then, but the smart wasstill there. At last the college days were over. Dudley was sent to the university ofthe State; Tom Bassett and Bernard Battle soon followed, and Nicholas, still plodding and still hopeful, was left in Kingsborough. Then, upon his nineteenth birthday, the judge, who had left the benchand resumed his legal practice, sent for him and offered to take himinto his office while he prepared himself for the bar. II When Nicholas descended the judge's steps he lingered for a moment inthe narrow walk. His head was bent, and the books which he carried underhis arm were pressed against his side. They seemed to contain all thatwas needed for the making of his future--those books and his impatientmind. His success was as assured as if he held it already in the hollowof his hand--and with success would come honour and happiness and allthat was desired of man. It seemed to him that his lot was the one ofall others which he would have chosen of his free and untrammelled will. To strive and to win; to surmount all obstacles by the determined dashof ambition; to rise from obscurity unto prominence through the sheerforces that make for power--what was better than this? Still plunged in thought, he passed the church and followed the streetto the Old Stage Road. From the college dormitories a group of studentssang out a greeting, and he responded impulsively, tossing his hat inthe air. In his face a glow had risen, harmonising his inharmoniousfeatures. He felt as a man feels who stands before a closed door andknows that he has but to cross the threshold to grasp the fulness of hisaspiration. Yes, to-day he envied no one--neither Tom Bassett nor DudleyWebb, neither the general nor the judge. He held the books tightlyunder his arm and smiled down upon the road. His clumsy, store-madeboots left heavy tracks in the dust, but he seemed to be treading air. It was three o'clock in the afternoon of a murky day in early November, and the clouds were swollen with incoming autumnal rains. The opencountry stretched before him in monotonous grays, the long road gleamingpallid in the general drab of the landscape. As he passed along, holdinghis hat in his hand, his uplifted head struck the single, high-colourednote in the picture--all else was dull and leaden. A farmer driving a cow to market neared him, and Nicholas stopped toremark upon the outlook. The farmer, a thick-set, hairy man, whose namewas Turner, gave a sudden hitch to the halter to check the progress ofthe cow, and nodded ominously. "Bad weather's brewin', " he said. "The wind's blowin' from thenortheast; I can tell by the way that thar oak turns its leaves. It's abad sign, and if thar ain't a-shiftin' 'fore mornin', we're likely tohev a spell. " Nicholas agreed. "There hasn't been much rainfall lately, " he added. "I reckon it hascome at last and for a long stretch. " His eyes swept the westernhorizon, where the clouds hung heavily above the pines. "Yo' pa got his crops in?" "Pretty much. The peanuts were harvested after the last frost. " "He ain't had much luck this year, I hear. " Nicholas shook his head. "No less than usual. Last year he lost the brindle cow that wascalving. This season the mare died. " "Well, well! He never was much for luck, nohow. Seems like he worked toohard to have Providence on his side. I allers said that Providence hadruther you'd leave a share of the business to Him. Got through schoolyet?" "Yes; I'm reading law. " "Reading what?" "I am going to study law in the judge's office--Judge Bassett, youknow. " "So you can keep a tongue in yo' head when those plagued cusses come'bout the mortgage?" "So I can take cases to court and earn a living. " "Why don't you stick to the land and make yo' bread honest?" "The law's honest. " Turner shook his hairy head. "It cheated me out o' twelve bushels of 'taters las' year, " he said. "Don't tell me 'bout yo' law. I know it. " Nicholas laughed. "Come to me when I've set up, if you get in trouble, " he rejoined, "andI'll get you out. " The cow gave a lunge at the ropes, and the farmer went on his way. Whenthe man and cow had passed from sight Nicholas stopped and laughedagain. He wondered if he could be really of one flesh and blood withthese people--of one stuff and fibre. What had he in common with his ownfather--hard-working, heavy-handed Amos Burr? No, he was not of them andhe had never been. He had turned from the main road into the wood, when a girl onhorseback dashed suddenly towards him from the gray perspective. She wasriding rapidly, her short skirts flying, her hair blown darkly acrossher face. A brown-and-white pointer ran at her side. As she caught sight of Nicholas she half rose in her saddle, giving aloud, clear call. "Hello, Nick Burr! Hello!" Nicholas stood aside and waited for her to come up, which she did in amoment, panting from her exercise, her face flushing into a glowingheat. "I was looking for you, " she said, waving a small willow spray in herbrown hand. "I went by the farm, but you weren't there. So, you arenineteen to-day!" Her eyes shone as she looked at him. There was asingular brilliance of expression in her face, due partly to theexercise, partly to the restless animation of her features. She was atthe unbecoming age when the child is merging into the woman, but herlack of grace was redeemed by her warmth of personality. Nicholas laid his hand upon the bridle. "Why, Genia, if I'd known you wanted me I'd have been hanging roundsomewhere. What is it?" "Let me look at you. " Nicholas flushed, turning his face away from her. "God knows, I'm ugly enough, " he said. She leaned nearer, shaking back her straight, black hair, which fellfrom beneath the small cap. "I want to see if you have changed since yesterday. " He turned towards her. "Have I?" he asked hopefully. She regarded him gravely, though a smile played over her changeful lips. "Not a bit. Not a freckle. " "Hang it all! I lost my freckles long ago. " "Then they've come back. There are one--two--three on your nose. " "Hold on! Let my looks alone, please. " Eugenia whistled softly, half grave, half gay. "Down, darling!" she said to the pointer, and "be still, beauty!" to thehorse. Then she turned to Nicholas again. "I've really and truly got something to tell you, Nick Burr. " "Out with it, then. Don't worry. " She swung her long legs idly from the saddle. "Suppose I don't. " "Then don't. " "Suppose I do. " "I'll be hanged if I care!" "Oh, you do, you story. You're just dying to know--but it's serious. " She patted the horse's neck, watching Nicholas with child-likeeagerness. "Well, I'm--I'm--there! I told you you were dying to know!" "I'm not. " "Guess, anyway. " "Somebody coming on a visit?" She shook her head. "Try again, stupid. " "Miss Chris going to be married?" "Oh, Lord, no. You aren't really a fool, Nick. " "Betsey got a baby?" "Why, Tecumsey only came last June!" "Then I give it up. Tell me. " "Say please. " "Please, Genia!" "Say 'please, dear, good Genia. '" "Please, dear, darling Genia. " "I didn't say 'darling. ' I said 'good. '" "It's the same thing. " She smiled at him with boyish eyes. "Am I really a darling?" "Do you really know something?" "You bet I do. " "What is it?" She laughed teasingly. "It'll make you cry. " "Hurry up, Genia!" "You'll certainly cry very loud. " "I'll shake you in a moment. " "It isn't polite to shake ladies. " "You aren't a lady. You're a vixen. " "Aunt Verbeny says I'm a limb of Satan. But will you promise not to weepa flood of tears, so I can't cross home?" She leaned still nearer, resting her hand upon his shoulder. "I'm going away. " "What?" "I'm going away to-morrow at daybreak. I'm going to school. I shan'tcome back for a whole year. I'm--I'm going to leave papa and Aunt Chrisand Jim and you. " She began to sob. "Don't, " said Nicholas sharply. "And--and you don't care a bit. You're just a stone. Oh, I don't want togo to school!" "I'm not a stone. I do care. " "No, you don't. And I may die and never come back any more, and you'llforget all about me. " "I shan't. Don't, I say. Do you hear me, Genia, don't. " She looked for a handkerchief, and, failing to find one, wiped her eyeson the horse's mane. "What are you going to do when I am gone?" "Work hard so you'll be proud of me when you come back. " "I shall be sixteen in two years. " "And I, twenty-one. " "You'll be a man--quite. " "You'll be a woman--almost. " "I don't think I shall like you so much then. " "I shall like you more. " "Why?" she asked quickly. "Why? Oh, I don't know. Am I so awfully ugly, Genia?" "Turn this way. " He obeyed her, flushing beneath her scrutiny. "I shouldn't call you--awful, " she replied at last. "Am I so ugly, then?" "Honour bright?" "Of course, " impatiently. "Then you are--yes--rather. " He shook his head angrily. "I didn't think you'd be mean enough to tell me so, " he returned. "But you asked me. " "I don't care if I did. You might have said something pleasant. " Her sensitive mouth drooped. "I never think of your being ugly when I'mwith you, " she said. "It's a good, strong kind of ugliness, anyway. Idon't mind it. " He smiled again. "Looks don't matter, anyway, " she went on soothingly. "I'd rather a manwould be clever than handsome;" then she added conscientiously, "onlyI'd rather be handsome myself. " He looked at her closely. "I reckon you will be, " he said. "Most women are. It's the clothes, Isuppose. " Eugenia looked down at him for an instant in silence; then she held outher hands. "I am going at daybreak, " she said. "Will you come down to the road andtell me good-bye?" "Why, of course. " "But we must say good-bye now, too. Did we ever shake hands before?" "No. " "Then, good-bye. I must go. " "Good-bye, dear--darling. " She touched her horse lightly with the willow, but promptly drew rein, regarding Nicholas with her boyish eyes. "Do you think it would make it any easier if we kissed?" she asked. "Geriminy! I should say so!" He caught her hands; she leaned over and he kissed her lips. She drewback with the same frank laugh, but a flush burned his face and hiseyes were sparkling. "More, Genia, " he said, but she laughed and let the bridle fall. "No--no--but it made me feel better. There, good-bye, dear, dear NickBurr, good-bye!" Then she dashed past him, and a whirl of dust filled the solitary air. He looked after her until she turned her horse into the Old Stage Road, and the clatter of the hoofs was gone. When the stillness had fallenagain he went slowly on his way. In the woods the pale bodies of the beeches seemed to melt into thecloudy atmosphere. There was no wind among the trees, and the pervadingdampness had robbed the yellowed leaves of their silken rustle. Theyfluttered softly, hanging limp from the drooping branches as if attachedby invisible threads. As he went on a deep bluish smoke issued fromamong some far-off poplars where a farmer was burning brush in aclearing. The smoke hung low above the undergrowth, assuming eccentricoutlines and varied tones of dusk. Presently the fires glimmered nearer, and he saw the red tongues of the flames and heard the parched cracklingof consuming leaves. The figures of the workers were limned grotesquelyagainst the ruddy background with a startling and unreal absence ofdetail. They looked like incarnate shadows--stalking between the dimbeeches and the blazing brush heaps. A few drops of rain fell suddenly, and the fires began slowly to die away. At the foot of the crumbling"worm" fence, skirting the edges of the wood, deep wind-drifts ofrusset leaves stirred mournfully. Later they would be hauled away toassist in the winter dressing of the fallows; now they beat helplesslyagainst the retarding rails like a vanquished army of invasion. Nicholas left the wood and passed the field of broomsedge on his way tothe house. Beyond the barnyard he saw the long rows of pine staves thathad supported the shocks of peanuts, and from the direction of the fieldhe caught sight of his father, driven homeward by the threatening rain. Sairy Jane, who was bringing a string of dried snaps from the outhouse, called to him to hurry before the cloudburst. She was a lank, colourlessgirl, with bad teeth and small pale eyes. Jubal, at the churn in thehall, rested from his labours as Nicholas entered, and grinned as hepointed to his mother in the kitchen. Marthy Burr was ironing. AsNicholas crossed the threshold, she stopped in her passage from thestove and looked at him, a flash of pride softening her pain-scarredfeatures. "Lord, what a man you are, Nick!" she exclaimed with a kind of triumph. "When I heard yo' step on the po'ch I could have swo'ed it was yo'pa's. " Nicholas nodded at her abstractedly as he took off his hat. "Where's pa?" he asked carelessly. "I thought he'd have got in beforeme. I saw him as I came up. " "I reckon he won't git in befo' he gits a drench-in', " responded hisstepmother, glancing indifferently through the back window. "If he doesit'll be the first time sence he war born. 'Twarn't nothin' to be donein the fields, nohow, an' so I told him, but he ain't never rested yet, an' I don't reckon he's goin' to till I bury him. " As she spoke the rain fell heavily, and presently Amos Burr came in, shaking the water from his head and shoulders. "I told you 'twarn't no use yo' goin' to the fields befo' the rain, "began his wife admonishingly. "But you're a man all over, an' it seemslike you're 'bliged to go yo' own way for the sheer pleasure of goin'agin somebody else's. If I'd been pesterin' you all day long to go downthar to look at that ploughin', you'd be settin' in yo' chair now, plumdry. " Amos Burr crossed to the stove and turned his dripping back to the heat. "Gimme a rubbin' down, Sairy Jane, " he pleaded, and his daughter took adry cloth and began mopping off the water. Marthy Burr placed an iron on the stove and took one off. "Whar'd you git dinner, Nick?" she inquired suddenly. "At the judge's. " "What did they have?" demanded Jubal from the hall, ceasing the clatterof the churn. "Golly! Wouldn't I like a bite of something!" "I shouldn't mind some strange cookin', myself, " said Marthy Burr, shaking her head at one of the children who had come into the kitchenwith muddy feet. "I ain't tasted anybody else's vittles for ten years, an' sometimes I feel my mouth waterin' for a change of hand in thedough. " She took one of her husband's shirts from the pile of freshly driedclothes, spread it on the ironing-board, and sprinkled it with water. Then she moistened her finger and applied it to the iron. Amos Burr looked up from before the stove, where he still sat drying. "You're a man now, Nick, " he said slowly, as if the words had beenrevolving in his brain for some time and he had just received the powerof speech. "Yes, pa. " "Whatever he is, he don't git it from his pa, " put in Marthy Burr as shebent over the shirt. "He ain't got nothin' of yo'rn onless it's yo'hair, an' that's done sobered down till you wouldn't know it. " Amos waited patiently until she had finished, and then went on heavilyas if the pause had been intentional, not enforced. "You've got as much schoolin' as most city chaps, " he said. "Much goodit'll do you, I reckon. I never saw nothin' come of larnin' yet, 'cep'nworthlessness. But you'd set yo' mind on it, an' you've got it. " "Thar warn't none of yo' hand in that, Amos Burr, " cried his wife, checking him again before he had recovered breath from his lastsentence. "Many's the night I've wrastled with you till you war cleanwore out with sleeplessness, 'fo' you'd let the child keep on at hisbooks. " "I ain't never seen no good come of it, " repeated Burr stolidly; then hereturned to Nicholas. "I reckon you'll want to do somethin' for the family, now, " he said, "seein' yo' ma is well wore out an' the brindle cow died calvin', an'Sairy Jane is a hard worker. " Nicholas looked at him without speaking. "Yes?" he said inquiringly, and his voice was dull. "I was talkin' to Jerry Pollard, " continued his father, letting his sloweyes rest upon his son's, "an' he said you war as likely a chap as tharwas roun' here, and he reckoned you'd be pretty quick in business. " "Yes?" said Nicholas again in the same tone. Amos Burr was silent for a moment, and his wife filled in the pause witha series of running interjections. When they were over her husband tookup his words. "He wants a young fellow about his store, he says, as can look arter thebooks an' the business. He's gittin' too old to keep up with the cityways an' look peart at the ladies--he'll pay a nice little sum in cashevery week. " "Yes?" repeated Nicholas, still interrogatively. "An' he wants to know if you'll take the place--you're jest the sort ofchap he wants, he says--somebody as will be bright at praisin' up thecalicky to the gals when they come shoppin'. Thar's nothin' like a youngman behind the counter to draw the gals, he says. " Nicholas shook his head impatiently, clasping the books tightly beneathhis arm. His gaze had grown harsh and repellent. "But I am going into the judge's office, " he answered. "I am going--"Then he checked himself, baffled by the massive ignorance he confronted. Amos Burr drew one shoulder from the fire and offered the other. A slowsteam rose from his smoking shirt, and the room was filled with theodour of scorching cotton. "Thar ain't much cash in that, I reckon, " he said. Nicholas took a step forward, still facing his father with obstinateeyes. One of the books slipped from his arm and fell to the floor, withopen leaves, but he let it lie. He was watching his father's jaws asthey rose and fell over the quid of tobacco. "No, there is not much cash in that, " he repeated. "Things have gone mighty hard, " said Amos Burr. "It's been a bad year. Iain't sayin' nothin' 'bout the work yo' ma an' Sairy Jane an' me havedone. That don't seem to count, somehow. But nothin' ain't comestraight, an' thar ain't a cent to pay the taxes. If we can't manage totide over this comin' winter thar'll have to be a mortgage in thespring. " Sairy Jane began to cry softly. One of the children joined in. "Give me time, " said Nicholas breathlessly. "Give me time. I'll pay itall in time. " Then the sound of Sairy Jane's sobs maddened him and heturned upon her with an oath. "Damn you! Can't you be quiet?" It seemed to him that they were all closing upon him and that there wasno opening of escape. Marthy Burr put down her iron and came to where he stood, laying herhand upon his sleeve. "Don't mind 'em, Nick, " she said, and her sharp voice broke suddenly. "Go ahead an' make a man of yo'self, mortgage or no mortgage. " Nicholas lifted his gaze from the floor and looked into hisstepmother's face. Then he looked at her hand as it lay upon his arm. That trembling hand brought to him more fully than words, more clearlythan visions, the pathos of her life. "Don't you worry, ma, " he said quietly at last. "It'll be all right. Don't you worry. " Then he let her hand slip from his shoulder and left the room. He passed out upon the back porch and stood gazing vacantly across theoutlook. It rained heavily, the drops descending in horizontal lengths like afantastic fall of colourless pine needles. Overhead the clouds wereblack, impenetrable. Through the falling rain he looked at the view before him, at theovergrown yard, at the manure heaps near the stable, at the grim rows ofstaves in the peanut field, at the sombre and deserted landscape. A rawwind blew in gusts from the northeast, and the distorted ailanthus treein the yard moaned and wrung its twisted limbs. Sharp, unpleasant odourscame from the pig-pen in the barnyard, where the rain was scattering theslops in the trough. A bull bellowed in a far-off pasture. Before thehen-house door several dripping fowls strutted with wilted feathers. He saw it all in silence, with the dogged eyes of one whose gaze isturned inward. He made no gesture, uttered no exclamation. He was asmotionless as the lintel of the door on which he leaned. Suddenly a gust of wind whipped the rain into his face. He turned, reėntered the house, closed the door carefully, and went upstairs. III The next morning Nicholas went into the judge's study and declined theoffer of the day before. "I shan't read law, after all, " he said slowly. "There is a businessopening for me here, and I'll take advantage of it. " He spoke in setphrases, as if he had rehearsed the sentences many times. "Business!" echoed the judge incredulously. "Why, what business is goingon in Kingsborough?" Nicholas flushed a deep red, but his glance did not waver. "Jerry Pollard wants me in his store, sir. " The judge removed his glasses, wiped them deliberately on his silkhandkerchief, put them on again, and regarded the younger manattentively. "And you wish to go into Jerry Pollard's store?" he inquired. "I think it is the best thing I can do. " "The best paying thing, I presume?" "Yes, sir. " "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the judge testily. "What is the world comingto? I suppose Tom will be writing me next that he intends to keep astall in market. Well, you know best, of course. You may do as youplease; but may I ask if you are going to bargain in Latin and multiplyby criminal law in Jerry Pollard's store?" "No, sir. " "Then, what in the--what in the--I really feel the need of a strongexpression--what in the world did you take the trouble to educateyourself for?" Nicholas was looking at the floor, and he did not raise his eyes. Hisface was hard and set. "Because I was a fool, " he answered shortly. "And now, if I may ask?" "A fool still--but I've found it out. " The judge leaned back in his chair and tapped the ledge of his deskmeditatively. "Have you fully decided?" he asked. Nicholas nodded. "I have thought it over, " he said quietly. "Then there's nothing to be done, I suppose. I hope the compensationwill satisfy you. Jerry Pollard is said to be somewhat tight-fisted, butyour business instincts may be equal to his acquirements. Now, I have anumber of letters, so, if you don't mind, I will bid you good-day. " He bowed, and Nicholas left the study and went out of the house. Rain was still falling, and small pools of water had formed on thepalace green. Straight ahead the lane of maples stretched like a line ofhalf-extinguished fires, and the ground beneath was strewn with wet, redleaves. The slanting sheets of rain gave a sombre aspect to the town--tothe time-beaten buildings along the unpaved streets and to the commons, where the water stood in grassy hollows. Beneath the gray sky the sceneassumed a spectre-like suggestion of death and decay--the death oflaughter that seemed still to echo faintly from the vanished stones--thedecay of royal charters and of kingly grants. The very air wasreminiscent of a yesterday that was perished; the red, wet leavespainted the brown earth in historic colours. Nicholas turned the corner at the church and passed on to JerryPollard's store--a long, low structure fronting on the main street--andentered by a single step from the sidewalk. The show windows on eitherside the entrance displayed a motley selection from the variedassortment of a "general" store--cheap silks and high-coloured calicos, men's shirts and women's shoes, cravats and hairpins, suspenders andcorsets. On the sidewalk near the doorway there was a baby carriage, asaddle, and a collection of farming implements. As Nicholas crossed thethreshold a pink-cheeked girl passed him, her arms filled with bundles, and at the counter an old negro woman was pricing red flannel. Jerry Pollard, a coarse-featured, full-bearded man of sixty years, wasbehind the counter. Nicholas caught his persuasive tones as he leanedover, holding the end of the bolt of flannel in his hands. "Now, look here, Aunty, you ain't going to find such a bargain as thisanywhere else in town. Take my oath on that. Every thread wool andforty-four inches wide. Only thirty cents a yard, too. I got it at anauction in Richmond, or I couldn't let it go at double that price. Howmuch? All right. " The flannel was measured off with skilful manipulations of the yardstickand the scissors, the parcel was handed to the old negro woman, and thechange was dropped into the till. Then Jerry Pollard came from behindthe counter and slapped Nicholas upon the shoulder. "Hello, my boy!" he said. "So your pa has taken me at my word, and hereyou are. Well, Jerry Pollard's word's his bond, and he ain't going backon it. So, when you feel like it, you can step right in and get tobusiness. When'll you begin? To-day? No time like the present time's mymotto. " "To-morrow!" returned Nicholas hastily. "I've got some things to windup. I'll come to-morrow. " "All right. I'm your man. To-morrow at seven sharp?" Then a purchaser appeared, and Jerry Pollard went forward, his businesssmile returning to his face. The purchaser was Mrs. Burwell, and, as Nicholas passed out, she lookedup from a pair of waffle-irons she was selecting and nodded pleasantly. "I am glad to see you, Nicholas, " she said. "Juliet was asking after youin her last letter. You were always a favourite of Juliet's. I wastelling Mr. Burwell so only last night. " "She was very kind, " returned Nicholas, and added: "Is Miss Juliet--Mrs. Galt well?" Juliet Burwell had married five years before, and he had not seen hersince. Mrs. Burwell nodded cheerily. She was still fresh and youthful, her pinkcheeks and bright eyes giving the gray of her hair the effect of powdersprinkled on her brown fringe. "Yes, Juliet is well, " she answered. "They are living in Richmond now. Mr. Galt had to give up his practice in New York because the climate didnot suit Juliet's health. I told him she couldn't stand transplanting tothe north, and I was right. They had to move south again. Yes, Mr. Pollard, the middle-size irons, please. I think they'll fit my stove. Ifthey don't, I'll exchange them for the small ones. What did you say, Nicholas? Oh! good-morning. " She turned away, and Nicholas stepped over her dripping umbrella andwent out into the rain. When he was once outside he shook the water from his shoulders andwalked rapidly in the direction of the old brick court-house, isolatedupon the larger green. The door and windows were closed, but he ascendedthe stone steps and stood beneath the portico, looking back upon the waythat he had come. The street was deserted, save for a solitary ox-cart rolling heavilythrough the mud. In the distance the gray drops made a sombre veil, through which the foliage of King's College showed in a blurreddiscolouration. From the branches of trees a double fall of waterdescended with a melancholy sound. Presently the ox-cart neared him, and the driver nodded, eyeing him withapathetic interest. When the cart had passed Nicholas came down the steps and started up thestreet at the same rapid walk. He was not thinking of his way, but theimpulse of action had seized upon him, and he was walking down theferment in his brain. He did not formulate the thought that with bodilyfatigue would come mental indifference; he merely felt that when he wastired--dead tired--he would go home and sit down to dinner and face hisfather and discuss Jerry Pollard's terms. He would do that when he wastoo tired to care--not before. When he reached the heavy iron gate of the college he swung it open andentered the grounds. In the centre of the walk stood the statue of agreat Colonial governor, and he paused before it for an instant, staringup into the battered features of the marble face. He realised suddenlythat he had never looked at it before. Daily, for twelve years, he hadpassed the college campus, sometimes crossing it so that he might havebrushed the effigy of the great Englishman with a careless hand--but hehad never seen the face before. Then he looked through the falling rainat the deserted archway of the old brick building. For the first timethose grim walls, which had been thrice overthrown and had arisen thricefrom their ashes, impressed him with the triumphant service they hadrendered in the culture of his kind. He saw it as it was--a sacredskeleton, an honourable decay. The long line of illustrious hands thathad procured its ancient charter seemed to wave a ghostly benedictionover its ancient learning. Clergy and burgesses, council and governor, planters of Virginia and bishops of London had stood by its birth. Itwas the fruit of the union of the old world and the new, and it hadwaxed strong upon the milk of its mother ere it turned rebel. Later, toits younger country, it had sent forth its sons as statesmen who gaveglory to its name. And through all its history it had overcome calamityand defied assault. Thrice it had fallen and thrice it had rearisen. He recalled next the sheltered alcove in the dim library, where he hadstudied with the consumptive young instructor, who was dead. Thecreepers upon the wall were encroaching stealthily upon the alcovewindow. Scarlet tendrils, like forked flames, licked the narrow ledge. Several wet sparrows fluttered in and out among the leaves. He turned hastily away, passed the great Englishman with unseeing eyes, clanged the iron gate heavily behind him, and went on towards the houseof his father. The family were at dinner when he entered, and he took his seat silentlyin the empty chair at his stepmother's right hand. As he sat down she reached out and felt his coat sleeve. "I declar, Nick, you air soaked clean through, " she said. "Anybody'dthink you'd been layin' out in the rain all night. You go up and changeyour clothes an' I'll keep your dinner hot on the stove. " Nicholas went upstairs mechanically, and when he came down his fatherhad gone to the stable and his stepmother was alone in the kitchen. She brought him his dinner, standing beside the table while he ate it, watching him with an intentness that was almost wistful. "Would you like some molasses on your corn pone?" she asked as hefinished and pushed his plate away. Then, as he shook his head, sheadded hesitatingly, "It come from Jerry Pollard's store. " But he only shook his head again, following with his eyes the wave-likedesign on the mahogany-coloured oilcloth that covered the table. Marthy Burr set the jug aside, nervously clearing her throat. "I reckon Jerry Pollard has got one of the finest stores anywhar'bouts, " she said suddenly. Nicholas looked up quickly and met her eyes. She was holding a dish ofbaked potatoes in one hand and the other was resting for support uponthe edge of the table. Her face was yellow and interlined, and a faintodour of camphor came from the bandage about her cheek. "Yes, " he replied indifferently. "He does a very good business. " His stepmother put the dish of potatoes back upon the table and took upthe pitcher of buttermilk. Her hand was trembling nervously. There was aslight gasp in her voice when she spoke. "I don't know but what it's as big a thing to be in a fine store likethat as 'tis to be a lawyer, " she said. For a moment Nicholas did not answer. His eyes grew darker as she stoodbefore him, and a shadow closed upon his face. As in a frame, he saw theoutline of her figure defined against the square of falling rain betweenthe window sashes. Her shoulders, bent slightly forward as if crushed bythe bearing of heavy burdens, reminded him of a domestic animal, full ofyears and labour. His face softened and he smiled into her eyes. "Yes, I don't know but what it is just as well, " he respondedcheerfully. The next day he went into Jerry Pollard's store and beganhis winter's work. He measured off unbleached cotton cloth for a servantgirl; sold a pair of shoes to a farmer, a cravat to a young fellow fromthe grocery shop next door, and a set of garden tools to an elderly ladywho lived in the street facing the asylum and had a greenhouse. At oddtimes he looked over Jerry Pollard's books, and after dark he dunnedseveral debtors for unpaid bills. He did it quietly and thoroughly, neither shirking nor overelaborating the minutest detail. There are menwho have an immense capacity for taking pains that is rarer than genius, and he was one of them. Whether he made a success or a failure of life, he would do it with a conscientious use of opportunities, good or bad. An eye that is trained to detect the values of circumstances, and a handthat is quick to adjust them, have produced the mental forces that makeor unmake the race. When the day was over he went home and ascended to his room in silence. The work had left him with a curious irritating sense of itsdistastefulness. The second day was as the first--the week was as themonth. There were no variations, no difficulties, no advancement. Withthe round of monotony his irritation sharpened. When Jerry Pollard spokehe responded in monosyllables; when Jerry Pollard's pretty daughter, Bessie, smiled in from the doorway, he kept his eyes on the counter. Athome he was even less responsive. The impulse which had prompted him toreturn a cheering falsehood to his stepmother passed quickly. Hesacrificed himself to the family interests, but he sacrificed himselfbegrudgingly. His face assumed lines of sullen repression; the tones ofhis voice were full of subdued resentment. He found satisfaction inmeeting their overtures with irony, their constraint with callousness. Since he had given the one thing they required and he valued, hejustified himself in a series of petty tyrannies. He met his stepmotherwith avoidance, his father with aversion. The children he swore at orignored. Amos Burr, gathering his slow wits together, regarded him witha chuckle of self-congratulation. His sensibilities were not susceptibleto slight friction, and his son's attitude seemed to him of smallsignificance. He had got what he wanted, and that was sufficient untothe hour. After the first two months, Nicholas underwent a dogged and indifferentadaptation. He ceased to think of the judge, of Juliet, of Eugenia. Helaughed at Jerry Pollard's jokes and he winked at Jerry Pollard'sdaughter. His horizon narrowed to the four walls of the shop; he toldhimself that he had a roof above his head and fuel for his stomach--thatBessie Pollard had skin that was fairer than Eugenia's and lips as red. What did it matter, after all? Sometimes Mrs. Webb entered the store, sweeping him, as she swept thecounter, with her clear, cold glance, and once Sally Burwell ran in todo an errand for her mother and nodded with distant pleasantness as shemet his eyes. At such times he flushed and ground his teeth, but afterMrs. Webb came farmer Turner, who shook his hand and said: "Wall, I'm proud of you, Nick Burr. " And after Sally Burwell pretty Bessie Pollard threw him a kiss from thedoorway. It was not that he was ashamed of his work. He knew that at theclose of the war better men than he sought and accepted gratefully sucha livelihood as he disdained--that women in whose veins ran good oldEnglish blood left their wasted homes to teach in public schools, orturned their delicate hands to the needle for support. He was ashamed ofhis past ambition--of his vaunted aspiration--and he was ashamed ofJerry Pollard and his service. The winter wore gradually to spring. A brilliant April melted into awatery May. Nicholas, coming to Kingsborough in the early mornings, would feel the long spring rains in his face as he splashed through thepuddles in the road. In the wood the white blossoms of dogwood showedthrough interlacing branches like stars in a network of closely wroughtiron. On their hardy shrubs the pale pink clusters of mountain laurelwere beaten into shapeless colour-masses by the wind-blown rains. Sometimes, up above, where the fiery points of redbud trees shotskyward, a thrush sang or a blue jay scolded--and the bird-notes wereladen, like the air, with the primal ripeness of spring. Underfoot the earth was fecundating in dampness. Chill blue violetsemerged from beneath the spread of rotting leaves, and where thewashed-out sunlight had last shone it had left rays of wanderingdandelions straying from the open roadside to the edges of the wood. And the spring passed into Nicholas also. The wonderful renewal ofsurrounding life thrilled through the repression of his nature. Withthe flowing of the sap the blood flowed more freely in his veins. Newpossibilities were revealed to him; new emotions urged him into freshendeavours. All his powerful, unspent youth spurred on to manhood. IV At last the rains were over. The sun came out again, and with it thegrowth of the season burst into abundance. There were bird-notes on theair, fragrance in the stillness, bloom on the trees. In the thicketdogwood massed itself in clouds of dead-white stars, like an erranttrail from the Milky Way, lighting the wooded twilight. Wild azalea, sodeeply rose that the hue seemed of the blood, wafted its sharp, unearthly scent across the underbrush to the road. The woods were vocalwith the mating songs of their winged inhabitants. The music of thethrush welled from the sheer forceful joy of living. "It isgood--good--good to be a lover!" he sang again and again with amorousrepetition and a full-throated flourish of improvisation. In the pausesof the thrush sounded the cheery whistle of the redbird, the crying ofthe catbird, the liquid tones of the song sparrow, and the giddyexclamations of the pewee. Sometimes an oriole darted overhead in aroyal flash of black and yellow, a robin stood in the road and delivereda hearty invitation, or a hawk flew past, pursued by martins. With the spring planting came a chance of outdoor work, and Nicholaswould sometimes rise at dawn and do a piece of ploughing beforebreakfast. He had driven the team out one morning across the brown, bareearth, which the plough had ripped open in a jagged track, whensomething in the silence and the scents of nature smote him suddenly aswith a vital force. Dropping the reins to the ground, he threw back hishead and breathed a keen, quick sense of exaltation. A warm mist, sweetand fresh as the breath of a cow, overhung hill and field, road andmeadow. In a black-browed cedar tree a mocking-bird was singing. With a sudden shout Nicholas voiced the glorification of toil--of honestwork well done. He felt with the force of a revelation that to throw upthe clods of earth manfully is as beneficent as to revolutionise theworld. It was not the matter of the work, but the mind that went intoit, that counted--and the man who was not content to do small thingswell would leave great things undone. The beasts before him did notshirk their labour because it was clay and not gold dust that trailedbehind the plough; why should he? And where was happiness if it sprungnot from the soil? Where contentment if it dwelt not near to Nature? Forwhat was better than these things--the clear air of sunrise, the keen, sweet smell of the fertile earth, the relaxation of tired muscles? Whyshould he, who had been born to the soil, struggle forth to alien endsas a sightless earthworm to the harrow's teeth? On his way in from the fields he stopped an instant at the gate of thebarnyard to look at the red-and-white cow that was licking her little, tottering calf. Some rollicking lambs were skipping near a dignifiedgroup of ewes, that looked on with half-fearful, half-disapprovingfaces. At the pump he saw his stepmother filling a water bucket, and he took itfrom her hands. "I reckon it is too heavy for you to carry, " he said timidly. "'Tain't much to tote, " returned Marthy Burr opposingly. "If I'd neverhad nothin' more'n that to bear I'd have as straight a back as yo' pa'sgot. 'Tain't the water buckets as bends a woman, nohow; it's the thingsas the Lord lays on extry. " She relinquished the bucket and followed Nicholas resentfully to thehouse. "I never did care 'bout havin' folks come 'round interferin' with myburdens, " she murmured half-aggrievedly. "I ain't done for yet, an' whenI is I reckon I'll know it as soon as anybody--lessen it's yo' pa, who'sgot powerful sharp eyes at seein' the failin's of other people--an'powerful dull ones when it comes to recognisin' his own. " Then she set about preparing breakfast, and Nicholas flung himself intoa chair on the porch. Nannie, a pretty, auburn-haired girl, was grindingcoffee in a small mill, and he looked at her thoughtfully; then Jubalcame out, whittling a stick, and he turned his gaze inquiringly uponhim. "What would you like to do in the world, Jubal?" he asked, "best ofall?" Jubal looked up in perplexity, his fat forehead wrinkling. "You ain't countin' in eatin', I s'pose?" he replied doubtfully. Nicholas shook his head. "No, leave out eating, " he said. "An' the splittin' open of that durn livered Spike Turner?" "Yes, that too. " Jubal whittled slowly, his forehead wrinkling more deeply. "Then I don't know whether it's to give ma a rest or to own BillyFlinders's coon dog, Boss, " he said. Nicholas laughed for an instant, but the laugh softened into a smile. At the table he asked his stepmother and Sairy Jane about the springchickens, and they answered with surprised eagerness. "I am going to mark the lambs to-morrow, " he said. "They're a nice lot. "And he added: "Some day I'll take the farm and make it pay. " "I don't see what you want to go steppin' in yo' pa's shoes for, " put inMarthy Burr. "When toes have got p'inted down-hill they ain't goin' noother way. Don't you come back to raisin' things on this land. I ain'tnever seen nothin' thrive on it yet, cep'n weeds, an' the Lord knowsthey warn't planted. " Nicholas shook his head. "Why, look at Turner, " he said. "His land is as poor as this, and hemakes an easy living. " "A Turner ain't a Burr, " returned his stepmother with uncompromisinglogic, "an' a Burr ain't a Turner. Whar the blood runs the man follows, an' yours ain't runnin' towards the farm. Jeb Turner can fling a handfulof corn in poor groun', an' thar'll come up a cornfield, an' yo' pa mayplant with the sweat of his brow an' the groanin' of his spirit, an' thecrows git it. A farmer's got to be born, same as a fool. You can't makea corn pone out of flour dough by the twistin' of it. " "That's so, " admitted Amos Burr, laying down his knife and meeting hiswife's eyes. "That's so. You can't make a corn pone out of flour dough, noways you turn it. " "Perhaps I'll try some day, " said Nicholas with a laugh; and he rose andwent out of the house. When he had reached the little gate he heard a voice behind him, andturned to find his half-sister Nannie, her cheeks flushed like a damp, wild rose above her faded dress. "I want you to bring me something from the store, Nick, " she stammered. "I want a blue ribbon for my hair, it's--it's so worrisome. " She shook her auburn locks, and Nicholas realised suddenly that she mustbe very good to look at--to men who were only in a Scriptural sense herbrothers. He felt a vague pride in her. "Why, of course I will, " he answered. "Blue let it be. " And he opened the gate and went on his way, leaving Nannie, stillflushed, in the path. When he took down Jerry Pollard's shutters a half-hour later he stoodfor an instant looking thoughtfully down upon the assortment in thewindow. Then he leaned over and conscientiously set upright a blue-glassvase before going behind the counter to unpin the curtains hangingacross the dry-goods shelves. After breakfast Bessie Pollard came in and stood with her elbow restingon the showcase as she flirted a small feather duster. She had justreleased her hair from curl paper, and it hung in golden ringlets overher forehead. Her face was ripe and red, like a well-sunned peach, andthe firm curves of her bosom swelled the gathers of her gown. "You look real spry this morning, " she said coquettishly; but he turnedfrom her in sudden distaste. Her tawdry refinement irritated the moreserious manner of his mood. Presently she went back to her dusting, and he completed his dailysetting to rights of the shop before he drew up to the desk and made outthe bills that were due for the month. It was not until some hours laterthat he looked up upon hearing a step on the threshold. At first hestood up mechanically at the sight of a girl in a riding-habit. Then hestarted and drew back, for the girl lifted her head, and he saw that itwas Eugenia Battle. In the same glance he saw also that there was a keensurprise in her face. "Why, Nick Burr!" she said breathlessly. She tripped over her longriding-skirt and caught it hastily in one hand; in the other she carrieda small switch. She had grown tall and straight, and her hair wasgathered up from her shoulders. For a moment they were both silent. In Eugenia's face the surprise gaveplace to gladness, and the warmth of her personality gathered to hereyes. She held out her ungloved hand. "Why, Nick Burr!" she said again. But Nicholas looked at her in silence. All the dogged bitterness of thelast six months welled to his lips--all his new-found philosophyevaporated at the sting of wounded pride. He remembered with a start thegray road on the afternoon in November, the sullen cast of the sky, thehopeless trend of the wind among the trees, the leaping of the lightinto Eugenia's face. She laughed now as she had laughed then--a heartylittle burst of surprise in the suddenness of the meeting. He turned quickly from the outstretched hand. "What can I do for you?" he asked, and his tone was like JerryPollard's. Eugenia's hand fell to her side, closing upon the folds of her skirt. She caught her lip between her teeth with a petulant twitch. Then shecame forward and laid a small brown bit of cloth upon the counter. "A spool of silk this shade, " she said briskly. "Please match it verycarefully. " Nicholas pulled open the small drawers containing the silk, and comparedthe sample with the row of spools. He made his selection, showing it toEugenia before wrapping it in brown paper. "Is that all?" he asked grimly. Eugenia nodded. He gave her the spool, and she lifted her skirt and wentout of the shop. A moment more, and she passed the door swiftly on thebrown mare. Nicholas closed the drawer and laid the torn sheet ofwrapping paper back in its place. A little girl came in for a card ofhooks and eyes for her mother, a dressmaker, and he gave them to her anddropped the nickel in the till. When she went out he followed her to thedoor and stood looking out into the gray dust of the street. Across the way a lady was gathering roses from a vine that clamberedover her piazza, and the sunlight struck straight at her graciousfigure. From afar off came the sound of children laughing. Down thestreet several mild-eyed Jersey cows were driven by a little negro tothe court-house green. In a near tree a wood-bird sang a score ofdreamy notes. Gradually the quiet of the scene wrought its spell uponhim--the insistent languor drugged him like a narcotic. On the wide, restless globe there is perhaps no village of three streets, nosettlement that has been made by man, so utterly the cradle ofquiescence. From the listless battlefields, where grass runs green andwild, to the little whiter washed gaol, where roses bloom, it is apetrified memory, a perennial day dream. The lady across the street passed under her rose vine, her basket filledwith creamy clusters. The cows filed lazily on the court-house green. The wood-bird in the near tree sang over its dreamy notes. The clearblack shadows in the street lay like full-length figures across thevivid sunlight. The bitterness passed slowly from his lips. He turned, and wasreentering the shop, when his name was called sharply. "Why, Nick Burr!" The words were Eugenia's, but the voice was Tom Bassett's. He had comeup suddenly with the judge, and as Nicholas turned he caught his hand ina hearty grasp. "Well, I call this luck!" he cried. "I say, Nick, you haven't grown baldsince I saw you. Do you remember the time you shaved every strand ofhair off your head so we'd stop calling you 'Carrotty'?" "I remember you called me 'Baldy, '" said Nicholas, running his handthrough his thick, red hair. Then he looked at the judge. "I hope youare well, sir, " he added. The judge bowed with his fine-flavoured courtesy. "As I trust you are, "he returned graciously. "Well, all I've got to say, " put in Tom, as his father finished, "isthat it's a shame--a confounded shame. What good will Nick's brains dohim in old Pollard's store? Old Pollard's a skinflint, anyway, and hecuffed me once when I was a small chap. " Nicholas glanced back uncertainly into the shop. "Oh, he isn't so bad when you know him, " he said. "Most folks aren't. " "He seems to value Nicholas's services, " added the judge politely. Nicholas flushed. "I don't know about that, " he returned awkwardly. "I know one thing, though, " said Tom with slow wrath, "and that is thatI'm not green enough to be fooled by Nick Burr, if other people are. Father told me last night that it was Nick's own choice that took him toJerry Pollard's. Choice, the Dickens! Why, it's those blasted people ofhis that put him here. " Tom was very red in the face, so was Nicholas. They looked at the judge, and the judge looked back at them with a humorous twinkle in his eyes. "My dear Tom, " he said at last, "I never gave you credit for being aSolomon, but some day your wit may put your father to shame. " Then he held out his hand to Nicholas. "When you're a little older, my boy, " he remarked, "you may learn that, though an old fool may be the biggest fool, he's not the only one. Cometo see us when you feel like it, eh, Tom?" They passed on together, and Nicholas stood looking after them until aman came in to exchange a pair of shoes. "They're a leetle too skimpy 'cross the toes, " he said deprecatingly. "The heels air first-rate, but the toes sorter seem to be made fur athree-toed somebody. 'Tain't as if I could jest set aroun' in 'em, ofcourse; then they'd be a fine fit, but when I go ter stan' up theypinches. " Nicholas gave him a larger size and put the box back upon the shelf. Hewas thinking of Tom Bassett and the twinkle in the judge's eyes, and hedid not hear the man's rambling speech. It seemed to him that hisfriendship with Tom and his father had been restored--that he might oncemore go freely in and out of the judge's house. When the day was over he walked slowly homeward along the deserted road, his mind still busy with recollections of the morning. Yes, life wasdecidedly endurable at worst. If he might not become celebrated, hemight at least become content. He was _not_ Tom Bassett, but he had TomBassett's friendship. He would live a simple life in his own class amonghis own people, and he would grow to be respected by those who wereabove him. He had entered the wood, when he remembered suddenly that he hadforgotten the ribbon for his sister Nannie. He turned quickly andretraced his steps through the thickening twilight. V So Nicholas's first fight for his manhood was fought and won. He wentback to his books--went back because his intellect ordained it, and theordinance of intellect is fate--but bitterness had gone out of him, andhe had come into his own. From the stress of the last year he had foundsecurity in acceptance. His life might not be such as he had plannedit--whose was?--his work might not be the thing he wanted--again, whosewas?--but life and work were with him, and it remained for him to makethe best of them. Fate might make him a shopkeeper; he would see to itthat it made him a successful one. Success read backwards spelt work, and work was his inheritance--a heritage of sweat and labour. He went to Jerry Pollard's an hour earlier that he might rearrange toadvantage the shelves. His employer had secured, below cost, a supply ofdry goods, and preparations were in the making for the first summer salein Kingsborough. Nicholas conducted the arrangements as conscientiouslyas he might have conducted a legal argument. It was the thing beforehim, and it must not fail. But at night he found his greater hour. When supper was over and he hadhelped his father with the odd jobs of the farm, he would take the smokykerosene lamp to his room and plunge into the pages of "The Federalist. "From his sharp, retentive memory nothing passed. He held his knowledgewith the same vital grip with which he held his friends. He had the judge's library now and the judge's assistance. Evening afterevening he sat in the dim, ghost-hallowed room, the shining calf-boundvolumes girdling the walls, and absorbed the judge as the judge, in hisown time, had absorbed the men who were gone. From that rich storehouseof high principles and simple deeds Nicholas's future was drawingnourishment. Judge Bassett had lived his life in a village, but he hadlived it among statesmen. His book-shelves were green with theirinspiration, his memory fresh from their impress. In his youth hehimself had been one of the hopes of his State; in his age he was one ofher consolations. He treated the younger man with that quaint courtliness which knew notaffectation. When he talked to him, as he often did, of the great legalminds, it was always with the courtesy of their titles. He spoke of "Mr. Chancellor Kent, " of "Mr. Justice Blackstone, " as he spoke of "PresidentDavis" or of "General Lee. " To have alluded to them more familiarly hewould have held to be a breach of etiquette of unpardonable grossness. One day he had started in Nicholas his old political dreams ofJeffersonian lustre. "Virginia is not dead but sleepeth, " the judge had said, as a prelude todenunciation of the Readjuster party then in power. Nicholas was looking at a collection of autograph letters that lay onthe judge's desk. He glanced up with an impulsive start. "Oh, but I should like to have lived then!" he exclaimed. The older man shook his head. "It is not the times, but the man, " he answered. "The time makes theman, the great man makes his time. " He leaned his massive old head against the carved back of his chair andlooked at the other in his kindly, unambitious optimism. He had lostmost that the world accounts of worth, but life had dealt gently by him, on the whole, since it had never infringed upon the sensitiveness of hisself-esteem. "It's rough on the man, " Nicholas returned brusquely, and a little laterhe went out into the night. He had his periods of depression, whendesire seemed greater than duty, as he had his periods of exaltation, when duty seemed greater than desire. Neither affected, to outwardseeming, the course of his life, but each left its mark upon his mentalforces. The chief thing was that he did the work he hated as thoroughlyas he did the work he loved. The spring ripened into summer and the summer chilled into autumn. Hehad kept rigidly to his way and to his resolutions. From neither had heswerved in one regard. His stepmother, fixing sharp, tired eyes upon himmentally drafted, "After all's said an' done, the Lord knows best. " Shebelieved him to be content, as she had reason to, for he gave no outwarduneasy sign. When his small savings had paid off Amos Burr's littledebt, and they started, unhandicapped, upon their shaky progress, itseemed to her that she was justified in commending, for the second time, the visible methods of Providence--a commendation which faltered onlybefore a threatening twinge of neuralgia. Early in October the judge, whose practice was drawn largely from othersections of the State, left home for an absence of several weeks. Uponhis return he sent for Nicholas in the early afternoon, an unusualhappening. The young man, dropping in at two o'clock, found him at workin his library before the early dinner, a generous mint julep upon asilver tray on his desk. Cęsar was an acknowledged artist in the mixingof the beverage, and Mrs. Burwell had once exclaimed that "the judge wasprouder of Cęsar's fame at the bar than of his own. " "It is an art that is becoming extinct, madam, " the judge had repliedsadly. "I should wager there are more men in the State to-day who canmake a speech than can mix a julep. Cęsar's distinction is greater thanmine. " To-day, as Nicholas entered, the judge greeted him hospitably and calledfor another concoction. When Cęsar brought it, frosted and clear andodorous, the judge raised his own goblet and bowed to his caller. "To your future, my boy, " he said graciously; then, as Nicholas blushedand stammered, he asked kindly: "How are you getting on now?" "Very well. " "So well that you wouldn't like a change?" Nicholas threw a startled look upon him. His pulse beat swiftly, and hisskin burned. By these physical reactions he realised the fluttering ofhis hopes. "A change!" he said slowly, holding himself in hand. "Yes, I--should--like a change. " The judge sipped his julep, breathing with enjoyment the strongfragrance of the mint. "I have just seen my friend, Professor Hartwell, of the University, " hesaid, "and he mentioned to me that in the work of compiling his law-bookhe found great need of a secretary. It at once occurred to me that itwas a suitable opening for you, and I ventured to suggest as much tohim--" He paused an instant, gazing thoughtfully into his glass. "And he?" urged Nicholas hurriedly. "He would like some correspondence with you, I believe; but, if theprospect pleases you, and you would care to undertake the work--" "Care?" gasped the younger man passionately; "care! Why I--I'd sell mysoul for the chance. " The judge laughed softly. "Such extreme measures are unnecessary, I think. No doubt it can bearranged. I understand from your father that he has tided over his lastfailures. " But Nicholas did not hear him; the words of release were ringing in hisears. * * * * * The year that Nicholas Burr "worked" his way to a degree at theUniversity of the State Tom Bassett returned to Kingsborough and took upthat portion of the judge's practice which he termed "local"; and hisfellow citizens, whose daily existence was proof of their belief inhereditary virtues, brought their legal difficulties to his door. He wasa stout, flaxen-haired young fellow, with broad shoulders and honest, light-blue eyes, holding an habitual shade of perplexity. People said ofhim that his heart outran his head, but they loved him not the less forthis--perhaps the more. Upon his return to Kingsborough he applied himself conscientiously tohis cases, paid a series of social calls, and fell over head and ears inlove with Sally Burwell. "There are two things which every respectable young man in Kingsboroughgoes through with, " remarked the rector's wife as she sat at breakfastwith her husband. "He becomes confirmed and he goes mad about SallyBurwell. For my part it does not surprise me. She's not pretty, but noman has ever found it out, and no man ever will. Did you notice thatmuslin she had on in church last Sunday--all frills and tucks--" "My mind was upon my sermon, dear, " murmured the rector apologetically. "But we've eyes as well as minds, and those of every man in thecongregation were on that dress of Sally's. " The rector meekly stirred his coffee. "I have no doubt of it, " he answered. "But what do you think of Tom'schances, my dear?" "They aren't worth a candle, " returned his wife with an emphasis whichsettled the question in the rector's mind. Within a month Tom's chances were the topic of Kingsborough. They werediscussed at the post-office, at sewing societies, at church festivals. Not a soul in the congregation but knew the number of times he hadaccompanied her to evening services; not an inhabitant of the town butwas aware of the hour and the afternoon upon which they had last walkedthrough Lover's Lane. When the state of affairs had gone the rounds of the community untilthey were worn threadbare, they effected a final lodgment in the mind ofMr. Burwell. "I have made a little discovery, " he announced one evening to his wifeas she was brushing her hair for the night. Mrs. Burwell was all delighted attention. "Why, what can it be?" she murmured with gratifying feminine curiosity. "You may have noticed, my dear, " began Mr. Burwell with a nervous glanceat Sally's chamber door across the hall, "that our friend Tom Bassetthas called frequently of late. " His wife nodded smilingly. "Well, it has occurred to me from something I observed this evening thatit is Sally who attracts him. " Mrs. Burwell threw back her pretty head and laughed. "Why, Mr. Burwell!" she exclaimed, "did you think that it was you--orI--or your grandfather's portrait?" Her husband looked slightly abashed. "So you have observed it?" he asked in an injured tone. Mrs. Burwell laid her brush aside and crossed the room to where hestood. "Everybody knows you are a very clever man, Mr. Burwell, " she said. "Ihave never pretended to have as much sense as a man, and I hope nobodyhas ever accused me of anything so unwomanly--but there are some thingsyou can't teach your wife, with all your experience. " Mr. Burwell stroked the plump hand on his arm and smiled in returningself-esteem. "And you are quite sure he fancies Sally?" he inquired. "I know it, " replied his wife decisively. "Would it not be wise to prepare her, my dear?" "Prepare Sally?" gasped Mrs. Burwell, and she went back to her mirrorwith dancing eyes. VI "I have learned all they can teach me here, " wrote Eugenia from schoolon her eighteenth birthday, "so I'll be home to-morrow. " "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the general, holding the letter above hiscakes and coffee. "The child's mad--clean mad! We must put a stop toit. " "Write her to stay where she is, " said Miss Chris decisively. "I'll write her, the young puss!" returned the general angrily. "Givingherself airs at her age, is she? Why, she's just left her bottle!" "What else does she say, Tom?" inquired his sister as she passed him themaple syrup. The letter fluttered helplessly in the general's hand. "I can't stayaway any longer from my dear, bad-tempered, old dad, " he read in abreaking voice; then he added hesitatingly, "I don't reckon she's rightabout knowing enough, eh, Chris?" "Certainly not, " responded Miss Chris severely. "The child's asheadstrong as a colt. Get that letter off in time for the train, andI'll let Sampson carry it to town. " The general finished his breakfast and went to the old secretary in thelibrary to write his letter. When he had given it to Sampson he cameback to Miss Chris, who was washing the teacups in the pantry. "I s'pose we might as well get her room ready, " he suggested. "She maycome, anyway, you know. " Miss Chris looked up with a laugh from the delicate saucer she waswiping. "I know it, " she admitted; "and I'll see to her room. But your letterwas positive, I hope?" "Y-e-s, " answered the general lamely, and he returned to the Richmondpapers with an eager flush in his face. The next day when Eugenia reached Kingsborough she found the dilapidatedcarriage awaiting her, with Sampson upon the driver's seat. With animpetuous flutter she threw her arms about the necks of the old horses. "Why, you dear things!" she cried; then she held out her hand toSampson. "I'm glad to see you, Sampson, " she said. "But why didn't papacome to meet me?" Her animated eyes glanced joyously from side to side and her lips werebrimming with the delight of homecoming. Sampson turned the wheel for her as she got into the carriage, and gaveher the linen lap-robe. "You sho is growed, Miss Eugeny, " he observed, and then in reply to herquestion, "Marse Tom hev got pow'ful stiff-jinted recentelly. Hit seemslike he'd ruther sot right still den ease hisse'f outer his cheer. SenceOle Miss Grissel done drop down dead uv er political stroke, he ain'step 'roun' mo'n he bleeged ter. " The carriage jolted through Kingsborough, and Eugenia bowed smilingly toher acquaintances. Once she stopped to shake hands with the rector andagain to kiss Sally Burwell, who flew into her arms. "Why, Eugie! you--you beauty!" she cried. Eugenia laughed delightedly, her black eyes glowing. "Am I good-looking?" she asked. "I'm so glad. But I'll never be aspretty as you, you dear, sweet thing. I'm too big. " They laughed and kissed again, and Eugenia stepped from the carriage togreet the judge, who was passing. "This is a sight for sore eyes, my dear, " said the judge, his fine oldface wreathed in smiles. Then, as his gaze ran over her full, straightfigure, "they make fine women these days, " he added. "You're as tall asyour father--though you're your mother's child. Yes, I can see AmeliaTucker in your eyes. " "Thank you--thank you, " said the girl in a throaty voice. There was aglow, a warmth, a fervour in her face which harmonised the chill blackand white of her colouring. Her expression was as a lamp to illumine themask of her features. "I couldn't stay away, " she went on breathlessly. "I love Kingsboroughbetter than the whole world. " "And Kingsborough loves you, " returned the judge. "Yes, it is a good oldtown and well worth dying in, after all. " He assisted Eugenia into the carriage, shook hands again, and thelumbering old vehicle jogged on its way. In a moment another halt wascalled, and Mrs. Webb came from her gate to give the girl welcome. "This is a surprise, " she said as she kissed her. "I dined at BattleHall last week, and they didn't tell me you were coming. " "They didn't know it, " laughed Eugenia. "I come like a bolt from theblue. " Mrs. Webb smiled coldly. She was just as the girl had known her inchildhood--only the high black pompadour was now white. She still woreher stiff black silk gown, fastened at the throat by a Confederatebutton set in a brooch. "You are like yourself and no one else, " said Eugenia simply. "But tellme of Dudley--where is he?" Mrs. Webb's face softened slightly. "His practice is in Richmond now, " she answered. "You know he studiedlaw and took great honours at college. But his ambitions, I fear, arepolitical. I don't like politics. They aren't for honest men. " Eugenia did not smile. She merely nodded assent and, saying good-byepleasantly, jolted out of Kingsborough into the Old Stage Road. "When did Mrs. Webb dine at home, Sampson?" she asked suddenly after along silence. "Hit wa'n' onc't en it wa'n' twice, " said Sampson thoughtfully. "Mo'like hit wuz tree times. She done been dar monst'ous often dis yerwinter, an' de mo' she come de mo' 'ristocratical she 'pear ter git. Darwa'n' no placin' her, nohow. We done sot 'er by Ole Mis' Grissel w'enshe wuz 'live, an' we done sot 'er by Miss Chris, an' we done sot 'er byMarse Tom hisse'f, an', fo' de Lawd, I ain' never seen 'er congeal yit. " But Eugenia was seeking other information. "Is Uncle Ish well? And AuntVerbeny, and the dogs? and did you bury Jim in the graveyard?" "Dey's all well, " replied Sampson, flicking at a horsefly on thesorrel's back, "an' Jim, he's well en buried. Marse Tom sot up er boa'ddes' like you tell 'im. " A little later they turned into the cedar avenue, and Eugenia could seethe large white pillars of the porch. "There they are!" she cried excitedly, and before the carriage stoppedshe was up the narrow walk and in the general's arms. "Well, daughter! daughter!" said the general. His eyes were watery, andwhen Eugenia fell upon Miss Chris, he blew his nose loudly with anervous wave of his silk handkerchief. "I was obliged to come, " explained Eugenia. "When I got your lettersaying I might, I was so happy. " "Tom!" murmured Miss Chris reproachfully, but her eyes were shining andshe laid an affectionate hand on her brother's arm. The general blushed like a boy. "I told her if she'd fully made up her mind to come, I'd--I'd let her, "he stammered shamefacedly. "Oh, I was coming anyway!" announced Eugenia cheerfully as she wasclasped upon the bosom of Aunt Verbeny. "Ain't you des' yo' ma all over?" cried Aunt Verbeny enthusiastically. "Is you ever see anybody so w'ite en' so' black in de same breff 'cep'nMiss Meeley? Can't I see her now same ez 'twuz yestiddy, stannin' rightdar in dis yer hall en' sayin', 'You b'longs ter me, Verbeny, en' I'segwine ter take cyar you de bes' I kin. '" Aunt Verbeny fixed her eyes upon the general and he quailed. "Don't I take care of you, Aunt Verbeny?" he asked appealingly; butEugenia, having greeted the remaining servants, drew him with her intothe dining-room. When he sat down at last to the heavily laden table, heseemed to have grown twenty years younger. As Eugenia hung over him withdomineering devotion, the irritable expression faded from his face andhe grew almost jovial. When she weakened his coffee, he protesteddelightedly, and when she refused to allow him his nightly dole ofpreserved quinces, he stormed with rapture. "She wants to starve me, thetyrant, " he declared. "She'll take the very bread from my mouth next. " Then his enthusiasm overcame him. "That's the finest girl in the world, Chris! God bless her, her heart'sas warm as her eyes. Why, she'd damn herself to do a kindness. " Miss Chris appeared to remonstrate. "I am surprised, Tom, " she said disapprovingly, though why she wassurprised or what she was surprised at the general never knew. When Eugenia went upstairs that night, she blew out her candle andundressed by the full light of the moon as it shone through the giantsycamore. Outside, the lawn lay like a sheet unrolled, rent by sharpblack shadows. All the dear, familiar objects were draped by thedarkness as by a curtain; the body of the sycamore assumed a spectralpallor, and the small rockery near by was as mysterious as a tomb. Fromthe dusk beneath the window the fragrance of the mimosa tree floatedinto the room. Eugenia, in her long, white nightgown, fell upon her bed and slept. The next day she went the rounds of the farm. "I'm coming back to takeyou for exercise, " she remarked to the general as she stood before himin her sunbonnet. The general, who was placidly smoking, groaned in protest. "Then you'll kill me, Eugie, " he urged. "Exercise doesn't suit me. I'mtoo heavy. " "You'll get lighter, " returned Eugenia reassuringly. "You don't moveabout half enough, but I'll make you. " The general groaned again, and Miss Chris, pink and fresh in her linensacque, came out upon the porch. "Bless the child!" she exclaimed. "Where on earth did she lay hands onthat bonnet? Don't stay out too long in the sun, Eugie, or you'll burnblack. " The general caught at the straw. "I wish you'd tell her she ought to sit in the house, Chris. She wantsto drag me--me out in that heat. " But Eugenia drew the sunbonnet overher dark head and disappeared across the lawn. * * * * * Having inspected the farmyard and the stables, she crossed the raggedfield to the negro cabins, where she was received with hilarity. "Ain't I al'ays tell you she uz de fines' lady in delan'?" demandedDelphy of the retreating Moses. "Ain't I al'ays tell you dar wa'n't hermatch in dese yer parts or outer dem? I ax you, ain't I?" "Dat's so, " admitted Moses meekly. "Where's Betsey?" inquired Eugenia, twirling her sunbonnet. "AuntVerbeny told me the baby died. I am so sorry. " "De Lawd He give, en' de Lawd He teck, " returned Delphy piously, "en' Hedone been moughty open-handed dis long time. He done give er plum sightmo'n He done teck, en' it ain' no use'n sayin' He ain'. " "So the others are well?" ventured Eugenia, and as a bow-legged crawleremerged from beneath the doorstep she added: "Is that the youngest?" Delphy snorted. "Dat ar brat, Miss Euginney? He ain' Betsey's, nohow. He's Rindy's Lije, en' he's de mos' out'n out pesterer sence Mose wuz born. " "Rindy!" exclaimed Eugenia in surprise, lightly touching the small blackbody with her foot. "Why, I didn't know Rindy was married. She's workingat the house now. " Delphy seized the child and held him at arm's length while she applied asounding box. "Go 'way f'om yer, honey, " she said. "Rindy ain' mah'ed. He's des' an accident. Shet yo' mouth, you imp er darkness, fo' I shethit fur you. " "Don't hurt him, Delphy, " pleaded the girl. "Rindy ought to be ashamedof herself, but it isn't his fault. I'm going to send him some clothes. He looks fat enough, anyhow. " "He's fitten ter bus', " retorted Delphy sternly. "He don't do nuttin' fur his livin' but eat all day, en' den when nightcome he don't do nuttin' but holler kaze de time ter leave off eatin'done come. He ain' no mo' use'n a weazel. " Eugenia promised to befriend the baby, and left with Delphy's pessimismringing in her ears. "He ain' wuth yo' shoestring, he ain', " called thewoman after her. The girl was as popular among the negroes as she had been as a smalltomboy in pinafores. Her impulsive generosity and, above all, hercordial kindness, had not abated with years. She was as ready to serveas be served, her heart was as open as her hand; and the shrewd, childish race received her as a benignant providence. Her sweetness ofdisposition became a proverb. "As sunshiny ez Miss Euginny, " said AuntVerbeny of a clear day--and the general raised her wages. During the early summer Bernard came home on a vacation. For severalyears he had held a position in a bank in Lynchburg, and his visits toKingsborough took place at uncertain intervals. He was a slight, insignificant young fellow, with complacent eyes and a beautiful, girlish mouth. His temper was quicker than Eugenia's, and he was incontinual friction with the general, who had grown absent-minded andirritable. He not only forgot his own opinions as soon as he expressedthem, but, what is still more annoying, he was apt to offer them as someone's else in the course of a few hours. "That young Burr's a scamp, " he remarked one morning at breakfast, "aregular scamp. Here he's setting up as a lawyer under George Bassett'seye, when I happen to know that Jerry Pollard wouldn't have him in hisstore if you paid him. " "My dear Tom, " breathed the placid voice of Miss Chris, "I'm quite sureyou're mistaken. Why, Judge Bassett--" "Mistaken!" persisted the general angrily. "Am I the man to make astatement without authority? I tell you he's a scamp, ma'am--a regularscamp! If you please to doubt my word--" "That's rather rough on a chap, isn't it?" put in Bernard indifferently. "He isn't a gentleman, but I shouldn't call him a scamp. " "Why should you call him anything, sir?" demanded the general. "It's nobusiness of yours, is it? If I choose to call him a--" "Now, father, " said Eugenia, and at her decisive tones the general brokeoff and turned upon her round, inquiring eyes. "Now, father, you don'tmean one word that you're saying, and you know it. " And she proceeded tobutter his cakes. The general was suppressed, and after breakfast he got into the carriagebeside his daughter and drove slowly into town. When he returned todinner he met Miss Chris with triumphant eyes. "By the way, Chris, you were mistaken this morning about that Burr boy. He's quite a decent person. I don't see how you got it into your headthere was something wrong about him. " "I'm glad to hear it, " responded Miss Chris good-humouredly. She hadnever uttered a harsh word about anybody in her life, but she was along-suffering woman, and she philosophically accepted the accusation. Twenty-four hours later the general had a passage at arms with Bernard. "You can watch the threshing this morning, my boy, " he remarked as hesat down to breakfast. "You won't go in to town, I suppose?" Bernard shook his head. "I thought of riding in for the mail, " he answered; "there's a letterI'm looking for. " The general flushed and put out a preliminary feeler. "How are yougoing?" he inquired; "not on one of my horses, I hope?" Eugenia shook her head at Bernard, but he went on recklessly: "Why, yes, I thought I'd take the gray mare. " The general shook his head until his flabby face grew purple. "The gray mare!" he thundered. "You mean to take out my gray mare, doyou? Well, I'd like to see you, sir. Not a step does the gray marestir--not a step, sir. " "Oh, all right, " agreed Bernard so quietly that the general's rageincreased. "Keep her in the stables, for all I care. " And, havingfinished his breakfast, he bowed to Miss Chris and left the table. But an hour later, as he passed through the hall, he found the generalwaiting. "Aren't you ready?" he asked irascibly. "Are you going to wastethe whole morning? Why aren't you in town?" Bernard's temper was well enough as long as there was no reason itshould be better; but he couldn't stand his father, and he knew it. "I'm not going, " he returned sullenly. "Not going!" cried the general hotly, "not going after all the fussyou've raised? What do you mean by changing your mind every minute?" Bernard took his hat from the old mahogany rack. "I've nothing to ride, "he replied irritably, "and I don't choose to walk--that's what I mean. " But his answer only exasperated his hovering parent. "Damme, sir, do you want to make me lose my temper?" he demanded. "Isn'tthe stable full of horses? Where's the gray mare, I'd like to know, sir?" "Eugie!" called Bernard angrily, "come here. " And as the girl appearedhe made a break from the house. He possessed an abiding faith in theendurance of Eugenia's clannish soul that was proof against even thesuggestion that it might succumb. His father was unquestionably trying, but Eugie was unquestionably strong, and she loved her people with apassion which he felt to be romantically unsurpassable. Yes, Eugie wasthe hope of the family, after all. As for the girl, she put her arm about the general and drew him to hischair. He was failing rapidly; this she saw and suffered at seeing. There were wrinkles crossing and recrossing his hanging cheeks, andswollen bluish pockets beneath his eyes. When he moved he carried hisgreat weight uneasily. During the day she hung over him with multipliedcaresses; as he sat upon the porch in the afternoon she read to him fromthe Bible and Shakespeare, the only books his library contained. "After God and Shakespeare, what was left for any man to write?" thegeneral had once demanded of the judge. Now he asked the question of Eugenia, and she smiled and was silent. Hereyes passed from the porch to the lawn and the walk and the immemorialgloom of the great cedars. Sunshine lay over all the warm, sleepy land, and sunshine lay across her white dress and across the senile droop ofthe general's mouth. "For He maketh sore, and bindeth up, " read the girl slowly. "He woundethand His hands make whole. " "He shall deliver thee in six troubles;--yea, in seven there shall noevil touch thee. " "In famine He shall redeem thee from death: and in war from the power ofthe sword. " She stopped suddenly and looked up, for the general's eyes were full oftears. BOOK III WHEN FIELDS LIE FALLOW I On an October afternoon Nicholas Burr was walking along the branch roadthat led to his father's farm. He carried a well filled bag upon hisshoulder, the musty surface of which betrayed that it contained freshlyground meal, but, despite the additional weight, his figure wasunflinchingly erect. There was a splendid vigour in his thick-set frameand in the swinging strides of his hardy limbs. His face--thesquare-jawed, large-featured face of a philosopher or afarmer--possessed, with its uncompromising ugliness, a certain eccentricpower. Rugged, gray, alert-eyed as it was, large-browed and overhung byhis waving red hair--it was a face to attract or to repel--not to beignored. Now, as he swung on vigorously in the October light, there was about hima joyousness of purpose which belonged to his age and his aspirations. It was an atmosphere, an emanation thrown off by respiring vitality. Across the road the sunshine fell in long, level shafts. The spirit ofOctober was abroad in the wood--veiling itself in a faint, bluish hazelike the smoke of the greenwood when it burns. Overhead, crimson andyellow ran riot among the trees, the flame of the maple extinguishingthe dull red of the oak, the clear gold of the hickory flashing throughthe gloss of the holly. As yet the leaves had not begun to fall; theyheld tenaciously to the living branches, fluttering light heads in thefirst autumn chill. In the underbrush, where the deerberry showed hecticblotches, a squirrel worked busily, completing its winter store, whilein the slanting sun rays a tawny butterfly, like a wind-blown, loosenedtiger lily, danced its last mad dance with death. To Nicholas the scene was without significance. With a gesture he threwoff the spell of its beauty, as he shifted the "sack" of corn meal uponhis shoulder. He had found Uncle Ish tottering homeward with the load, and he had taken it from him with a careless promise to leave it at theold negro's cabin door--then, passing him by a stride, he had gone onhis kindly, confident way. He forgot Uncle Ish as readily as he forgotthe bag he carried. His mind was busily reviewing the points of his lastcase and the possible facts of a more important one he believed to becoming to him. In this connection he went back to his first fight in thelittle court-house, and he laughed with an appreciation of the humour ofhis success. It was Turner, after all, who had given it to him; Turner, who, having bought a horse that died upon the journey home, wantedrevenge as well as recompense. He remembered his perturbation as he roseto cross-examine the defendant--the nervousness with which he drove hisweapons home. It had all seemed so important to him then--the court, his client, the great, greasy horse dealer forced into the witnessstand. He had proved his case by the defendant, and he had won as well a mildreputation among the farmers who had assembled for the day. Since thenhe had done well, and the judge's patronage had placed much in his handsthat, otherwise, would have gone elsewhere. Beyond the wood, the uncultivated wasteland sported its annual carnivalof golden rod and sumach, and across the brilliant plumes a round, redsun hung suspended in a quiet sky. In the corn field, where the latecrop was fast maturing, negro women chanted shrilly as they pulled the"fodder, " their high-coloured kerchiefs blending, like autumn foliage, with the landscape. Around them the bared stalks rose boldly row on row, reserving their scarred and yellow husks for the last harvest of theyear. When Nicholas reached his father's house he did not enter the littlewhitewashed gate, but kept on to the log cabin on the edge of GeneralBattle's land, where Uncle Ish was passing his declining years inpoverty and independence. The cabin stood above a little gully whichskirted the dividing line of the pastures, facing, in its primitivenudity, the level stretch of the shadowless highway. It was a rotting, one-room dwelling, with a wide doorway opening upon a small, bare stripof ground where a gnarled oak grew. In the rear there was a smallgarden, denuded now of its modest vegetables, only the leafy foliage ofa late pea crop retaining a semblance of fruitfulness. Nicholas went up the narrow path leading from the road to the hut, andplaced the bag on the smooth, round stone which served for a step. As hedid so, the doorway abruptly darkened, and a girl came from the interiorand paused with her foot upon the threshold. He saw, in an upwardglance, that it was Eugenia Battle, and, from the light wicker basket onher arm, he inferred that, in the absence of Uncle Ish, she had beenengaged in supplying his simple wants. That the old negro was stillcared for by the Battles he was aware, though upon the means of hislivelihood Uncle Ish, himself, was singularly reticent. As Eugenia saw him she flushed slightly, as one caught in a secretcharity, and promptly pointed to the bag of meal. "Whose is that?" He looked from the girl to the bag and back again, his own cheekreddening. At the instant it occurred to him that it was a peculiargreeting after a separation of years. "It belongs to Uncle Ish, " he answered, with unreasonable embarrassment. "I believe your father gave it to him. " "He might have brought it home for him, " was her comment, andimmediately: "Where is he?" "Uncle Ish? He's on the road. " Her next remark probed deeper, and he winced. "What were you doing with it?" Her gaze was warming upon him. He met it and laughed aloud. "Toting it, " he responded lightly. She was still warming. He saw the glow kindle in her eyes and illumineher sombre face; it was like the leaping of light to the surface. As shestood midway of the entrance, in a frame of unpolished logs, her whiteand black beauty against the smoky gloom of the interior, the red sunsetbefore her feet, he recalled swiftly an allegorical figure of Night hehad once seen in an old engraving. Then, before the charm of her smile, the recollection passed as it had come. "You may bring in the bag, " she said, with the authority of oneaccustomed to much service. "I found he had very little left to eat. Wehave to bring him things secretly, and he pretends the Lord feeds him asHe fed the prophet. " She reėntered the hut, and Nicholas, stepping lightly in the fear thathis weight might hasten the fall of the logs, deposited the bag upon apine table, where an ash cake lay ready for the embers. In a littlecupboard he saw the contents of Eugenia's basket--a cold fried chickenand some coffee and sugar. Before the hearth there was a comfortablerocking chair, and a bright coloured quilt was upon the bed. As heturned away the girl spoke swiftly: "It _was_ good of you, " she said. "Good of me?" He met her approbation almost haughtily; then heimpulsively added: "I always liked Uncle Ish--and he reminds me of oldtimes. " She turned frankly to him. In the noble poise of her head she had seemedstrangely far off; now she appeared to stoop. "Of our old times?" Her cordial eyes arrested him. "Of yours and mine, " he answered. "Do you remember the hare traps heset for us and the straw mats he taught us to plait? Once you said youhad stolen a watermelon to save Jake a whipping, and he found youout--do you remember?" He pressed the recollections upon her eagerly, almost violently. Eugenia shook her head, half laughing. "No, no, " she said; "but I remember you carried me home once when I hadhurt my foot, and you jumped into the ice pond to save my kitten, and--" "You shared your lunch with me at school, " he broke in. "And you dug me a little garden all yourself--" "And you bought me a Jew's harp on my birthday--" "And you always left half the eggs in a bird's nest because I begged youto--" "And you were an out and out angel, " he concluded triumphantly. "An angel, black-haired and a tomboy?" He assented. "A little tyrannical angel with a temper. " Her confessions multiplied. "I scratched your face once. " "Yes. " "I got mad and smashed your best hawk's egg. " "You did. " "I threw your fishing line into the brook when you wouldn't let mefish. " "I have never seen it since. " "I was horrid and mean. " "Such were your angelic characteristics. " She thoughtfully swung the basket on her arm, her white sleevefluttering above her wrist. Her head, with its wave, from the clearbrow, of dead-black hair, was bent frankly towards him. "It has been so long since I saw you, " she said suddenly, "and when Ilast saw you, you were horrid, not I. " He flushed quickly. "I was a brute, " he admitted. "And you hurt me so, I cried all night. " "Not because you cared?" he asked breathlessly. "Of course not--because I didn't care a--a rap. I cried for the fun ofit. " He was sufficiently abashed. "If I had known--" he began, and stopped. "You might have known!" she flashed out. He was at a disadvantage, which he admitted by a blank regard. "But things were desperate then, and--" "So were you. " "Not as desperate as I might have been. " In her equable unconsciousness she threw off the meaning of his retort. "But I like desperateness. " She had crossed the threshold and stood now in the ambient glow, gazingacross the quiet pasture, where a stray sheep bleated. She reached upand broke a bunch of red leaves from the oak, fastening them in her beltas they descended the narrow path. In the road they came upon Uncle Ish, who was hobbling slowly towardsthem. He was wrinkled with age and bent with rheumatism, and his voicesounded cracked and querulous. "Is de Lawd done sont dem vittles?" he demanded suspiciously. "Ef Heain', I dunno how I'se gwine ter git mo'n a'er ash cake fur supper. 'Pears like He's gittin' monst'ous ondependible dese yer las' days. Iain' lay eyes on er dish er kebbage sence I lef dat ar patch on Hick'ryHill, en all de blackeye peas I'se done seen is what I raise right darbehint dat do'. Es long es Gord A'mighty ondertecks ter feed you, Hemought es well feed you ter yo' tase. " "There are some eggs in the cupboard, " said Eugenia seriously. "You mustcook some for supper. " Uncle Ish grunted. "En egg's er wishwashy creeter es ain' got ernuff tase er its own terstan' alont widout salt, " he remarked contemptuously; after which hegrew hospitable. "Ain' you gwine ter step in es you'se passin'?" he inquired. Eugenia shook her head. "Not to-day, Uncle Ish, " she responded cheerfully. "I know you'retired--and how is your rheumatism?" "Wuss en wuss, " responded the old negro gloomily. "I'se done cyar'ed oneer dese yer I'sh taters in my pocket twell hit sprouted, en de rhematiksain' never knowed 'twuz dar. Hit's wuss en wuss. " As they passed on, he hobbled painfully up the rocky path, leaningheavily upon his stick and grunting audibly at each rheumatic twinge. Nicholas and Eugenia followed the highway and turned into the avenue ofcedars. When the house was in sight, he stopped and held out his hand. "May I see you sometimes?" he asked diffidently. She spoke eagerly. "Oh, do come to see us, " she said. "Papa would enjoy talking about JudgeBassett. He half worships him. " "So do I. " She nodded sympathetically. "I know--I know. He is splendid! And you are doing well, aren't you?" "I have work to do, thank God, and I do it. I can't say how. " "What does Judge Bassett say?" He laughed boyishly. "He says silence. " She was puzzled. "I don't understand--but I must go--I really must. It is quite dark. " And she passed from him into the box-bordered walk. He watched her tallfigure until it ascended the stone steps and paused upon the porch, whence came the sound of voices. Through the wide open doors he couldsee the swinging lamp in the centre of the great hall and the broadstairway leading to the floor above. For a moment he stood motionless;then, turning back into the avenue, he retraced his steps to hisfather's house. In the kitchen, where the table was laid for supper, his half-sister, Nannie, was sewing on her wedding clothes. She was to be married in thefulness of the winter to young Nat Turner--one of the Turners ofNicholas's boyhood. By the light of the kerosene lamp she lookedwonderfully fair and fresh, her auburn curls hanging heavily against hercheek as she bent over the cambric in her lap. As Nicholas entered she looked up brightly, exclaiming: "Oh, it's you!"in disappointed accents. Nicholas looked about the kitchen inquiringly. "Where's ma?" he asked, and at the instant Marthy Burr appeared in thedoorway, a pat of butter in her hand. "Air you home, Nick?" was her greeting, as she placed the butter uponthe table. Then she went across to Nannie and examined the hem on thecambric ruffle. "It seems to me you might have done them stitches a little finer, " sheobserved critically. "Old Mrs. Turner's got powerful sharp eyes forstitches, an' she's goin' to look mighty hard at yours. If thar's onestitch shorter'n another, it's goin' to stand out plainer than all therest. It's the nater of a woman to be far-sighted at seeing the flaws inher son's wife, an' old Mrs. Turner ain't no better'n God made her, ifshe ain't no worse. 'Tain't my way to be wishin' harm to folks, but Ial'ays said the only thing to Amos Burr's credit I ever heerd of is thathe's an orphan--which he ain't responsible for. " "But the sewing's all right, " returned Nannie in wounded pride. "Natain't marrying me for my sewing, anyway. " Her mother shook her head. "What a man marries for's hard to tell, " she returned; "an' what a womanmarries for's past find-in' out. I ain't never seen an old maid yet thatain't had a mighty good opinion of men--an' I ain't never seen a marriedwoman that ain't had a feelin' that a few improvements wouldn't be outof place. I don't want to turn you agin Nat Turner--he's a man an' he'sgot a mother, an' that's all I've got agin him. No talkin's goin' toturn anybody that's got their mind set on marryin', any more than it'sgoin' to turn anybody that's got their mind set on drink. So I ain'tgoin' to open my mouth. " Here Amos Burr appeared, and as he seated himself beside Nannie she drewher ruffles away. "You're so dusty, pa, " she exclaimed half pettishly. He fixed his heavy, admiring eyes upon her, receiving the reproof asmeekly as he received all feminine utterances. He might bully a man, buthe would always be bullied by a woman. "I reckon you're pretty near ready, " he observed cheerfully, rubbing hisgreat hairy hands. "You've got 'most a trunk full of finery. I reckonTurner'll know I ain't in the poorhouse yet--or near it. " It was a speech of unusual length, and, after making it, he slowlysettled into silence. "Nat wouldn't mind if I was in the poorhouse, so long as he could get meout, " said his daughter, taking up the cudgels in defence of her lover'sdisinterestedness. Amos Burr chuckled. "Don't you set no store by that, " he rejoined. "An' don't you set about judgin' other folks by yourself, Amos Burr, "retorted his wife sharply. "'Tain't likely you'd ever pull anybody outo' the poorhouse 'thout slippin' in yourself, seein' as I've slavedgoin' on twenty years to keep you from land-in' thar at last. The lessyou say about some things the better. Now, you'd jest as well set downan' eat your supper. " II The next day Nicholas went into Tom Bassett's office, where he metDudley Webb, who was spending a dutiful week in Kingsborough. He was agenial young fellow, with a clear-cut, cleanly shaven face and ahandsome head covered with rich, dark hair. His hands were smooth andwhite, and he gesticulated rapidly as he talked. It was already said ofhim that he told a poor story better than anybody else told a goodone--a fact which was probably the elemental feature of his popularity. As Nicholas looked in, he raised himself lightly from Tom's desk chairand gave him a hearty handshake. "Hello, Burr! We were just talking of you. I was telling Tom a jollything I heard yesterday. Two farmers were discussing you at thepost-office, and one of them said: ''Tain't that he's got so muchsense--I had a sight more at his age--but he's so blamed sure ofhimself, he makes you believe in him. ' How's that for fame?" "Not so bad as it is for me, " returned Nicholas with a laugh. "If youwin one or two small cases, there's obliged to be undue influence of thedevil. " "Which, occasionally, it is, " added Tom seriously. Dudley threw himself back into his chair and crossed his shapely legs. For a moment he smoked in silence, then he removed his cigar from hismouth and flecked the ashes upon the uncarpeted floor. "Oh! the mystery to me is, " he said, "that you exist down here and liveto tell the tale--or at least that you earn enough crumbs to feed thecrows. " "Kingsborough crows aren't high livers, " remarked Nicholas as he threwhimself into the remaining chair. Dudley laughed softly--a humorous laugh that fell pleasantly on the ear. "That reminds me, " he began whimsically. "I met a tourist withspectacles walking along Duke of Gloucester Street. 'Sir, ' he saidcourteously, 'I am looking for Kingsborough. I am told that it is acity. ' 'Sir, ' I responded, with a bow that did honour to mygrandfather's ghost, 'it was once a chartered city; it is now only acharter. '" Then he turned to Tom. "We haven't got used to the railroad yet, have we?" he asked. Tom shook his head. "General Battle's still protesting, " he replied. "He swears it makesKingsborough common. " Dudley thoughtfully examined his cigar, an amused smile about his mouth. "My mother doesn't want the cows turned out of the churchyard, " heobserved, "because it would abolish one of Kingsborough'scharacteristics. She's right, too, by Jove. " "They're having a fight over it now, " put in Nicholas with the gravityhe rarely lost. "The people who own cows call it an 'ancient right. ' Thepeople who don't, call it sacrilege. The rector leads one faction, andthe congregation has split. " "And split we smash, " added Dudley. "Well, these are exciting times inKingsborough's history; it is almost as lively as Richmond. There we hada religious convention and an elopement last week. I don't suppose youcome up to that?" Nicholas ran his hand through his hair with a habitual gesture. He wasidly watching the light of Dudley's cigar and noting the quality by thearoma. He could not afford cigars himself, and he wondered how Dudleymanaged to do so. "We are a people without a present, " he returned inattentively. "You'veheard, I take it, that an old elm has gone near the court-house. " "My mother told me. I believe she knows every brick that used to be andis not. I'm trying to get her away with me, but she won't come. " "Sally Burwell was telling me, " said Tom, a dawning interest in hisface, "she had tried to persuade her. " "Yes, we tried and failed. By the way, is it true that Sally's engagedto Jack Wyth? I hear it at every turn. " "I--I shouldn't be surprised, " gasped Tom painfully. "I don't believe a word of it, " protested Nicholas. "He isn't much good, eh?" "Why, he's a brick, " said Nicholas. "He's a cad, " said Tom. Dudley laughed and blew a cloud of smoke in the air. "Well, she's a daisy herself, and as good as gold. She's the kind ofwoman to flirt herself hoarse and then settle down into dove-likedomesticity. But what about Eugie? Is she really grown up? My motherdeclares she's splendid. " Nicholas was silent. "Oh, she's handsome enough, " Tom carelessly replied. "But not like Sally, eh?" "Oh, no! not like Sally. " Dudley tossed the stump of his cigar through the open window, lit acigarette, and changed the subject. He talked easily, relating severallaughable stories, referring occasionally to himself and his success, illustrating his remarks by his experience at the bar, giving finallythe exclamation of a fellow-lawyer at the close of an argument he hadmade: "You may be a muff of a jurist, Webb, " he had cried, "but, byGeorge! you're a devil of an advocate!" He was, withal, so affable, so confident, so thoroughly a good fellow, that an hour passed before Nicholas remembered he had looked in only fora moment. When he rose to go, Dudley gripped his hand again, slapped him on theshoulder, declared him to be a "first-rate old chap, " and ended bypressing him to drop in on him when he ran up to Richmond. Nicholas gave back the friendly grasp and pledged himself to the"dropping in. " He resistingly succumbed before the inherent jovialcharm. The afternoon being Saturday, he left town earlier than usual and spenta couple of hours with his father in the fields. The peanuts were beingharvested. Amos Burr, with a peanut "share" attached to the plough, wasseparating the yellowed plants from the ripe nuts underground, andNicholas, lifting the roots upon a pitchfork, shook them free from earthand threw them over the pointed staves which were the final supports ofthe "shocks. " A negro hand went before him, driving the sticks into thesandy soil. "I should say you might count on forty bushels an acre, " remarkedNicholas cheerfully, as he lifted a detached root from a broken hill. "It's a fair yield, isn't it?" Amos Burr shook his head and muttered that there was "no tellin'. Peanuts air one of the things thar's no countin' on, " he added. "Wheatair another, corn air another, oats air another. " "Life is another, " concluded Nicholas lightly. "Still we live and stillwe raise wheat and oats and corn. But I wish you'd look into marketgardening. I believe it would pay you better. " "'Tain't no use, " returned Amos, with his accustomed pessimism. "'Tain'tno use my plantin' as long as the government ain't goin' to move, nohow. It's been promisin' to help the farmer ever since the war, an' it ain'tdone nothin' for him yet but tax him. " But Nicholas, to avoid his father's political drift, fell to talkingwith one of the negro workers. Several hours later, when he had changed his farm clothes, he joinedEugenia in the pasture and walked with her to Battle Hall, where thegeneral received him with ready, if condescending, hospitality. Eugeniahad instructed her family upon the changed conditions of Nicholas'ssocial standing, but her logic was powerless to convince her fatherthat Amos Burr's son was any better than Amos Burr had been before him. "Pish! Pish!" he exclaimed testily, "the boy's not a lawyer--onlygentlemen belong to the bar, but there's nobody too high or too low tobe a farmer. Polite to him? Did you ever see me impolite in my own houseeven to a chimney sweep?" "I never saw a chimney sweep in your own house, " Eugenia retorted, whereupon he pinched her cheek and accused her of "making fun of her oldfather. " Now, when Nicholas sat down on one of the long green benches on theporch, the general conversed with him as he conversed with the chickensellers who came of an afternoon to receive payment for their lucklessfowls. "This'll be a busy season for you, " he observed cheerfully, in theslightly elevated voice in which he addressed his inferiors. "You'll becutting your corn before long and seeding your winter crops. What areyou planting this fall?" He could not be induced to engage upon social topics with the young manor to allude in the most distant manner to his legal profession. He wasa Burr, and a Burr was a small farmer, nothing more. "We're ploughing for oats now, sir, " responded Nicholas diffidently, "and we're going to seed a little rye with clover--if the clover'skilled, the rye'll last. " "I should advise you to look after the land, " said the general, stuffingthe tobacco into the bowl of his pipe and pressing it down with his fatthumb. "What you need is to plant it in cow-peas and turn them down. There's nothing like them for fertilising. " Nicholas, who was listening attentively, rose to shake hands with MissChris who appeared in the doorway. "The fall comes earlier than it used to, " she remarked, drawing a lightcrocheted shawl about her shoulders. "Why, I remember when it used to besummer up to the middle of November. I was talking to Judge Bassettabout it yesterday, and he said he certainly thought the seasons hadchanged since he was a boy. " "I don't reckon your father has much opinion of fertilisers, " broke inthe general, reverting to his pleasant patronage. Nicholas answered before Eugenia could interpose. "No, sir, he doesn'tbelieve in them much, " he replied. "Well, you tell him it's lime he needs, " continued the general. "Themost successful peanut grower I ever knew put about a thousand pounds oflime to an acre, and he cleared--" "Have you seen Dudley Webb?" asked Eugenia, shaking her head at thegeneral's frown. "For an hour this morning. He was in Tom Bassett's office. He told somegood stories. " Miss Chris heaved a reminiscent sigh. "That's poor Julius Webb all over again, " she said. "He could keep adinner table laughing for two hours and fight a duel at daybreak. Iremember at his own wedding, when they drank his health, he told such afunny story that old Judge Blitherstone, who was upwards of eighty, hadto have cold bandages put to his head. " The general took his pipe from his mouth. "Dudley's a fine youngfellow, " he said. "I saw him yesterday when I went to the post-office. They tell me he's making a name for himself in Richmond. " Eugenia laughed lightly. "Papa adores Mrs. Webb, so he thinks Dudley splendid, " she said. "That lady is one of the noblest of her sex, " loyally asserted thegeneral. "And one of the most trying of either sex, " added his daughter. "When Icame home my last holiday, she asked me what I learned at school, and Idanced a skirt dance for her. " "I always told you you spoiled Eugie to death, Tom, " said Miss Chris injustification of her own responsibility. "In my day no young lady knewwhat a skirt dance was. " "But that's what I learned at school, " protested Eugenia. The general, feeling that the conversation excluded Nicholas, renewedhis attack. "What do you think of raising garden products?" he inquired affably. Then Eugenia rose, and he submissively retired. "We aren't going to talk farming any more, " said the girl. "Nick and Iare going into the garden for roses, " and she descended the steps, followed by Nicholas, who was beginning for the first time to breathefreely. "Tell your father to look into the truck-growing, " was the general'sparting shot. The garden was flushed with the riot of autumn. Over the littlewhitewashed fence double rows of hollyhocks and sunflowers nodded theirheavy heads, and bordering the narrow walk were lines of chrysanthemumsand dahlias. October roses, the richest of the year, bloomed and droppedin the quaint old squares where the long vegetable rows began. At theend of the straight, overgrown walk the hop vines on the fence threw outa pungent odour. "Papa wants to have the garden ploughed, " said Eugenia. "He says ittakes too much time to hoe it. Give me your knife, please. " He opened the blade, and she stooped to cut off a crimson dahlia whilethe Indian summer sunshine slanted from the west upon her dark head andwhite dress. Over all was the faint violet haze of the season, hangingabove the gay old garden like a delicate effluvium from autumns longdecayed. "There aren't many old-time gardens left, " said Nicholas regretfully, "but I like this one best of all. I always think of you in the midst ofit. " "Yes, we used to gather calacanthus blossoms and trade them for taffy atschool. The bushes are almost all dead now. That is the only one left. " She laid the knife upon the grass and raised her arms to fasten a yellowchrysanthemum in her hair. As it lay against her ear it cast a clear, golden light upon her cheek, as warm as the late sunshine. "Flowers suit you, " he said. "Do they?" she smiled in a quick, pleased way. "Is it because I lovethem?" "It is because you are beautiful, " he answered bluntly. Some one had once called Eugenia's besetting vanity the love of givingpleasure; it was, perhaps, in reality, the pleasure of being loved. Itwas not the fact that she might be beautiful that now warmed her sogratefully, but the evidence that Nicholas was good enough to considerher so. "You have seen so few girls, " she remarked reasonably enough. "I may see many, but it won't alter my view of you. " "How can you tell?" He shook his head impatiently. "I shan't tell. I shall prove it. " "And when you have proved it where shall I be?--old and toothless?" "May be--but still beautiful. " There was a glow in her face, but she did not reply. His eyes and thelast, long ray of sunshine were upon her. He was revoking from an oldOctober a dark-haired, clear-eyed girl amid the dahlias, and it seemedto him that Eugenia had shot up in a season like one of the statelyflowers. As she stood in the grass-grown walk, her skirt half-filledwith blossoms, her white hands lifting the thin folds above her ruffledpetticoat, she appeared to be the vital apparition of the place--aharbinger of the vivid sunlight and the dark shadows of the passing ofthe year. "See how many!" she exclaimed, holding her lapful towards him. "You maytake your choice--only not that last pink papa loves. " He plunged his hands amid the confusion of colours and drew out a yellowchrysanthemum. "I like this, " he said simply. She laughed. "But it doesn't suit your hair, " she suggested. He met her sally gravely. "It is my favourite flower, " he returned. "Since when, pray?" "Since--since a half-hour ago. " He stooped and picked up his knife from the grass. "Are you going away?" he asked, "or shall you stay here always?" "Always, " she promptly returned. "I'm going to live here with this oldgarden until I grow to be an ancient dame--and you may walk over onautumn afternoons and I'll be sympathetic about your rheumatism. Isn'tthat a picture that delights your soul?" "No, " he said bluntly; "I see a better one. " "Tell me. " "I can never tell you, " he replied gravely--"not even when you are anancient dame and I rheumatic. " She was merry again. "Then I fear it's wicked, " she said, "and I'm amazed at you. But myday-dreams are all common ones. I ask only the country and my home andhorses and cows and chickens--and a rheumatic friend. You see I must behappy, I ask so little. " "And you argue that he who demands little gets it, " he returnedlightly. "On the other hand, I should say that he who is content withless gets nothing. I ask the biggest thing Fate has to give, and thenstand waiting for--" He paused for a breathless instant while he looked at her, and thenslowly finished: "For the skies to fall. " They swung open the gate into cattle lane, and stood waiting while thecows trooped by to the barnyard. Eugenia called them by name, and they turned great stupid eyes upon heras they stopped to munch the hollyhocks. "She was named after you, " said the girl suddenly. "She? Who?" he turned a helpless look upon the two small negroes whodrove the cows. "Why, Burr Bess, of course--that Jersey there. You know we couldn't nameher Nick because she wasn't a boy, so Bernard called her Burr Bess. Youdon't seem pleased. " "She's a fine cow, " observed Nicholas critically. "Oh! she was the most beautiful calf! I thought you remembered it. Onewas named after me, but it died, and one was named after Bernard, but itwent to the butcher. Bernard was so angry about it that he waylaid thecart on the road and let it out. But they caught it again. It was toobad, wasn't it?" The garden gate closed behind them with a click, and they crossed thelane to the lawn. Miss Chris, who stood shading her eyes in the back porch, was givingdirections to Aunt Verbeny in the smoke-house. When she saw Nicholasshe broke off and asked him to stay to supper, but he declined hastily, and, with an embarrassed good-evening, turned back into the lane. Thehollyhocks over the whitewashed fence brushed him as he passed, and thespices of the garden came to him like the essence of the eternalRomance. III Over all hung Indian summer and the happy sunshine. Eugenia, rising atdaybreak for a gallop across country, would feel the dew in her face andthe autumn in her blood. As she dashed over fences and ditches to theunploughed pasture, the morning was as desolate as midnight--not a soulshowed in the surrounding fields and the long road lay as pallid as astreak of frost. The loneliness and the hour set her eyes to dancing andthe glad blood to bounding in her veins. When a startled rabbit shiedfrom the brushwood she would slacken her speed to watch it, and when, assometimes chanced, she frightened a covey of partridges from theirretreat, she went softly, rejoicing that no shot was near. At this time she was possessed, perhaps, of a spirit too elastic, of abuoyance almost insolent--she turned, as it were, too round a cheek toFate. In her clear purity romanticism held no part, and her soul, strongto adhere, was slow to conform. Her nature was straight as an arrow thatwould not fall though it overshot the mark. She dreamed scant dreams ofthe future because she clove tenaciously to the past--to the rareassociations and the old affections--to the road and the cedars and theHall as to the men and women whose blood she bore and whose likeness shecarried. She loved one and all with a fidelity that did not swerve. Riding home along the open road that led to the cedars, she marked eachfriendly object in its turn--on one side the persimmon tree where thefruit ripened--on the other the blackened wreck of the giant oak, towering above the shining spread of life-everlasting. She noted thatthe rail fence skirting the pasture sagged at one corner beneath aweight of poisonous oak, that a mud hole had eaten through the shortstrip of "corduroy" road, and that where Uncle Ish's path led to hiscabin the plank across the gully was rapidly rotting. She saw thesethings with the tender eyes with which we mark decay in one beloved. Then, pacing up the avenue to the gravelled walk, she would call"good-morning" to the general and leap lightly to the ground, fresh asthe day, bright as the autumn. It was on one of these early rides that she saw Nicholas again. She wasreturning leisurely through the stretch of woodland, when, catchingsight of him as he swung vigorously ahead, she quickened her horse'space and overtook him as he glanced inquiringly back. "Divide the worm, early bird, " she cried gaily. He paused as she did, laying his hand on the horse's neck. "There wasn't but one and you got it, " he retorted lightly. "Have youbeen far?" "Miles, and I'm as hungry as two bears. Have you anything in yourpocket?" Her glowing face rose against a background of maple boughs, whichsurrounded her like a flame. The mist of the morning was on her lips andher eyes were shining. He felt her beauty leap like wine to his brain, and he set his teeth and looked blankly down the road. She laughed as she plunged her hand into the pocket of his coat. "Youused to have apples, " she complained, "or honeyshucks, at least--nowthere's only this. " It was a worn little Latin text book, with frayed edges and soiledleaves. "Give it to me, " he said quickly, but as he reached to take it from herthe leaves fell open and she saw her own name written and rewrittenacross the crumpled pages. She closed it and gave it back to him. "You used that long ago, " she remarked carelessly; "very long ago. " He replaced the book in his pocket, his steady eyes upon her. "That's what we get for rifling our neighbour's pockets, " he saidquietly, "and what we deserve. " "No, " she returned with equal gravity, "sometimes we get apples--or evenpeanuts, which we don't deserve. " He took no notice of the retort, but answered half-absently a formerquestion. "Yes; I used that long ago, " he said. "You don't think I would writeyour name 'Genia' now, do you?" There was a dignity in his assumption of indifference--in his absoluterefusal to betray himself, which bore upon her conception of hismanhood. There was strength in his face, strength in his voice, strengthin his quiet hand that lay upon her bridle. She looked down on him withthoughtful eyes. "If you wrote of me at all, " she returned. "It is my name. " "But I am not to call you by it. " "Why not?" "Why not?" He laughed with a touch of bitterness, and held out his hand, fresh from the soil, hardened by the plough. It was a powerful hand, brown and sinewy, with distorted knuckles and broken nails. "Oh, notthat, " he said. "I don't mean that. That shows work, but I knowyou--Genia--you will tell me work is manly. So it is, but is ignoranceand poverty and--and all the rest--" She leaned over and touched his hand lightly with her own. "All the restis courage and patience and pride, " she said; "as for the hand, it is agood hand, and I like it. " He shook his head. "Good enough in its place, I grant you, " he answered; "good enough inthe fields, at the plough; or in the barnyard--good enough even to keepthis poor farm from collapse and to lift a few of its burdens--but notgood enough to--" He raised her hand lightly, regarding it with half-humorous eyes. "How strong it is to be so light!" he added. "Strong enough to hold fast to its friends, " returned Eugenia gravely. He let it fall and looked into her face. "May its friends be worthy ones, " he said. She rode slowly through the wood, and he walked with his hand on herbridle. The bright branches struck them as they passed, and sometimes hestopped to hold them aside for her. His eyes followed her as she rodeserenely above him, and he thought, in his folly, of the lady in the oldromance who was, to the desire of her lovers, as "a distant flame, asword afar off. " "It was here that you told me good-bye when you went off to school, " hesaid recklessly. "Was it?" she asked. "I was very miserable that day and you gave me nocomfort. You didn't even come down to the road next morning to see me goby. " "Yes, I know, " he admitted. "I thought you were asleep, and I was angry. " "No, I was not asleep. I was at work. " "But you might have come. " "Yes, I might have come, " he repeated absently, and quickly correctedhimself. "No, I mean I couldn't come, of course. If you were to go awayto-morrow, I couldn't come. Something would rise and prevent. I have apresentiment that I shall never say good-bye to you. " She dissented. "I've a feeling that I shall say 'God speed' to you whenyou go off to become a great man. " "A great man? Do you mean a rich man?" he asked quickly. "Oh, dear, yes, " she mocked; "a great, gouty gentleman, who owns acouple of railroads and wears an electric light in his shirt-front. " His lips laughed, but his eyes were grave. "And when I came back to you with such trophies, " he objected, "youwould tell me that the railroads belonged to the people and that theelectric light only served to illuminate my ugliness. " "And I should take it to wear on my forehead, " she added. "Whatprophetic insight!" "But 'going off' does not always mean railroads and electric light, " hewent on half seriously. "Suppose I came back poor, but honest, as theysay?" Laughter rippled on her lips. He watched the humorous tremor of hernostrils. "Then I should probably kill the fatted chicken for you, " she said. There was a touch of bitterness in his answer. "Only in that case Ishould stay away. " As he spoke he stopped to break off a drooping branchfrom a sweet-gum tree that grew near the road. "You once called this your colour, " he said quietly as he fastened theleaves on her horse's head. "There is no tree that turns so clear and sofiery. " Then, as she rode on with the branch waving like a banner before her, helaughed with a keen delight in the savage brilliance. "You remind me of--who is it?" he asked--"'_Clear as the sun andterrible as an army with banners_. '" Her smile was warm upon him. "But my banners fall before the wind, " she said as several loosenedleaves fluttered to the road. "So I am not terrible, after all. " Theglow of the gum-tree was in her face. His eyes fell before it, and hedid not speak. The soft footfalls of the horse on the damp groundsounded distinctly. Overhead the wind rustled among the trees. As they emerged from the wood and passed the Burr farm they saw Amosleaning on his gate, looking moodily upon the morning. "Good-morning, Mr. Burr!" said Eugenia with the pleasant condescensionof the general in her manner. "Fine weather, isn't it?" He nodded awkwardly and admitted, with a muttered reservation, that theweather might be worse. Then he looked at Nicholas. "If you ain't gotnothin' better to do I reckon you might lend a hand at the ploughin', "he surlily suggested. "Why, so I might, " assented Nicholas good-humouredly. "I've a couple ofhours free. " He fastened more securely the branch in the horse's bridle; then, raising his hat, he turned and vaulted the whitewashed fence, whileEugenia, touching her horse into a gallop, vanished in the distance ofthe open road, blazing her track with scarlet gum leaves that scatteredroyally in the wind. As Nicholas passed the peanut field he nodded pleasantly to thecongregation of negroes assembled for the annual festival called "apicking. " They ranged in degrees from Uncle Ish, the oldestrepresentative of his race, to Betsey's five-year-old Jeremiah, who hadalready been detected in an attempt to filch the nuts from an overturnedshock, and was being soundly admonished by his mother's avenging palm. The ground was strewn with baskets and buckets of varying dimensions, into which the nuts were gathered before being consigned to the hugehamper guarded by Amos Burr. A hoarse clamour, like that produced by aflock of crows, went up from the animated swarm as it settled to work. Nicholas crossed to the adjoining field and ploughed deep furrows in thesoil, going into breakfast with the smell of the warm earth about himand the glow of exercise in his blood. He ate heartily and listenedwithout remark to the political vagaries of his father. Amos Burr hadbeen "looking into politics" of late, and his stubborn wits had beenfixed by a grievance. "If he was a fool befo' now, he's a plum foolnow, " Marthy Burr had observed dispassionately. "I ain't never seen nohead so level that it could bear the lettin' in of politics. It makes afool of a man and a worse fool of a fool. The government's like a mule, it's slow and it's sure; it's slow to turn, and it's sure to turn theway you don't want it. " "I tell you it's done promised to help the farmer, " put in Amos heavily, bringing his large red hand down upon the table. "Ain't it been helpin'the manufacturer all these years? Ain't it been lookin' arter thelabourer, black an' white? Ain't it time for it to keep its word to thefarmer?" "In the meantime I'd finish that piece of ploughing, if I were you, "suggested Nicholas. "The more work in the fall the less in thespring--that's a proverb for you. " "I don't want no proverb, " returned Amos sullenly. "I want my rights, an' I want the country to give 'em to me. " "I ain't never seen no good come of settin' down an' wishin' forrights, " remarked his wife tartly. "It's a sight better to be up an'plantin'. " Nicholas finished his breakfast, and a little later walked in to town. He was in exuberant spirits, and his thoughts were high on thescaffolding where his future was building. Success and Eugenia startled, allured, delighted him. He was at the age of sublime self-confidence, but his eyes were not bandaged by it. He knew that without success--suchsuccess as he dreamed of--there could be, for him, no Eugenia. Hebelieved in her as he believed in the sun, and yet he was not sure ofher--he could not be until he possessed her and she bore his name. Thatshe might not love him he admitted; that she might even love another hesaw to be dimly possible; but he was determined that so long as no otherman held her his arms should be open. In the first ardour of his moodhis relative position to that society of which she formed a part waslost sight of, if not obscured. Now he realised bitterly that he mightwork for a lifetime in the class in which he was born, and at the endstill find Eugenia far from him. He must rise above his work and hispeople, he must cut his old name anew, he must walk rough-shod where hismind led him--among men who were his superiors only in the accident of abetter birthright. And if on that higher plane his ambitions did notbetray, he would bring honour to his State and to Eugenia. Here the two loves of the boy and the man stood out boldly. The oldromantic fervour with which he had longed for the days of Marshall andMadison, of Jefferson and Henry, still lingered on as an exoticpatriotism in an era of time-servers and unprofitable servants. Therewas an old-fashioned democracy about him--a pioneer simplicity--as onewho had walked from the great days of Virginia into her lesser ones. Acentury ago he might have left his plough to fight, and, having fought, might have returned thereto; but the battle would have tingled in hisblood and the furrows have gone crooked. He would have ploughed, not forlove of the plough, but because the time for the sowing of the grain hadcome. Now he walked rapidly to his work, seeing Eugenia in the woods, in thesunshine, in the very clouds lifted high above. The thought of hersurrounded him as an atmosphere. As for the girl, she rode home and spent the long day in the gardenpotting plants for the winter. When she came into the hall in the earlyafternoon, with her trowel in her hand and her sleeves rolled back fromher white arms, her father called her to the porch, and, going out, shefound Dudley Webb in one of the cane chairs. He sprang to his feet asshe reached the threshold, and held out his hand, but she laughed andshowed the earth that clung to her wrists. "Unclean! unclean!" she criedgaily. Her face had flushed from its warm pallor and her hair hung lowupon her forehead. A long streak of clay lay across her skirt where shehad knelt in the flower-bed. He seized her protesting hand, admiration lighting his eyes. "Why, little Eugie is a woman!" he exclaimed. "Can you grasp it, General?" The general shook his head. "If she wasn't almost as tall as I, I shouldn't believe it, " hedeclared, "though she's as old as her mother was when I married her. " Eugenia seated herself upon the bench, still holding the trowel in herhand. She was watching the interest in her father's face, and sherealised, half resentfully, that it was evoked by Dudley Webb. He had drawn the general's favourite anecdotes from him, and they hadplunged together into a discussion of the good old days. After a fewlight words she sat silent, listening with tender attention to thethreadbare stories on the one side and the hearty applause of them onthe other. She wondered wistfully why Dudley and herself were the onlypersons who understood as well as loved the general. Why was it Dudley, and not Nicholas, who brought that youthful look to his face and theheartiness to his voice? "Some one was telling me the other day--I think it was ColonelPreston--that he fought beside you at Seven Pines, " Dudley was sayingwith that absorption in his subject which won him a friend in every manwho told him a joke. "Jake Preston!" exclaimed the general. "Why, bless my soul! I've sleptunder the same blanket with Jake Preston twenty times. I was standing byhim when he got that bullet in his thigh. Did he tell you?" Eugenia rose in a moment and went back to her flowers. As she passed shethrew a grateful glance at Dudley, but when she reached the garden itwas of Nicholas she was thinking. There was a glow at her heart thatkept alive the memory of his eyes as he looked at her in the wood, ofhis voice when he called her name, of his hand when it brushed her own. She fell happily to work, and when Dudley came out, an hour later, tofind her, she was singing softly as she uprooted a scarlet geranium. He smiled and looked down on her with frank enjoyment of her ripeningwomanhood, but it did not occur to him to join in the transplanting asNicholas would have done. He held off and absorbed the picture. "You do papa so much good!" said Eugenia gratefully. "I hope you willcome out whenever you are in Kingsborough. " She was kneeling upon the ground, her hands buried in the flower-bed, her firm arms rising white above the rich earth. The line of her bosomrose and fell swiftly, and her breath came in soft pants. There was aflush in her cheeks. "If you wish it I will come, " he answered impulsively. "I will come toKingsborough every week if you wish it. " His temperament responded promptly to the appeal of her beauty, and hisblood quickened as it did when women moved him. There was about him, withal, a fantastic chivalry which succumbed to the glitter of falsesentiment. He would have made the remark had Eugenia been plain--but hewould not have come to Kingsborough. "It would please your mother, " returned the girl quietly. She had thesexual self-poise of the Virginia woman, and she weighed the impliedcompliment at its due value. Had he declared he would die for her once aweek, she would have received the assurance with much the same smilingindifference. "I'll run down, I think, pretty often this winter, " he went on easily. "It's a nice old town, after all--isn't it?" "It's the dearest old town in the world, " said Eugenia. "Well, I believe it is--strange, I used to find it dull, don't youthink? By the way, will you let me ride with you sometimes? I hear youare as great a horsewoman as ever. " Eugenia looked up calmly. "I go very early, " she answered. "Can you get up at daybreak?" He laughed his pleasant laugh. "Oh, I might manage it, " he rejoined. "I'm not much of an early riser, Inever knew before what charms the sunrise held. " But Eugenia went on potting plants. IV During the following week Sally Burwell came to spend the night withEugenia, and the girls sat before the log fire in Eugenia's room untilthey heard the cocks crow shrilly from the hen-house. The room was alarge, old-fashioned chamber, full of dark corners and unsuspectedalcoves; and the lamp on the bureau served only to intensify the shadowsthat lay beyond its faint illumination. Sally, her pretty hair in a tumble on her shoulders and the light of thelogs on her bare arms, was stretched upon the hearth-rug, looking up atEugenia, who lay in an easy-chair, her feet almost touching the embers. A waiter of russet apples was on the floor beside them. "This is my idea of comfort, " murmured Sally sleepily as she munched anapple. "No men and no manners. " "If you liked it, you'd come often, chick, " returned Eugenia. "Bless you! I'm too busy. I made over two dresses this week, trimmedmamma a bonnet, and covered a sofa with cretonne. One of the dresses isa love. I wore it yesterday, and Dudley said it reminded him of one he'dseen on the stage. " "He says a good deal, " observed Eugenia unsympathetically. "Doesn't he?" laughed Sally. "At any rate, he said that he found youreading Plato under the trees, and that any woman who read Plato oughtto be ostracised--unless she happens to be handsome enough to make youoverlook it. Is that your Plato? What is he like?" Eugenia savagely shook her head. "It's no affair of his, " she retorted promptly, meaning not Plato, butDudley. "Oh! he said he knew it wasn't. I think he even wished it were. You'retoo unconventional for him--he frankly admits it--but he admits alsothat you're good-looking enough to warrant the unconventionality of aHottentot--and you are, you dear, bad thing, though your forehead's toohigh and your chin's too long and your nose isn't all that a nose shouldbe. " "Thanks, " drawled Eugenia amicably. "But Dudley's a nice fellow, all thesame. He gets on splendidly with papa--and I bless him for it. " "He gets on well with everybody--even his mother--which makes me suspectthat he's a Job masquerading as an Apollo. By the way, Mrs. Webb wantsyou to join some society she's getting up called the 'Daughters ofDuty. '" "Oh, I can't! I can't!" protested Eugenia distressfully. "I detest'Daughter' things, and I have a rooted aversion to my duty. But if shecomes to me I'll join it--I know I shall! How did you keep out of it?" "I didn't. I'm in it. It seems that our duty is confined to 'preservingthe antiquities' of Kingsborough--so I began by presenting a jar ofpickled cucumbers to Uncle Ish. I trust they won't be the death of him, but he was the only antiquity in sight. " She gave the smouldering log a push with her foot, and it broke apart, scattering a shower of sparks. "I don't know any other woman so muchadmired and so little loved, " she mused of Mrs. Webb. "Papa worships her, " said Eugenia. "All men do--at a distance. She's thekind of woman you never get near enough to to feel that she is flesh. Now, Aunt Chris is just the opposite. No one ever gets far enough awayfrom her to feel that she's a saint--which she is. " "It's odd she never married, " wondered Sally. "She never had time to. " Eugenia clasped her hands behind her head andlooked up at the high, plastered ceiling. "She never happened to be in aplace where she could be spared. But you know her lover died when shewas young, " she added. "It broke her heart, but it did not destroy herhappiness. She has been happy for forty years with a broken heart. " "I know, " said Sally. "It seems strange, doesn't it? But I've known somany like her. The happiest woman I ever knew had lost everything shecared for in the war. That war was fought on women's hearts, but theywent on beating just the same. I'm glad I wasn't I then. " "And I'm sorry. I like stirring deeds and shot and shell and tatteredflags. They thrill one. " "And kill one, " added Sally. "But you've got that kind of pluck. Youaren't afraid. " "Oh! yes, I am, " protested Eugenia. "I'm afraid of bats and of gettingfat like my forefathers. " Sally shook a reassuring head. "But you won't, darling. Your mother was thin, and you're the image ofher--everybody says so. " "But I'm afraid--horribly afraid. I don't dare eat potatoes, and Iwouldn't so much as look at a glass of buttermilk. The fear is on me. " "It's absurd. Why, your grandma Tucker was a rail--I remember her. Iknow your other grandmother was--enormous; but you ought to strike thehappy medium--and you do. You're splendid. You aren't a bit too largefor your height. " Eugenia laughed as she twisted Sally's curls about her fingers. "You'rethe dearest little duck that ever lived on dry land, " she said. "If Iwere a man I'd be wild about you. " "A few of them are, " returned Sally meekly, casting up her eyes, "butI--" "How about Gerald Smith?" "He's too tall. I look like an aspiring grasshopper beside him. " "And Jack Wyth?" "He's too short. " "And Sydney Kent?" "He's too stupid. " "And Tom Bassett?" Sally yawned. "He's too--everything. There's cock crow, and I'm going to bed. " The next afternoon Eugenia drove Sally in to town, and stopped on heroutward trip to pay a visit to Mrs. Webb. She found that lady serenelyseated in her drawing-room, as unruffled as if she had not justdismissed a cook and cooked a dinner. "Oh, yes, thank you, dear, all is well, " she replied in answer to thegirl's question; for she held it to be vulgarity to allude, in herdrawing-room, to the trials of housekeeping. She was not touched by suchquestions because she ignored that she was in any way concerned in them. She spent six hours a day with her servants, but had she spenttwenty-four she would have remained secure in her conviction that theydid not come within the sphere of her life. "I have wanted to see you to ask you to join my society, the 'Daughtersof Duty, '" she went on, her eyes on a piece of fine white damask she washem-stitching. "Its object is to preserve our old landmarks, and when Ispoke to your father he told me he was quite sure you would care tobecome an active member. " "I'm afraid I don't have much time, " began Eugenia helplessly, when Mrs. Webb interrupted her, though without haste or discourtesy. "Not have time, my dear?" she repeated with her slow, fine smile. "If Ican find time, with all my other duties, don't you think that you mightbe able to do so?" Eugenia was baffled. "Of course I love Kingsborough, " she said, "and I'dpreserve every inch of it with my own hands if I could--but I can't bearmeetings--and--and things. " Mrs. Webb took a careful stitch in the damask. "I thought you might careenough to assist us, " she remarked tentatively; and Eugenia succumbed. "I'll do anything I can, " she declared. "I will, indeed--only youmustn't expect much. " In a few moments she rose to go, lingering with a courteous appearanceof being unwilling to depart, which belonged to her social training. Asshe stood in the doorway, her hand in Mrs. Webb's, the older womanlooked at her almost affectionately. "I had a letter from Dudley this morning, " she said. "He is coming downnext week for Sunday. " A flush crossed Eugenia's face, evoking an expression of irritation. "You must miss him, " she observed sympathetically. "I do miss him, but he comes often. He is a good son. He sent a messageto you, by the way, but it was not important. " "No, it was not important, " repeated Eugenia with a feeling that hercarelessness appeared to be assumed. She lightly kissed Mrs. Webb and ran down the steps and into thecarriage, which was waiting in the road. Her visit had left her with acurious sense of oppression, and she breathed a long draught of theinvigorating air. As she drove down the street she saw Nicholas coming out of his officeand offered him a "lift" to his home. He said little on the way, and hisutterances were forced, but Eugenia talked lightly and rapidly, as shealways did when with him. She told him of Sally Burwell, of the last letter from Bernard--who wascoming home soon--of Mrs. Webb and the "Daughters of Duty. " "The truth is, I like her, but I'm afraid of her--dreadfully. " "She disapproves of your--your liking for me, " he said bitterly. "Butevery one does that--even the judge, though he doesn't say anything. Andthey are right--I see it. You know from what I came and what I am. " "Yes, I know what you are, " she returned defiantly, "and they shall allknow some day. " He turned and looked at her as she sat beside him, but he was silent, nor did he speak until he said "good-bye" before his father's gate. It was some days later that she saw him again. She had gone out togather goldenrod for the great blue vases that stood on the dining-roommantel-piece, and was standing knee-deep in the ragged field, when heleaped the fence that divided the farms and crossed to where she stood. The sun was going down behind the blackened branches of the dead oak, and the wide common, spread with goldenrod and life-everlasting, laylike a sea of flame and snow. Eugenia, standing in its midst, a tallwoman in a dress of brown, fell in richly with the surrounding colours. Her arms were filled with the yellow plumes and her dress was tinselledwith the dried pollen that floated in the air. As Nicholas reached hershe was seeking to free herself from the clutch of a crimson briar thatcrawled along the ground, and in the effort some of the broken stalksslipped from her hold. Without speaking, he knelt beside her and released her skirt. "You havetorn it, " he said quietly, but he was looking up at her, and there wasa quality in his voice which thrilled her. "Have I?" she returned quickly. "Well, I can mend it--but there! it'scaught again. I've been trying to get free for--hours. " He smiled. "You came into the field only twenty minutes ago. I saw you. But, holdon. I'll uproot this blackberry vine while I'm about it. " He tore it from its tenacious hold to the earth and flung it into thefield. Then he examined the rent in Eugenia's dress. "If you had waited until I came you might have spared yourselfthis--patch, " he observed. "I shan't patch it--and I didn't know you were coming. " "Don't I always come--when there's a patch to be saved?" he asked. "Ihate to see things ruined. " "Then you might have come sooner. There, give me my goldenrod. It's allscattered. " He began patiently to gather up the stalks, arranging them in an evenlayer of equal lengths. Eugenia watched him, laughing. "How precise you are!" she said. "Aren't they right?" He looked up for her approval, and she saw that hehad grown singularly boyish. His face was less rugged, more sensitive. He wore no hat, and his thick red hair had fallen across his forehead. She felt the peculiar power of his look as she had felt it before. "No, they're wrong. They aren't Chinese puzzles. Don't fix them sotight. Here. " She took them from him, and as his hands touched hers she noticed thatthey were cold. "You're shaking them all apart, " he protested, "and Itook such a lot of trouble. " As she bent her head his eyes followed the dark coil of hair to thewhite nape of her neck where her collar rose. Several loose strands hadblown across her ear and wound softly about the delicate lobe. He wantedto raise his hand and put them in place, but he checked himself with astart. With his eyes upon her he recalled the warmth of her woollendress, and he wished that he had put his lips to it as he knelt. Shewould never have known. Then, by a curious emotional phenomenon, she seemed to be suddenlyinvested with the glory of the sunset. The goldenrod burned at her feetand on her bosom, and her fervent blood leaped to her face. The nextmoment he staggered like a man blinded by too much light--the field, with Eugenia rising in its midst, flamed before his eyes, and he put outhis hand like one in pain. "What is it?" she asked quickly, and her voice seemed a part of thegeneral radiance. "You have been looking at the sun. It hurts my eyes. " "No, " he answered steadily, "I was looking at you. " She thrilled as he spoke and brought her eyes to the level of his. Thenshe would have looked away, but his gaze held her, and she made a suddenmovement of alarm--a swift tremor to escape. She held the sheaf ofgoldenrod to her bosom and above it her eyes shone; her breath camequickly between her parted lips. All her changeful beauty was startledinto life. "Genia!" he said softly, so softly that he seemed speaking to himself. "Genia!" "Yes?" She responded in the same still whisper. "You know?" "Yes, I know, " she repeated slowly. Her glance fell from his and sheturned away. "You know it is--impossible, " he said. "Yes, I know it is impossible. " There was a gasp in her voice. She turned to move onward--a briar caughther dress; she stumbled for an instant, and he flung out his arms. "You know it is impossible, " he said, and kissed her. The sheaf of goldenrod loosened and scattered between them. Her head layon his arm, and he felt her warm breath come and go. Her face wasupturned, and he saw her eyes as he had never seen them before--light onlight, shadow on shadow. He looked at her in the brief instant as a manlooks to remember--at the white brow--the red mouth, at the blue veins, and the dark hair, at the upward lift of the chin and the straightthroat--at all the perfect colouring and the imperfect outline. "You know it is impossible, " he repeated, and put her from him. Eugenia gathered herself together like one stunned. "I must go, " shesaid breathlessly. "I must go. " Then she hesitated and stood before him, her hands on her bosom, asingle spray of goldenrod clinging to her dress. He folded his arms as he faced her. "I have loved you all my life, " he said. She bowed her head; her face had gone white. "I shall always love you, " he went on. "You may as well know it. Menchange, but I do not. I have never really loved anybody else. I havetried to love my family, but I never did. When I was a little, God-forsaken chap I used to want to love people, but I couldn't--Icouldn't even love the judge--whom I would die for. I love you. " "I know it, " she said. "If you will wait I will work for you. I will work until they let mehave you. I don't mean that I shall ever be good enough for you--becauseI shall not be. I shall always be a brute beside you--but if you willwait I will win you. I swear it!" She had not moved. She was as still as the dead oak that towered abovethem. The sunset struck upon her bowed head and upon the quiet bosom, where her hands were clasped. "I will wait, " she answered. He came nearer and kissed the hands upon her breast. His face wasflushed and his lips were hot. "Thank you, " he said simply as he drew back. In a moment he stooped to pick up the scattered goldenrod, heaping itinto her arms. "This is enough to fill the house, " he protested. "Youcan't want so much. " He had regained his rational tone, and she responded to it with a smile. "I never know when I'm satisfied, " she said. "It is my weakness. As achild I always ate candy until it made me ill. " They crossed the field, the long plumes brushing against them andpowdering them with a feathery gold dust. At the fence she gave him thebunch and lightly swung herself over the sunken rails. It did not occurto him to assist her; she had always been as good as he at vaultingbars. Now her long skirts retarded her, and she laughed as she camequickly to the ground on the opposite side. "One of the many disadvantages of my sex, " she said. "The best prisonsmen ever invented are women's skirts. Our wings are clipped while wewear them. " "It is hard, " he returned as he recalled her school-girl feats. "Youwere such a mighty jumper. " "Those halcyon days are done, " she sighed. "I can never stray beyond my'sphere' again. " They had reached the end of the avenue, so he left her and went homewardalong the road. The sun had gone slowly down and the western horizon wasripped open in a deep red track. The charred skeleton of the oak loomedblack and sinister against the afterglow, and at its feet the glory wentout of the autumn field. Straight ahead the sound of shots rang outwhere a flock of bats circled above the road. On the darkening landscapethe lights began to glimmer in farmhouses far apart, and to Nicholasthey seemed watchful, friendly eyes that looked upon him. All Nature waswatchful--all the universe friendly. The glow which irradiated hisoutlook with an abrupt transfiguration was to him the glow of universaljoy, though he knew it to be but the vanishing beam of youth and the endthereof age. It seemed to him that he was singled out--securely set apart by somebeneficent hand for some supreme good which, in his limitedobservation, he had never seen put forth in the lots of others. His ownlife lay so much nearer the Divine purpose than did the lives of hisneighbours--the purpose of Nature, whose end is the happiness thatconforms to sane and immutable laws. His kiss on Eugenia's lips was tohim God-given; the answer in her eyes had flamed a Scripturalinspiration. In the tumultuous leaping of his thoughts it seemed to himthat the meaning of existence lay unrolled--a meaning obscured in allreligions, overlooked in all philosophies--a meaning that could be readonly by the lamp that was lit in the eyes that loved. So in his ignorance and his ecstasy he went on his confident way, whilepassion throbbed in his pulses and youth quickened in his brain. From the far-off pines twilight came to meet him, the lights glimmeredclearer in distant windows, the afterglow drifted from the west, and theshots ceased where the black bats circled above the road. V Eugenia arranged the goldenrod in the great blue vases and sat in thedeserted dining-room thinking of Nicholas. Where the damask curtainswere drawn back from the windows a gray line of twilight landscape wasvisible, and a chill, transparent dusk filled the large room. Outsideshe would see the box-walk, a stretch of lawn, broken by flower-beds, and the avenue of cedars leading to the highway. From the porch floatedthe smoke of the general's pipe. Her brow was on her hand and she sat so motionless that the place seemeddeserted, save for an errant firefly that vainly palpitated in thegloom. The glow that had flamed beneath Nicholas's kiss still lingeredin her face, and she was conscious of a faint, almost hysterical impulseto weep. The fever in her veins had given place to a still tremor whichran through her limbs. At first she felt rather than thought. She lapsedinto an emotional reverie as delicate as the fragrance of the Octoberroses on the table. There was a sensation of softness as when one liesfull length in sunshine or is caressed by firelight. She felt it pervadeher body even to the palms of her hands. Then her quick mind stirred, and she recalled the pressure of his arms, the light in his eyes, thequiver of his lips as they touched her hands. His strength had dominatedher and it still held her--the firm note in the voice that trembled, the power in the hand that appealed, the almost savage vigour in thearms that he folded on his breast. She had succumbed less to hisgentleness than to the knowledge that it was she alone who evoked thatgentleness out of a nature almost adamantine, wholly masculine. Hisfaults she knew to be the faults of one who had hewn his own road inlife--a rugged surface--a strain of rigidity beneath--at worst atendency to dogmatise--and knowing as she did her own control over them, they attracted rather than repelled her. And yet in this pulsating recognition of his manhood there was mingledwith an emotion half-maternal the memory of her own guardianship of hisstunted childhood. To a woman at once rashly spirited and profoundlyfeminine the pathos of his boyish struggle appealed no less forciblythan did the virility of his manhood. She might have loved him less hadher thought of him been untouched by pity. She sat quietly in the twilight until Congo brought in the lamp and aprospect of supper. Then she rose and went to join her father on theporch. "Why did you tell Mrs. Webb I would be a 'Daughter, ' papa?" she gailydemanded. The general took his pipe from his mouth and stared up at her. "It's a good cause, Eugie, " he replied, "and she's a remarkable woman. Her executive ability is astounding--absolutely astounding. " "I joined, " said Eugenia. "I had to, after you said that. You know, Icalled on her the day I took Sally in. " The general lowered his eyes and thoughtfully regarded the light thatwas going gray in his pipe. "Did she happen to say anything about--Dudley?" he inquired. "Oh, yes. She said he sent me a message in a letter. " "Did she tell you what 'twas?" "No. I didn't ask her. " He put the stem of his pipe between his teeth and hung on it desperatelyfor a moment; then he took it out again. "He's a fine young fellow, " he said at last. "I don't know a finer--and, bless my soul! I'd see you married to him to-morrow. " But Eugenia laughed and beat his shoulder. "You don't want to see me married to anybody, " she said, "and you knowit. " At the end of the ensuing week Dudley came to Kingsborough, and upon thefirst evening of his visit he walked out to Battle Hall. He was lookingsmooth and well groomed, and the mass of his thick dark hair waving overhis white brow gave him an air of earnestness and ardour. Eugeniawondered that she had never noticed before that he was like the portraitof an old-time orator, and that his hands were finely rounded. His voice, with its suggestion of suavity, fell soothingly on hernerves. She had never liked him so much, and she had never shown it soplainly. Once as she met his genial gaze she held her breath at themarvel that he should grow to love her, and in vain. Was it that besidehis splendid shallows the more luminous depths of Nicholas's naturestill showed supreme? Or was it a question of fate--and of first andlast? Had Dudley come upon her in the red sunset, in the little shantybeside the road, would she have gone out to him in the mere leaping ofyouth and womanhood? Was it the moment, after all, and not the man? Orwas it something more unerring still--more profound--the prophetic callof individual to individual, despite the specious pleading of the race?But she put the thought aside and returned casually to Dudley. His heartiness was a tonic, and her vanity responded to the unaffectedadmiration in his eyes; but his chief claim to her regard lay in thefact that it was the general, and not herself, whom he endeavoured topropitiate. "Well, my dear General!" he exclaimed cordially as he threw himself uponthe worn horsehair sofa in what was called the "sitting-room, " "I findyour story about the fighting Texans capped by one Major Mason wastelling me last night about the North Carolinians--" He got no farther. "I've fought side by side with North Carolina regiments, and I tell you, sir, they're the best fighters God ever made!" cried the general. "Didyou ever hear that story about 'em when I was wounded?" Dudley shook his head and leaned forward, his hands clasped between hisknees and an expression of flattering absorption on his face. "I can't recall it now, sir, " he delightfully lied. The general cleared his throat, laid his pipe aside, and drew up hischair. "It was in my last battle, " he began. "You know I got that ball in myshoulder and was laid up when Lee surrendered--well, sir, I was proppedup there close by a company of those raw-boned mountaineers from NorthCarolina, and they stood as still as the pine wood behind 'em, whiletheir colonel swore at 'em like mad. "'Damn you for a troop of babies!' he yelled. 'Ain't you goin' into thefight? Can't you lick a blamed Yankee?' And, bless your soul! thosescraggy fellows stood stock still and sung out: "'We ain't mad!' "Well, sir, they'd no sooner yelled that back than a bullet whizzedalong and took off one of their own men, and, on my oath, the bullethadn't ceased singing in my ears before that company charged the enemyto a man--and whipped 'em, too, sir--whipped 'em clean off the field!" He paused, clapped his knee, and roared. "That's your North Carolinian, " he said. "He's a God Almighty fighter, but you've got to make him mad first. " Miss Chris brought her knitting to the lamp, and Eugenia, sitting withher hands in her lap, followed the conversation with abstractedinterest. It was not until Dudley rose to go that he came over to her and took herhand. "Good-night, " he said, his ardent eyes upon her. "I'm to have that rideto-morrow? You know I came for it. " The unreasoning blood beat in her face as she turned away, and she wasconscious that he had seen and misconstrued the senseless blush. It washer misfortune to go red or pale without cause and to show an impassiveface above deep emotion. The next morning she rode with Dudley, and the day after he came outbefore returning to Richmond. She experienced a certain pleasure in thecontact with his bouyant optimism, but it was not without a sensation ofrelief that she watched him depart after his last visit. It seemed toleave her more to herself--and to Nicholas. That afternoon she walked with him far across the fields, and they laidtogether phantasmal foundations of their future lives. Perhaps the chiefthing to be said of their intercourse was that it was to each a mentalstimulant as well as an emotional delight. Eugenia's quick, untutoredmind, which had run to seed like an uncultivated garden, blossomed fromcontact with his practical, unpolished intellect. He taught her logicand a little law; she taught him poetry and passion. He argued his casesto her and swept her back into the days of his old politicaldreams--dreams from which he had awakened, but which still hovered asmemories in his waking hours. Sometimes he brought his books to BattleHall, and they read together beneath the general's unseeing eyes; butmore often they sat side by side in the pasture or the wood, the volumelying open between them. He was the first man who had ever spurred herinto thought; she was the first woman he had ever loved. As they walked across the fields this afternoon they drifted back to thequestion of themselves and their own happiness. It was only a matter ofwaiting, she said, of the patient passage of time; and they were sosure of each other that all else was unimportant--to be disregarded. "But am I sure of you?" he demanded. It was not a personal distrust of Eugenia that he voiced; it was thehardened state of disbelief in his own happiness which showed itselfwhen the first intoxication of passion was lived out. "Why, of course you are, " she readily rejoined. "Am I not sure of you?You are as much mine as my eyes--or my hand. " "Oh, I am different!" he exclaimed. "A beggar doesn't prove faithless toa princess--but what do you see in me, after all?" She laughed. "I see a very moody lover. " They had reached a little deserted spring in the pasture called "PoplarSpring, " after the six great poplars which grew beside it. Eugeniaseated herself on a fallen log beside the tiny stream which trickledover the smooth, round stones, bearing away, like miniature floats, theyellow leaves that fell ceaselessly from the huge branches above. "I don't believe you know how I love you, " he said suddenly. "Tell me, " she insatiably demanded. "If I could tell you I shouldn't love you as I do. There are some thingsone can't talk about--but you are life itself--and you are all heavenand all hell to me. " "I don't want to be hellish, " she put in provokingly. "But you are--when I think you may slip from me, after all. " The yellow leaves fluttered over them--over the fallen log and over thebright green moss beside the little spring. As Eugenia turned towardshim, a single leaf fell from her hair to the ground. "Oh! You are thinking of Dudley Webb!" she said, and laughed becausejealousy was her own darling sin. "Yes, I am thinking--" he began, when she stopped him. "Well, you needn't. You may just stop at once. I--love--you--Nick--Burr. Say it after me. " He shook his head. Her hand lay on the log beside him, and his ownclosed over it. As it did so, she contrasted its hardened palm with thesmooth surface of Dudley Webb's. The contrast touched her, and, with aswift, warm gesture, she raised the clasped hands to her cheek. "I told you once I liked your hand, " she said. "Well--I love it. " He turned upon her a hungry glance. "I would work it to the bone for you, " he answered. "But--it is long towait. " "Yes, it is long to wait, " she repeated, but her tone had not theheaviness of his. Waiting in its wider sense means little to awoman--and in a moment she cheerfully returned to a prophetic future. A few days later Bernard came, and she saw Nicholas less often. Heraffection for her brother, belonging, as it did, to the dominant familyfeeling which possessed her soul, was filled with an almost maternalsolicitude. He absorbed her with a spasmodic, half selfish, whollyinsistent appeal. She received his confidences, wrote his letters, andtied his cravats. Upon his last visit home he had spent the greaterpart of his time in Kingsborough; now he rode in seldom, and invariablyreturned in a moody and depressed condition. "You're worth the whole bunch of them, " he had said to her of othergirls, "you dear old Eugie. " And she had warmed and laid a faithful hand on his arm. It wascharacteristic of her that no call for affection went disregarded--thatthe sensitive fibres of her nature quivered beneath any caressing hand. "Do you really like me best?" she asked. "Don't I?" He laughed his impulsive, boyish laugh--"I'll prove it byletting you go in for the mail this afternoon. I detest Kingsborough!" "Oh! No, no, I love it, but I suppose it is dull for you. " She ordered the carriage and went upstairs to put on her hat. When shecame down Bernard was not in sight, and she drove off, wondering why heor any one else should detest Kingsborough. She performed her mission at the post-office, and was mentally weighingthe probabilities of Nicholas having finished work for the day, when, inpassing along the main street, she saw him come to the door of hisoffice with a round, rosy girl, whom she recognised as Bessie Pollard. She had intended to take him out with her, but as she caught sight ofhis visitor she gave them both a condescending nod and ordered Sampsonto drive on. She felt vaguely offended and sharply irritated withherself for permitting it. Her annoyance was not allayed by the factthat Amos Burr stopped her in the road to inform her that his wife wasfattening a brood of turkeys which she would like to deliver into thehands of Miss Chris. As he stood before her, hairy, ominous, uncouth, she realised for the first time the full horror of the fact that he wasfather to the man she loved. Hitherto she had but dimly grasped theidea. Nicholas had been associated in her thoughts with the judge andher earlier school days; and she had conceived of his poverty and hispeople only in the heroic measures that related to his emancipation fromthem. Now she felt that had she, in the beginning, seen him side by sidewith his father, she could not have loved him. She flinched from AmosBurr's shaggy exterior and drew back haughtily. "I have nothing to do with the housekeeping, " she said. "You may askAunt Chris. " He spat a mouthful of tobacco juice into the dust and fingered the tornbrim of his hat. "I wish you'd jest speak to Miss Chris about 'em, " he returned, "an'send me word by Nick. " He gave an awkward lurch on his feet. The colour flamed in Eugenia's face. "Aunt Chris will send for the turkeys, " she said hurriedly. "Drive on, Sampson. " She sat splendidly erect, but the autumn landscape was blurred by asudden gush of tears. An hour later she remembered that she had promised to let Nicholas joinher in the pasture, and she left the house with the grievance still ather heart. When she saw him it broke out abruptly. "I am surprised that you keep up with such people, " she said. He looked at her blankly. "If you mean Bessie Pollard, " he rejoined, "she was in trouble and cameto me for advice. I couldn't help her, but I could at least be civil. She was kind to me when I was in her father's store. " "I do not care to be reminded that you were ever in such a position. " He flinched, but answered quietly: "I am afraid you will have to face it, " he said. "If you become my wife, you will, unfortunately, have to face a good deal that you might escapeby marrying in your own class--I am not in your class, you know, " heslowly added. She was conscious of a cloudy irritation which was alien to her usuallybeaming moods. The figure of Amos Burr loomed large before her, and shehated herself for the discovery that she was tracing his sinisterlikeness in his son. No, it was only the hair--that was all, but sheloathed the obvious colour. Her lip trembled and she set her teeth into it. "You might at least allow me to forget it, " she retorted. "Why should you wish to forget it? I think I shall be proud of it when Ihave risen far enough above it to claim you. It is no small thing to bea self-made man. " She resented the assurance of his tone. "It is strange that you do not consider my view of it. " "Your view--what is it?" "That I do not wish the man I love to--to speak to that Pollard girl, "she gasped. "Since you wish it, I will avoid her in future. She is nothing to me;but I can't refuse to speak to her. You are unreasonable. " She was regarding the hovering shade of Amos Burr. "If you think me unreasonable, " she returned, "we may as well--" He reached her side by a single step and flung his arm about her. Thenhe looked into her face and laughed softly. "May as well what--dearest?" he asked. She shook an obstinate head. "You don't love me, " was her inevitable feminine challenge. He laughed again. "Do I love you?" he demanded as he looked at her. She did not answer, but the shade of Amos Burr melted afar. Nicholas bent over her with abrupt intensity and kissed her lips untilhis kisses hurt her. "Do I love you--now?" he asked. "Yes--yes--yes. " She freed herself with a laugh that dispelled thelingering cloud. "You may convince me next time without violence, " sheaffirmed radiantly. As he watched her his large nostrils twitched whimsically. "You weresaying that we might as well--" "Go home to supper, " she finished triumphantly. "The sun has set. " When she left him a little later at the end of the avenue she flewjoyously up the narrow walk. She was softly humming to herself, and asshe stepped upon the porch the song ran lightly into words. "I love Love, though he has wings, And like light can flee--" she sang, and paused within the shadow of the porch to glance throughthe long window that led into the sitting-room. The heavy curtainsobstructed her gaze, and she had put up her hand to push them aside, when her father's voice reached her, and at his words her outstretchedarm fell slowly to her side. "It's that girl of Jerry Pollard's, " he was saying. "She's gotten intotrouble, and that Burr boy's mixed up in it; the young rascal!" Miss Chris's placid voice floated in. "I can't believe it, " she charitably murmured; and Bernard, who was onthe hearth rug, turned at the sound. "It's all gossip, you know, " he said. Eugenia pushed aside the curtains and stepped into the room. Her handshung at her sides, and the animation had faded from her glance. Her facelooked white and drawn. "It is not true, " she said steadily. "Papa, it is not true. " "I--I'm afraid it is, daughter, " gasped the general. There was anabashed embarrassment in his attitude and his hands shook. He had hopedto keep such facts beyond the utmost horizon of his daughter's life. Eugenia crossed to the hearth rug and stood looking into Bernard'sface. She made an appealing gesture with her hands. "Bernard, it is not true, " she said. He turned away from her and, nervously lifting the poker, divided thesmouldering log. A red flame shot up, illuminating the gathered facesthat stood out against the dusk. The glare lent a grotesque irony to theflabby, awe-stricken features of the general, brightened the boyishill-humour in Bernard's eyes, and played peaceably over Miss Chris'stranquil countenance. "Bernard, it is not true, " she said again. The poker fell with a clatter to the hearth; and the noise irritatedher. Bernard put out a sudden, soothing hand. "It is what they say in Kingsborough, " he answered. She turned from him to the window, pushed the curtains aside, and wentout again into the sunset. VI She ran swiftly along the walk, into the gloom of the avenue, and outagain to the open road. The sunset colours were flaming in the west, andabove them a solitary star was shining. The fields lay sombre anddeserted on either side, but straight ahead, in the lighter streak ofthe road, she saw Nicholas's figure swinging onward. She might havecalled to him, but she did not; she sped like a shadow in his pathuntil, hearing her footfalls in the dust, he looked back and halted. "You!" he exclaimed. She came up to him, her hand at her throat, her face turned towards thesunset. For a moment her breath failed and she could not speak; then allthe words that she had meant to say--the appeal to him for truth, thecry of her own belief in him--rang theatrical and ineffectual in herbrain. When at last she spoke, it was to voice the mere tripping of hertongue--to utter words which belied the beating of her thoughts. "You must marry her, " she said, and it seemed to her that it was astranger who spoke. She did not mean that--she had never meant it. He looked at her blankly, and made a sudden movement forward, but shewaved him off. "For God's sake, whom?" he demanded. She wished that he had laughed at her--that he had laid bare the wholehideous farce, but he did not; he regarded her gravely, with a griminquiry. "Whom do you mean?" he repeated. A light wind sprang up, blowing across the pasture and whirling the deadleaves of distant trees into their faces. Overhead other stars came out, and far away an owl hooted. "Oh! you know, you know, " she said, with a desperate anger at hisimmobility. "When I saw you with her to-day, I did not--I did not--" "Do you mean Bessie Pollard?" he asked. His voice was hard; it wascharacteristic of him that, in the supreme test, his sense of humourfailed him. He met grave issues with a gravity that upheld them. She bowed her head. At the same time she flung out a despairing hand forhope, but he did not notice it. She was softening to him--if she hadever steeled herself against him--and a single summons to her faithwould have vanquished the feeble resistance. But he did not make it--theinflexible front which she had seen turned to others she now sawpresented to herself. He looked at her with an austere tightening of themouth and held off. "And they have told you that I ruined her, " he said, "and you believethem. " "No--no, " she cried; "not that!" His eyes were on her, but there was no yielding in them. The arrogantpride of a strong man, plainly born, was face to face with her appeal. His features were set with the rigidity of stone. "Who has told you this?" he demanded. "Oh, it is not true--it is not true, " she answered; "butBernard--Bernard believed it--and he is your friend. " Then his smouldering rage burst forth, and his face grew black. It wasas if an incarnate devil had leaped into his eyes. He took a stepforward. "Then may God damn him, " he said, "for he is the man!" She fell from him as if he had struck her. Her spirit flashed out as hishad done. The anger of her race shot forth. "Oh, stop! stop! How dare you!" she cried; "for he tried to shieldyou--he tried to shield you--he would shield you if he could. " But he crossed to where she stood and caught her outstretched hands in agrasp that hurt her. She winced, and his hold grew gentle; but his voicewas brutal in its passion. "Be silent, " he said, "and listen to me. They have lied to you, and youhave believed them--you I shall never forgive--you are nothing tome--nothing. As for him--may God, in his mercy, damn him!" He let her hands drop and went from her into the silence of the openroad. When the thud of his footsteps was muffled by the distance Eugeniaturned and went back through the cedar avenue. She walked heavily, andthere was a bruised sensation in her limbs as if she had hurt herselfupon stones. A massive fatigue oppressed her, and she stumbled once ortwice over the rocks in the road. Her happiness was dead, this she toldherself; telling herself, also, that it had not perished by anger or bydisbelief. The slayer loomed intangible and yet inevitable--the shadethat had arisen from the gigantic gulf between separate classes whichthey had sought, in ignorance, to abridge. The pride of Nicholas was notindividual, but typical--the pride of caste, and it was against thisthat she had sinned--not in distrusting his honour, but in offending it. It was in the clash of class, after all, that their theories hadcrumbled. He might come back to her again--she might go forth to meethim--but the bloom had gone from their dreams--in the reunion she sawneither permanence nor abiding. The strongest of her instincts--the onethat made for the blood she bore--had quivered beneath the onslaught ofhis accusation, but had not bent. Wherever and whenever the strugglecame she stood, as the Battles had always stood, for the clan. Be itright or wrong, true or false, it was hers and she was on its side. As she went beneath the great cedars, their long branches brushed herface, like the remembering touch of familiar fingers, and she put up hercheek to them as if they were sentient things. Long ago they had soothedher as a troubled child, and now their caresses cooled her fever. Underfoot she felt the ancient carpet they had spread throughout thecentury--and it smoothed the way for her heavy feet. She was in thestate of subjective passiveness when the consciousness of externalobjects alone seems awake. She felt a tenderness for the twisted boxbushes she brushed in passing, a vague pity for a sickly moth that flewinto her face; but for herself she was without pity or tenderness--shehad not brought her mind to bear upon her own hurt. Indoors she found the family at supper. The general, hearing her step, called her to her seat and gave her the brownest chicken breast in thedish before him. Miss Chris offered her the contents of the cream jug, and Congo plied her with Aunt Verbeny's lightest waffles; but the foodchoked her and she could not eat. A lump rose in her throat, and she sawthe kindly, accustomed faces through a gathering mist. She regarded eachwith a certain intentness, a peculiar feeling that there were hiddentraits in the commonplace features which she had never seen before--acomplexity in the benign candour of Miss Chris's countenance, in theoverwrought youthfulness of Bernard's, in the apoplectic credulity ofthe general's. Familiar as they were, it seemed to her that there werelatent possibilities--obscure tendencies, which were revealed to her nowwith microscopic exaggeration. The general put his hand to her forehead and smoothed back the moisthair. "Ain't you well, daughter?" he asked anxiously. "Would you like atoddy?" "It's nothing, " said Miss Chris cheerfully. "She's walked too far, that's all. Eugie, you must go to bed early. " "I had her out all the morning in the sun, " put in Bernard, with anaffectionate nod at Eugenia, "and she's such a trump she wouldn't giveout. " "You must learn to consider your sister, " said his father testily. "Oh! I liked it, papa, " declared Eugenia. "I'm well and--I'm hungry. " Congo brought more waffles, and she ate one with grim determination. Thealert affection which surrounded her--which proved sensitive to achange of colour or a tremor of voice, filled her with a swift sense ofsecurity. She felt a sudden impulse to draw nearer in the shelter of therace--to cling more closely to that unswerving instinct which had unitedindividual to individual and generation to generation. As they rose from the table, she slipped her arm through her father'sand went with him into the hall. "I'm tired, " she said, stopping him on his way to the sitting-room, "soI'll go to bed. " The general held her from him and looked into her face. "Anybody been troubling you, Eugie?" he asked. She shook her head. "You dear old goose--no!" He patted her shoulder reassuringly. "If anybody troubles you, you just let me hear of it, " he said. "They'llfind out Tom Battle wasn't at Appomattox. You've got an old father andhe's got an old sword--" "And he's hungry for a fight, " she gaily finished. Then she rubbed hercheek against his brown linen sleeve, which was redolent of tobacco. Thefirm physical contact inspired her with the courage of life; it seemedto make for her a bulwark against the world and its incomingtribulations. She threw back her head and looked up into the puffed and scarlet facewhere the coarse veins were congested, her eyes seeing only the lovewhich transfigured it. She was his pet and his pride, and she wouldalways be the final reward of his long life. As she mounted the stairs, he blew his nose and called cheerfully afterher: "Just remember, if anybody begins plaguing you, that I'm ready forhim--the rascal. " Once in her room she threw open the window and sat looking out into thenight, the chill autumn wind in her face. Far across the fields a palemoon was rising, bearing a cloudy circle that betokened rain. It flunglong, ghostly shadows east and west, which flitted, lean and noiselessand black, before the wind. Overhead the stars shone dimly, piercing afine mist. Eugenia leaned forward, her chin on her clasped hands. Beyondthe gray blur of the pasture she could see, like benighted beacons, thelights in Amos Burr's windows, and she found herself vaguely wonderingif Nicholas were at his books--those books that never failed him. He hadthat consolation at least--his books were more to him than she had been. She was not conscious of anger; she felt only an indifferentweariness--a nervous shrinking from the brutality of his rage. His faceas she had seen it rose suddenly before her, and she put her hand to hereyes as if to shut out the sight. She saw the clear streak of thehighway, the gray pasture, the solitary star overhanging the horizon, and she felt the dead leaves blown against her cheek from denuded treesfar distant. And lighted by a glare of memory she saw his face--she sawthe convulsed features, the furrow that cleft the forehead like a seam, the heavy brows bent above the half-closed eyes, the spasmodic workingof the drawn mouth. She saw the man in whom, for its brief instant, evilwas triumphant--in whom that self-poise, which had been to her as thesecret of his strength, was tumultuously overthrown. A great fatigue weighed upon her, as if she had emerged, defeated, froma physical contest. Her hands trembled, and something throbbed in hertemple like an imprisoned bird. As she sat in the silence, the door opened softly and Miss Chris camein, bearing a lamp in her hand. "Eugie, " she said, peering into the darkness, "are you there?" Eugenia lowered the window and came over to the hearth rug, where shestood blinking from the sudden glare of the lamp. There were somehalf-extinguished embers amid the ashes in the fireplace, and she threwon fresh wood, watching while it caught and blazed up lightly over theold brass andirons. Miss Chris set the lamp on the table and came over to the fire. Shecarried her key basket in her hand, and the keys jingled as she moved. Her smooth, florid face had a fine moisture over it that showed like dewon a well-sunned peach. "You aren't worrying about Nick Burr, Eugie, " she said with the amiablebluntness which belonged to her. "I wouldn't let it worry me if I wereyou. " Eugenia turned with a flash of pride. "No, I am not worrying about him, " she answered. Miss Chris lifted a vase from the mantel-piece, dusted the spot where ithad stood, and replaced it carefully. "Of course, I know you've seen a good deal of him of late, " she wenton; "but, as I told Tom, I knew it was nothing more than your beingplaymates together. He's a good boy, and I don't believe that scandalabout him any more than I would about Bernard; but he's Amos Burr's son, after all, though he has raised himself a long way above him, and, aspoor Aunt Griselda used to say, 'When all's said and done, a Battle's aBattle. '" Eugenia was looking into the fire. "Yes, " she repeated slowly, "a Battle's a Battle, after all. " "That's right, dear. I knew you'd say so. I always declared that youwere more of a Battle than all the rest of us put together--if you dolook the image of a Tucker. Tom was telling me only last week that he'dleave you as free as air and trust the name in your hands sooner than hewould in his own--and he has a great deal of family pride, you know, though he was so wild in his youth. But I remember my father oncesaying: 'A Battle may go a long way down the wrong road, but he'llalways pull up in time to turn. '" Her beautiful eyes shone in the firelight, and her placid mouth formed around hole above her dimpled chin, giving her large face an expressionalmost infantile. She took up the key basket, which she had placed onthe mantel-piece, cast a glance at the pile of logs to see if it hadbeen replenished, felt the cover on the bed, after inquiring if itsufficed, and, with a cheerful "good-night, " passed out, closing thedoor behind her. Eugenia did not turn as the door closed. She stood motionless upon thehearth rug, looking down into the fire. Something in the huge oldfireplace, with its bent andirons supporting the blazing logs, in theincreasing bed of embers upon the bricks, in the sharp odour of the knotof resinous pine she had thrown on with the hickory, brought before herthe winter evenings in Delphy's little cabin, when they sat uponthree-legged stools and roasted early winesaps. She saw the negro facesin the glow of the hearth, and she saw Nicholas and herself sitting sideby side in the shadow. His childish face, with its look of ancient care, came back to her with the knotted boyish hands that had carried andfetched at her bidding. The whole wistful little figure was imaged inthe flames, melting rapidly into the boy, eager to act, ardent toachieve, who had bidden her good-bye on that November afternoon, and, dissolving again, to reappear as the strong man who had come upon her inUncle Ish's little shanty, bearing the old negro's bag upon hisshoulder. She had loved him for his strength, his vigour, his gentleness--and shestill loved him. Of the men that she had known, who was there so ready to assist, soforgetful of services which he had rendered? There was none so powerfuland yet so kind--so generous or so gentle. An impulse stirred her tocross the fields to his door and fling herself into the breach thatdivided them; but again the phantom in the flames grew dim and then sentout the face that she had seen that afternoon--convulsed and quivering, with its flitting sinister likeness to Amos Burr. A voice that seemed tobe the voice of old dead Aunt Griselda--of her whole dead race that haddecayed and been forgotten, and come to life again in her--spokesuddenly from the silence: "When all's said and done, a Battle's a Battle. " The resinous pine blazed up, the pungent odour filled the large room, and from the lightwood sticks tiny streams of resin oozed out anddripped into the embers, turning the red to gray. Mingling with the crackling of the flames there was a noise as of thesoughing of the wind in the pine forests. The hearth grew suddenly blurred before her eyes; and a passion of griefrose to her throat and clutched her with the grip of claws. For aninstant longer she stood motionless; then, turning from the fire, shethrew herself upon the floor to weep until the daybreak. VII When Nicholas left Eugenia it was to stride blindly towards his father'sgate. The rage which had stunned him into silence before the girl nowleaped and crackled like flame in his blood. His throat was parched andhe saw red like a man who kills. Passing his home, he kept on to Kingsborough, and once within the shadowof the wood, he broke into a run, flying from himself and from the goadof his wrath. As he ran, he felt with a kind of alien horror that tomeet Bernard Battle face to face in this hour would be to domurder--murder too mild for the man who had lied away his friend'shonour for the sake of the whiteness of his own skin. It was theinjustice that he resented with a holy rage--the hideous fact that aclean man should be spotted to save an unclean one the splashing hemerited. And Eugenia also--he hated Eugenia that he had kept her imageuntarnished in his thoughts; that he had allowed the desire for no otherwoman to shadow it. He had held himself as a temple for the worship ofher; he had permitted no breath of defilement to blow upon thealtar--and this was his reward. This--that the woman he loved had hurledthe first stone at the mere lifting of a Pharisaical finger--that shehad loved him and had turned from him when the first word wasuttered--as she would not have turned from the brother of her blood hadhe been damned in Holy Writ. It was for this that he hated her. The light of the sunset shining through the wood fell dull gold on hispathway. A strong wind was blowing among the trees, and the dried leaveswere torn from the boughs and hurled roughly to the earth, when theysped onward to rest against the drifts by the roadside. The sound of thewind was deep and hoarse like the baying of distant hounds, and beneathit, in plaintive minor, ran the sighing of the leaves before hisfootsteps. Through the wood came the vague smells of autumn--areminiscent waft of decay, the reek of mould on rotting logs, theeffluvium of overblown flowers, the healthful smack of the pines. Bydawn frost would grip the vegetation and the wind would lull; but now itblew, strong and clear, scattering before it withered growths and subtlescents of death. Out of the wood, Nicholas came on the highway again, and turned to wherethe afterglow burnished the windows of Kingsborough. He followed theroad instinctively--as he had followed it daily from his childhood up, beating out the impression of his own footsteps in the dust, obliterating his old, even tracks by the reckless tramp of his delirium. When he reached the college grounds he paused from the same dazedimpulse and looked back upon the west through the quiet archway of thelong brick building. The place was desolate with the desolation ofautumn. Through the funereal arch he saw the sunset barred by a networkof naked branches, while about him the darkening lawn was veiled withthe melancholy drift of the leaves. The only sound of life came from abrood of turkeys settling to roost in a shivering aspen. He turned and walked rapidly up the main street, where a cloud of dusthung suspended. Past the court-house, across the green, past the littlewhitewashed gaol, where in a happier season roses bloomed--out into theopen country where the battlefields were grim with headless cornrows--he walked until he could walk no further, and then wheeled aboutto retrace heavily his way. His rage was spent; his pulses faltered fromfatigue, and the red flashes faded from before his eyes. When he reached home supper was over, and Nannie sat sewing in thelittle room adjoining the kitchen. "You're late for supper, " she said idly as he entered. "Sairy Jane'sgone to bed with a headache and ma's in a temper. I'll get you somethingas soon as I've done this seam. " "I've had supper, " he answered shortly, adding from force of habit, "where's ma?" Nannie motioned towards the kitchen and drew a little nearer the lamp, while Nicholas left the room in search of his stepmother. Marthy Burr, a pile of newly dug potatoes on the floor beside her, wascarefully sorting them before storing them for winter use. The soundones she laid in a basket at her right hand, those that were ofimperfect growth or showed signs of decay she threw into a hamper thatwas kept in the kitchen closet. "You ought to make Jubal do this, " said Nicholas as he entered. "I wouldn't trust the thickest skinned potato in the field in hishands, " returned Marthy sharply. "He an' yo' pa made out to store 'emlast year, an' when I went to look in the first barrel, the last one of'em had rotted. " "Let them rot, " said Nicholas harshly. "I be damned if I'd care. Youdon't eat them, anyway. " "I reckon if I was a man I might consarn myself 'bout the things thattickle my own palate--an' 'taters ain't one of 'em, " was hisstepmother's retort. "But, being a woman, it seems I've got to spend mylife slavin' for other folks' stomachs. But you're yo' Uncle Nick Salesall over again; 'Don't you get up befo' day to set that dough, Marthy, 'he'd say, but when the bread came on flat as a pancake, he'd look sourerthan all the rest. " "What was my Uncle Nick Sales like?" asked Nicholas indifferently. Heknew the name, but he had never heard the man's story. "All book larnin' an' mighty little sense--just like you, " replied hisstepmother with repressed pride in her voice. "Could read the Bible inan outlandish tongue an' was too big a fool to come in out of the rain. He used to sit up all night at his books--an' fall asleep the next dayat the plough. He was the wisest fool I ever see. " "Poor fool!" said Nicholas softly. It was the epitaph over the unmarkedgrave of that other member of his race who had blazed the thorny pathbefore him. A strange, pathetic figure rose suddenly in his vision--aman with a great brow and a twisted back, with brawny, knotted hands--anunlearned student driving the plough, an ignorant philosopher draggingthe mire. "Poor fool!" he said again. "What did his learning do for him?" "It killed him, " returned his stepmother shortly. She stood before him wiping her gnarled hands on her soiled apron. Hisgaze fell upon her, and he wondered angrily whence sprung herindomitable energy--the energy that could expend itself upon potatoes. Her face was sharpened until it seemed to become all feature--there werehollows in the narrow temples, and where the pale, thin hair was drawntightly over the head he could trace the prominent bones of the skull. As he looked at her his own petty suffering was overshadowed by thevisible tragedy of her life--the sordid tragedy where unconsciousnesswas pathos. He reached out quickly and took a corner of her apron in hishand. It was the strongest demonstration of affection he had ever madeto her. "I'll sort them, ma, " he said lightly. "There's not a speck in the lotof them too fine for my eyes. " And he knelt down beside the earthy heap. But when he went up to his room an hour later and lighted his kerosenelamp, it was not of his stepmother that he was thinking--nor was it ofEugenia. His stiffened muscles contracted in physical pain, and hisbrain was deadened by the sense of unutterable defeat. The delirium ofhis anger had passed away; the fever of his skin had chilled beneath thecold sweat that broke over him--in the reaction from the madness thathad gripped him he was conscious of a sanity almost sublime. Thehabitual balance of his nature had swung back into place. He got out his books and arranged them as usual beside the lamp. Then hetook up the volume he had been reading and held it unopened in hishands. He stared straight before him at the whitewashed wall of thelittle room, at the rough pine bedstead, at the crude washstand, at thecoloured calendar above. On the unearthly whiteness of the wall he beheld the pictured vision ofthat other student of his race--the kinsman who had lived toiling andhad died learning. He came to him a tragic figure in mire-clottedgarments--a youth with aspiring eyes and muck-stained feet. He wonderedwhat had been his history--that unknown labourer who had soughtknowledge--that philosopher of the plough who had died in ignorance. "Poor fools!" he said bitterly, "poor fools!" for in his vision thatother student walked not alone. The next morning he went into Kingsborough at his usual hour, and, passing his own small office, kept on to where Tom Bassett's name washung. It was county court day, and the sheriff and the clerk of the court weresitting peaceably in armchairs on the little porch of the court-house. As Nicholas passed with a greeting, they turned from a languiddiscussion of the points of a brindle cow in the street to followmentally his powerful figure. "I reckon he's got more muscle than any man in town, " remarked thesheriff in a reflective drawl. "Unless Phil Bates, the butcher, couldknock him out. Like to see 'em at each other, wouldn't you?" he addedwith a laugh. The clerk carefully tilted his chair back against the wall and surveyedhis outstretched feet. "Like to live to see him stumping this State forCongress, " he replied. "There goes the brainiest man these parts haveproduced since before the war--the people want their own men, and it'stime they had 'em. " Nicholas passed on to Tom's office, and, finding it empty, turned backto the judge's house, where he found father and son breakfastingopposite each other at a table bright with silver and chrysanthemums. They hospitably implored him to join them, but he shook his head, motioning away the plate which old Cęsar would have laid before him. "I wanted to ask Tom if he had heard this--this lie about me, " he saidquickly. Tom looked up, flushing warmly. "Why, who's been such a blamed fool as to tell you?" he demanded. "You have heard it?" "It isn't worth hearing. I called Jerry Pollard up at once, and he sworehe was all wrong--the girl herself exonerates you. Nobody believed it. " Nicholas crushed the brim of his hat in a sudden grip. "Some believe it, " he returned slowly. He sat down at the table, smilinggratefully at the judge's protestations. "They aren't all like you, sir, " he declared. "I wish they were. Thisworld would be a little nearer heaven--a little less like hell. " There was a trail of lingering bitterness in his voice, and in a momenthe added quickly: "Do you know, I'd like to get away for a time. I'vechanged my mind about caring to live here. If they'd send me up to thelegislature next year, I'd make a new beginning. " The judge shook his head. "I doubt the wisdom of it, my boy, " he said. But Tom caught at thesuggestion. "Send you, " he repeated. "Of course; they'll send you from here toJericho, if you say so. Why, there's no end to your popularity amongmen. Where the ladies are concerned, I modestly admit that I have theadvantage of you; but they can't vote, God bless them!" "You're welcome to all the good they may bring you, old boy, " wasNicholas's unchivalrous retort. "Oh, you're jealous, Nick!" twitted Tom gaily. "They don't take kindlyto your carrot locks. Now, I've inherited a way with them, eh, dad?" The judge complacently buttered his buckwheats. There was a twinkle inhis eyes and a quiver at the corner of his classic mouth. "It was the only inheritance I wasn't able to squander in my wild oatsdays, " he returned. "May you cherish it, my boy, as carefully as yourfather has done. It would be a dull world without the women. " "And a peaceable one, " added Nicholas viciously. "We owe them much, " said the judge, pouring maple syrup from the oldsilver jug. "If Helen of Troy set the world at war, she made menheroes. " "You can't get the pater to acknowledge that the fair things are everwrong, " put in Tom protestingly. "He would have proved Eve's innocenceto the Almighty. If a woman murdered ten men before his eyes he'd laythe charge on the devil and acquit her. " The judge shook his head with a laugh. "I might merely argue that the queen can do no wrong, " he suggested. When Tom had finished his breakfast, Nicholas walked with him to hisoffice, and, seeing Bessie Pollard, red-eyed and drooping in herfather's door, he lingered an instant and held out his hand. There wasdefiant sympathy in his act--disdain of the judgment ofKingsborough--and of General Battle, who was passing--and pity for abruised common thing that looked at him with beautiful, mindless eyes. "You aren't looking bright to-day, " he said kindly, "but things willpull through, never fear--they always do, if you give them time. " Then he responded coolly to the general's cool nod, and, rejoining Tom, they went on arm in arm. In his large-minded manhood it had not occurredto him to connect the girl with the wrong done upon him--he knew her tobe more weak than wicked, and, in her soft, pretty sadness, she remindedhim of a half-drowned kitten. During the next few months he frequently passed Eugenia in the road. Sometimes he did not look at her, and again he met her wistful gaze andspoke without a smile. Once he checked an eager movement towards herbecause he had met Bernard just ahead--and he hated him; once he hadseen the carriage in the distance and had waited in a passionate rushof remorse and love to hear her laughter as she talked with Dudley Webb. They had faced each other at last with resolute eyes and unswervingwills. On his side was the pride of an innocent man accused, thebitterness of a proud man on an inferior plane; on hers, therecollection of that wild evening in the road, and the belatedrecognition of the debt she owed her race. In the winter she went up to Richmond and he slowly forced himself torenounce her. He began to see his old dream as it was--an emotionalchimera; a mental madness. As the year grew on he watched his long hopewither root and branch, until, with the resurrection of the spring, itlay still because there was no life left that might put forth. And whenhis hope was dead he told himself that his unhappiness died with it, that he might throw himself single-hearted into the work of his life. VIII The year passed and was done with--leaves budded, expanded, fell again. Eugenia watched their growth, fulfilment, and decay as she had watchedthem other seasons, though with eyes a thought widened by experience, ashade darkened by tears. At first she had suffered wildly, thenpassively, at last resignedly. The colour rebloomed in her cheek, thegaiety rang back to her voice, for she was young, and youth is everbuoyant. There was work for her to do on the place, and she did it cheerfully. She studied farming with her father and overhauled the methods of theoverseer, to the man's annoyance and the general's delight. "She tellsme Varly isn't scientific, " roared the general with rapturous enjoyment. "A scientific overseer! She'll be asking for an honest politician next. " "I'm sure Varly is a very respectable man, " protested Miss Chris in herusual position of defence. "The servants were always devoted to himbefore the war--that says a good deal. " "There's not a better man in the county, " admitted the general, "or aworse farmer. Here I've let him go down hill at his own gait for morethan thirty years, to be pulled up in the end by a chit of a girl. Iwouldn't, if I were you, Eugie. He's old and he's slow. " "Oh! I'll promise not to hurt him, " returned Eugenia. "I save him a lotof hard work, and he likes it. " She drew on her loose dogskin gloves and went out to overlook theshucking of the corn. With the exercise in the open air she had gained in suppleness andbrilliancy. It was the outdoor work that saved her spirit and herbeauty--that gave her endurance for the indoor monotony and magnifiedthe splendid optimism of her saddest hour. She was a woman born forhappiness; when the Fates failed to accord it she defied them and foundher own. In the autumn news came that Nicholas was elected to the GeneralAssembly. The judge brought it, riding out on a bright afternoon to chatwith the general before the blazing logs. "The lad has a future, " said the judge with a touch of pride. "Brainsdon't grow on blackberry vines;" then he laughed softly. "Cęsar votedfor him, " he added. The general slapped his knee. "Cęsar is a gentleman, " he exclaimed. "He was the first darkey inKingsborough to vote the Democratic ticket. I walked up to the pollswith him and the boys cheered him. You weren't there, George. " The judge shook his head. "They called it undue influence, " he said; "but, on my honour, Tom, Inever spoke a political word to Cęsar in my life. Of course he'd heardme talk with Tom at dinner. He'd heard me say that the man of his racewho would dare to vote with white men would be head and shoulders abovehis people, a man of mind, a man that any gentleman in the county wouldbe proud to shake by the hand--but seek to influence Cęsar! Never, sir!" "Now, there's that Ishmael of mine, " said the general aggrievedly. "Heno sooner got his vote than he cast it just to spite me. I told the foolhe didn't know any more about voting than the old mule Sairy did, and hesaid he didn't have to know 'nothin' cep'n his name. ' He forgot thatwhen they challenged him at the polls, but he voted all the same--votedin my face, sir. " They lighted their pipes and sang the praises of that idyllic periodwhich they called "before the war, " while Eugenia crept away into theshadows. She was glad that Nicholas would go; glad, glad, glad--so glad that shewept a little in the cold of a dark corner. A week later Dudley came down, and she met him with a friendliness thatdismayed and disarmed him. Could a woman be so frankly cordial with aman she loved? Could she face a passion that inspired her with suchserene self-poise? He questioned these things, but he did not hesitate. He was of a Virginian line of lovers, and he charged in courtship ascourageously as his father had charged in battle. He was magnificent inhis youthful ardour, and so fitted for success that it seemed already tocast a prophetic halo about his head. "You are superb, " Eugenia had said, half insolently, looking up at himas he stood in the firelight. "How odd that I never noticed it before. " "You are looking at yourself in my eyes, " he returned gallantly. She shook her head. "There are so many women who like handsome men, it's a pity you can'tfall in love with one, " she said coldly. "Am I to infer that you prefer ugly men?" he questioned. "I--oh! I am too good-looking to care, " she replied. She sprang up suddenly and stood beside him. "We do look well together, "she said with grave audacity. He laughed. "I am flattered. It may weigh with you in your future plans. Come, Eugie, let me love you!" But her mood changed and she dragged him with her out into the autumnfields. In the last days of November a long rain came--a ruinous autumnal rainthat beat the white roads into livid streams of mud and sent the saddead leaves in shapeless tatters to the earth. The glory of the fall hadbrought back the glory of her love; its death revived the agony of thelong decay. At night the rain throbbed upon the tin roof above her. Sometimes shewould turn upon her pillow, stuffing the blankets about her ears; but, muffled by the bedclothes, she heard always the incessant melancholysound. She heard it beating on the naked roof, rushing tumultuously tothe overflowing pipes, dripping upon the wet stones of the gutter below, sweeping from the earth dead leaves, dead blossoms, dead desires. In the day she watched it from the windows. The flower beds, desolated, formed muddy fountains, the gravel walk was a shining rivulet, thesycamore held three yellow leaves that clung vainly to a shelteredbough, the aspen faced her, naked--only the impenetrable gloom of thecedars was secure--sombre and inviolate. On the third day she went out into the rain; splashing miles through theheavy roads and returning with a glow in her cheeks and the savour ofthe dampness in her mouth. Taking off her wet garments she carried them to the kitchen to be dried. With the needed exercise, her cheerful animation had returned. In the brick kitchen a gloomy group of negroes surrounded the stove. "Dar's gwine ter be a flood an' de ea'th hit's gwine ter pass away, "lamented Aunt Verbeny, lifting the ladle from a huge pot, the contentsof which she was energetically stirring. "Hit's gwine ter pass away widde men en de cattle en de crops, en de black folks dey's gwine ter passdes' de same es dey wuz white. " "I'se monst'ous glad I'se got religion, " remarked a strange little negrowoman who had come over to sell a string of hares her husband had shot. "De Lawd He begun ter git mighty pressin' las' mont', so I let 'im haveHis way. Blessed be de name er de Lawd! Is you a church member, SisDelphy?" "Yes, Lawd, a full-breasted member, " responded Delphy, clamping thedeclivity of her bosom. "I ain' got much use fur dis yer gittin' en ungittin' er salvation, " putin Uncle Ish from the table where he was eating a late dinner of AuntVerbeny's providing. "Dar's too much monkeyin' mixed up wid it fur me. Hit's too much de work er yo' j'ints ter make me b'lieve hit's gwine tersalivate yo' soul. When my wife, Mandy, wuz 'live, I tuck 'n cyar'ed herlong up ter one er dese yer revivals, en' ole Sis Saphiry Baker come'long gittin' happy, en fo' de Lawd she rid 'er clean roun' de chu'ch. Naw, suh, de religion I wanter lay holt on is de religion uv rest. " "I ain' never sarved my Lawd wid laziness, " put in Aunt Verbenyreprovingly. "When He come arter me I ain' never let de ease er my limbsstan' in de way. Ef you can't do a little shoutin' on de ea'th, you'regwineter have er po' sho' ter keep de Lawd f'om overlookin' you atKingdom Come. " The strange little woman faced them proudly. "My husband, Silas, gotreligion in de night time, " she said, "an' he bruck clean thoo de slats. De bed ain't helt stiddy sence. " Eugenia emerged from the dusk of the doorway, where she had lingered, and Delphy rose to take the dripping clothes. "Des' look at her!" exclaimed Aunt Verbeny at the girl's entrance. "Ain't she a sight ter mek a blin' man see?" Then she added to thestrange little woman, "Dar ain' no lack er beaux roun' yer, needer. " Uncle Ish grunted. "I ain' seen 'em swum es dey swum roun' Miss Meely, " he muttered, whileAunt Verbeny shook her fist at him behind the stranger's back. "De a'rwuz right thick wid 'em. " "I reckon dis chile'll be mah'r'd soon es she sets her min' on it, "returned Delphy indignantly. "She ain' gwineter have ter do muchcuttin' er de eyelashes, needer. De beaux come natch'ul. " "Dar's Marse Dudley, now, " said Aunt Verbeny. "I ain' so ole but mypalate hit kin taste a gent'mun a mile off. Marse Dudley ain' furgit detimes I'se done roas' him roas'in' years when he warn' mo'n er chile. Hit's 'how's yo' health, Aunt Verbeny?' des' de same es 'twuz den. " Eugenia laughed and flung the heap of garments into Delphy's arms. "Therain's over, " she said; "but, Uncle Ish, you'd better get Congo to fixyou up for the night. It is too wet for your rheumatism, " and she ransinging upstairs to where the general was dozing in the sitting-room. "Wake up, dad! it's going to clear!" The general started heavily from his sleep. There was a dazed look inhis eyes. "Clear?" he asked doubtfully, "has it been raining?" Eugenia shook him into consciousness. "Raining for three whole days, and I believe you've slept through it. Now the clouds are breaking. " "What is it the Bible says about 'the winter of our discontent'?--that'swhat it is. " "Not the Bible, dear--Shakespeare. " "It's the same thing, " retorted the general testily. His speech camethickly as if he held a pebble in his mouth, and the swollen veins inhis face were livid. Eugenia bent over him in sudden uneasiness. "Aren't you well, papa?" sheasked. "Is anything the matter?" The general laughed and pinched her cheek. "Never better in my life, " he declared, "but I'll have to be gettingnew glasses. These things aren't worth a cent. Find them, Eugie. " Eugenia picked them up, wiped them on his silk handkerchief, and putthem on his nose. "You've slept too long, " she said. "Come and take a walk in the hall. " She dragged him from his chair, and he yielded under protest. "You forget that two hundred pounds can't skip about like fifty, " hecomplained. But he followed her to the long hall, and they paced slowly up and downin the afternoon shadows. At the end of ten minutes the general declaredthat he felt so well he would go back to his chair. "I'll get the 'Southern Planter' and read to you, " said Eugenia. "Don'tgo to sleep. " She ran lightly upstairs and, coming down in a moment, called him. Hedid not answer and she called again. The sitting-room was in dusk, and, as she entered, the firelight showedthe huge body of the general lying upon the hearth rug. A sound of heavysnoring filled the room. She flung herself beside him, lifting the great head upon her lap; butbefore she had cried out Miss Chris was at her elbow. "Hush, Eugie, " she said quickly, though the girl had not spoken. "SendSampson for Dr. Bright, and tell Delphy to bring pillows. Give him tome. " Her voice was firm, and there was no tremor in her large, helpful hands. When Eugenia returned, the general was still lying upon the hearth rug, his head supported by pillows. Miss Chris had opened one of the westernwindows, and a cool, damp air filled the room. The rain had begun again, descending with a soft, purring sound. Above it she heard the labouredbreathing from the hearth rug, and in the firelight she saw the regularinflation of the swollen cheeks. The distended pupils stared back ather, void of light. As she stood motionless, her hands clenched before her, she followed thesoft, weighty tread of Miss Chris, passing to and fro with improvisedapplications. The light fall of the rain irritated her; she longed forthe relentless downpour of the night. At the end of an hour the roll of wheels broke the stillness, and shewent out to meet the doctor, passing, with a shiver, the unconsciousmass on the floor. They carried him to his bed in the chamber next the parlour, and throughthe night and day he lay an inert bulk beneath the bedclothes. MissChris and Eugenia and the servants passed in and out of his room. One ofthe dogs came and sat upon the threshold until Eugenia put her armsabout his neck and drew him away. She had not wept; she was white anddrawn and silent, as if the shock had dulled her to insensibility. During the afternoon of the next day she persuaded Miss Chris to rest, and, softly closing the door, sat down in a chair beside her father'sbed. It was the high white bed that had known the marriage, birth, anddeath of a century of Battles. In it her father was born; beside it, kneeling at prayer, her mother had died. The stately tester frame hadseen generations come and go, and had remained unchanged. Now its stiffwhite curtains made a ghastly drapery above the purple face. Eugenia sat motionless, her thoughts vaguely circling about the stillfigure before her. It was not her father--this she felt profoundly--itwas some strange shape that had taken his place, or she was held by somefarcical nightmare from which she should awake presently with a start. The half-used glasses on the little table beside her; the candle burneddown in the socket, and overlooked; the tightly corked phials of uselessdrugs; the strong odour of mustard from the saucer in which a plasterhad been mixed--these things struck upon her faltering consciousnesswith a shock of horrible reality. The odour of the mustard was more realthan the breathing of the body on the bed. As she sat there, she thought of her mother--the pale, still woman whohad lain beautiful and dead where her father was dying now. She came toher as from a faded miniature, wistful, holy, at rest--blessed and abovereproach. Her heart went out to her as to one standing near, hidden bythe long white curtains--nearer than Aunt Chris asleep upstairs, nearerthan Bernard, who was coming to her, nearer than the great form on thebed. Closer than all other things was that spiritual presence. Then shethought of her old negro mammy, who had died when she was but ababy--her mother's nurse and hers. She recalled the beloved black facebeneath the snowy handkerchief, the restful bosom in blue homespun, thetireless arms that had rocked her into slumber. Then of Jim, the dog, true friend and faithful playmate. All the lives that she had loved andhad been bereft of gathered closer, closer in the gray shadows. Her gaze passed to the window, seeking in the sad landscape the littlegraveyard where they were lying. The rain came between her and theclouded hill--descending softly and insistently between her eyes and theend of her search. Against the panes the dripping branches of theshivering mimosa tree beat themselves and moaned. A chill seized herand, rising, she went to the hearth, noiselessly piling wood upon thecharred and waning logs, which crumbled and sent up a thin flame. Shehurried to the bed and sat down again, her eyes on the blanket that roseand fell with the difficult breath. As she looked at the large, familiarface, tracing its puffed outline and gross colouring, it resolved itselfinto her earliest remembrance--throughout her childhood he had been herslave and she his tyrant. What wish of hers had he ever ignored? Withwhat demand had he ever failed to comply? At the end of the long lifewhat had remained to him except herself--the single compensation--theone reward? The pity of it smote her as with a lash. He had lived withsuch fine bravery, and he had had so little--so little, and yet morethan myriads of the men that live and die. That live and die! About herand beyond her she seemed to hear the rushing of great multitudes--thepassing of the countless souls through the gates of death. With a cry she threw herself upon her knees, beseeching the dull ears. * * * * * Six hours later he died, and when the rain ceased and the sun came outthey buried him beside his wife in the little graveyard. For days afterthe funeral Eugenia wandered like a shadow through the still rooms. Bernard had come and gone, carrying with him his short, sharp grief. Miss Chris had put aside her own sorrow and gone back to the managementof the house; only the girl, worn, idle, tragic, haunted the remindersof her loss. Coming upon the general's old slouch hat on the rack, shehad grasped it in sudden passionate longing; at the sight of hishalf-filled pipe she had rushed from the room and from the house. Thefaint scent of tobacco about the furniture was a continual torture toher. In the great chamber next the parlour she would sit for hours, staring at the cold white bed, shivering before the fireless hearth. Theplace chilled her like a vault; but she would linger wretchedly untilled away by Miss Chris, when she would sob upon that broad, unselfishbosom. December passed; the unsunned earth turned itself for a winter rest. January came, swift and changeful. With February a snowstorm swept fromthe north, driving southward. At first they felt it in the air; then theswollen clouds chased overhead; at last the white flakes arrived, falling, falling, falling. Through the night the storm made a glisteningmantle for the darkness; through the day it hid sombre sky and sombreearth in a spotless veil. It covered the far country to the distantforests; it weighted the ancient cedars until their green branches bentto earth; it wrapped the gravelled walk in a winding sheet; it filledthe hollows of the box bushes until they hardened into hills of ice. Thesnow was followed by cold winds. The ground froze in the night. Longicicles formed on the naked trees, the window panes bore a lacework offrost. One afternoon, when the landscape was white and hard, Eugenia went outinto the deserted sheep pasture where the dead oak stood. A wintersunset was burning like a bonfire in the west, and as far as the redhorizon swept an unbroken waste of snow. The rail fences shone silver intheir coat of frost, and from the blackened tree above her pendants ofice were shot with light. Across the field a flock of gaunt crows flew, casting purple shadows. Eugenia leaned against the oak and stared vacantly at the landscape--atthe sunset, and at the waste of snow, across which flitted the demoniacshadows of the crows. Her eyes saw only the desolation and the death;they were sealed to the grandeur. A sense of her own loneliness swept over her with the loneliness ofnature. Her own isolation--the isolation of a strong soul inpain--walled her apart as with a wall of ice. That assurance of humancompanionship on which she had based her future seemed suddenlyannihilated. She was alone and life was before her. Then, as she turned her gaze, a man's figure broke upon the field ofsnow, coming towards her. It was Dudley Webb, and in the resolute swingof his carriage, in the resistless ardour of his eyes, he seemed toreach her from east and west, from north and south, surrounding her witha warmth of summer. As he looked at her he held out his arms. "Eugie--poor girl! dear girl!" In the desolation of her life he stood to her as the hearth of home toa wanderer in the frozen North. For an instant she held back, and then, with a sob, she yielded. "I must be loved, " she said. "I must be loved or I shall die. " Around them the winter landscape reddened as the sunset broke, and abovetheir heads the crows flew, cawing, across the snow. BOOK IV THE MAN AND THE TIMES I The Democratic State Convention had taken an hour's recess. From thedoors of the opera house of Powhatan City the assembled delegatesemerged, heated, clamorous, out of breath. The morning session, despiteits noise, had not been interesting--awaiting the report of theCommittee on Credentials, the panting body had fumed away the openinghours. Of the fifteen hundred representatives of absent voters, thefavoured few who had held the floor had been needlessly discursive andundeniably dull. There had been overmuch of the party platform, and anabsence of the wit which is the soul of political speaking; and, thoughthe average Virginia Convention is able to breast triumphantly the mostencompassing wave of oratory, the present one had shown unmistakablesigns of suffocation. At the end of the third speech, metaphor hadfailed to move it, and alliteration had ceased to evoke applause. It hadheard without emotion similes that concerned the colour of Cleopatra'shair, and had yawned through perorations that ranged from Socrates tothe Senior Senator, who sat upon the stage. Attacks upon the "cormorantsand harpies that roost in Wall Street" had roused no thrill in the mindof the majority that knew not rhetoric. The most patient of the silentmembers had observed that "after all, their business was to nominate acandidate for governor, " while the unruly spirits, as they brandishedpalm-leaf fans, had wished "that blamed committee would come on. " Now, after hours of restless waiting, they emerged, stiff-kneed andperspiring, into the blazing sunshine that filled the little street. Once outside, they opened their lungs to the warm air in an attempt tobanish the tainted atmosphere of the interior; but the original motiveof expansion was lost in a flow of words. On the sidewalk the crowddivided into streams, pulsing in opposite directions. Heated, noisy, pervasive, it surged to dinners in hotels and boarding-houses, andoverflowed where Moloney's restaurant displayed its bill of fare. Itcame out talking, it divided talking; still talking, it swept, a roaringsea of flesh, into the far-off buzz of the distance. In a group of threemen passing into the lobby of the largest hotel, there was a slender manof fifty years, with a well-knit figure, half closed, indifferent eyes, and an emphatic mouth. In the insistent hum of words about him, hisvoice sounded in a brisk utterance that carried a hint of importantissues. "Oh, I don't think Hartley's much account, " he was saying. "I'd bet on aclose shave between Webb and Crutchfield, with Webb in the lead. Smallwill get the lieutenant-governorship, of course. Davis ought to beattorney-general, but he'll be beaten by Wray. It's the party reward. Davis is the better lawyer, by long odds, but Wray has stuck to theparty like a burr--I don't mean a pun, if you please. " The younger of his two companions, a spirited youth with high-standingauburn hair, laughed uproariously. "The trouble is they're afraid Burr won't stick to the party, " heprotested. "Major Simms, who is marshalling Crutchfield's forces, youknow, said to me last night--'Oh, Burr's all right when you let himlead, but he's damned mulish if you begin to pull the other way. '" The third man, a sunburned farmer, with a dogged mouth overhung by atobacco-stained mustache, assented with a nod. "There's not a better Democrat in Virginia than Nick Burr, " he said. "Ifthe party's got anything against him it had better out with it at once. He made the most successful chairman the State ever had--and he'shonest--there's not a more honest man in politics or out. " "Oh, I know all that, " broke in the auburn-haired young fellow, whosename was Dickson; "I'd back Burr against any candidate in the field, andI'm sorry he kept out of it. I hoped he'd come forward with you tomanage his campaign, Mr. Galt, " he said to the first speaker. Galt waived the remark. "Perhaps he thought his chances too slim for a walkover, " he said innon-committal fashion, as Burr's best friend. "I hear, by the way, thatthe delegation from his old home is instructed to vote for him on thefirst ballot, whether or not. " "He has a great name down in my parts, " put in the farmer. "The peoplethink he has the agricultural interests at heart. They wanted to sendhim to Congress in Webb's place, you know. " "Yes, I know, " said Galt. "Hello, Bassett, " as Tom Bassett joined him. "Where've you been? Lost sight of you this morning. " "Oh, I was out with the Committee on Credentials. A member? I should saynot. I wanted to hear that Madison County case, so I got madesergeant-at-arms. By the way, Dick, " to Dickson, "I hear you held thefloor for five minutes this morning and got off five distinct storiesthat landed with Columbus. " "Nonsense. I didn't open my mouth--except to call 'time' on the men whodid. There's our orator now. " He bowed to an elderly gentleman with a sharply pointed chin beard andthe type of face that was once called clerical. "Some one defined oratory the other day, " said Galt, "as the fringe withwhich the inhabitants of the Southern States still delighted to trimtheir politics--so I should call the gentleman of to-day 'a politicaltassel. ' He's ornamental and he hangs by a thread. " And he passed into the lobby arm-in-arm with Tom Bassett. The place was swarming with delegates: delegates from country districts, red-faced farmers in flapping linen coats and wide-brimmed hats;delegates from the cities, dapper, well-groomed, cordial-voiced;delegates of the true political type, shaven, obsequious, alert;delegates of the cast that belongs at home, outspoken, honest-eyed, remote; stout delegates, with half-bursting waistbands, thin delegates, with shrunken chests. In the animated throng there was but one conditionheld in common--they were all heated delegates. In one corner a stoutgentleman in a thin coat, with a scarlet neck showing above his wiltedcollar, held a half-dozen listeners with his eyes, while he plied themwith emphatic sentences in which the name of Crutchfield sounded like arefrain. Moving from group to group, portly, unctuous, insinuating, aman with an oily voice was doing battle in the cause of Webb. The throng that passed in and out of the lobby was continually shiftingplace and principles. One instant it would seem that Crutchfieldtriumphed in a majority sufficient to overwhelm the platform; a momentmore and the Webb men were vociferously in the ascendant. At the time itresolved itself into a question of tongues. "This is thick, " said Ben Galt, dodging the straw hat with which aperspiring politician was fanning himself and gently withdrawing himselffrom the arms of a scarlet individual in a wet collar to collide withhis double. "Let's go to dinner. Ah! there's the Lion of Democracy--howare you, Judge?" The Lion, a striking figure, with a graceful, snow-white mane and acolossal memory, held out a tireless hand. "Well met, Ben, " he exclaimedin effusive tones. "I've been on the outlook for you all day. Onemoment--your pardon--one moment--Ah, my dear sir! my dear sir!" to acountryman who approached him with outstretched hand, "I am delighted. Remember you? Why, of course--of course! Your name has escaped me thisinstant; but I was speaking of you only yesterday. No, don't tell me!don't tell me. I remember. Ah, now I have it--one moment, please--it wasafter the battle of Seven Pines. You lent me a horse after the battle ofSeven Pines. Thank you--thank you, sir. And your charming lady, who mademe the delicious coffee. My best regards to her. " The great man was surrounded, and Galt and Bassett, leaving him to hisassailants, passed into the dining-room. Glancing hastily down the long room filled with small, overcrowdedtables, they joined several men who were seated near an open window. "Hello, Major. Glad to see you, Mr. Slate! How are things down your way, Colonel?" A tired negro waiter, with a napkin slung over his arm, drew back thechairs and deposited two plates of lukewarm soup before the newcomers, after which he lifted a brush of variegated tissue paper and madevaliant assault upon the flies which overran the tables. Stale odours ofover-cooked food weighted the atmosphere, and waiters bearing enormoustrays above their heads jostled one another as they threaded theirdifficult ways. Occasionally the clamour of voices was lost in theclatter of breaking dishes. Tom Bassett pushed his plate away and moppedhis large forehead. He appeared to have developed without aging in thelast fifteen years--still presenting an aspect of invinciblerespectability. "It's ninety-two degrees in the shade, if it's anything, " he declared, adding, "Has anybody seen Webb to-day?" The colonel, whose name was Diggs, nodded with his mouth full, and, having swallowed at his leisure, proceeded to reply, holding his knifeand fork poised for service. He was fair to the point of insipidity, andhis weak blue eyes bulged with joviality. "Shook hands with him at the train last night, " he said. "Hall was a dayahead of time. Great politician, Hall. Working for Webb like a beaver. Here, waiter! More potatoes. " "I went to sleep last night to the music of Webb's men, " said Galt, "andI awoke to the tune of Crutchfield. I don't believe either side went tobed. My wonder is whom they found to work on. " Slate, a muscular little man, with a nervous affection about the mouththat gave him an appearance of being continually on the point of asurprising utterance, hesitated over, caught, and finally landed hisspeech. "They're dead against Webb down my way, " he said. "Ourdelegation is instructed to vote for anybody that favours retrenchment, unless it's Webb--they won't have Webb if he moves to run the State onthe two-cent system. If we'd cast a quarter of a vote for him they'ddrum us out of the district. It's all because he voted for that railroadbill in Washington last winter. We hate a railroad as a bull hates a redflag. " Major Baylor, a courtly gentleman, with a face that bore traces of asurvival of the old Virginian legal type, spoke for the first time. "Fauquier stands to a man for Dudley Webb, " he said. "He has a largefollowing in my section, and I understand, by the way, that if Hartleywithdraws after the first ballot, it will mean a clear gain for Webb inthe eighth district. He's safe, I think. " "Oh, we're Crutchfield strong, " laughed the colonel good-humouredly, reaching for a toothpick from the glass stand in the centre of thetable. "We think a man deserves something who hasn't missed a conventionfor fourteen years. " There was a spirit of ridicule tempered with good-humour about thegroup, which showed it to be, in the main, indifferent to the result--anattitude in vivid contrast to the effervescent partisanship of theleaders. With the exception of the colonel, whose heart was in hisdinner, they appeared to be unconcerned spectators of the events of theday. "Hall was telling me a good story on Webb last week, " said Diggs, as hewaited for his dessert. "It was about the time he seconded thenomination of Reed for attorney-general--ever hear it?" "Fire away!" was Galt's reply, as he leaned back in his chair. Thecolonel's stories were the platform which had supported him throughout anot unsuccessful social career. "It was when Webb was a young fellow, you know, just beginning to beheard of as an advocate. He was at his first convention, eager to havehis say, hard to keep silent; and he was asked to second the nominationof Reed, a boyish-looking chap of twenty-six. He didn't know Reed fromAdam, but he was ambitious to be heard just then--and he'd have spokenfor the devil if they'd have given him a chance. Well, he launched outon his speech in fine style. He began with Noah--as they all did inthose days--glided down the centuries to Seneca and Cęsar, touched uponAdam Smith and Jefferson, and finally landed in the arms of Monroe P. Reed. There he grew fairly ecstatic over his subject. He spoke of him as'the lawyer sprung, full-armed, from the head of learning, ' as the'nonpareil Democrat who clove, as Ruth to Naomi, to the immortalprinciples of Virginia Democracy, ' and in a glorious period, he roundedoff 'the incomparable services which Monroe P. Reed had rendered thedeathless cause of the Confederacy!' In an instant the house came down. There was a roar of laughter, and somebody in the gallery sang out: 'Hewas at his mother's breast!' "For a moment Webb quailed, but his wits never left him. He faced theman in the gallery like Apollo come to judgment, and his fine voice rangto the roof. 'I know it, sir, I know it, ' he thundered, 'but Monroe P. Reed was one of the stoutest breastworks of the Confederacy. I have itfrom his mother, sir!' "Of course the house went wild. He was the youngest man on the floor, and they gave him an ovation. Since then, he's learned some things, andhe's become the only orator left among us. " The colonel finished hurriedly as his apple pie was placed before him, and did not speak again during dinner. "He is an orator, " said Galt. "He doesn't use much clap-trap businesseither. I've never heard him drag in the Medes and Persians, and I couldcount his classical quotations on my fingers. Personally, I like Burr'sway better--it's saner and it's sounder--but Webb knows how to talk, and he has a voice like a silver bell--Ah, here he is. " As he spoke there was a stir in the crowd at the doorway and Dudley Webbentered and took the nearest vacant seat. The first impression of him at this time was one of extremepicturesqueness. A slight tendency to stoutness gave dignity to a figurewhich, had it been thin, would have been insignificant, and served toaccentuate a peculiar grace of curve which prevented his weight fromcarrying any suggestion of the coming solidity of middle age. His rich, rather oily hair, worn longer than the fashion, fell in affectedcarelessness across his brow and lent to his candid eyes an expressionof intensity and eloquence. His clear-cut nose and the firm, fleshycurve of his prominent chin modified the effect of instability producedby his large and somewhat loosely moulded lips. The salient quality ofhis personality, as of his appearance, was an ease of proportion almosturbane. His presence in the overcrowded room diffused an infectiousaffability. Though he spoke to few, he was at once, and irrepressibly, the friend of all. He did not go out of his way to shake a single hand, he confined his conversation, with the old absorption, to the men at histable--personal supporters, for the most part; but there was about him apacific emanation--an atmosphere at once social and political, whichextended to the far end of the room and to men whose names he did notknow. He talked rapidly in a vibrant, low-toned voice, with frequent gesturesof his shapely hands. His laugh was easy, full, and inspiriting--thelaugh of a man with a vital sense of humour. As Galt watched him, hesmiled in unconscious sympathy. "But for Burr, I think I'd like to see Webb governor, " he said. "Afterall, it is something to have a man who looks well in a procession--andhe has a charming wife. " II The gas light and electric light illuminating the opera house fell witha curious distinction in tone upon the crowd which filled the buildingand overflowed through darkened doors and windows. Beneath the electricjets the faces were focussed to a white hush of expectancy, whichmellowed into a blur of impatient animation where the dim gas flickeredagainst the walls. Since the birth of Virginia Democracy, the people had not witnessed sogenerous an outpouring of delegates. In a State where every man is moreor less a politician, the convention had assumed the air of a carnivalof males--the restriction of sex limiting it to an expression of buthalf the population. The delegations from the congressional districts were marshalled in lineupon the floor and stage, their positions denoted by numbered placardson poles, while in the galleries an enthusiastic swarm of visitors gavevent to the opinions of that tribunal which is the public. A stragglingfringe of feet, in white socks and low shoes, suspended from the red andgilt railings of the boxes, illustrated the peculiar privileges enjoyedin the absence of the feminine atmosphere. From stage to gallery theplay of palm-leaf fans produced the effect of a swarm of giganticinsects, and behind them rows of flushed and perspiring faces wereturned upon the gentleman who held the floor. A composite photograph of the faces would have resulted in a type atonce alarming and reassuring--alarming to the student of individualendeavour, reassuring to the historian of impersonal issues. It wouldhave presented a countenance that was unerringly Anglo-Saxon, thoughmodified by the conditions of centuries of changes. One would haverecognised instinctively the tiller of the soil--the single class whichhas refused concessions to the making of a racial cast of feature. Thefarmer would have stamped his impress indelibly upon theplate--retaining that enduring aspect which comes from contact withnatural forces--that integrity of type which is the sole survival of theVirginian pioneer. In the general face, the softening influences of society, the relaxingmorality of city life would have appeared only as a wrinkle here andthere, or as an additional shadow. Beneath the fluctuating expression ofpolitical sins and heresies, there would have remained the unalteredfeatures of the steadfast qualities of the race. The band in a far corner rolled out "Dixie, " and the mass heavedmomentarily, while a cloud of tobacco smoke rose into the air, scattering into circles before the waving of the palm-leaf fans. Hereand there a man stood up to remove his coat or to stretch his hand tothe vendor of lemonade. Sometimes the fringe of feet overhanging theboxes waved convulsively as a howl of approbation or derision greeted afresh arrival or the remarks of a speaker. Again, there would rise atumultuous call for a party leader or a famous story teller. It was ajovial, unkempt, coatless crowd that spat tobacco juice as recklesslyas it applauded a fine sentiment. As an unwieldy gentleman, in an alpaca coat, made his appearance uponthe platform, there was an outburst of emotion from where the tenthdelegation was seated. The unwieldy gentleman was the HonourableCumberland Crutchfield, a popular aspirant to the governorship. When Galt entered the hall, an athletic rhetorician was declaiming aneulogy which had for its theme the graces of his candidate. "You cametoo soon, " observed a man seated next a vacant chair, which Galt took. "You should have escaped this infliction. " "My dear fellow, I never escaped an infliction in my life, " respondedGalt serenely. "I cut my teeth on them--but here's another, " and heturned an indifferent gaze on the orator, who had risen upon theplatform. "Good Lord, it's Gary!" he groaned. "Now we're in for it. " "Mr. Chairman and gentlemen of the convention, " Gary was beginning, "itis my pleasant duty to second the nomination of the HonourableCumberland Crutchfield of the gallant little county of Botetourt. Beforethis august body, before this incomparable assemblage of the intellectand learning of the State, my tongue would be securely tied ("I'd likethat little job, " grunted the man next to Galt) did not the majesty ofmy subject loosen it to eloquence. Would that the immortal Cicero ("Nowwe're in for it, " breathed Galt) in his deathless orations had beeninspired by the illustrious figure of our fellow-countryman. Gentlemen, in the Honourable Cumberland Crutchfield you behold one whose publicservice is an inspiration, whose private life is a benediction--one whohas borne without abuse the grand old title of the Cęsar of Democracy, and I dare to stand before you and assert that, had Cęsar been aCumberland Crutchfield, there would have been no Brutus. Gentlemen, Ipresent to you in the Honourable Cumberland Crutchfield the VestedVirgin of Virginia!" The chairman's gavel fell with a thud. In the uproar which ensued hats, fans, sticks filled the air. The tenth delegation rose to a man andsurged forward, but it was howled down. "Go it, old man!" sang theboxes, where the fringe of feet was wildly swaying, and "He's allright!" screeched the galleries. To a man who may be made fun of aVirginia convention can be kind, but in the confusion Gary had saunteredout for a drink. After his exit the seconding motion flowed on smoothly through severaltedious speeches; and when the virtues of Mr. Crutchfield had beensufficiently exploited Major Baylor requested the nomination of DudleyWebb. He spoke warmly along the old heroic lines. "The gentleman whom I ask you to nominate as your candidate for governorstands before his people as one of the foremost statesmen of his day. The father fell while defending Virginia; the son has pledged hissplendid ability and his untiring youth to the same service. From achild he has been trained in the love of country and the principles ofDemocracy. In his veins he carries the blood of a race of patriots. Fromhis mother's breast he has imbibed the immortal milk of morality. Hehas laboured for his people in a single-hearted service that seeketh notits own. There is no man rich enough to buy the good-will of DudleyWebb; there is none so poor--" "That he hasn't a vote to sell him!" called a voice from the pit. In an instant a chorus of yells rang out from stage to gallery. The manwho spoke was knocked down by a Webb partisan, and assailant andassailed were hustled from the house. When the uproar was subdued, the thin voice of Mr. Slate sounded fromthe platform. "What he doesn't sell he buys, " he cried in his nervous, penetranttones. "Twelve years ago he was accused of lobbying with full hands inthe legislature. He was the lobbyist of the P. H. & C. Railroad. Thecharge was passed over, not disproved. What do you say to this, Major?" In the effort to restore order the chairman grew purple, but the majorturned squarely upon his questioner. "I say nothing, sir. It is unnecessary to assert that a gentleman is nota criminal at large. " A burst of applause broke out. "I repeat the charge, " screamed Slate. "It is false!" retorted the major. "It's a damned lie!" called a dozen voices. "Nick Burr knows it. Ask him!" answered Slate. From a peaceable assemblage the convention had passed into pandemonium. Two thousand throats made, in two thousand different keys, a singlegigantic discord. The pounding of the chairman was a faintaccompaniment to the clamour. In the first lull, a man's voice with adominant note was heard demanding recognition, and at the sight of histowering figure upon the platform there was a short silence. "It's Nick Burr!" called a man from Burr's district. "Let's hear NickBurr. " There was a protest on the part of the Webb faction. Burr and Webb werelooked upon as rivals. "He hates Webb like the devil!" cried a delegate, and "It's pie for Burr!" sneered another. But as he moved slightlyforward and faced the chairman a sudden hush fell before him. Among the men surrounding him his powerful figure towered like agiant's. His abundant red hair, waving thickly from his bulgingforehead, redeemed by its single note of colour the rigidity of hisfeatures. His eyes--small, keen, deeply set beneath heavy brows--flashedfrom a dull opacity to an alert animation. But in the first and lastview of his face it was the mouth that marked the man; the straight, thin lips would close or unclose at their own will, not atanother's--the line of the mouth, like the line of the hard, square jaw, was the physical expression of his character. He was called ugly, but itwas at least the ugliness of individuality--the ugliness of anunpolished force--of a raw, yet disciplined energy. Now, as he stood athis full height upon the stage, his personality was felt before hiswords were uttered. He had but one attribute of recognised oratory--avoice; and yet a voice so little vibrant as to seem almost withoutinflections. It was resonant, far-reaching, incisive; but it rang abruptly andwithout mellowness. "Mr. Chairman, " he began, and his words were heard from pit to gallery. "It is perhaps unnecessary for me to state that I do not rise as anadvocate of Mr. Webb. I am neither his personal friend nor his politicalsupporter, but in the year alluded to by the gentleman from Nottoway Iwas upon a committee appointed to investigate the charges which thegentleman from Nottoway has seen fit to revive. " A silence had fallen inwhich a whisper might have been heard. Every eye in the building wasturned to where his outstanding mop of hair shone red against thesmoke-stained wall. "The charges were thoroughly investigated andemphatically withdrawn. The gentleman from Nottoway has been misinformedor his memory has misled him--since there was abundant evidence broughtbefore the committee to prove the suspicions against Mr. Webb's methodsas a lobbyist to be absolutely without foundation. "I have made this statement because I believe myself to be in a betterposition to disprove this old and forgotten charge than any man present. As I am a recognised opponent of Mr. Webb's political ambition mytestimony to the integrity of his personal honour may be of additionalvalue. " In the thunder of applause that shook the building he turned for thefirst time towards the house. The cheers that went up to him brought theanimation to his eyes. The faces in the pit were hidden behind a sea ofhandkerchiefs and hats--it was the response which a Virginia audiencemakes to a brave or a generous action. "Hurrah for honest Nick!" yelledthe floor, and "Go in and win yourself!" shouted a delegate from his owndistrict. He spoke again, and they were silent. "Men of Virginia, in the naming of your governor, let us have neithersubterfuge nor slander. Better than the love of party is the love ofhonesty--and the Democracy of Jefferson cannot thrive upon falsehood. Fair means are the only means, honest ends are the only ends. The partyowes its right to existence to the people's will; when its life must beprolonged by artificial stimulants it is fit that it should die. It isnot the people's master, but the people's servant; if it should usurpthe oppressor's place, it must die the oppressor's death. "For fifteen years I have worked a Democrat among you, and it is notneeded that I should put in words my love for the party I have served;but I say to you to-day that if that party were doomed to annihilationand a lie could save it, I would not speak it. " He sat down and the uproar began again. Beyond the party were thepeople, and he had touched them. With the force of his personality uponit he had become suddenly the hero of the house. "Honest Nick! HonestNick!" shouted the galleries, and the cry was echoed from the pit. Whenorder was restored Major Baylor completed his speech; it was seconded bya sensible young congressman, and the oratory was cut short by a callfor votes. In a flash the chairmen of the different delegations were stung intoaction. A buzz like that of bees swarming rose from the pit and whiteslips of paper fluttered from row to row. The Webb leaders werewhipping their faction into an enthusiasm that drowned the roll call. Atlast, with the reading of the ballot, there was silence, followed byapplause. Webb led slightly in advance of Crutchfield; Burr came next, Hartley last. With the surprise of the third name, round which there hadbeen a rally of uninstructed delegations, a cheer went up. In theclamour Burr had risen to ask that his name be withdrawn, but the chorusof his newly formed followers howled him down. Then Hartley was droppedfrom the race and a second ballot ordered. The excitement in thebuilding could be felt like steam. The heat was rising and a nervoustension weighted the atmosphere. Through the clouds of tobacco smoke therecords of changes sounded distinctly. The Hartley delegation that Webbhad counted on divided and went two ways; the county of Albemarle passedover to Burr; the city of Richmond broke its vote into three equalparts. Each change was received with a roar by the opposing factions--while theclerks stumbled on, making alteration upon alteration. On the floor andthe stage the chairmen thickened in the fight. Ben Galt had sprungsuddenly into life as Burr's manager, and in the aisle Tom Bassett, inhis shirt sleeves, with a tally sheet in his hand, was inciting hisbattalion to victory. About him the Webb men were summing up the votesneeded to bring in their leader. The noise had a dull, baying sound, asif the general voice were growing hoarse. The odour of good and badtobacco was dense and stifling. In the midst of the clamour a drunkenman rose to move that the convention consider the subject in prayer. Upon the reading of the second ballot the confusion deepened. The nameof Crutchfield went down, and Burr and Webb ran hotly neck to neck. Thenthe Crutchfield party, which had held bravely together, began to goover, and, as each change was made, a shout went up from the successfulforce. Hall and Galt had established themselves on opposite sides of thestage and were working with drawn breath. Galt, with a cigar in hismouth and a fan in his hand, was the only cool man in the house. He hadcaught the wave of popular enthusiasm before it had had time to break, and he was giving it no ground upon which to settle. Tom Bassett in thecentre aisle was cheering on his workers. He was superb, but the Webbmen were not behind him; it was still neck to neck. Then, at last, withthe third ballot, Burr led off, and the voting was over. There was a call upon the name of the successful candidate, but beforehe stood up the Honourable Cumberland Crutchfield rose to eulogise thewisdom of the convention in nominating the man he had tried to defeat. The Cęsar of Democracy was beaming, despite his disappointment--apersistent beam of the flesh. "Gentlemen, you have made your decision, and it is for me to bow to itswisdom. In the Honourable Nick Burr your choice has fallen upon the manwho will most incite to ardour each individual voter. His record is aglorious one, "--for an instant he wavered; then his imagination took ablinded leap. "He was born a Democrat, he lives a Democrat, he will diea Democrat. In the life of his revered and lamented father, the lateAlexander P. Burr, he has a shining example of unshaken conviction andunswerving loyalty to principle. Gentlemen, you have chosen well, and Ipledge myself to uphold your nominee and to be the foremost bearer ofyour banner when it waves in next November from the line of Tennessee tothe Atlantic Ocean. " He sat down amid ecstatic cheers and Nicholas Burr came forward. His face was grave, but there was the light of enthusiasm in his eyesand his head was uplifted. "There's a man who has capitalised his conscience, " sneered a Webbfollower with a smile. Across the hall Ben Galt was lighting a cigar, the tattered remains ofhis fan at his feet. "There's a statesman that came a century too late, "he remarked to Tom Bassett. "He's a leader, pure and simple, but he'sout of place in an age when every man's his own patriot. " III The successful man was returning to Kingsborough. He had spent the weekin Richmond, where he had lived for the past ten years, and he was nowgoing back to receive the congratulations of the judge--as he would havegone twice the distance. It was the ordinary car of a Southern railroad, and leaning his headagainst the harsh, bristly plush of the seat, he had before him theusual examples of Southern passengers. Across the aisle a slender mother was holding a crying baby, two smallchildren huddling beside her. In the seat in front of him slouched amulatto of the new era--the degenerate descendant of two races that mixonly to decay. Further off there were several men returning frombusiness trips, and across from them sat a pretty girl, asleep, her handresting on a gilded cage containing a startled canary. At intervals shewas aroused by the flitting figure of a small boy on the way to thecooler of iced water. From the rear of the car came the amiable drawl ofthe conductor as he discussed the affairs of the State with a localdrummer, whose feet rested upon a square leathern case. Nicholas Burr leaned back and closed his eyes, crossing his long legswhich were cramped by the limited space. He had already exchangedpleasantries with the conductor, and he had chatted for twenty minuteswith a farmer, who had gone back at last to the smoking-car. The low, irregular landscape was as familiar to him as his own face. Heknew it so well that he could see it with closed eyes--could note eachchange of expression where the daylight shifted, could tell where thethin cornfields ended and the meadows rolled fresh and green, couldsmell the stretch of young pines above the smoke of the engine, andcould follow to their ends the rain-washed roads that crawled withhidden heads into the blue blur of the distance. He knew it all, but hewas not thinking of it now. He was thinking of the day, fifteen years ago, when he had leftKingsborough to throw himself and his future into the service of hisState. He had told himself then, fresh from the influence of Jeffersonand the traditions of Kingsborough, that he had but one loveremaining--the love of Virginia. Now, with the bitterer wisdom ofexperience, that youthful romance showed half foolish, half pathetic. Tothe man of twenty-three it had been at once the inspiration and theactuality. His personal life had turned to ashes in an hour, and he hadtold himself that his public one, at least, should remain vital. He hadpledged himself to success, and it came to him now that the cause hadbeen won by his single-heartedness--by the absolute oneness of hisdesire. There had been a sole divinity before him, and he had notwandered in the way of strange gods. He had given himself, and afterfifteen years he was gaining his recompense--a recompense for more workthan most men put into a lifetime. He smiled slightly as he thought of the beginning. In the beginning hissincerity, had been laughed at, his ardour had met rebuff. He had goneto Richmond to meet an assembly of statesmen; he had found a body ofwell-intentioned, but unprofitable servants. They were men to be led, this he saw; and as soon as his vision was adjusted he had determinedwithin himself to become their leader. The day when a legislator meant astatesman was done with; it meant merely a man like other men, to bejuggled with by shrewder politicians or to be tricked by more dishonestones. They plunged into errors, and lived to retrieve them; they walkedblindfold into traps, and with open eyes struggled out again. For hefound them honest and he found them faithful where their lights ledthem. He remembered, with a laugh, a New Englander who, after afruitless winter spent in scenting the iniquities of the ruling party, had angrily exclaimed that "if politicians were made up of knaves andfools, Mason and Dixon's was the geographical line dividing thespecies. " Nicholas had retorted, "If to be honest means to be a fool, weare fools!" and the New Englander had chuckled homeward. That was his first winter and he had been nobody. Ah, it was hard work, that beginning. He had had to fight party plans and personal prejudices. He had had to fight the recognised leaders of the legislature, and hehad had to fight the men who pulled the strings--the men who stoodoutside and hoodwinked the consciences of the powers within. He had hadto fight, and he had fought well and long. He recalled the day of his first decisive victory--the day when he hadstood alone and the people--the great, free people, the beginning andthe end of all democracies--had rallied to his standard. He had won thepeople on that day, and he had never lost them. But he was of the party first and last. In his youth he had believed inthe divine inspiration of the Jeffersonian principles as he believed inGod. On the Democratic leaders he had thought to find the mantle ofApostolic Succession. He had believed as the judge believed--with thepassionate credulity of an older political age. Time had tempered, butit had not dissipated, his fiery partisanship. He sat to-day with thehonours of a party upon him--honours that a few months would seeratified by a voice nominally the people's. He laughed now as heremembered that Galt had said that in five years Dudley Webb would bethe most popular man in the State. "When Senator Withers stopsdelivering orations, there'll be a call for an orator, and Webb willarise, " he had prophesied. "They don't need him now because the senatorgets off speeches like hot cakes; but mark my words, the first time Webbis asked to make an address at the unveiling of a Confederate statue, there won't be a man to stand up against him in Virginia. He's a betterspeaker than Withers--only the public doesn't know it, and there'll behot times when it finds it out. " The train was slackening for a wayside station. Outside a man wasdriving a plough across a field where grain had been harvested. Nicholasfollowed with his eyes the walk of the horses, the purple-brown trail ofthe plough, the sturdy, independent figure of the driver as he passed, whistling an air. Over the Virginian landscape--the landscape of acountry where each ragged inch of ground wears its strange, distinctivecharm, where each rotting "worm fence" guards a peculiar beauty forthose who know it--lay the warm hush of full-blown summer. The man at the plough aroused in Nicholas Burr a sudden exhilaration asof physical exertion. It brought back his boyhood which had brightenedas he had passed farther from it, and he felt that it would be good onsuch an afternoon to follow the horses across fields that were odorousof the upturned earth. The train went on slowly, with the shiftless slouch of Southern trains, the man at the plough vanished, and Nicholas returned to his thoughts. The years had been almost breathless in their flight. He had put himselfto a purpose, and he had lost sight of all things save its fulfilment. The success that men spoke of with astonished eyes--the transformationof the barefooted boy into the triumphant politician, had a firmfoundation, he knew, though others did not. It was his capacity for toilthat had made him--not his intellect, but his ability to persevere--thepower which, in the old days, had successfully carried him through JerryPollard's store. As chairman of the Democratic Party, men had called hiscampaigns brilliant. He alone knew the tedious processes, the infinitepatience from which these triumphs had evolved--he alone knew the secretand the security of his success. The train stopped with a lurch. "Kingsborough, sir!" said the conductor with a friendly touch upon hisarm. He started abruptly from his reverie, lifted his bag, and left the car. On the platform outside a group of stragglers recognised him, and therewas a hearty cheer followed by frantic handshakes. The incident pleasedhim, and he spoke to each man singly, calling him by name. The sheriffwas one of them, and the clerk of the court, and the old negro sexton ofthe church. There was a fervour in their congratulations which broughtthe warmth to his eyes. He was glad that the men who had known him inhis poverty should rise so cordially to approve his success. He left the station, walking rapidly to the judge's house. He hadfrequently returned to Kingsborough, but to-day the changes of the lastfifteen years struck him with a sensation of surprise. The wide, whitestreet, half in sunshine, half in shadow, trailed its drowsy length intothe open country where the roads were filled with grass and dust. Henoticed with a pang that the ivy had been torn from the church and thatthe glazed brick walls flaunted a nudity that was almost immodest. Hehad remembered it as a bower of shade--a gigantic bird's nest. He sawthat ancient elms were rapidly decaying, and when he reached the judge'sgarden he found that the syringa and the lilacs had vanished. The gardenhad faced the destroyer in the plough, and trim vegetables thrived wheregaudy blossoms had once rioted. As he opened the gate he saw old Cęsar bending above the mint bed, andhe went over to him. "Dar ain' nuttin better ter jedge er gent'mun by den his mint patch, "the old negro was muttering, "an' dis yer one's done w'ar out all doseno 'count flow'rs, des' like de quality done w'ar out de trash. Hi!Marse Nick, dat you?" he shook the proffered hand, his kindly black facewrinkling with hospitality. "Marse George hev got de swelled foot, " hesaid in answer to a question, "an' he ain' tech his julep sence de daybefo' yestiddy. Dis yer's fur you, " he added, looking at the bunch inhis hand. "You're a trump, Cęsar!" exclaimed Nicholas as he ascended the steps andentered the wide hall, through which a light breeze was blowing. The library door was open and he went in softly, lighteninginstinctively his heavy tread. The judge was sitting in his greatarm-chair, his white head resting against the cushioned back, hisbandaged foot on a high footstool. "Is it you, my boy?" he asked, without turning. Nicholas crossed the room and gripped the outstretched hand whichtrembled slightly in the air, the usual rugged composure of his facegiving place to frank tenderness. "I'm sorry to see the gout's troubling you again, " he said. The judge laughed and motioned to a chair beside his desk. His fine darkeyes were as bright as ever, and there was a youthful ring in his voice. "I'm paying for my pleasures like the rest of us, " he responded. "Thetruth is, Cęsar makes me live too high, the rascal--and I go on abread-and-milk diet once in a while to spite him. " Then his tonechanged; he pushed aside a slender vase of "safrano" roses whichshadowed Nicholas's face and regarded him with genuine delight. "It'sgood news you bring me, " he exclaimed. "I haven't had such news sincethey told me the Democratic Party had wiped out Mahonism. And it was asurprise. We thought Dudley Webb was too secure for the chances of the'dark horse. ' Well, well, I'm sorry for Dudley, though I'm glad for you. How did you do it?" Nicholas laughed, but his face was grave. "Ben Galt says I worked up apolitical 'revival, '" he replied. "He declares my methods were for allthe world the counterpart of those employed in a Methodist camp meeting, but he's joking, of course. It was a distinct surprise to me, as youknow. I had declined to offer myself as a candidate for the nomination, because I believed Webb to be assured of victory. However, theCrutchfield party proved stronger than we supposed, and they came overto my side. I was the 'dark horse, ' as you say. " "It's very good, " commented the judge. "Very good. " "Galt is afraid that what he calls 'the political change of heart' won'tlast, " Nicholas went on, "but he knows, as I know, that I am the choiceof the people and that, though a few of the leaders may distrust me, theDemocratic Party as a body has entire confidence in me. You willunderstand that, had I doubted that the decision was free anduntrammelled, I should not have accepted the nomination. " The judge nodded with a smile. "I know, " he said, "and I also know thatyou were not born to be a politician. You will bear witness to it someday. You should have stuck to law. But have you seen Dudley?" The younger man's face clouded. When he spoke there was a triumphantzest in his voice. His deeply-set eyes, which had at times a peculiarlyopaque quality, were now charged with light. The thick red locks flaredabove his brow. "He spoke pleasantly to me after the convention, " he answered. "It was adisappointment to him, I know--and I am sorry, " he finished in a forced, exclamatory manner, and was silent. The judge looked at him for a moment before he went on in his eventones. "His wife was telling me, " he said. "She was down here a week or twobefore the convention. It seems that they are both anxious to return toRichmond to live. She's a fine girl, is Eugie. It was a terrible thingabout that brother of hers, and she's never recovered from it. I can'tunderstand how the boy came to commit such a peculiarly stupid forgery. " A flash of bitterness crossed the other's face; his voice was hard. "He has missed his deserts, " he returned harshly. "Oh, I don't know, poor fellow, " murmured the judge, flinching from atwinge of gout and settling his foot more carefully upon the stool. "Hehas been a fugitive from the State for years and a stranger to his wifeand children. There was always something extraordinary in the fact thathe escaped after conviction, and I suppose there was a kind of honour inhis not breaking his bail. At least, that's the way Eugie seems toregard it--and it is such a pitiful consolation that we might allow herto retain it. She tells me that Bernard's wife has been in destitutecircumstances. It's a pity! it's a pity! I had always hoped that TomBattle's boy would turn out well. " The younger man met his eyes squarely and spoke in an emotionless voice. "I should like to see him serving his sentence, " he said. An hour later he left the judge's house and walked out to his old home. Since his father's death the place had undergone repairs andimprovements. The lawn had been cleared off and sown in grass, thefences had been mended, and the house had been painted white. It couldnever suggest prosperity, but it had assumed an appearance of comfort. In the little room next the kitchen he heard his stepmother scolding asmall negro servant, and he broke in good-humouredly upon her discourse. "All right, ma?" he called. Marthy Burr turned and came towards him. She had aged but little, andher gaunt figure and sharp face still showed the force of herindomitable spirit. "I declar' if 'tain't you, Nick!" she exclaimed. He took her in his arms and kissed her perfunctorily, for he was charyof caresses. Then he lifted Nannie's baby from the floor and tossed itlightly. "Nannie's spending the day, " explained his stepmother with an attempt atconversation. "She would name that child Marthy, an' it's the bestlookin' one she's got. " The baby, a pink-cheeked atom in a blue gingham frock, made a franticclutch at the vivid hair of the giant who held her, and set up a tearfuldisclaimer. Nicholas returned her to the rug, where she attempted toswallow a string of spools, and looked at his stepmother. "Where's that dress I sent you?" he demanded. Marthy Burr sat down and smoothed out the creases in her purple calico. "Laid away in camphor, " she replied with a diffidence that was rapidlywaning. "Marthy, if you swallow them spools, you won't have anything toplay with. " Nicholas looked about the common little room--at the coarse lacecurtains, the crude chromos, the distorted vases--and returned to hisquestion. "You promised me you'd wear it, " he went on. "Wear my best alpaca every day?" she demanded suspiciously. "I wouldn'thave it on more'n an hour befo' one of them worthless niggers would havespilt bacon gravy all over it. There ain't been no peace in this housesince you sent those no 'count darkies here to help me. If yo' pa was'live, he'd turn them out bag an' baggage befo' sundown. Lord, Lord, when I think of what yo' poor pa would say if he was to walk in now an'find them creeturs in the kitchen. " Her stepson smiled. "Now, if you'll sit still a moment, I'll tell you a piece of news, " hesaid. "You ain't thinkin' of gettin' married, air you?" inquired Marthy Burrwith sudden keenness. "Married!" He laughed aloud. "I've no time for such nonsense. Listen--no, let the baby alone, she isn't choking. If the Powers agree, and the Democratic Party triumphs in November, I shall be Governor ofVirginia on the first of January. " His stepmother looked at him in a dazed way, her glance wandering fromhis face to the baby with the string of spools. There was a pleasedlight in her eyes, but he saw that she was striving in vain to grasp thefull significance of his words. "Well, well, " she said at last. "I al'ays told Amos you wa'nt nofool--but who'd have thought it!" IV The Capitol building at Richmond stands on a slight eminence in a grassysquare, hiding its gray walls behind a stretch of elms and sycamores, asif it had retreated into historic shadow before the ruthless advance ofthe spirit of modernism. In the centre of the square, whose brilliantgreen slopes are intersected by gravelled walks that shine silver in thesunlight, the grave old building remains the one distinctive feature ofa city where Iconoclasm has walked with destroying feet. A few years ago--so few that it is within the memory of the veryyoung--the streets leading from the Capitol were the streets of aSouthern town--bordered by hospitable Southern houses set in gardenswhere old-fashioned flowers bloomed. Now the gardens are gone and thehouses are outgrown. Progress has passed, and in its wake there havesprung up obvious structures of red brick with brownstone trimmings. Theyoung trees leading off into avenues of shade soften the harshness of anarchitecture which would become New York, and which belongs as much toMassachusetts as to Virginia. The very girls who, on past summer afternoons, flitted in bareheadedloveliness from door to door, have changed with the changing times. Theloveliness is perhaps more striking, less distinctive; with theflower-like heads have passed the old grace and the old dependence, andthe undulatory walk has quickened into buoyant briskness. It is allmodern--as modern as the red brick walls that are building where aquaint mansion has fallen. But in the Capitol Square one forgets to-day and relives yesterday. Beneath the calm eyes of the warlike statue of the First American littlechildren chase gray squirrels across the grass, and infant carriages withberuffled parasols are drawn in white and pink clusters beside thebenches. Jefferson and Marshall, Henry and Nelson are secure in bronzewhen mere greatness has decayed. To the left of the Capitol a gravelled drive leads between a shortavenue of lindens to the turnstile iron gates that open before thegovernor's house. Here, too, there is an atmosphere of the past and thepicturesque. The lawn, dotted with chrysanthemums and rose trees, leadsdown from the rear of the house to a wall of grapevines that overlooksthe street below. In front the yard is narrow and broken by a shortcircular walk, in the centre of which a thin fountain plays amidlong-leaved plants. The house, grave, gray, and old-fashioned--thesquare side porches giving it a delusive suggestion of length--facesfrom its stone steps the thin fountain, the iron gates, beyond whichstretches the white drive beneath the lindens, and the great bronzeWashington above his bodyguard of patriots. Between the house and thecity the square lies like a garden of green. It was on a bright morning in January that Ben Galt entered one of theiron gateways of the square and walked rapidly across to the Capitol. He ascended the steep flight of stone steps, and paused for an instantin the lobby which divided the Senate Chamber from the House ofDelegates. The legislature had convened some six weeks before, and thebuilding was humming like a vast beehive. In the centre of the tesselated floor of the lobby, which was fitted outwith rows of earthenware spittoons, stood Houdon's statue of Washington, and upon the railing surrounding it groups of men were leaning as theytalked. Occasionally a speaker would pause to send a mouthful of tobaccojuice in aimless pursuit of a spittoon, or to slice off a fresh quidfrom the plug he carried in his pocket. Galt, stopping behind a stout man with sandy hair, tapped him carelesslyon the shoulder. "Eh, Major?" he exclaimed. The major turned, presenting a florid, hairy face, with small, shrewdeyes and an unpleasant mouth. His name was Rann, and he was the mostimportant figure in the Senate. It was said of him that he had nevermade a speech in his life, but that he was continually speaking throughthe mouths of others. He could command more votes in both branches thanany member of the Assembly, but his ambition was confined to theleadership of the men about him; he had been in the State Senate fifteenyears, and he had never tried to climb higher, though it was reportedthat he had sent a United States senator to Washington. "Ah, we'll see you oftener among us now, " he said as he wheeled round, holding out a huge red hand, "since your friend sits above. " He laughed, with a motion towards the ceiling, signifying the direction of thegovernor's office. "By the way, I was sorry about that bill you wereinterested in, " he went on; "upon my word I was--but we're skittish justnow on the subject of corporations. Charters are dangerous things--youcan't tell where they're leading you, eh?--but, on my word, I wassorry. " "So was I, " responded Galt with peculiar dryness--adding, with thefrankness for which he was liked and hated, "I'd been dining thatcommittee for weeks. Seven of them swore to back me through, and theeighth man said he'd go as the others went. My mind was so easy I lostsight of them for six hours, and every man John of them voted againstthe bill. I believe you got in a little work in those six hours. " Rann laughed and lowered one puffy eyelid in a blandly unembarrassedwink. "Oh, we don't like corporations, " he replied, "I think I remarkedas much. How-de-do, Colonel? Where'd you dine last night? Missed you attable. " The colonel was Diggs, and, after a curt nod in his direction, Galtpushed his way through the lobbyists and glanced into the House ofDelegates, where an animated discussion of an oyster bill was inprogress. Owing to the absolute supremacy of the Democrats, the body presented theeffect of a party caucus rather than a legislative branch of opposingelements. The few Republicans and Populists were lost in the rulingfaction. Galt was nodding here and there to members who recognised him, when hisarm was touched by a lank countryman who was standing near. "Eh?" he inquired absently. "I jest axed you if you reckoned we paid that gentleman over yonder fortalking that gosh about oyschers?" Galt bowed. "Why, I suppose so, " he responded gravely. "It's a goodday's work. Am I to presume that you are not interested in oysters?" "An' he gits fo' dollars a day for saying them things, " commented theother shortly. "I tell you 'tain't wo'th fo' cents, suh. " He lifted his bony hand and gave a tug at his scraggy beard. In a momenthe spoke again. "Can you p'int out the young fellow from Goochland?" he inquired. "That's whar I come from. " Galt pointed out the representative in question, and smiled because itwas a man who had dined with him the evening before. "That he?" exclaimed the countryman contemptuously. "Why, I've been downhere sence Saturday, an' that young spark ain't opened his mouth. Iain't heerd him mention Goochland sence I come. " "Oh, there's time enough, " ventured Galt good-humouredly. "He's youngyet, and Goochland is immortal!" "An' I reckon he gits fo' dollars same as the rest, " went on thestranger reflectively, "jest for settin' thar an' whittlin' at thatdesk. I used to study a good deal about politics fo' I come here, butthey air jest a blamed swindle, that's what they air. " He turned on his heel, and in a moment Galt entered the elevator andascended to the office of the chief executive. Reaching the landing he crossed a small gallery, where hung portraits ofhistoric Virginians--governors in periwigs and lace ruffles andstatesmen of a later age in high neckcloths. At the end of a shortpassage he opened the door of the anteroom and faced the privatesecretary, who was busy with his typewriter. The secretary glanced up, recognised Galt, and gave a cordial nod. "The governor's got a gentleman in just now who called about theboundary line between Virginia and Maryland, " he said as Galt sat down. "He wants to see you, though, so you'd better wait. For a wonder there'snobody else here. Two-thirds of the legislature were up a while ago. " He spoke with an easy intimacy of tone, while the click of thetypewriter went on rapidly. Galt nodded in response and, as he did so, the door opened and thecaller came out. "You're the very man!" exclaimed a hearty voice, and Nicholas Burr washolding out his hand. "Come in. You're the only human being I know whois always the right man in the right place. How do you manage it?" He sat down before his desk, pushing aside the litter of letters andpamphlets. "I should like you to glance over this list of appointments, "he went on. "It is what I dropped in about, " responded Galt. He flung himself into an easy chair and stretched his long legscomfortably before him. He did not take the list at once, but satstaring abstractedly at the freshly papered green walls above the largeLatrobe stove whose isinglass doors shone like bloodshot eyes. It was a long cheerful room with three windows which overlooked thegrassy square. There was a bright red carpet on the floor, and beforethe desk lay a gaudy rug enriched with stiff garlands. In one corner awalnut bookcase was filled with papers filed for reference, and theshelves across from it were lined with calf-bound "Codes of Virginia. "Among the pictures on the pale-green walls there were several ofhistoric subjects--Washington among his generals and Lee mounted uponTraveller. Over the mantel hung an engraving of the United States Senatewith Clay for the central figure. Beside the desk a cracker box wasfilled with unanswered letters. "Yes, I dropped in about that, " repeated Galt, his gaze returning to therugged features of the man at the desk. "You're not looking well, by theway. " The other laughed. "The office seekers have been at me, " he replied;"but I'm all right. What were you going to say?" His large, muscular hand lay upon the desk, and as he spoke he fingeredan open pamphlet. His penetrating eyes were on Galt's face. Galt lifted the list of names and read it in silence. "A-ahem!" he said at last and laid it down; then he took it up again. "I have given a good deal of attention to the educational boards, "continued the governor slowly. "I do not think it is sufficiently realised that only men of thehighest ability should be placed in control of institutions oflearning. " "Ah, I see, " was Galt's comment. In a moment he spoke abruptly: "I say, Nick, has it occurred to you to ascertain the direction in whichthe influence of these men will go in the next senatorial election?" The other hesitated an instant. "Frankly, I have done my best to putsuch questions aside, " he answered. Galt squared round suddenly and faced him; there was a decisive ring inhis voice. "The next election comes in two years, " he said quietly. "I have it onexcellent authority that Withers will not seek to succeed himself. Hishealth has given out and he is going to the country. Now, removeWithers, and there are two men who might take his place in the Senate. You know whom I mean?" "Yes, I know. " Galt went on quickly: "You want the senatorship?" "Yes, I want it. " "Very good. Now, Webb and yourself will run that race, and one of youwill lose it. It's going to be a hot race and a hard winning. There'llbe some pretty unpleasant work to be done by somebody. You've been inthe business long enough to know that the methods aren't exactly such asyou can see your face in. " "All the more need for clean men, " broke in Nicholas shortly. "Just so. But the man who spends his days in the bathtub doesn't walkabout where mud is flinging. I'm an honest man, please God. You're anhonest man, and that's why a lot of us are running you with might andmain and money. But there's an honesty that verges on imbecility, andthat's the kind that talks itself hoarse when it ought to keep silent. Save your talking until you get to the Senate, and then let fly as muchmorality as you please; it won't hurt anybody there, heaven knows. Youare the man we need, and a few of us know it, though the majority maynot. But for the next two years give up trying to purify the DemocraticParty. The party's all right, and it's going to stay so. " "It has been my habit to express my convictions, " returned the otherquickly. "Then drop the habit, " replied Galt with an affectionate glance thatsoftened the shrewd alertness of his look. "My dear and valued friend, asuccessful politician does not have convictions; he has emotions. Convictions were all right when Madison was President, but thatgentleman has been in heaven these many years, and they don't thriveunder the present administration. A party man has got to be a partymouthpiece. He may laugh and weep with the people, but he has got tovote with the party--and it's the party man who comes out on top. Why, look at Withers! Hunt about in his senatorial record and you'll findthat he has voted against himself time out of number. You and I may callthat cowardliness, but the party calls it honour and applauds everytime. That applause has kept him the exponent of the machine and theidol of the people, who hear the fuss and imagine it means something. Now Webb is like Withers, only smarter. He is just the man to become asounding brass reflector, and there's the danger. " "And yet I defeated him!" suggested the governor. Galt laughed, with a wave of his thin, nervous hand. "My dear governor, you are the one great man in State politics, but thatunimportant fact would not have landed you into your present seat hadnot the little revivalistic episode befuddled the brains of theconvention. " Nicholas shook his head impatiently. "You make too much of that, " hesaid. "Perhaps. I want to impress upon you that you have a hard fight beforeyou. The Webb men are already putting in a little quiet work in thelegislature--and they have even been after the guards at thepenitentiary. Major Rann is your man, and he tells me the Webb leadersare the quietest, most insidious workers he has ever met. As it is, heis your great card, and his influence is immense. Webb would give hisright hand for him. " The governor tossed the hair from his brow with a quick movement. "I have the confidence of the people, " he said. "The people! How long does it take a clever politician to befuddle them?You aren't new to the business, and you know these things as well as Ido--or better. I tell you, when Dudley Webb begins to stump the Statethe people will begin to howl for him. He'll win over the women and theold Confederates when he gets on the Civil War, and the rest will comeeasy. There won't be need of bogus ballots and disappearing electionbooks when the members of the Democratic caucus are sent up nextsession. " "What do you want?" demanded the governor abruptly. He leaned forward, his arms on the desk. Galt tapped the list of appointments significantly. "As a beginning, I want you to scratch out a good two-thirds of thesenames. The others will go all right. The men I have cross marked are notall Webb men to-day, but they will throw their influence on Webb's sidewhen the pull comes. " Nicholas took up the list and reread it carefully. "The men I have namedI believe to be best suited to the positions, " he returned. "One, youmay observe, is a Republican--that will call for hostile criticism--buthe was beyond doubt the best man. I regret the fact that the majority ofthese men are Webb partisans, but I wish to make these appointments forreasons entirely apart from politics. " Galt had risen, and he now stood looking down upon the governor with asmile in his eyes. "So it goes?" he asked, pointing to the sheet of paper. The other nodded. "Yes, it goes. I am not a fool, Ben. I wish things were different--butit goes. " "And so do I, " laughed Galt easily. "You won't mind my remarking, by theway, that you are a brick, but a brick in the wrong road. However, youhold on to Rann, and the rest of us will hold on to you. Oh, we'll seeyou to-night at Carrie's coming-out affair, of course. The childwouldn't have you absent for worlds. If my wife and daughterrepresented the community you might become Dictator of Richmond. Goodmorning!" As he crossed the little gallery where the portraits hung there was anabstracted smile about the corners of his shrewd mouth. V "Juliet!" called Galt as he swung open his house door. It was his habit to call for his wife as soon as he crossed thethreshold, and she was accustomed to respond from the drawing-room, thepantry, or the nursery, as the case might be. This evening her voicefloated from the dining-room, and following the sound he stumbled over ashadowy palm and came upon Juliet as she put the last touches to a longwhite table, radiant with cut glass and roses. She wore a faded blue dressing-gown, caught loosely together, and hercurling hair, untouched by gray, fell carelessly from its coil acrossher full, fair cheek. She had developed from a fragile girl into arounded matron without losing the peculiar charm of her beauty. Theabundant curve of her white throat was still angelic in its outline. Asshe leaned over to settle the silver candelabra on the table, the lightdeepened the flush in her face and imparted a shifting radiance to herfull-blown loveliness. "How is it, little woman?" asked Galt as he put his arm about the bluedressing-gown. "Working yourself to death, are you?" Since entering his home he had lost entirely the air of business-likeseverity which he had worn all day. He looked young and credulous. Juliet laughed with the pettish protest of a half-spoiled wife and drewback from the table. "It is almost time to dress Carrie, " she said, "and the ice-cream hasn'tcome. Everything else is here. Did you get dinner downtown?" "Such as it was--a miserable pretence. For heaven's sake, let's havethis over and settle down. I only wish it were Carrie's wedding; then wemight hope for a rest. " "Until Julie comes out--she's nearly fourteen. But you ought to beashamed, when we've been working like Turks. Eugenia cut up every bit ofthe chicken salad and Emma Carr made the mayonnaise--she makes the mostdelicious you ever tasted. Aren't those candelabra visions? Emma lentthem to me, and Mrs. Randolph sent her oriental lamps. There's the bellnow! It must be Eugie's extra forks; she said she'd send them as soon asshe got home. " "Good Lord!" ejaculated Galt feebly. "You are as great at borrowing asthe children of Israel. " His comments were cut short by the entrance of Eugenia's silver basket, accompanied by an enormous punch bowl, which she sent word she hadremembered at the last moment. "Bless her heart!" exclaimed Juliet. "She forgets nothing; but I hopethat bowl won't get broken, it is one somebody brought the general fromChina fifty years ago. Eugie is so careless. She invited the children totea the other afternoon and I found her giving them jam on those oldTucker Royal Worcester plates. " She broke off an instant to draw Galt into the reception rooms, whereher eyes roved sharply over the decorations. "They look lovely, don't they?" she inquired, rearranging a bowl ofAmerican Beauty roses. "I got that new man to do them Mrs. Carringtontold me about--Yes, Carrie, I'm coming! Why, I declare, I haven't seenthe baby since breakfast. Unnatural mother!" And she rushed off to the nursery, followed by Galt. An hour later she was in the drawing-room again, her fair hair caughtback from her plump cheeks, her white bosom shining through soft fallsof lace. "I wonder how a man feels who isn't married to a beauty, " remarked Galt, watching her matronly vanity dimple beneath his gaze. He was as much herlover as he had been more than twenty years ago when pretty JulietBurwell had put back her wedding veil to meet his kiss. The veryexactions of her petted nature had served to keep alive the passion ofhis youth; she demanded service as her right, and he yielded it as herdue. The unflinching shrewdness of his professional character, thehardness of his business beliefs, had never entered into the atmosphereof his home. Juliet possessed to a degree that pervasive womanlinesswhich vanquishes mankind. After twenty years of married life in whichGalt had learned her limitations and her minor sins of temperament, hewas not able to face her stainless bosom or to meet her pure eyeswithout believing her to be a saint. In his heart he knew Sally Burwellto be a nobler woman than Juliet, and yet he never found himselfregarding Sally through an outward and visible veil of her virtues. Even Tom Bassett, who was married to her, had lost the lover in thehusband, as his emotions had matured into domestic sentiment. Galt hadseen Sally wrestle for a day with one of her father's headaches, to berewarded by less gratitude than Juliet would receive for the mere layingof a white finger on his temple--Sally's services were looked upon bythose who loved her best as one of the daily facts of life; Juliet'scame always as an additional bounty. To Galt himself, the different developments of the two women had becomea source of almost humorous surprise. After her marriage Sally had sunkher future into Tom's; Galt had submerged his own in Juliet's. BehindTom's not too remarkable success Galt had seen always Sally's quickerwit and more active nature; to his own ambitions, his love for Juliethad been the retarding influence. He had been called "insanely aspiring"in his profession, and yet he had sacrificed his career without a murmurfor the sake of his wife's health. He had sundered his professionalinterests in New York that he might see the colour rebloom in her cheek, and neither he nor she had questioned that the loss was justified. Inreturn she had rendered him a jealous loyalty and an absorbing wifehood, and he had found his happiness apart from his ambition. Now she dimpled as he looked at her and he pinched her cheek. "The mother of six children!" he exclaimed; "they're changelings. " Helooked at Carrie, who was flitting nervously from room to room. "It's a shame she didn't take after you, " he added. "She carries thecurse of my chin. " "She's splendid!" protested Juliet. "I never had such a figure in mylife; Sally says so. Carrie is a new woman, that's the difference. " "But the old lady's good enough for me, " finished Galt triumphantly;then he melted towards his daughter. "I dare say she's stunning, " heobserved. "Come here, Carrie, and bear witness that you're as handsomeas your parents. " Carrie floated up, a straight, fine figure in white organdie, her smoothhair shining like satin as it rolled from her brow. Her mouth and chinwere too strong for beauty, but she was frank and clean and fresh tolook at. "Oh, I am just like you, " she declared, "and I'm not half so pretty asmamma. There's the bell. Somebody's coming!" There was a rustle of women's skirts on the way upstairs, and in amoment several light-coloured gowns were fringed by the palms in thedoorway. When the governor entered, several hours later, the rooms were filledwith warmth and laughter and the vague perfume of women's dressesmingled with the odour of American Beauty roses. An old-fashioned polkawas in the air, and beyond the furthest doorway he saw young peopledancing. The red candles were burning down, and drops of wax lay likeflecks of blood upon the floor. Near the entrance, a small, dark womanwas leaning upon a marble table, and as she saw him she held out acordial hand. She was plain and thin, with pale, startled eyes and amouth that slanted upward at one corner, like a crooked seam. She spokein an abrupt, skipping manner that possessed a surprising fascination. "Behold the conquering hero!" she exclaimed, her pale eyes roving fromside to side. "I suppose if you were never late, you would never belonged for. " "My dear Miss Preston, " protested pretty little Mrs. Carrington, who wassoft and drowsy, with eyes that reminded one of a ruminating heifer's. "I assure you, I have been positively longing to have you gratify mycuriosity, " declared Miss Preston. "You know you do such dear, eccentricthings that we couldn't exist without you--at least I couldn't because Ishould perish of boredom. No, you shan't escape just yet, so stoplooking at that beautiful Mrs. Galt. You must tell me first if it isreally true that you once carried a woman out of a burning building inyour right hand. It is so delightful to be strong, don't you think?" The governor regarded her gravely. Before her animated chatter hisgravity became almost grotesque. "The only burning building I was everin was a burning smoke-house, " he returned quietly. "I never carried awoman out of anything in either hand. " There was a bored expression in his eyes, and he glanced beyond thegroup to where Juliet stood surrounded. "Pardon me, " he said in a moment, and passed on. In the crowd about him, where pretty women were as plentiful as pinks ina garden bed, he moved awkwardly, with the hesitating steps of a manwho is uncertain of his pathway. His powerful frame and the splendidvigour in his daring strides seemed out of place amid a profusion ofexotics that trembled as he passed. His appearance suggested thebattlegrounds of nature--high places, or the breadth of the open fields;at the plough he would have been grandly picturesque, in the centre of athrong of graceful men and women he loomed merely large and ill at ease. Above his evening clothes his face showed rough, rather than refined, and his stubborn jaw gave an impression of heaviness. As he reached Juliet she uttered an exclamation of pleasure and held outher hand. "Emma, you have heard of my Sunday-school scholar, " she saidto a girl beside her. "My prize scholar, I mean. Sally, have you seenthe governor?" Emma Carr, a pink-and-white girl who bore herself with the air of anacknowledged belle, bowed, with a platitude that sounded original on herlovely lips, and Sally Bassett turned with a hearty handshake. "And he is our Nick Burr!" she exclaimed. "Tom, where are you?" She spoke with an impulsive flutter which he had remembered as thesparkle of mere girlish liveliness. Now he saw that it had degeneratedinto a restlessness that appeared to result from a continued waste ofnervous energy. She looked older than Juliet, though she was in factmuch younger, and her face was drawn and heavily lined as if by years ofill-health. Her physical strength was prodigious; one perceived it withthe suddenness of surprise. Much the same impression was produced byher youthful manner in connection with her worn features; yet, in spiteof her faded prettiness, there was a singular charm in her unabatedvivacity. She darted off in pursuit of Tom, to be arrested by the first newcomershe encountered, and Nicholas was responding gravely to Juliet's banterwhen his eyes fell full upon Eugenia Battle as she stood at a littledistance. He had not seen her for fifteen years, and he started quickly as if froman unsuspected shock. She was talking rapidly in her fervent voice, theold illumination in her look. Her noble figure, in a straight flaxengown, was drawn against a background of green, her head was bent forwardon her long white neck, her kindly hands were outstretched. She haddeveloped from a girl into a woman, but to him she was unchanged. Herface was, perhaps, older, her bosom fuller, but he did not see it--tohim she appeared as the resurrected spirit of his youth. Miss Carr wasspeaking and he made some brief rejoinder. Eugenia had turned and waslooking at him; in a moment he heard her voice. "Are old friends too far beneath the eyes of your excellency?" sheasked, and he heard the soft laugh pulse in her throat. Her hand was outstretched, and he took it for an instant in his own. "I am very glad to see you, " he remarked lamely as he let it fall--solamely that he bit his lip at the remembrance. "You are looking well, "he added. "Of course--a woman always looks well at night, " she answered lightly. "And you, " she laughed again, her kindly, unconscious laugh; "you arelooking--large. " He did not smile. "I have no doubt of it, " he responded, and was silent. Juliet Galt broke in with an affectionate protest. "Eugie is as great atease as ever, " she said. "She will be the death of my baby yet. I tellher to choose one of her own size, but she never does. She alwaysplagues those smaller than herself--or larger. " But Eugenia had turned away to greet a stranger, and in a momentNicholas drew back into a windowed embrasure where the lights were dim. Suddenly a voice broke upon his ear addressing Juliet Galt--the vibranttones of Dudley Webb. He had come in late and was standing in mockhelplessness before Juliet and Carrie, his plump white hand vacillatingbetween the two. "I am at a loss!" he exclaimed with an appealing shrug of his shoulders. "Which is the débutante?" Juliet laughed, her cheeks mantling with a pleased blush. "You're a sad flatterer, Dudley! Isn't he, Eugie?" Eugenia turned with a questioning glance. "Oh, it's just his way, " she returned good-humouredly. "A kindlyProvidence has decreed that he should cover over my deficiencies. " Dudley protested affably, and ended by giving a hand to each. In thecrowded rooms he had become at once the picturesque and popular figure. His magnetism was immediately felt, and men and women surrounded him insmall circles, while his pleasant words ran on smoothly, accompanied bythe ring of his infectious laugh. The luminous pallor of his clear-cut, yet fleshy face, was accentuated by the sweep of his dark hair thatclung closely to his forehead. He seemed to have brought with him intothe heated rooms the spirit of humour and the zest of life. From the deep embrasure Nicholas Burr watched curiously the flutter ofwomen's skirts and the flicker of candle light on shining heads. Eugeniamoved easily from group to group, the straight fall of her flaxen gowngiving her an added height, the dark coil of hair on the nape of herlong neck seeming to rise above the shoulders of other women. She wasnever silent--for one and all she had some ready words, and her mannerwas cordial, almost affectionate. It was as if she were in the midst ofa great family party, held together by the ties of blood. In a far corner Juliet Galt and Emma Carr, the prettiest women in theroom, sat together upon a corn-coloured divan, and in front of them afile of men passed and repassed slowly on their way to and from thedining-room, pausing to exchange brief remarks and drifting onaimlessly. Near them a fair, pale gentleman, robust and slightly bald, with protruding eyes and anęmic lips, had flung himself upon a gildedchair, a glass of punch in his hand. He had danced incessantly for hoursin the adjoining room, and at last, wearied, winded, with a palpitatingheart, he had found a punch bowl and a gilded chair. Through the doorway floated music and the laughter of young girlsintoxicated with the dance. In the hall, some had sought rest upon thestairway, and sat in radiant clusters, fanning themselves briskly asthey talked. There was about them an absence of coquetry as ofself-consciousness; they were frank, cordial-voiced, almost boyish. The governor stepped suddenly from the embrasure and ran against BenGalt, who caught his arm. "I've been searching the house for you, " he exclaimed, "after landing mytwelfth matron in the dining-room. " Then catching sight of the other'sface, he inquired blandly: "Bored?" "I am. " Galt gave a comprehending wink. "So am I. These things are death. I say, don't go! Come into the libraryand we'll lock the door and have supper shoved in through the window, while we talk business. I've a decanter of the finest Madeira you evertasted behind the bookcase. Juliet will never know, and I don't care acontinental if she does. I'm a desperate man!" "I was just going, " replied the governor. "I'm not up to parties; butlead off, if it's out of this. " VI It was one o'clock when the governor left Galt's house, and turning intoGrace Street strolled leisurely in the direction of the Capitol Square. The night was sharp with frost and a rising wind drove the shadows onthe pavement against darkened house-fronts, while behind a far-offchurch spire, a wizened moon shivered through a thin cloud. On thesilence came the sound of fire bells ringing in the distance. The bronze Washington in the deserted square shone silver beneath themoonlight, and down the frozen slopes the trees stretched out stiffenedlimbs. From the governor's house a broad light streamed, and quickeninghis pace he entered the iron gate, which closed after him with arheumatic cough, and briskly ascended the stone steps. As he drew thelatch-key from his pocket he was thinking of his library, where thefirelight fell on cheerful walls and red leathern chairs, and with theclosing of the door he crossed the hall and entered the first room onthe left. A red fire burned in the grate, and the furniture reflected the colouruntil the place seemed pervaded by a visible warmth. The desk in thecentre of the room, the shining backs of law books, the crimson rugs, the engravings on the walls, the easy chair drawn up before the hearth, presented to him as he entered now the security of individual isolation. He had felt the same sense of restfulness when he had ascended, afterthe day's work, to the little whitewashed attic of his father's house. To-night he liked the glow because it suggested warmth, but he could nothave told off-hand the colour of the carpet or the subjects of theengravings on the wall; and had he found a white pine chair in place ofthe red leathern one, he would have used it without an admission ofdiscomfort. In the midnight hours he liked the empty house abouthim--the silence and the safeguard of his loneliness. The desertedreception-rooms at the end of the hall pleased him by their stillnessand the cold of their fireless grates. Even the stiff, unyieldingfurniture, in its fancy dress of satin brocade, soothed him by itsremoteness when he passed it wrapped in thought. He flung himself into the easy chair, raised the light by which he read, and unfolded a newspaper lying upon his desk. As he did so an articlewhich concerned himself caught his eye, and he read it with curiousintentness. "THE MAN WITH THE CONSCIENCE. REFUSES TO RECOMMEND THE PROPOSED RESTRICTION OF THE SUFFRAGE. ATTACHES HIS SIGNATURE TO SEVERAL BILLS. --TO AMEND AND RE-ENACT THE CHARTER OF THE TOWN OF CULPEPER--TO ESTABLISH A FERRY ACROSS THE PIANKITANK. " He reread it abstractedly, pondering not the future of Culpeper or ofthe Piankitank River, but the title by which he was beginning to beknown: "The Man with the Conscience!" He had been in office less than a month, and three times within the last week he had been called "The Man withthe Conscience. " Once a member of the Senate had declared on the floorthat the "two strongest factors in present State politics are found tobe in the will of the people and the conscience of the governor. " Themorning papers had reported it, and when, several days later, he hadvetoed a bill providing to place certain powers in the hands of acorporation that was backed by large capital, he had been hailed againas "The Man with the Conscience!" Now he wondered as he read what theverdict would be to-morrow, when his refusal to sign a document whichlay at that moment upon his desk must become widely known. He hadrefused, not because the bill granted too great rights to a corporation, but because it needlessly restricted the growth of a railroad. Would hisrefusal in this instance be dubbed "conscience" or "inconsistency"? At the moment he was the people's man--this he knew. His name wascheered by the general voice. As he passed along the street bootblackshurrahed! him. He had determined that the governorship should cease torepresent a figurehead, and for right or wrong, he was the man of thehour. He laid the paper aside, and lifting a pipe from his desk, slowlylighted it. As the smoke curled up, it circled in gray rings upon theair, filling the room with the aroma of the Virginia leaf. He watched itidly, his mind upon the pile of unopened letters awaiting his attention. Above the mantel hung a small oil painting of a Confederate soldierafter Appomattox, and it reminded him vaguely of some one whom he hadhalf forgotten. He followed the trail for a moment and gave it up. Higher still was an engraving of Mr. Jefferson Davis, with thewell-remembered Puritan cast of feature and the severe chin beard. Beneath the pictures a trivial ornament stood on the mantel and besideit a white rose in water breathed a fading fragrance. A child who hadcome to feed the squirrels in the square had put the rose in his coat, and he had transferred it to the glass of water. He turned towards his desk and took up several cards that he had notseen. So Rann had called in his absence--and Vaden and Diggs. As hepushed the cards aside, he summoned mentally the men before him andweighed the possible values of each. Why had Rann called, hewondered--he had an object, of course, for he did not pay so much as acall without a purpose. The name evoked the man--he saw him plainly inthe circles of gray smoke--a stout, square figure, with short legs, hisplaid socks showing beneath light trousers; a red, hairy face, with awart in his left eyebrow, which was heavier than his right one; a largehead, prematurely bald, and beneath an almost intellectual forehead, apair of shrewd, intelligent eyes. Rann was a match for any man inpolitics, he knew--the great, silent voice, some one had said--the manwho was clever enough to let others do his talking for him. Yes, he wasglad that Rann would back him up. The remaining callers appeared together in his reverie--Vaden and Diggs. They were never mentioned apart, and they never worked singly. Theywere honest men, whose honesty was dangerous because it went with dullcredulity. In appearance they were so unlike as to make the connectionludicrous. Vaden was long, emaciated, with a shrunken chest in which aconsumptive cough rattled. His face was scholarly, pallid, pleasant tolook at, and there was a sympathetic quality in his voice which carriedwith it a reminder of past bereavements. Beside the sentimental languorwhich enveloped him, Diggs loomed grotesquely fair and florid, with eyesbulging with joviality, and red, repellent, almost gluttonous lips. Hewas a teller of stories and a maker of puns. They were both honest men and ardent Democrats, but they were in theleading strings of sharper politicians. Perhaps, after all, the foolswere more to be feared than the villains. Somewhere in the city a clock rang the hour, and, as his pipe died out, he rose and went to his desk. The next morning Vaden and Diggs dropped in to breakfast, and before itwas over he had ascertained that they were seeking to sound him upon hisattitude towards the recent National Party Platform. As he dodged theirlaboured cross-examination he laughed at the overdone assumption ofindifference. Before they had risen from the table, Rann joined them, and the conversation branched at once into impersonal topics. Diggs tolda story or two, at which Rann roared appreciatively, while Vadenfingered his coffee spoon in pensive abstraction. As they left the dining-room, which was in the basement, and ascended tothe hall, Diggs glanced into the reception-rooms and nodded respectfullyat the brocaded chairs. "I like the looks of that, governor, " he said, "but it's a pity youcan't find a wife. A woman gives an air to things, you know. " Then hecocked an eye at the ceiling. "This old house ain't much more than afire trap, anyway, " he added. "The trouble is it's gotten old-fashionedjust like the Capitol building over there. My constituents are all infavour of doing the proud thing by Virginia and giving her a realup-to-date State House. Bless my life, the old Commonwealth deserves abrownstone front--now don't she?" He appealed to Rann, who dissented in his broad, if blunt, intelligence. "I wouldn't trade that old building for all the brownstone between hereand New York harbour, " he declared. The governor laughed abstractedly, but a week later he recalled theproposition as he sat in Juliet Galt's drawing-room, and repeated it forthe sake of her frank disgust. "I shall tell Eugie, " she exclaimed. "Eugie finds everything so new thatshe suffers a perpetual homesickness for Kingsborough. " "There's nobody left down there except the judge and Mrs. Webb, " brokein Carrie; "and you know she gets on dreadfully with Mrs. Webb--nowdoesn't she, Aunt Sally?" "She never told me so, " laughed Sally, "but I strongly suspect it. Idon't disguise the fact that I consider Mrs. Webb to be a terror, andEugie's a long way off from saintship. " "I hardly think that Mrs. Webb would consent to join our colony, "observed Nicholas indifferently. "May Kingsborough long enjoy her rule, " added Juliet. "I hear that shehas grown quite amiable towards the judge since she prophesied that hewould have chronic gout and he had it. " "It would be so nice of them to marry each other, " suggested Carrie withan eye for matrimonial interests. "You needn't shake your head, mamma. Aunt Sally said the same thing to Uncle Tom. " She was standing on the hearth rug in her walking gown, slowly fasteningher gloves. Sally looked at her and laughed in her nervous way. "Well, I confess that it did cross my mind, " she admitted. "Tom, likeall men, believed Mrs. Webb to be a martyr until I convinced him thatshe martyred others. " "Oh, he still believes it behind your back, " said Nicholas. Juliet turned upon him frankly. "It's a shame to destroy wifelyconfidence, " she protested. "Sally hasn't been married long enough toknow that the only way to convince a husband is to argue againstoneself. " Her head rested upon the cushions of her chair, and her pretty foot wason the brass fender. There was a cordial warmth about her which turnedthe simple room into home for even the casual caller. The matronly graceof her movements evoked the memory of infancy and motherhood; toNicholas Burr she seemed, in her beauty and her abundance, the supremeexpression of a type--of the joyous racial mother of all men. Her youngest child, a girl of three, that she called "baby, " had come infrom a walk and was standing at her knee in white cap and cloak andmittens, her hand clutching Juliet's dress, her solemn eyes on thegovernor. He had tried to induce her to approach, but she held off andregarded him without a smile. "Now, now, baby, " pleaded Juliet, "who fed the bunnies with you theother day?" "Man, " responded the baby gravely. "Who gave you nice nuts for the dear bunnies?" "Man. " "Who carried you all round the pretty square?" "Man. " "Who gave you that lovely picture book full of animals?" "Man. " "Then don't you love the kind man?" "Noth. " "Yes, you do--you've forgotten. Go and speak to him. " The child approached gravely to make a grab at his watch-chain; helifted her to his knee, and friendship was established. They were atpeace a moment later when a voice was heard in the hall, and thecurtains were swung back as Eugenia Webb entered, tall and glowing, herhead rising from a collar of fur. She brought with her the breath offrost, and the winter red was in her cheeks, fading slowly as she satdown and threw off her wraps. He saw then that she looked older than hethought and that her elastic figure had settled into matronly lines. She raised her spotted veil and drew off her gloves. "I mustn't talk myself out, " she was saying lightly, "because Dudleymeans to make me bring him to call this evening. I can't induce him tocome by himself--he simply won't. He considers, my mission in life to bethe combined duties of paying his calls and entertaining hislegislators. We had six senators to dinner last night, and we pay sixvisits this evening. Come here, Tweedle-dee, " to the baby. "Come to yourown Aunt Eugie and give her a kiss. " The child looked at her thoughtfully and shook her head. "Kith man, " she responded shortly. The swift red rose to Eugenia's face. Nicholas was looking at her, andher eyes flashed with the old anger at a senseless blush. "That's right, old lady, " said the governor to the child. "Tell heryou'd rather kiss a man every time. " "Of course she had, " replied Eugenia half angrily. "She's going to beher mother all over again. " Juliet laughed her full, soft laugh. "Now, Eugie, " she protested gaily, "my sins are many, but spare me a public confession of them. " "She takes after her aunt, " put in Sally frankly. "I always liked menbetter, and I think it's unwomanly not to--don't you, governor?" Nicholas put the child down and rose. "I'm afraid my womanliness is only skin deep, " he returned, "but Iwouldn't give one honest man for all the women since Eve. " "Behold our far-famed gallantry!" exclaimed Sally. Eugenia looked up, laughing. She had seized upon the child, and he sawher dark eyes above the solemn blue ones. "I'm afraid you aren't much of a politician, Governor Burr, if you tellthe truth so roundly, " she said. "The first lesson in politics is to lieand love it; the second lesson is to lie and live it. Oh, we've been inCongress, Dudley and I. " She moved restlessly, and her colour came and went like a flame thatflickers and revives. He wondered vaguely at her nervous animation--shehad not possessed a nerve in her girlhood--nor had he seen this shiftingrestlessness the other night. It did not occur to him that the meetingwith himself was the cause--he knew her too well--but had his presence, or some greater thing, aroused within, her painful memories of the past? As he walked down Franklin Street a little later he contrasted boldlythe two Eugenias he had known--the Eugenia who was his and the Eugeniawho was Dudley Webb's. After fifteen years the rapture and the agony ofhis youth showed grotesque to his later vision; men did not love likethat at forty years. He could see Eugenia now without the quiver of apulse; he could sit across from her, knowing that she was the wife ofanother, and could eat his dinner. His passion was dead, but where ithad bloomed something else drew life and helped him to live. He hadloved one woman and he loved her still, though with a love which in hisyouth he would have held to be as ashes beside his flame. There weremonths--even years--when he did not think of her; when he thoughtprofoundly of other things; but in these years the thrill of no woman'sskirts had disturbed his calm. And again, there were winterevenings--evenings when he sat beside the hearth, and there came to himthe thought of a home and children--of a woman's presence and a child'slaugh. He could have loved the woman well had she been Eugenia, and hecould have loved the child had it been hers; but beyond her went neitherhis vision nor his desire. Now he swung on, large, forceful, a man young enough to feel, yet oldenough to know. He entered his door quickly, as was his custom, impatient for his work and his fireside. On his desk lay the papers thathad been brought over by his secretary, and he ran his fingerscarelessly through them, gleaning indifferently the drift of theircontents. As he did so a light flashed suddenly upon him, and themeaning of Eugenia's restlessness was made clear, for upon his desk wasan application for the pardon of Bernard Battle. VII The paper was still in his hand when the door behind him opened. "A lady to see you, suh. " "A lady?" He turned impatiently to find himself facing Eugenia Webb. Shehad come so swiftly, with a silence so apparitional, that he fell backas from a blow between the eyes. For a moment he doubted her reality, and then the glow in her face, the mist on her furs, the fog of herbreath, proclaimed that she had followed closely upon his footsteps. Shemust have been almost beside him when he hurried through the frost. "You wish to speak to me?" he asked blankly, as he drew a chair to thehearth rug. "Will you not sit down?" There was an unfriendly question in his eyes, and she met it boldly withthe old dash of impulse. "They told me that to-morrow would be too late, " she said. "I went toBen Galt's to ask him to come to you in my place, but he is out of town. I found you there instead. It is a matter of life and death to me, so Icame. " She sat down in the chair he had drawn up for her, her muff fell to thefloor, and he placed it upon the desk where the petition lay unrolled. As he did so he saw the list of names that presented the appeal--judge, jury, prosecuting attorney, all were there. She followed his gaze and moved slightly towards him. "It can't be truethat you--that you will not--" she said. He was stirring the fire into flame, but as she broke off he turnedsquarely upon her. "I have not looked into the case, " he answered harshly. He was standing beside his own hearthstone and he was at ease. There wasno awkwardness about him now; his height endowed him with majesty, andin his inflexible face there was no suggestion of heaviness. He looked aman with a sublime self-confidence. Her colour beat quickly back, warming her eyes. "Oh, I am so glad, " she said. "When you know all you will do as we askyou, because it is right and just. If he did not serve that two years'sentence he has served six years of poverty and sickness. He is awreck--we should not know him, they say--and he has not seen his wifeand children for--" He raised his hand and stopped her. A rising anger clouded his face, and, as she met his eyes, she slowly whitened. "And you ask me--me of all men--to show mercy to Bernard Battle? Wasthere not a governor of Virginia before me?" She shook her head. "Oh, it was different then--he did not know, and we did not know, everything. For years we had not heard from him--" "So my predecessor refused?" he asked. She bowed her head. "But it is so different now--every one is with us. " He was looking her over grimly in an anger that seemed an emotionalreversion to the past--as he felt himself reverting with all hisstrength to the original savage of the race. The hour for which he hadstarved sixteen years ago was unfolding for him at last. He gloated overit with a passion that would sicken him when it was done. "When you came to me, " he said slowly, "did you remember--" She had risen and was standing before him, her hands hidden in the furupon her bosom. She was pleading now with startled eyes and coldlips--she who had turned from him when the first lie was spoken--she waspleading for the man who had blackened his friend's honour that he mightshield his own--she was pleading though she knew his baseness. The verynobility of her posture--the nobility that he had found outwardly in noother woman--hardened the man before her. The cold brow, the ferventmouth, the fearless eyes, the lines with which Time had chastened intowomanliness her girlish figure--these had become the expression of aninvincible regret. As he faced her the iron of his nature held him as ina vise, for life, which had made him a just man, had not made him agentle one. But her spirit had risen to match with his. "He wronged you once, " shesaid; "let it pass--we have all been young and very ignorant; but we donot make our lives, thank God. " He looked at her in silence. Then, as he stood there, the walls of the room passed from before hiseyes, and the gray light from the western window was falling upon thewhite road beyond the cedars. The vague pasture swept to the far-offhorizon where hung the solitary star above the sunset. From the west alight wind blew, and into their faces dead leaves whirled from denudedtrees far distant. But surest of all was this--he hated now as he hatedthen. "As for him--may God, in His mercy, damn him, " he had said. "Because he wronged you do not wrong yourself, " she spoke fearlessly, but she fell back with an upward movement of her hands. The man wasbefore her as the memory had been for years--she knew the distortedfeatures, the convulsed, closed mouth, the furrow that cleft theforehead like a scar. She saw the savage as she had seen it once before, and she braved it now as she had braved it then. "You are hard--as hard as life, " she said. "Life is as we make it, " he retorted. He lifted her muff from the deskand she took it from him, turning towards the door. As he followed herinto the hall he spoke slowly: "I shall read the papers that relate tothe case, " he said. "I shall do my duty. You were mistaken if yousupposed that your coming to me would influence my decision. Personalappeal rarely avails and is often painful. " He unlatched the outer door and she passed out and descended the steps. When he returned to the fire he was shivering from the draught let in bythe opening doors, and, lifting the fallen poker, he attacked almostfiercely the slumbering coals. The physical shock had not tempered therage within; he felt it gnawing upon his entrails like a beast of prey. Once only in his life had he found himself so powerless before adevouring passion, and then, as now, he had glutted it with woundedlove. Then, as now, he had hated with a terrible desire. The application lay upon his desk, and he pushed it out of sight. Hecould not read it now--he wondered if the time would ever come when hecould read it. The thought smote him with the lash of fear--the fear ofhimself. He who an hour ago had held his assurance to be beyond assaultwas now watching for the death of his hate as he might have watched forthe death of a wolf whose fangs he had felt. Lifting his head, he could see through the curtained window the chillslopes of the square and the circular drive beneath the great bronzeWashington. Beyond the distant gates rose the church spires of the city, suffused with the pink flush of sunset. The atmosphere glowed like ablush upon the perspective, which was shading through variations ofviolet remoteness. All was frozen save the winter sunset and theadvancing twilight. He turned from the window and faced the painting of the Confederatesoldier. For a moment he regarded it blankly, then, pushing asideEugenia's chair he threw himself into one across from it. He wasthinking of Bernard Battle, and he remembered suddenly that he must havehated him always--that he had hated him long ago in his childhood whenthe weak-faced boy had headed a school faction against him. True, DudleyWebb had incited the attempt at social ostracism, but he bore noresentment against Dudley--on the contrary, he was convinced that heliked him in spite of all--in spite, even, of Eugenia. With theinflexible fairness that he never lost, he knew that, with Eugenia, Dudley had not wronged him. It had been a fight in open field, andDudley had won. He had even liked the vigour of his wooing, and someyears later, when they had met, he had given the victor a heartyhandshake. He distrusted him as a politician, but he liked him as a man. And Bernard Battle. That was an honest hate, and he hugged it to him. Before him still, so vivid that it seemed but yesterday, hovered thememory of that wild evening in the road, and the unforgotten sunsetfaced him as he hurried through the wood. In the acuteness of hisremembered senses he could hear the dead leaves rustle in his pathwayand could smell the vague scents of autumn drifting on the wind. Throughall the years of public life and passionate endeavour he had not lostone colour of the painted clouds or missed one note from the sharptangle of autumn odours. To this day the going down of the sun in redand gold awoke within him the impulse of revenge, and the effluvium ofrotting flowers or the tang of pines revived the duller ache of hissenseless rage. On that evening he had buried his youth with his youthful passion. Thehours between the twilight and the dawn had seen his emotions consumedand his softer side laid waste. Since then he had not played saint ormartyr; he had gone his way among women, and he had liked some good onesand some bad ones--but the turn of Eugenia's head or the trick of hervoice had haunted him in one and all. He had followed the resemblanceand had found the vacancy; he had been from first to last a man of oneideal. His nature had broadened, hardened, rung metallic to the senses;but it had not yielded to the shock of fresh emotions. He had loved onewoman from her childhood up. And again she rose before him as in that Indian summer when he knew herbest--her beauty flaming against the autumn landscape, "clear as thesun, and terrible as an army with banners. " He saw her red or pale, quivering or cold, always passing from him in a splendour of coloursthat was like the clash of music. That was sixteen years ago and it seemed but yesterday. He had lost her, and yet he had not been unhappy, for he had learned that it is not gainthat makes happiness nor loss that kills it. Life had long since taughthim the lesson all great men learn--that happiness is but one result ofthe adjustment of the individual needs to the Eternal Laws. A man hadonce said of him, "Burr must think a lot of life; he bears it so blamedwell. He's the happiest man I know, " and Burr, overhearing him, hadlaughed aloud: "Am I? I have never thought about it. " He did not think about life, he lived it; this was the beginning and theend of his success. The face of Eugenia faded slowly into the firelight, and he rose andshook himself like a man who awakes from a nightmare. There was work forhim at his desk, and he settled to it with sudden determination. A week later the papers were still in his desk. He told himself at firstthat he would send them to Kingsborough to Judge Bassett and abide byhis decision; but the course struck him as cowardly and he put it fromhim. The work was his and he would do it. Then for a week longer he wenton his way and did not think of them. His days were filled with work andit was easy to leave disturbing thoughts alone; what was not easy was toconsider them judicially. At last Galt spoke of the matter, and he could not refuse to listen. "By the way, I am hearing a good deal about that Battle pardon, " Galtsaid. "You are looking into the matter, I suppose?" The other shook his head. "I have not done so as yet, " he answered. "I am waiting. " "Don't wait too long or the poor devil may apply higher. He's ill, Ibelieve, and if he insists on returning to the State, as they say hewill, the law can't help but arrest him. It's a sad case. So far as Ican see he was a catspaw for the real criminal and didn't have senseenough to hold on to a share of the money after he sold himself. Hissister has been to see you, hasn't she? She's a superb woman, and it wasa good day for Dudley Webb when he married her. " He looked up inquiringly. "Ah, what were you saying?" asked the governor. That night he locked himself in with the papers and plunged into thecase. He read and reread each written word until he was in possession ofthe minutest detail. In another instance he knew that the reasons forgranting the pardon would have seemed sufficient, and he would probablyhave had it made out at once. As it was, he admitted the force of theappeal, but something stronger than himself held him back. Above thename before him he saw the girlish face of the man he hated--saw itaccusing, defying, beseeching--and beyond it he saw the gray road andthe solitary star above the sunset. In the silence his own voice echoed, "As for him--may God, in His mercy, damn him. " He locked the papers away again. "I cannot do it, " he said. Several days later he sent for a member of the legislature from the townwhere the crime was committed. He questioned him closely, but withoutresult--the people up there were tired of it, the man said--at firstthey had been wrought up, but six years is a long time, and they didn'tcare much about it now. As the governor closed the interview he realisedthat he had hoped a bitter hope that his revenge might be justified. When the door had shut, he went back to the case again, and again heleft it. "It ought to be done, but, God help me, I cannot do it, " hesaid. The next morning, while he was at work in his office in the Capitol, hissecretary came in to tell him that Miss Christina Battle was in theanteroom. He rose hurriedly. "I will see her at once, " he said, and heopened the door as Miss Chris came in, panting softly from her ascent inthe elevator. She had changed so little that he took her hand in sudden timidity, recalling the days when he had sold her chickens before her hen-housedoor. But when he had settled her in one of the cane rocking-chairsbeside the stove, his confidence returned and he responded heartily toher beneficent beam. Her florid face, shining large and luminous abovethe stiff black strings of her bonnet, reminded him of illustrations hehad seen in which the sun is endowed with human features and anenveloping smile. "This is the greatest honour my office has brought me, " he said withsincerity. She laughed softly, smoothing her black kid glove above her plump wrist. "I don't know what they mean by saying you aren't a lady's man, GovernorBurr, " she returned. "I am sure old Judge Blitherstone himself neverturned a prettier compliment, and he lived to be upwards of ninety anddid them better every day of his life. They used to say that when Mrs. Peachy Tucker dropped in to see him as he was breathing his last, andtold him to look forward to the joys of heaven and the communion ofsaints, he replied, 'Madam, if you remain with me I shall merely passfrom one heaven to another, ' and they were his last words. " The governor smiled into her beautiful, girlish eyes. "Men have spokenworse ones, " he said, her kindliness warming him like a cordial. "It was good of you to come, " he added. "Not a bit of it, " protested Miss Chris with emphasis. "It's all aboutthat poor, foolish boy--he's still a boy to me, and so are you for thatmatter. You know how wicked he has been and how miserable he has made usall, for you can't stop loving people just because they are bad. Now youare a good man, Governor Burr, and that's why I came to you. You'll doright if it kills you, and whatever you do in this matter is going tobe the right thing. You can't help being good any more than he can helpbeing bad, and I hope the Lord understands this as well as I do--I don'tknow, I'm sure--sometimes it looks as if He didn't; but we'd just aswell trust Him, because there's nothing else for us to do. "Now the foolish boy wronged you more than he wronged us; but you'llforgive him as we forgave him, when you know what he's suffered. It'sbetter to be sinned against than to sin, God knows. " Her eyes were moist and her lips trembled. The governor crossed to whereshe sat and took her hand. "Dear Miss Chris, " he said, "women like you make men heroes. " And headded quickly, "The pardon is being made out. When it is ready I willsign it. " She looked at him an instant in silence; then she rose heavily to herfeet, leaning upon his arm. "You're a great man, Nick Burr, " she saidsoftly. An hour later Nicholas Burr looked calmly down upon his signature thatmeant freedom for Bernard Battle. He had won the victory of his life, and he was feeling with a glow of self-appreciation that he had done agenerous thing. VIII Miss Chris, in her hired carriage, rolled leisurely into FranklinStreet, where pretty women in visiting gowns were going in and out ofdoorways. She leaned out and bowed smilingly several times, but she wasnot thinking of the gracefully dressed callers or of the houses intowhich they went. When Emma Carr threw her a kiss from Galt's porch, sheresponded amiably; but she was as blind to the affectionate gesture asto the striking beauty of the girl in her winter furs. Up the quiet street the leafless trees made a gray vista that meltedinto transparent mist. The sunshine stretched in pale gold bars fromsidewalk to sidewalk, and overhead the sky was of a rare Italian blue. But for the frost in the air and the naked boughs, it might have been aday in April. Presently the carriage turned into Main Street, halting abruptly while atrolley car shot past. "Please be very careful, " called Miss Chrisnervously, gathering herself together as they stopped before a big grayhouse that faced a gray church on the opposite corner. A flight of stonesteps ran from the doorway to a short tesselated entrance leading to thestreet, where two scraggy poplars still held aloft the witheredskeletons of last year's tulips. The Webbs had taken the house becausethe box bushes in the yard reminded Eugenia of Battle Hall, whileDudley declared it to be the best breathing space he could get for themoney. "We done git back, Mistis, " announced the negro driver, descending fromhis perch, and at the same instant the door of the house flew open andEugenia ran out, bareheaded, followed by Dudley. "I saw you from the window, Aunt Chris, " she cried, "and now I want toknow the meaning of this mystery. Dudley suspects you of having a lover, but I am positive that you've stolen a march on me and have been tomarket. What a pity I confessed to you that I couldn't tell brains fromsweetbreads. " "Let me get there, Eugie, " said Dudley, as Miss Chris emerged with theassistance of the driver. "Take my arm, Aunt Chris, and I'll hoist youinto the house before you know it. " "Well, I declare, " remarked Miss Chris, carefully stepping forth. "Idon't know when I've had such a turn. These street car drivers have lostall their manners. If we hadn't pulled up in time, I believe he wouldhave gone right into us. And to think that a few years ago we never gotready to go to market until the car was at the door. Betty Taylor usedto call to the driver every morning to wait till she put on herbonnet--and time and again I've seen him stop because she had forgottenher list of groceries. Now, if you weren't standing right on the corner, I actually believe they'd go by without you. " "That's progress, Aunt Chris, " responded Dudley cheerfully. Here the driver insisted upon lending a hand, and between them theyestablished Miss Chris before the fire in the sitting-room. "I wishyou'd make Giles go out and pick up that loose paper that's scattered onthe pavement, " she said to Eugenia. "It looks so untidy. If I wasn'trheumatic I'd do it myself. " Dudley and Eugenia seated themselves across from her. "Now where haveyou been, Aunt Chris?" they demanded. Miss Chris laughed softly as she took off her bonnet and gloves and gavethem to Eugenia; then she unfastened her cape and passed it over. "You'll never find out that, my dears, " she returned. "I'm not too oldto keep a secret. Why, I've gone and lost my bag. Didn't I carry thatbag with me, Eugenia?" "Of course you did, " said Eugenia. "Never mind, I'll make you another. "She went out to put away Miss Chris's wraps, and came back presently, laughing. "Have you found out her secret, Dudley?" she asked. "If she doesn't tellyou, it will die with her. " "I know better than to ask, " returned Dudley good-humouredly. "That'sthe reason I'm her favourite. I don't ask impertinent questions, do I, Aunt Chris?" "Bless you, no, " responded Miss Chris serenely, as she stretched out herfeet in their cloth shoes. "You're her favourite because you happen to be a man, " protestedEugenia. "She comes of a generation of man spoilers. I believe shethinks I ought to bring you your slippers in the evening--now don't you, Aunt Chris?" "My dear mother always brought them to my father, " replied Miss Chrisplacidly. "It was her pleasure to wait on him. " "And it is mine to have Dudley wait on me. But you do make an unfairdifference between us, Aunt Chris. Why did you call me 'uncharitable'when I said Mrs. Gordon painted immodestly! Dudley said the same thingthis morning, and you only smiled. " "It was uncharitable, my dear, and besides it is too palpable to needmention--but men will be men. " Eugenia frowned. "I wish you would occasionally remember that women willbe women, " she suggested. She wore a scarlet shirtwaist, and the glowfrom the fire seemed to follow her about. "I won't have Aunt Chris bullied, Eugie, " declared Dudley as he rose. "Well, I'm off again. I may bring a legislator or two back to dinner. What have we got?" "The Lord knows, " replied Eugenia desperately. "Our third cook thismonth for one thing, and Congo refuses to serve dinner in courses. Hesays 'dar's too much shufflin' er de dishes for too little victuals. '" Dudley laughed at her mimicry. "Oh, I suppose we'll do, " he said. "By the way, don't forget to call onMrs. Rann to-day. " Miss Chris was gazing placidly into the fire. As Dudley turned with hishand on the door knob, she looked up. "I was surprised to find the Capitol so dirty, " she observedregretfully. Dudley swung round breathlessly. "Well, I am--blessed!" he gasped. "So that's where you've been!" cried Eugenia. She threw herself besideMiss Chris's chair. "What did he say, Aunt Chris?" she implored. Miss Chris blushed with confusion. "Well, if I haven't let it out!" she exclaimed. "Who'd have thought Icouldn't keep a secret at my age. " Then she patted Eugenia's hand. "He'sa good man, " she said softly, "and it's all right about Bernard. " "I knew it would be, " said Dudley quickly. "You know, Eugie, I alwaystold you he'd do it. " But Eugenia had turned away with swimming eyes. "I must tell Lottie, "she said hurriedly. "Oh, Aunt Chris, how could you keep it? To think thechildren are at school!" Dudley, with an afterthought, turned from the door and gave her anaffectionate pat on the shoulder. "It's fine news, old girl, " he saidcheerfully, and Eugenia smiled at him through her tears. As he went out she followed him into the hall and slowly ascended thestairs. On the landing above she entered a room where Bernard's wife waslying on a wicker couch, cutting the pages of a magazine. "Lottie, I've good news for you, " she exclaimed, "the best of news. " Lottie tossed aside the magazine and raised herself on her elbow. Shehad a pretty, ineffectual face and a girlish figure, and, despite herfaded colouring, looked almost helplessly young. Her round white handswere as weak as a child's. "I'm sure I don't know what it can be, " she returned. "You look awfullywell in that red waist, Eugie. I think I'll get one like it. " Eugenia picked up a child's story book from the rug and laid it on thetable; then she stood looking gravely down on the younger woman. "Can't you guess what it is?" she asked. Lottie looked up with a nervous blinking of her eyes. She had paledslightly and she leaned over and drew an eiderdown quilt across herknees. "It--it's not about Bernard?" she asked in a whisper. "Yes, it is about Bernard. You may go to him and bring him home. You maygo to-morrow. Oh, Lottie, doesn't it make you happy?" Lottie drew the eiderdown quilt still higher. She was not looking atEugenia, and her mouth had grown sullen. "I don't see why you send me, "she said. "Why can't Jack Tucker bring him home? He's with him. " "But I thought you wanted to go, " returned Eugenia blankly. "I haven't seen him for six years, " said Lottie, her face still turnedaway. "He is almost a stranger--and I am afraid of him. " "Oh, Lottie, he loves you so!" "I don't know, " protested Lottie. "He has been so wicked. " Eugenia was looking down upon her with dismayed eyes. "Don't you love him, Lottie?" she asked. For a moment the other did not reply. Her lips trembled and her kneeswere shaking beneath the eiderdown quilt. Then with a slow turn of thehead she looked up doggedly. "I believe I hate him, " she answered. A swift flush rose to Eugenia's face, her eyes flashed angrily, she tooka step forward. "And you are his wife!" she cried. But Lottie had turned at last. She flung the quilt aside and rose to herfeet, her girlish figure quivering in its beribboned wrapper. There werebright pink spots in her cheeks. "Yes, I am his wife, God help me, " she said. Eugenia had drawn back before the childish desperation. Lottie had neverrevolted before--she had thought Eugenia's thoughts and weakly lived upto Eugenia's conception of her duty. She had been meek and amiable andineffectual; but it came to Eugenia with a shock that she had neveradmired her until to-day--until the hour of her rebellion. She spoke sternly--as she might have spoken to herself in a moment ofdear, but dismal failure. "Hush, " she commanded. "You are one of us, and you have no right todesert us. It is because you are his wife that my home is yours and yourchildren's. I am only his sister, and I have stood by him through itall. Do you think, if his sins were twenty times as great, that I shouldfall away from him now?" Lottie looked at her and laughed--a little heartless laugh. "Oh, but I am not a Battle, " she replied bitterly. "Battle sins are justlike other people's sins to me. " Then she raised her pretty, nerveless hands to her throat. "I have wanted to be free all these years, " she said. "All these yearswhen you would not let me forget Bernard Battle--when you shut me up andhid me away, and made me old when I was young. And now--just as I ambeginning to be happy with my children--you tell me that I must go backto him and start afresh. " Her voice grated upon Eugenia's ears, and she realised more acutely thanher pity the fact that Lottie was common--hopelessly common. For aninstant she forgot Bernard's greater transgressions in the wonder that aBattle should have married a woman who did not know how to behave in acrisis--who could even chant her wrongs from the housetop. At the momentthis seemed to her the weightier share of the family remissness. Theloyalty of the Battle wives had been as a lasting memorial to the Battlebreeding--which, after all, was more invincible than the Battle virtue. She crossed to the window and stood looking out upon the winter sunshinefalling on the gray church across the way. On the stone steps a negronurse was sitting, drowsily trundling back and forth before her aberuffled baby carriage. Nearer at hand, in the yard on the left of thetesselated entrance below, a pointed magnolia tree shone evergreenbeside the naked poplars, and a bevy of sparrows fluttered in and outamid the sheltering leaves. "Oh, you will never understand, " wailed Lottie. She had flung herselfupon the couch and was sobbing weakly. "It is so different with you andDudley. " Eugenia turned and came back. "I do understand, " she returned gently, and before Lottie could raise her lowered head she left the room. She had promised Dudley that the calls should be made, and she put onher visiting gown without a thought of shirking the fulfilment of herpledge. From the day of her marriage she had zealously accepted theobligations forced upon her by Dudley's political aspirations, and Mrs. Rann became to-day simply a heavier responsibility than usual. Her worldwas full of Mrs. Ranns, and she braved them with dauntless spirits andtriumphant humour. As she buttoned her gloves on the way downstairs shewas conscious of a singularly mild recognition of the fact that theworld might have been the gainer had Mrs. Rann abided unborn. But the fresh air restored her courage, and by the time she sat in Mrs. Rann's drawing-room, face to face with her hostess, she was at ease withherself and her surroundings. She gave out at once the peculiar socialatmosphere of her race; she uttered her gay little nothings with anintimate air; she laughed good-humouredly at Mrs. Rann's gossip, and shebegged to see photographs of Mrs. Rann's babies. It was as if she hadimmediately become the confidential adviser of Mrs. Rann's domesticdifficulties. Mrs. Rann, herself, was little and plain and obsolete. She appeared tohave been left behind in the sixties, like words that have become vulgarfrom disuse. She wore bracelets on her wrists, and her accent was asflat as her ideas. Before the war--and even long after--nobody had heardof the Ranns; they had arrived as suddenly as the electric lights orthe trolley cars. When Miss Chris had alluded to them as "new people, "and Juliet Galt had declared that she "did not call there, " Dudley hadthrown out an uncertain line to Eugenia. "Rann is a useful man, mydear, " he had said. "He may be of great help to me, " and the next dayEugenia had left her card. Where Dudley's ambitions led she cheerfullyfollowed. "We are politicians, " was her excuse to Juliet, "and we can't afford tobe exclusive. Of course, with Emma Carr and yourself it is different. You may exclude half society if you please, and, in fact, you do; butDudley and I really don't mind. He wants something, and I, you know, wasborn without the instinct of class. " So she sat in Mrs. Rann's drawing-room and received her confidences, while Juliet and Emma Carr were gossiping across the street. "The greatest trouble I have with Mr. Rann when he comes to town, " saidMrs. Rann, "is that he refuses to wear woollen socks. I don't knowwhether Mr. Webb wears woollen socks or not. " Eugenia shook her head. "I've no doubt he would be a better and a wiser man if he did, " sheresponded. "Then he doesn't catch cold when he puts on thin ones with his dresssuit. Now Mr. Rann says woollen socks don't look well in theevening--and he takes cold every time he goes out at night. He won'teven let me put red flannel in the soles of his shoes. " "Then he's not the man I thought him, " said Eugenia as she rose. "Do youknow, the baby is so pretty I stopped her carriage. If she were mine Ishouldn't let her grow up. " Mrs. Rann glowed with pride, and in the depths of her shallow eyesEugenia read a triumphant compassion. This little vulgar countrywoman, upon whom she looked so grandly down, was pitying her in her narrowheart. She flushed and turned away. "You have never had a child?" asked the little common voice. Eugenia faced her coldly. "I lost one--a week old, " she replied, and shehated herself that she was proud of her seven days' motherhood. She hadmourned the loss, but she had never vaunted the possession until now. As she left the house her name was called by Juliet Galt from her windowacross the way. "Come over, Eugie, " she cried. "We've been watchingyou, " and as Eugenia ascended the steps the door was opened and she wasclasped in Emma Carr's arms. "We've shut our eyes and ground our teethand put ourselves in your place, " she said. "Oh, Eugie, she's worse thanthe dentist!" "I went to the dentist's first, " was Eugenia's reply. She followed Miss Carr into the drawing-room and sank into thewindow-seat beside Juliet, who was bending over her embroidery frame. Then she laughed--a full, frank laugh. "You dear women, " she said, "if you knew the lot of a politician's wife, you'd--marry a footman. " "Provided he were Dudley Webb, " returned Emma Carr. She seized Eugenia'shand and they smiled at each other in demonstrative intimacy. "Youknow, of course, that we are all in love with your husband--desperately, darkly in love--and you ought to be gray with jealousy. If I weremarried to the handsomest man in Virginia I'd get me to a nunnery. " "That's not Eugie's way, " said Juliet, snapping off her silk. "If shewent, she'd drag him after. " "Oh, he's just Dudley, " protested Eugenia. "I'd as soon be jealous ofAunt Chris--and he's waiting at home this instant with his senators cometo judgment on my dinner. If I were free, I'd spend the day with you. Juliet, but I've married into servitude. " IX When Eugenia went upstairs that night she softly opened Lottie's doorand glanced into the room. By the sinking firelight she saw Lottie lyingasleep, her hand upon the pillow of her younger child, who slept besideher. The pretty, nerveless hand, even in sleep, tremored like a caress, for whatever Lottie's wifely failings, as a mother she was withoutreproach. Lottie--vain, hysterical, bewailing her wrongs--was the sameLottie now resting with a protecting arm thrown out--this Eugeniaadmitted thoughtfully as she looked into the darkened room where thethin blue flame cast a spectral light upon the sleepers. From thisshallow rooted nature had bloomed the maternal ardour of the Southernwoman, in whom motherhood is the abiding grace. Eugenia closed the door and crossed the hall to Miss Chris, who wasreading her Bible as she seeded raisins into a small yellow bowl. Theleaves of the Bible were held open by her spectacle case which she hadplaced between them; for while her hands were busy with material mattersher placid eyes followed the text. "I thought I'd get these done to-night, " she remarked as Eugeniaentered. "I'm going to make a plum pudding for Dudley to-morrow. Whereis he now?" "A political barbecue, I believe, " responded Eugenia indifferently asshe knotted the cord of her flannel dressing-gown. She yawned and threwherself into a chair. "I wonder why everybody spoils Dudley so, " sheadded. "Even I do it. I am sitting up for him to-night simply because Iknow he'll want to tell me about it all when he comes in. " "It's a good habit for a wife to cultivate, " returned Miss Chris, shaking the raisins together. "If my poor father stayed out until fouro'clock in the morning he found my mother up and dressed when he camein. " "I should say it was 'poor' grandmamma, " commented Eugenia drily. "ButDudley won't find me after midnight. " Then she regarded Miss Chrisaffectionately. "What a blessing that you didn't marry, Aunt Chris, " shesaid. "You'd have prepared some man to merit damnation. " "My dear Eugie, " protested Miss Chris, half shocked, half flattered atthe picture. "But you're a good wife, all the same, like your motherbefore you. The only fault I ever saw in poor Meely was that shewouldn't put currants in her fruit cake. Tom was always fond ofcurrants--" in a moment she abruptly recalled herself. "My dear, I don'tsay you haven't had your trials, " she went on. "Dudley isn't a saint, but I don't believe even the Lord expects a man to be that. It doesn'tseem to set well on them. " "Oh, I am not blaming Dudley, " returned Eugenia as leniently as MissChris. "We live and let live--only our tastes are different. Why, thechief proof of his affection for me is that he always describes to methe object of his admiration--which means that his eyes stray, but hisheart does not, and the heart's the chief thing, after all. " "I'm glad you aren't jealous, " said Miss Chris. "I used to think youwere--as a child. " "Oh, I was--as a child, " replied Eugenia. Her kindly face clouded. Itwas borne in upon her with a twinge of conscience that the absence ofjealousy which had become the safeguard of Dudley's peace proved her ownlack of passion. What a hell some women--good women--might have made ofDudley's life--that genial life that flowed as smoothly as a song. Inthe flights and pauses of his temperament what discord might haveshocked the decent measure of their marriage? Persistent passion wouldhave bored him; exacting love would have soured the charm of his radiantegotism. It was because she was not in love with him, that her love hadwisely meted out to him only so much or so little of herself as hedesired--and with a sudden arraignment of Fate she admitted that becauseshe had failed in the first requirement of the marriage sacrament, shehad made that sacrament other than a mockery. Out of her ownunfulfilment Dudley's happiness was fulfilled. "Yes, Dudley suits me, " she said absently, "and, what's the main thing, I suit Dudley. " "Well, well, I'm glad of it, " returned Miss Chris, but in a momentEugenia was kneeling beside her, her hand upon the open Bible. "Dear Aunt Chris, you haven't told me all, " she said. "All?" Miss Chris wavered. "You mean about Bernard?" "I mean about the governor. " She closed the. Bible and pushed it fromher. "Do you think he is quite, quite happy?" Miss Chris laughed in protest. "Do I believe him to be pining of hopeless love? No, I don't, " sheretorted. "Oh, not that!" exclaimed Eugenia impatiently. She appeared vaguely toresent Miss Chris's assurance. She was feminine enough to experience anirrational jealousy at the idea of a vacancy which she had done her bestto create. It destroyed an example of the permanence of love. "I don't suppose anybody could be happy on politics, " observed MissChris. "It doesn't seem natural. " And she slowly added: "I wish somegood woman would marry him. " "I don't!" said Eugenia sharply. She rose with a spring from the rug, and left Miss Chris to her reflections and her raisins. In her own roomshe sat down before the fire and loosened her hair from the low coil onher neck. She drew out the hairpins one by one, until her hands werefull, and the thick black rope fell across her bosom. Then she tossedthe pins upon her bureau and shook a veil over her face and shoulders. As she settled herself into her chair she glanced impatiently at theclock. Dudley was late, and she listened for his footsteps with thecomposure of a woman from whom the flush of marriage has passed away. His footsteps were as much a part of her days as the ticking of theclock upon the mantel. If the clock were to stop, she would miss theaccustomed sound, but so long as it went on she was almost unconsciousof its presence. Her affection for Dudley had grown so into her naturethat it was like the claim of kinship--quiet, unimpassioned, full ofservice--the love that is the end of many happy marriages, the beginningof few. As she sat there she fell vaguely to wondering what her lot would havebeen had her pulses fluttered to his footsteps as they came and went. She would have known remorseless waitings and the long agony of jealousnights--all the passionate self-torture that she had missed--that shehad missed, thank God! She made the best of her life to-day, as shewould have made the best of blows and bruises. It was the old buoyantinstinct of the Battle blood--the fighting of Fate on its ground withits own weapons. She had insisted strenuously upon her ownhappiness--and she had found it not in the great things of life, but inthe little ones. She was happy because happiness is ours in the cradleor not at all--because it is of the blood and not of the environment. During the first years of her marriage she had intensely sought therelief of outside interests. She had worked zealously on hospital boardsand had exhausted herself in the service of the city mission. Then a newcall had quivered in her life, and she had let these things go. With thepassion of her nature she had pledged herself to motherhood, and that, too, had foiled her--for the child had died. Looking back upon the yearsshe saw that those months of tranquil waiting were the happiest of herlife--those monotonous months when each day was as the day before it, when her hands were busy for the love that would come to her, and herheart warmed itself before the future. The child was hers for a singleweek, and afterwards she had put her grief away and gone back to the oldbeginning. She had given herself to little kindnesses and trivialinterests, for the fulfilment of her nature had withered in the bud. The key turned in the door downstairs and in a moment she heard Dudleyin the hall. As her door opened she looked up brightly. "Up, old girl?"he asked cheerfully, and as he came to the fire he bent to kiss her. "Did you make a speech? and what did you say?" she inquired. "Oh, they got a good deal out of me, " he responded with a genialrecollection which he proceeded to unfold. His eyes shone and his facewas flushed. As he stood on the hearth rug before her she admitted witha sigh of satisfaction his physical splendour. The glow of hispersonality warmed her into an emotion half maternal. She regarded himwith the eyes of tolerant affection. "Oh, yes, I think I made a friend of Diggs, " he was adding complacentlyas he flecked a particle of cigar ash from his coat. "He got off acapital story, by the way. I'd give it to you, but I'm halfafraid--you're so squeamish. " "His jokes don't amuse me, " returned Eugenia indifferently. "Who elsewas there?" "Well, the governor was very much there. He did some stiff talking. Isay, Eugie, do you know, I believe he used to have a pretty strong fancyfor you--didn't he?" Eugenia looked at him with a laugh. "Oh, a fancy?" she repeated. She moved away, gathering her hair from her shoulders; but in a momentshe came back again and rubbed her cheek against Dudley's arm as sheused to rub it against General Battle's old linen sleeve. "Dudley, " shesaid with a sudden break, "the baby would have been ten years oldto-night--do you remember?" Dudley was looking into the fire; his face grew grave, and he pattedEugenia's head. "You don't say so! Poor little chap!" he exclaimed. They were both silent. Dudley's eyes were still on the flame, but theshadow lifted from his brow. Eugenia's lips quivered and grew firm. Shegently drew herself away and began braiding her hair, but her hands wereunsteady. In a moment Dudley spoke again. "It was a great pity I lost thatgovernorship, " he said abstractedly. A week after this Eugenia went with Juliet Galt to the Capitol to hear aspeech in which Dudley was interested. The Senate Chamber was crowded, and as the atmosphere grew oppressive while Dudley's gentleman held thefloor, she rose and went out into the lobby where a noisy circle pulsedround Houdon's Washington. She had spoken to several acquaintances, andher hand was in the clasp of a house member from her old county, whenshe started at the sound of a shrill voice rising above the persistenthum of the legislators and the lobbyists. "I'm a-lookin' for the governor, Nick Burr, " it said. "I didn't know the governor posed as a cavalier, " laughed the housemember, and as a wave of humour lighted the faces around her, Eugeniaturned to find Marthy Burr standing in the doorway. She wore a stiffalpaca dress, and beneath the green veil above her bonnet she castalert, nervous glances from side to side. Her hands clutched, in adeathlike grip, a cotton umbrella and a small, covered basket. Eugenia hesitated for a single instant, and then took a step forwardwith outstretched hand, a kindly glow in her face; but as she did so thecrowd parted and Nicholas Burr reached his stepmother's side. "Why, this is a treat, ma!" he said heartily, and he took the umbrellaand the basket from her reluctant hands, despite her warning whisper, "thar's new-laid eggs in thar!" "My dear Mrs. Burr!" exclaimed Eugenia. She lifted her gaze from thehomely figure in its awkward finery, to the man who stood beside her. Then she stooped and kissed Marthy Burr on the cheek. "Do let her come home with me, " she said. Her eyes fell and a wave of colour beat into her face. An instant beforeshe had felt her act to be entirely admirable; now it flamed before herin a mental revelation that she was a sycophant who sought the reward ofan assumed virtue. With the reward had come the knowledge--she had foundboth in Nicholas's eyes; and as she felt the thrust of self-abasement, she felt also that for the sake of that look she would have kissed adozen Burrs a dozen times. "You are very kind, " said the governor. "But you know I have an emptyhouse. " Then he put his arm about Marthy Burr and assisted her down the steps tothe walk below. She looked about her with half-frightened, half-defianteyes, and clung grimly to his powerful figure. As Eugenia watched them, a quick remembrance shot before her. She sawNicholas Burr as she had seen him in his youth--ardent, assured, holdingout his arms to the future, which was to be love, love, love. Now thefuture had become the present, and the one affection that remained tohim was that of the old, illiterate woman, with the rasping voice. Hehad lost the thing he had lived for--and he was happy. BOOK V THE HOUR AND THE MAN I On one of the closing days of the legislative session, Ben Galt loungedinto the anteroom of the governor's office and cornered the privatesecretary. "Look here, Dickson, what's the latest demonstration of OldNickism? I hear he's giving Rann trouble about that bill of his. " Dickson nodded significantly towards the closed door. "Rann's with himnow, " he replied; "they're having it hot in there. Rann may bluster tillhe's blue, but he won't make the governor give an inch. That bill's asdead as a door nail. The governor's got a fit of duty on. " "Or his everlasting obstinacy, " returned Galt irritably. "His duty doesmore harm than most men's devilment--it stands like a stone wall betweenhim and his ambition. Of course, that bill is a political swindle, butthere isn't another politician in the State who would interfere inRann's little game. " "Oh, between us, I think Rann's honest enough. He believes he's up to agood thing, but the governor disagrees with him--there's where the rowbegins. " "What does the governor say about it?" "Say?" laughed Dickson. "Why, I asked him if he would approve themeasure and he said 'No!' That's the beginning and the end of hisdiscourse--a 'No' long drawn out. " The door opened abruptly, and Rann put out his head. "Will you step inhere, Mr. Galt?" he asked, and his voice was husky with anger. "Withpleasure, my dear Major, " responded Galt easily, as he crossed thethreshold and closed the door after him. "I am always at your service asa peacemaker. " The governor was standing before his desk, his eyes upon Rann, who facedhim, red and trembling. Galt had seen Burr wear this impassive frontbefore, and it had always meant trouble. His eyes were opaque andleaden, his face as expressionless as a mask. He was motionless save forthe movement of one hand that drummed upon the desk. "If you possess anyinfluence with the governor, " said Rann to Galt, "will you tell him thathis course is ruinous--ruinous to imbecility? If he thinks I am going tothrow away a winter's work on that bill he's mistaken his man. It'staken me the whole session to get that measure through the legislature, and I'm not going to have it defeated now by any crack-brained moralist. He'll sign that bill or--" Burr spoke at last. "Am I the governor of this State or are you?" hethundered. His face did not change, but his powerful voice rang to thefull. Rann gave an ugly little sneer, his cheek purpling. "I may not begovernor, but I made you so, " he retorted. "Your mistake, my dear Major, was that you neglected to create him inyour own likeness, " put in Galt coolly. "By the people's will I am governor, and governor I'll be, " saidNicholas grimly; "as for this bill you speak of, I might have saved youthe trouble of working for your pitiable majority. Since you have seenfit to deride my motive, it is sufficient for me to say that the measurewill not become a law over my opposition, and I shall oppose it to thedeath. " Rann was shaking on his short legs and his hands were trembling. "So youdefy me, do you, Governor?" he demanded. "Defy you?" the governor laughed shortly, "I don't trouble to defy you. I laugh at you--the whole lot of you who come to cozen me with partypromises. So long as I spoke your speech and did your bidding I mighthave the senatorship for the asking. I was honest Nick Burr, though Imight belie my convictions at every step. So long as I wore the collarof your machine upon my neck my honesty was the hall-mark of the party. Where is my honesty, the first instant that I dare to stand against you?Defy you? Pshaw! You aren't worth defying!" "Hold on!" said Galt hastily. "Nick, for God's sake, leave our friendalone. You're both good fellows--too good to quarrel--" "Oh, there's no use, " protested Rann, wiping his flaming brow. "I'veoffered a dozen compromises--but compromise I won't without that bill. Bear witness that I've upheld him from the start. I'd have run him forthe presidency itself if I'd had the power, and when I ask a littlefriendly return he talks about his damned duty. But I tell you, he'ssigned his own warrant. He's as dead in this State as if his grave wasdug. He's held his last office in the Democratic Party. " "I shall certainly not owe my second to you, " responded the governor;then he looked vacantly before him. "I have the pleasure to wish yougood morning, " he said. When Rann had gone, and the door had slammed after him, Galt turned, with a laugh. "Shake!" he exclaimed, and as Nicholas grasped his hand, added lightly, "My dear friend, you may as well have a quiet conscience, since you'llnever have the senatorship. " Nicholas drew his hand away impatiently. "I'm not beaten yet, " he said. "I'll fight and I'll win, or my name's not Burr! Do you think I'm afraidof a sneak like that? Why, he offered me the senatorship as coolly as ifhe had it in his pocket!" Galt laughed. "I'm not sure he hasn't; at any rate he's the power of thering, and the ring's the power of the party. " "Then I'll fight the ring, " said Nicholas, "and, if need be, I'll fightthe party. So long as right and the people are with me the party may gohang. " "My dear old Nick, history teaches us that the party hangs the people. By the way, you've done Webb a good turn; Rann is going to fight youfair and foul--mostly foul. " "Oh, I'm not afraid of Rann, or of Webb. " "Or yet of the devil!" added Galt. "When I come to think of it, I nevercalled you timid. But wait a few days and Rann will have this littlepassage reported to his credit. I'll get ahead of him with the story, orI'll find some cocked-up account of it circulating in the lobby. It'seasier to blacken the best man than to whiten the worst. Well, I'mgoing. Good day!" When the door closed, the governor crossed to the window and stoodlooking down upon the gray drive beneath the leafless trees. The sun wasobscured by a sinister cloud that had blotted out all the fugitivebrightness of the morning. A fine moisture was in the air, and theatmosphere hung heavily down the naked slopes, where the grass wascolourless and dead. Beyond the gates, the city was lost in a blurredand melancholy distance, from which several indistinct church spiresrose and sank in a sea of fog. But blue and gray were as one to Nicholas. He was not exhilarated bysunshine nor was he depressed by gloom; only the inner forces of hisnature had power to quicken or control his moods. His inspiration, likehis destiny, lay within, and so long as he maintained his wontedequilibrium of judgment and desire it was, perhaps, impossible that anoutside assault should severely shake the foundations of his life. Now, while the glow of his anger still lingered in his brain, it wascharacteristic of the man that he was feeling a pity for Rann'sdisappointment--for the discomfiture of one whose methods he despised. In Rann's place, he felt that he should probably have risen to thecharge as Rann rose--implacable, unswerving; but he was not in Rann'splace, nor could he be so long as personal reward was less to him thanpersonal honour. Yes, he could pity Rann even while he condemned him. For an instant--a single instant--he had found himself shrinking fromthe combat, and in the shock of self-contempt which followed he hadhurled the shock of his resentment upon the tempter. In that moment ofweakness it had seemed to him an easy thing to let one's self go; toyield to a friendly, if distrusted force; to place gratified ambitionabove the sting of wounded scruples. Was he infallible that he shouldmake his judgment a law, or without reproach that he should set hisconscience as an arbiter? Then in a sudden illumination he had seen the betrayal of his sophistry, and he had stood his ground--for the strong man is not he who isimpervious to weaknesses, but he who, scorning his failures, towers overthem. He had felt the temptation and he had wavered, but not for long. In all his periods of storm and stress he had found that his naturerebounded in the end. Disquietude might waste his ardour; but give himtime to reorganise his forces, and his moral energy would triumph at thelast. As he looked out upon the great bronze Washington against thesad-coloured sky, he realised, with a pang like the thrust ofhomesickness, the isolation in which he stood. An instinctive need tojustify himself had risen within him, and with it awoke the knowledgethat beyond that uncertain abstraction which he called "the People, " hewas an alien among his kind. Galt was his friend, Tom Bassett he couldcount on, a score of others would stand or fall in his service, butwhere was the single emotion which bound him to humanity? Where thecommon claim of kinship which belonged to Galt, to Bassett, and to allmankind? He had known many men, but he knew not one who was not drawn bysome connecting link that was apart from patriotism, or ambition, ordesire. Then quickly there came to him, not the judge, who was theparent of his intellect, but the withered little woman, who was not eventhe mother of his body. The only happiness that rose and set in him wasthat pitiable happiness that could not think his thoughts or speak hisspeech. It had never occurred to him that he loved Marthy Burr--hiskindness had been wholly compassionate--it was the knowledge that sheloved him that now illuminated her image. It was the old blind cravingborn again, to be first with somebody--for there are moods in which itis better to be adored by a dog than to adore a divinity. He beheldEugenia's womanhood as "A sword afar off"; but with him was the eternalcommonplace--his stepmother's sharp, pained eyes and shrivelled hands. He had loved Eugenia until there was nothing left; now he wanted to beloved, if by a dog. He raised his head and smiled upon the bronze Washington and thesad-coloured sky. In the drive below men were passing, and from time totime he recognised a figure. He saw only men down there, and the thoughtcame to him that his was a man's world--only in the outside circle mighthe catch the flutter of a woman's dress. He turned and went back to hisdesk and his work. Two days later the papers chronicled without comment his opposition toRann's bill. He was aware that Rann possessed no uncertain influencewith the editors of the "Morning Standard, " and he was surprised at theapparent indifference displayed by the curt announcement. Did Rann'sresentment hang fire? Or was the press prepared to uphold the governor? On the morning of the same day a member of the legislature with whom hewas slightly acquainted came in to congratulate him upon his stand. Hisname was Saunders, and he was a man of some ability, whom Nicholas hadalways regarded as a partisan of Webb. "I've been fighting that bill this whole session, " he said emphatically, "and I'd given up all hope of defeating it when you had the pluck toknock it over. You've made enemies, Governor, but you've made friends, and I'm one of them. Give me the man who dares!" He held out his hand ashe rose, and Nicholas responded with a hearty grip. Before thelegislature closed he found that Saunders spoke the truth--he had madefriends as well as enemies. The inborn Anglo-Saxon love of "the man whodares" was with him--a regard for daring for its own heroic sake. Thehour was his, and he braved his shifting popularity as he would braveits final outcome. II One afternoon in early May, Dudley Webb came out upon his front stepsand paused to light a cigar before descending to the street. A spring ofhappy promise was unfolding, for overhead the poplars bloomed against anenchanted sky. In the shadow of the church across the way, children wereromping, their ecstatic trebles floating like bird-song on the air. With the cigar between his teeth, Dudley heaved a sudden reminiscentsigh--the sigh of a man who possesses an excellent digestion and acomplacent conscience. Things had gone well with him of late--the factthat a trivial domestic interest darkened for the moment his serenehorizon proved it to be the solitary cloud of a clear day. The cloud inquestion had gathered in the shape of no less a person than Mrs. JaneDudley Webb. She had been on a visit to Richmond, and he had seen heronly two hours before safely started on her homeward journey. The truthwas that Mrs. Webb and Eugenia had asserted for the past two days animplacable hostility, and Dudley's genial efforts at pacification hadresulted merely in diverting a share of the unpleasantness upon his ownhead. It was a lamentable fact that Eugenia, who was amiable to thepoint of weakness where members of the Battle family were concerned, found it impossible to harmonise with the elder Mrs. Webb. They haddisagreed upon such important subjects as Miss Chris's housekeeping andDudley's moral welfare, until Eugenia, after an inglorious defeat, hadrelapsed into silence--a silence broken only upon Dudley's return fromthe station, when she had unbosomed herself of the declaration that she"couldn't stand his mother, and it was as much as she could do to standhim. " Dudley had met this alarming outburst with its logical retort, "Hadn't you better see a doctor, Eugie?" whereupon Eugenia had protestedthat "if she wasn't fit for an asylum, he needn't thank Mrs. Webb, " andhad dissolved in tears. At the moment Dudley had experienced a warm recognition of hisgenerosity in refraining from the use of his own endurance of manyBattles, as an illustration of the opposite and virtuous course; butupon later reflection he frankly admitted that the cases were by nomeans similar. It had not occurred to him, he recalled, to deny thatMrs. Webb was singularly trying, though he wondered, half resentfully, why Eugenia could not be brought to regard that lady's foibles from hisown gently humorous point of view. He was not in the least disconcertedby his mother's solicitude as to the condition of his soul, or by thefact that she still felt constrained to allude to the governor of theState as "a person of low antecedents. " Personally, he was inclined toadmire--and frankly to admit it--the ability which had brought Burr intoprominence from a position of evident obscurity, while he regarded Mrs. Webb's eccentric attitude as a kind of antedated comedy. What heobjected to was his wife's inability to grasp the keynote of thesituation. It was pleasant to reflect, however, as he leisurely descended thesteps, that he had brought Eugenia round by less heroic measures than anassault upon her family altars. He was glad to think that he had givenher a cup of tea instead. Crossing slowly to Franklin Street, he hesitated an instant on thecorner, and turned finally in the direction of his office. There was anearer way down town, but he always chose this one because experiencehad taught him that if pretty women were abroad here they would befound. With the same instinct of enjoyment he might have gone out of hisway daily to pass the window of a florist. As he walked on in the spring sunshine he held his handsome head erect, blowing the smoke of his cigar in the scented air. He moved leisurely, finding life too good to be wasted in rushing. The soft atmosphere; thefragrance of his fine cigar; the beauty of the women he passed--thesesufficed to bring the glow of animation to his smooth, full face. Once he stopped to shake hands with pretty Emma Carr, detaining her by ajest and a laugh--and again he paused to exchange a word with JulietGalt, who was at her window. It was only when he turned into thebusiness street again that he brought his mind to bear upon lessengaging subjects. Then it was that he remembered he had delivered the evening before hismost successful oration. He had spoken to a large audience upon"Personal Morality in Politics, " and he had received an appreciationthat was prolonged and thundering. When it was over some one had calledhim a "greater orator than Withers, " to add quickly, "and a betterDemocrat than Burr. " He could still see the whimsical smile Burr hadturned upon the speaker, and he could still feel his own sense ofelation. Well, as for that matter, he was a better Democrat than Burr--if to be abetter Democrat meant to place the party will above his personalopinion. After all, what was a party for if not to unite individualeffort and to combine individual differences? If organisation was notworth the sacrifice of personal prejudices it might as well dissolvebefore the next election day. It was, of course, a pity that a man likeBurr should dissent from the views of important politicians, but onemight as well talk of a ship without officers as of a party withoutorganised leaders. It was a pity from Burr's point of view, he waswilling to admit, but so long as Burr would make trouble it was just aswell that the ill wind should blow his own side good--he was honestlyglad that it had blown Rann's influence in his direction. He had neverfelt more hopeful of anything in his life than he now felt of thesenatorship. Indeed, he was inclined to think that he might havesomething very like a "walk over. " "Hold on, Webb, " a voice called behind him, and a moment later he wasjoined by Diggs, who congratulated him upon his speech of the eveningbefore. Webb tossed back the congratulations with a laugh. "Yes, it's apopular subject just now, " he said. "Since the negroes have stoppedvoting in large numbers we're even going in for honest elections. " "Well, I reckon it's as well, " admitted Diggs. "We used to have somerampant rascality under the old system, I dare say; it took clevertrickery to bring in the white rule sometimes. We have a large negromajority down my way, that obliged us to devise original methods ofdisposing of it. It was fighting the devil with fire, I suppose; butself-preservation was a law long before Universal Suffrage was heard of. At any rate, I had my hand in it now and then. Once, I remember, on anelection day when every darkey in the neighbourhood had turned out tovote, I hit on the idea that the man who was to carry the returns acrossthe river should pretend to get drunk and upset the boat. It was apretty scheme and would have worked all right, but, will you believe it, the blamed fool got drunk in earnest, and when the boat upset he wascaught under it and drowned. " He paused an instant and complacentlyadded: "But we lost those returns, all the same. " Webb threw his cigar stump in the gutter and turned to Diggs with alaugh. "That reminds me, " he began, and started a story which hefinished on his office steps. When he went home some hours later he found that Eugenia had regainedher high good-humour. She was sitting before the fire in her bedroom, her hair flowing in the hands of Delphy, who had moved up fromKingsborough, and was doing a thriving trade as a shampooer. It was herfortnightly custom to pass from head to head in a round of theKingsborough colony, promoting an intimate trend of gossip among herpatrons. As Dudley entered, she was seeking to induce Eugenia to consent to anapplication from one of the many bottles she carried in an ancienttravelling bag, which had long since descended to her from GeneralBattle. "Lawd, Miss Euginny, dis yer ain' gwineter hu't you. Hit ain' nuttin butker'sene oil nohow. Miss Sally Burwell des let me souse her haid in itde udder day. Hit'll keep you f'om gittin' gray, sho's I live. " "You shan't touch me with it, Delphy. And you ought to be ashamed--Ihaven't a gray hair. Have I, Dudley?" Delphy returned the bottle with a sigh, and applied herself to avigorous brushing of Eugenia's hair. "You sho is filled out sence I see you, Marse Dudley, " she observed atlast. "Yes, I'm getting fat, Delphy, " returned Dudley with a laugh. "It's oldage, you know. It's a long time since the days when you spanked me witha heavy hand. " "Go 'way f'om yer, Marse Dudley; you know I ain' never spank you noneter hu't. En you ain' er bit too fat ter fit yo' skin, nohow. " Dudley regarded her with a kindly, patriarchal eye as he straightenedhimself against the mantel. "Any news from down your way, Delphy?" heinquired with interest. "What's become of Moses? Moses was always afriend of mine. He used to bring me a pocketful of peanuts from everypicking he went to. " Delphy shook her head, her huge lips tightening. "He's down wid depurple headache, " she replied gloomily, "twel he can't smell dediff'ence between er 'possum en er polecat. Yes, suh, Mose he's moughtylow down, en' ter dis yer day he ain' never got over Marse Nick Burr'sous'in' you en Miss Euginny outer de cheer you all oughter had downyonder at de cap'tol. I ain' got much use fer Marse Nick myse'f. He'smonst'ous hard on po' folks. I ain' been able to rent out mo'n oner myrooms sence he's been down dar. Dat's right, Miss Euginny, yo' hyar'sdes es dry es I kin git it. " When Delphy had gone, Dudley leaned down and put his arm about Eugeniaas he kissed her. "All right, Eugie?" he asked cheerfully. Eugeniareturned his caress with a startled pleasure, looking up at himaffectionately, fascinated by the glow which hung about him. "Oh, I really don't think I could do without you, Dudley, " she saidquickly. "Well, it's a good thing you don't have to, " responded Dudley as hekissed her again. It was several days after this that Eugenia came to him one evening ashe stood before the fire and laid her cool cheek against his arm. "Oh, Dudley, " she said breathlessly, "I am so happy--so absurdly happy. " She raised her head and Dudley, looking at her in the firelight, foundher more beautiful than she had been even in the radiant days of hergirlhood. He had seen that high resolve in her face but once before, andhe grasped the meaning now as then--it was the dawn of motherhood thatenveloped her. She had heard the call of the generations in the end--theappeal of the race that moved her nature more profoundly than did theerratic ardours of the individual. There was a clear light in her eyes, and her features had taken an almost marble-like nobility. The look inher face reminded him of moments in the old days at Battle Hall, whenshe had wrapped the wandering general in a tenderness that was maternal. With a sudden penetrant insight into her heart, he realised that hernatural emotions were her nobler ones--that as child and mother thegreatness of her nature assumed its visible form. He drew her closer, the best in him responding to the mystery he beheld dimly in her eyes. For ten years they had not touched natures so nearly; it was the vitalbreath needed to vivify a union which was not rooted in the permanenceof an enduring passion. And as the months went on the wonder deepened in Eugenia's eyes. The oldrestlessness was gone; she was like one who, having looked into the holyof holies, keeps the inward memory clear. She was in the supreme mentalstate--attained only by religious martyrs or maternal, yet childless, women long married--when physical pain loses its relative values beforethe exaltation of an abiding vision. And, above all, she was what eachwoman of her race had been before her--a mother from her birth? III From the day of the child's birth it did not leave Eugenia's sight. Hereyes followed it when it was carried about the room, and she watchedwistfully the dressing and undressing of the round little body. She kneweach separate frock that she had made before its coming, and each dayshe called for a different and a daintier one. "I must make new ones, "she said at last, "he is such a beauty!" And she would hold out her armsfor him, half dressed as he was, and, as he lay beside her, fresh andcool and fragrant as a cowslip ball, she would cover the soft pink fleshwith passionate kisses. Her motherhood was an obsession, jealous, intense, unreasoning. They had named him after the general--Thomas Battle Webb, but to Eugeniahe was "the baby, " the solitary baby in a universe where birth is ascommon as death. And, indeed, he was a thing of joy--the nurse, Dudley, Miss Chris, all admitted it. There was never so round, so rosy, soaltogether marvellous a baby, and never one that laughed so much orcried so little. "He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, "declared Miss Chris. "I can see his luck already in his eyes. " At first Eugenia had been tortured by a fear that the little life wouldgo out as the other had done; but, as the weeks went on and he lived andfed and fattened, her fear was lost in the wondering rapture ofpossession. Nothing so perfectly alive could cease to be. When she was well again she dismissed the nurse and took, herself, entire charge of the child. "There are no mammies these days, " she hadsaid in reply to Dudley's remonstrances, "and I can't trust him with oneof the new negroes--I really can't. Why, I saw one slap a baby once. " Soshe bathed and dressed him in the mornings and rocked him to sleep atmidday and at dark, and in the brightness of the forenoon gave him anairing on the piazza that overlooked the back garden. From the time ofher getting up to her lying down he left her arms only when he was laidasleep in the little crib beside her bed. But, for all this, he was a healthy, hearty baby, with a round baldhead, great blue eyes like china marbles, and a ridiculous mouth thatwould not shut over the pink gums and hide the dimples at the corners. He did not cry because, as yet, he hadn't seen the moon, and the lamphad been carefully emptied and given to him as soon as he was big enoughto hold out his hands. Pins had not stuck him, because Eugenia hadguarded against the danger by sewing ribbons on his tiny innumerableslips. And he was as amiable as his elders are apt to be so long as theyare permitted to regard the visible universe as a possible plaything. At this time it was Eugenia's custom to hold him on her lap while sheate her meals, or to leave Miss Chris in charge if the small tyrantchanced to be asleep. Miss Chris had become a willing servitor; but sheoccasionally felt it to be her duty to put a modest check upon Eugenia'smaternal frenzy. "My dear, there were ten of us, " she remarked one day, "and I am sure wenever required as much attention as this one. " "And nine of you died, " Eugenia solemnly retorted. Miss Chris was compelled to assent; but she immediately added: "Notuntil we had reached middle age. Belinda died youngest, and it was ofpneumonia, at the age of forty-one. You don't think neglect during herinfancy had anything to do with it, do you? Nobody ever accused my poordear mother of not looking after her children. " But Eugenia stood her ground. "One can never tell, " was all she said, though a moment later she wiped her eyes and sobbed: "Oh, papa! If papacould only see him! He would be so proud. " "Of course, darling, " said Miss Chris. "He was always fond of children. I remember distinctly the way he carried on when his first child wasborn--but he lost him of croup before he was a month old. " She left the room to see after the housekeeping, and Eugenia hugged thebaby to her bosom, and cried over him and kissed him, and thought hiseyes were like her father's--though, for that matter, the general's weregray and watery, with weak red lids that blinked. The baby gurgled andshowed his gums still more and clutched the lace upon his mother'sbreast until it hung in shreds. It was a new gown, but neither Eugenianor the baby cared for that--if he had wanted to pull her hair out, strand by strand, she would have submitted rather than have brought awrinkle to his cloudless brow. A little later she took him out upon the sidewalk, after swathing himfrom head to foot in a light-blue veil that floated about her like astrip of sky. It was here that Juliet Galt found her, as she waspassing, and, throwing back her pretty head, she laughed until the tearscame. "O Eugie, Eugie, if you had six!" she gasped. Eugenia flinched slightly at her merriment. "But, Juliet, I can't trusthim with a nurse. Why, you told me only the other day that your faithfulold Fanny called Elizabeth an 'imp of Satan. '" Juliet only wrung her hands and laughed the more. "It's too funny, " shepanted at last; "but I'm sure if Fanny said it about Elizabeth it wastrue--she never tells stories. " Then she rippled off again. "Oh, my poorDudley! How does he endure it? Why, Ben would ship the babies off toboarding school if I attempted this. " "Dudley tries to be good about it, " replied Eugenia, "but he hates itawfully. " Juliet went by, and Eugenia kept up her slow promenade until Dudley cameup to dinner. Then she followed him into the house and upstairs to herroom, where he turned upon her reproachfully: "I say, Eugie, I wish you'd stop this sort of thing. It isn't fair tome, you know. " "How absurd, Dudley!" "But it isn't. People will begin to say that I'm bankrupt or a beast. Ifyou will go parading round like this, for heaven's sake hire a servantor two to follow after; it'll look more decent. " Eugenia's response was far from satisfactory, and the next morning, before going to his office, he drew Miss Chris aside and unburdenedhimself into her sympathetic ear. "You don't think Eugie's a--a--exactlycrazy, do you, Aunt Chris?" he wound up with, for Miss Chris was on hisside, and he knew it. "I don't wonder you ask, Dudley, I really don't, " was her comfortingrejoinder. "Why, she actually had the face to tell me yesterday that I'dnever had any children, so I couldn't advise her. It is provoking. Idon't pretend to deny it. " Dudley took up his hat and carefully examined the inside lining. "Well, I'll settle it, " he said at last, and went out. The next day, when Eugenia went upstairs from dinner, she found Delphyin a nurse's cap and apron, installed in a low chair before the fire, jolting the baby on her knees with a peculiar rhythmic motion. Eugenia fell back, regarding her with blank amazement. "Why, Delphy, where did you come from?" she exclaimed. "I didn't know you were inservice. Whom are you nursing for?" Delphy responded with a passive nod. "I'se nussin' for Marse Dudley, "she retorted. "But I don't want a nurse, Delphy. I take care of the baby myself. Ilike to do it. " Delphy kept up her drowsy jolting, shaking at the same time anunrelenting head. "Go 'long wid you, honey, " she returned. "I ain' oneryo' new-come niggers. I'se done riz mo' chillun den you'se got teef inyo' haid, en I ain' gwine ter have Marse Dudley's chile projecked wid'fo' my eyes. You ain' no mo' fitten ter nuss dis chile den MarseDudley hisse'f is. " "O Delphy!" gasped Eugenia reproachfully. She made a dart at the baby, but he raised a shrill protest, which caused her hopelessly to desist. "O Delphy, you've come between us!" she cried. "I 'low ef I hadn't you'd 'a' run plum crazy, " was Delphy'sjustification. "Dis yer chile's my bizness, en yourn it's down yonder inde parlour wid Marse Dudley. " Eugenia wavered and stood irresolute. Delphy's authority, rooted insuperior knowledge, appeared to be unshakable, but she made a lastdesperate effort. "Suppose he should get sick without me, Delphy?" Delphy positively snorted. "Ef you wanter raise dis yer chile, MissEuginny, " she replied, "you'd des better let me alont. Hit's a won'eryou ain' been de deaf er him 'fo' I got yer wid yo' sto' physicks en yo'real doctahs es dunno one baby f'om anur when dey meet 'im in de street. I reckon, ef he'd got de colic you'd have kilt 'im terreckly, you en yo'sto' physicks en yo' real doctahs! Now, you'd des better dress yo'se'fan' go down yonder ter de parlour. " But as she finished Dudley strolled in and stood beaming down upon hisoffspring as it lay, round and pinkly impressive, in Delphy's lap. "Fineboy, eh, Delphy?" he inquired proudly. "Dat 'tis, suh, " responded Delphy heartily, "an' he's des de spit er youdis we'y minit. " The following morning Dudley went to Washington for several days, andEugenia was left with Miss Chris and the child. Lottie and the littlegirls were with Bernard, who was dragging to a tedious end in Florida, where he had been ordered as a last resource. Poor, pretty, ineffectualLottie had succumbed to the unrelenting pressure of her duty. She hadsacrificed herself from sheer lack of the force necessary to withstandfate. During Dudley's absence Eugenia gave herself up to as much of the babyas Delphy grudgingly allowed her, sewing, in the long intervals, on tinyslips as delicate as cobwebs. Even this occupation was not wholly apeaceful one. "Des wait twel he begin ter crawl, en' den whar'l dosespider webs be?" propounded Delphy in the afternoon of the third day. "Dey'll be in de ash-ba'r'l er at de back er de fireplace, en dat's whardey b'long. Marse Dudley ain' never wo' no sech trash ner is youyo'se'f. " Eugenia did not respond. She seated herself beside the window, and withone eye on her child and one on her work sewed silently, her white handsgleaming amid the laces in her lap. The training of her slave-holdingancestors was strong upon her, and she regarded Delphy's liberty ofspeech as an inherent right of her position. The Battle servants hadalways spoken their minds to their mistresses in a manner which causedthem to become hopeless failures when they hired themselves into strangefamilies, where the devotion of their lives could not be offered inextenuation of the freedom of their tongues. So when Eugenia spoke, after a placid pause, it was merely to suggestthat the baby's head was hanging too far over Delphy's knee. "That can'tbe healthful, Delphy, " she said, half timidly. Delphy grunted andadjusted matters with a protest. "Hit's de way yourn done hung en MissMeely's done hung befo' you, " she muttered. Eugenia turned to the windowand looked out upon the back yard, where the horse-chestnut tree was amass of bloom, delicate as a cloud. In the beds below, roses were out inred and white, and against the gray wall of the stable at the end of thebrick walk purple flags were flaunting in the shadow. Across the city, beyond the tin roofs and the chimney-pots, the sun was going down in amist as sheer as gauze, and the surrounding atmosphere was charged withopalescent lights. Her eyes rested upon it with a quick sense of its beauty; then thesunset lost itself in the round of her thoughts. She had missed Dudley, and she was glad that he was coming home to-night. For the first timeduring the fifteen years of her marriage she experienced a vagueuneasiness at his absence. A year ago she had not known a tremor ofloneliness when he was away--but then the child was unborn. Now, in somesubtle way, the child's existence was bound and rebound in Dudley's. Thetwo stood together in her thoughts; she could not separate them--thechild was but a smaller, a closer, a dearer Dudley--a Dudley of herdreams and visions, the ideal ending to life's realities. As she sat beside the window, her eyes wandering from the sunset to thebaby asleep in Delphy's lap, she wondered that she had never beforesuffered this incipient thrill of nervous fear. Was it that heraffection for her child had revivified all lesser emotions? Or was itthat with supreme love came the vague, invincible perception of supremeloss? Did great happiness bear within itself the visible reflection ofgreat sorrow? Her life before this had been more peaceful--it had beenalso less complete. With the coming of her heart's desire had awakenedher heart's inquietude--both had dawned after years of restless waitingand uncertain wandering. It was borne in upon her, with something like apang, that the fulness of life had blossomed for her only when her firstyouth was withered, when she had long since relinquished highexpectations or keen desire. She had set her young mind and her quickpassion on a far-away good, she had shed vain tears over the lack of it;yet, in the end, she found compensation where she would least havesought it--in the things which made up her destiny. She had learned thewisdom of acceptance, and Fate had rewarded her, not by yielding to herwhat she had called her heart's necessity, but by fitting her heart tothe necessity that was already hers. She had not known the fulfilment ofher young ideals, but she was content at last with an existence whichwas a personal surrender to older realities. For herself she asked nowonly busy days of domestic interests and the unbroken serenity of middleage--but, despite herself, another life was before her, for she livedagain in her child. The twilight fell. She put her work aside, and, coming to the hearthrug, took the baby from Delphy's arms. He was in his night-dress, andhis big blue eyes were drugged with sleep. As Eugenia took him he gave awhimpering cry and clutched her with his little hands before he nestledinto the lace at her bosom. Some hours later, while Eugenia awaited Dudley in the dining-room, MissChris came in to see that his late supper was in preparation. "The trainis over-due, " she said, with a glance at the clock. "He will be hungrywhen he gets in. He always is. " Eugenia looked up anxiously. "I am beginning to feel alarmed, " shereplied. "Can anything have happened, do you think? He is an hour late. " Miss Chris shook her head as she refilled the sugar-bowl. "Why, he'soften late, " she rejoined. "I never knew you to be nervous before. Whatis it?" "Oh, I don't know, " said Eugenia. She rose and stood looking at theclock, her brow wrinkling. "If he isn't here in five minutes I'm goingto the station, " she added, and went upstairs for her wraps. When she returned Miss Chris resorted to argument. "Don't be absurd, Eugie, " she urged. "You can't go alone. It's too late and too far. " "But I sent for a carriage, " replied Eugenia decisively. "If anythinghappens to the baby come after me, " and a moment later she rolled away, leaving Miss Chris transfixed upon the doorstep. As the carriage passed along the lighted streets she smiled at therecollection of the face Miss Chris had turned upon her. Well, she wasabsurd, of course, but one couldn't go through life being reasonable. And if anything were to happen to Dudley she would always remember thatshe had refused to go to walk with him the afternoon before he wentaway, because the baby was crying for the flames and couldn't be leftwith Delphy. Dudley was provoked about it, but men never understoodthese matters. He had even gone so far as to declare that his son wouldget only his deserts if he were to cry himself hoarse; and she had feltimpelled to resent so hard-hearted an utterance. How could the baby knowthat the fire was the only thing in the world he couldn't have for hisown? When she drew up at the station the train was just coming in, and sherushed through the waiting-room to the gate from which the passengerswere streaming. As she reached it Dudley came through, talkinganimatedly to the man who walked beside him. "That was the very point, my dear sir--" he was saying, when he caught sight of Eugenia, andpaused abruptly, domestic affairs asserting their supremacy in his mind. "Why, Eugie!" he gasped. "What's happened?" Eugenia seized his arm impatiently. "Oh, you were so late, Dudley, " shecried, half angrily. "You made me miserable--it wasn't right of you!" She hesitated an instant and, looking up, found that his companion wasNicholas Burr. His eyes were upon her, and he lifted his hat withoutspeaking, but Dudley at once turned to him. "You are old friends with Mrs. Webb, Governor, " he said lightly, "butyou don't know the ways of a woman who thinks her husband may losehimself between Washington and Richmond. " Nicholas met the impatient flicker in Eugenia's eyes and laughed. "Oh, she hardly fancied you had fallen overboard, " he returned. "It'stoo difficult in these days. I trust you have had no great anxiety, Mrs. Webb. " And he passed on, his bag in his hand. When Dudley and Eugenia were in the carriage she held herself erect andattacked him with asperity. "You might at least not laugh at me, " shesaid. For reply he smiled and flung his arm about her. "My darling girl, it'sone of the things that make life worth living, " he retorted. "When Icease to laugh at you I'll cease to love you--and that's a long wayoff. " IV The campaign which would decide the election of a United States Senatorwas warming to white heat. On the last day of October Tom Bassett, dropping into Galt's office, greeted him with the exclamation: "Soyou've taken to the stump!" Galt put aside his papers and rose with a laugh, holding out his hand. "My dear fellow, may I ask where you have spent the last fortnight? Isit possible that my oratorical fame has just penetrated to yourretreat?" Tom sat down, and taking off his hat, ran his hand through his hair withan exhausted gesture. "Oh, I've been West. I got back last night, andI'm off to New York in an hour. So it's a fact that you've been on thestump?" "It is! I don't mean to allow the Webb men to do all the talking. Youheard about my joint debate with Diggs at Amelia Court-house, didn'tyou? That, my dear Tom, was the culminating point of my glorious career. I squared him off as nicely as you please, and with no rough edgeseither. " But Tom refused to be impressed. "Oh, anybody could do up Diggs, " hesaid. "I hear, however, that you had some hot words between you. " Galt shook his head. "Ah, the words were as nothing to the drinks thatfollowed, " he sighed. "Diggs mayn't be much on speeches, but he's greaton cocktails. It was a glorious day!" Then he grew serious. "When hewas fairly wound up I got a good deal out of him, " he said. "We camedown on the train together, and I found out that he was against Burrsimply because the Webb men had told him that he pledged himself to themwhen he allowed them to send him to the Legislature. It's all rot, ofcourse; his constituents are strong for Burr, but he's a good deal of afool, and Rann has put it into his head that he must do the 'honestthing' by coming out for Webb. He has a great idea of party honour, soout he's come. " "Rann's a born organiser, " commented Tom. "Ah, there's where we aren't even with him. He and his assistants havebeen drilling their forces ever since he had that clash with Burr, andthe discipline's so good they are beginning to convince the people thatthe opinions of a dozen men represent the principles of the party. WhatBurr aims at, of course, is to organise the mass of Democratic voters aseffectively as Rann has organised the ring. " "That's a tough job, " said Tom, "but if it's to be done, Burr's the manto do it. As it is, I haven't a doubt that the majority is with us. " "Well, I live in hope, " returned Galt easily. "It seems to me there's aclear chance of our having a good deal over half the votes in thecaucus. Now, grant that there'll be a hundred and twenty regularDemocratic votes--" "Of which Webb already claims sixty-five. " "Claims!" growled Galt. "He may claim the whole confounded lot if hewants to. The question is--will he get them?" "He will if Rann can manage it. It isn't mere party bitterness thatactuates that man--there's a good deal of personal spite mixed with it. He hates Burr. " "Oh, I dare say. But he overreached himself when he tried to getcontrol of the committee. They decided in favour of Saunders in the lastSouthside contest, and Saunders is pledged to Burr. " Tom drew out his watch and moved towards the door, but having reachedit, he swung round with a question: "Seen Webb since your debate?" heinquired. Galt nodded. "I had a chat with him in the lobby at the 'Royal' lastnight, and I must admit that, so far as Webb's concerned, this campaignis a particularly decent one. He can't help being a gentleman any morethan he can help being a demagogue. Both instincts are in the blood. " "Yes, I rather think you're right. Well, good-bye. I'll see youTuesday. " He ran downstairs, breaking into a whistle on the way, and Galt, after amoment's hesitation, took up his hat and followed him. He had anappointment with Burr's campaign manager, who had his headquarters atthe Royal Hotel. It was there that Galt found him, holding a jubilant gathering in hisrooms. He was absolutely sanguine of success, and when Galt left an hourlater, he sought to impart to him his emphatic confidence. "My dear sir, I can conclusively prove to you that we shall win, " he said, one eye onGalt and one on a reporter who had just entered. "I can prove it to youin figures--and figures never lie. There is not the faintest doubt thatBurr will have seventy votes by the meeting of the caucus. " "Glad to hear it, " was Galt's response; but in passing through the lobbyon his way out he encountered an equal assurance in the opposite camp. Rann, who was the centre of a small group, broke away and came towardshim. "I suppose the governor has reconciled himself to defeat, eh, Mr. Galt?" Galt shook his head with a laugh. "Defeat! Why, Major, we're justbeginning to enjoy our triumph. Burr has his seventy votes in his handand he keeps it closed. " Rann flushed angrily, his mouth twitching. "If you will come this way, sir, I can prove to you on paper--on paper, sir--that Webb has hismajority as plain as if the caucus was over. Seventy votes! Why, blessmy soul, he must have counted in every Republican and Independent thatwill be sent up. Seventy votes! I tell you he won't have forty--notforty, sir!" "Ah, he laughs best that laughs last, my dear Major. " And he left the hotel, walking rapidly in the direction of the Capitol. Once or twice he stopped to speak to an acquaintance who wanted hisopinion of Burr's chances, and to such inquiries his response wasinvariably an expression of perfect conviction. But when alone hisuncertainty appeared--and he acknowledged to himself that he was afraidof Rann's last card. What it was he did not know, but he knew that whenthe time came it would be well played. Bassett was right--it was notparty bitterness that moved Rann, it was personal hatred. The square was flooded with sunshine, and down the green slopes graysquirrels were feeding from the hands of children. Overhead the elmswere russet from a sharp frost, and the golden leaves of the sycamoresshone against the leprous whiteness of the branches. Near a fountain he came upon his own small daughter building huts ofpebbles. As she saw him she gave a shrill scream and caught his knees ina tight embrace. He raised her in his arms for a kiss, and then spokecordially to the old negro janitor of the Capitol, who was watching him. "Is that you, Carter? Good-morning!" "Well, I declar, boss, I ain' seen you fur a mont' er Sundays. " "You must have been looking at the clouds, Carter. " "Naw, suh, I'se been lookin' right out yer, an' I ain' seen you. Is yougwine ter 'lect de gov'nor?" Galt was holding his daughter high enough to reach the branches of anelm. "I'm trying to, Carter, " he returned good-humouredly, "but I can'tdo it by myself. Won't you lend a hand?" "I'll len' 'em bofe, if you want 'em, boss. I'se been stedyin' 'bout disbizness, an' I'se got a plan all laid out in my haid. Dey's a lot ercoloured folks in dis State, suh. " "That's so, man. " "An' dey's all got a vote des de same es de white?" Galt laughed. "Sure's you live, " he replied. "Well, I'se gwine ter git my friend Bob Viars ter git up er meetin' erall de coloured folks roun' in Cumberland County, an' I'se gwine ter puton de bes' I'se got an' git up on de platform an' Bob's gwine tell 'emI'se de janitor er de Capitol dat knows all de ways de laws aremade--an' when Bob says dat, I'se gwine ter bow an' flirt my hank'chif. " Galt nodded. "Oh, I see, " he said. "Den I'se gwine say I'se come ter tell 'em ter 'lect de gov'nor 'casehe's de bes' man in de State an' de greates' gent-man dey's ever layeyes on--an' I'se gwine flirt my hank'chif some mo'. " "What else?" said Galt. "I'se gwine tell 'em I kin prove de gov'nor's de bes' man in de Stateby'splainin' er de tarif--dat I kin prove it by'splainin' er de tarif sodey'll unnerstan' it ev'y word--an' when I flirt my hank'chif dat time, Bob's gwine call out 'Yo' time's up, boss!' an' I'se gwine answer back, 'Naw 'tain't, Bob, des lemme 'splain de tarif. I'se got de'splanification er de tarif right on de tip er my tongue, ' an' Bob'sgwine holler out, 'Not anudderword, boss, not anudder word!' an' hegwine shuffle me right spang out. " Galt put down his daughter and shook Carter's hand. "If you ever get outof a job, my man, " he said, "go into politics. Is the governor in hisoffice?" "I'se des dis minit seen him come out fer dinner. " "All right, I'll find him, " and he went on to the governor's house. Nicholas was in his library, a law-book open before him. When he sawGalt he turned from his desk and motioned to a chair beside him. "Comein, Ben, and sit down. I'm glad to see you. " Galt threw himself into the chair. "I've just seen Ryan, " he said, "andI never met a more sanguine man. He doesn't give Webb a chance. " "Ah, is that so?" asked the governor; his tone was almost indifferent, but in a moment he leaned forward and spoke rapidly: "I fear there's trouble in Kingsborough, Ben. They've brought a negrothere to the gaol from' Hagersville, where there were threats of alynching. " "The devil! Well, you aren't afraid that Kingsborough will turn lawless?My dear friend, there isn't enough vitality down there to make onefirst-class savage. " Nicholas fell back again, his vivid hair drawings the superb outline ofhis head on the worn leather against which he leaned. "Oh, I'm not afraid of Kingsborough, " he returned, "but Hagersville isonly three miles distant, and the country people are much wrought up. God knows they have reason to be. " "Ah, the usual thing. " "I don't know the details--but there is sufficient evidence against theman, they say, to hang him twenty times. He's as dead as if the noosehad left his neck--but he must die by law. There hasn't been a lynchingin the State since I've been in office. " He spoke quietly, but Galt saw the anxiety in his face and met itbravely. "Nonsense, my dear Nick, don't let your hobby run away with you. Ifthere had been any danger they'd have got the wretch away. By the bye, Tom Bassett has gone to New York. I saw him this morning. " "Yes, he dropped in last night. You haven't seen this, I dare say--it'sa copy of Diggs's' speech at Danville. So they have fallen on my privatelife at last. " He handed Galt a typewritten sheet, watching him closely as he read it. "This looks as if they feared me, doesn't it?" he asked. Galt's reply was an oath of sudden anger. "This is Rann!" he cried. "Isee his mark!" A flush of red rose to his face and his voice came againin a long-drawn whistle of helpless rage. "The scoundrel!" he saidsharply. "He's raked up that old Kingsborough scandal of BernardBattle's and made you the man. Oh, the sneaking scoundrel!" His passion appeared in quick contrast to the other's composure. He wasresenting the slander with a violence that he would not have wasted onit had it touched himself--for the fame of his friend was a cause forwhich his easy-going nature would spring at once into arms. Burr came over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "When you come tothink of it, Ben, " he said, "it's no great matter. " "Then what steps have you taken about it?" Nicholas's arm fell to his side. "I have done nothing. What's the use?" Galt strode to the window and back again to the fireplace. His eyes wereblazing. "The use? Why, man, use or no use, I'll send the last one ofthem to hell, but they'll stop it! It's Rann--Rann from the beginning. I'd take my oath on it--but I'm his match, and he'll find it out. I'llhave Diggs retract this lie by six o'clock this evening or I'll--" He checked himself abruptly. "How long have you had this?" "A half-hour. The speech goes in the evening papers. " "A half-hour! And you sit here snivelling about your lynching. Why, whatare the necks of ten such devils worth to your good name? When I come tothink of it, I'd like to lend a hand at a lynching myself. If I had Rannhere--" The governor laughed dryly. "To tell the truth, my dear fellow, I don'ttake it seriously. The people know me. " Galt uttered an angry exclamation and flung out his hand. "Oh, giveover, Nick, " he implored. "Don't drive me to frenzy! I can't stand muchmore. " He took up a sheet of paper and wrote several lines in pencil. "Afterall, I've been thinking to some purpose, " he said. "Judge Bassett is theman we need. I'll telegraph to him from your office, and I'll have hisreply scattered broadcast. If it riddles Webb like shot, I'll have itout. " "Oh, it isn't Webb, " said Nicholas. He was looking into the fire, but asthe door closed behind Galt he turned and seated himself at his desk. The law-book he had been reading lay to one side, and he opened it andfollowed up the question that perplexed him. His face was grave, but hiseyes were shot with light. When Galt came back he entered slowly andhesitated an instant before speaking, then he said: "There's bad news, Nick. The judge has had a stroke of paralysis. He isnow unconscious. Tom can't be reached, and you--" Nicholas took out his watch. "I have fifteen minutes in which to makethat train, " was his answer. "Will you tell Dickson to repeat allmessages?" Then, as Galt followed him into the hall, he looked back andspoke again. "Until to-morrow, " he said, and went out. Galt delivered the message to Dickson and walked uptown to Webb's house, where he expected to find him. He had not lunched, and he rememberedsuddenly that Nicholas had also gone hungry; but the thought brought asmile as he rang Webb's bell. "Oh, for once in a lifetime a man may beheroic, " he said. Then he entered the house and found, not Dudley, butEugenia. At the sound of his name she had risen and come swiftly forward withoutstretched hand. Her face was white and her eyes heavy with anxiety, but he felt then, as always, the calm nobility of her carriage. In theadded fulness of her figure her beauty showed majestic. He took her hand, holding it warmly in his own. "My dear Eugenia, if youare in trouble, remember that I am an ignoble edition of Juliet. " "Oh, I want you, not Juliet, " she said. "I have sent for Dudley, but hehas not come--I took the paper at the door by chance--and I find thatColonel Diggs has brought up that old dead lie about the governor. Hedares to say that the people of Kingsborough believe it--the coward!They never believed it--it is false--as false as the lie itself. Oh, ifI were a man I would kill him for it, but I am a woman, and you--" "Kill him!" He laughed harshly. "We don't kill men who blacken ourfriend's honour; we wait till they attack our own lives--that's our codefor you. If it were otherwise, I should act upon it with pleasure. But Icame to see Webb about this thing. Where is he?" "Oh, he is coming. " She sat down, keeping her excited eyes upon him. "It was Bernard, my ownbrother, " she said passionately. "You know this, and the world must knowit. The world shall know it if I have to utter it from the housetops. Oh, I have sinned enough in ignorance; now I will speak. " She bit her lips to keep back the quick tears, tapping her foot upon thefloor. The red was in her cheeks and her eyes were as black as night. Her bosom quivered from the lash of her scorn. "But you must keep out of it, my dear Eugie. Dudley and I will manageit. We'll see Diggs and get a retraction from him--that's sensible andsimple. There's no scandal the better for dragging a woman into it. " She stopped him fiercely. "Then I give you fair warning. If you do notstop it, I shall. Ah, here's Dudley!" She met him as he entered the room, clasping her hands upon his arm. "Dudley, have you seen it--this falsehood?" He let her hands fall from his arm and drew her with him to thefireside. "Yes; I have seen it, " he answered, and as he shook handsheartily with Galt he made a casual remark about the weather. "Oh, Dudley, what does the weather matter?" cried Eugenia. "No, don'tsit down. You are to go at once to Colonel Diggs and tell himeverything--and not spare any one--and you may tell him also that--Idespise him!" He smiled at her vehemence--it was so unlike Eugenia. "I didn't know youtook so much interest in these things, " he said lightly. "I thought thebaby had cured you. " But she caught his hand and held it in her own. "Don't, Dudley, " sheimplored. "You know what it means to me. You know all. " His face softened as he met her eyes; but instead of replying to herappeal he turned with a question to Galt. "Can I do any good?" he asked. "I am willing, of course, to do what I can. " "I was going to ask you to see Diggs, " said Galt quietly. "We shallendeavour to keep his speech out of the morning papers, but it hasalready appeared in the evening issue. You might secure a card from himretracting his statements. I hardly think he knew them to be false. " "I'll go at once, " replied Dudley. He went into the hall and took up hishat, but as Galt opened the door he lingered an instant and looked athis wife. She came to him, her eyes shining, and in a flash he realisedthat to Eugenia it was a question of his own honour as well as of thegovernor's. With a smile he lifted her chin and met her gaze. "Are yousatisfied, my lady?" he asked; but before she could respond he hadjoined Galt upon the pavement. There he paused to light a cigar, while Galt hesitated and looked at hiswatch. "I suppose I may leave it in your hands, " suggested the olderman. "Diggs isn't on the best of terms with me, you know. " Dudley took the cigar from his mouth and threw the match over therailing into the grass. "Oh, I'll do my best, " he answered readily, "andI'll see that the statements are delivered to the newspapers at once. Iam as much interested in it as you are. It was a dirty piece of work. "And leaving Galt, he quickened his pace as he crossed the street. Diggs was at his hotel and somewhat relieved at the sudden turn ofaffairs. "Honestly, I hated it, " he frankly admitted. "It's the kind ofjob I'd like to wash my hands of. But Major Rann took oath on the truthof the story, and he convinced me that I owed it to the community toexpose Burr's character. I don't know why I believed it, except that itnever occurs to one to doubt evil. However, I'm glad you called. Iassure you I'll take more pleasure in retracting the statements than Idid in making them. " He wrote the notes and gave them into Dudley's hands. "If they don't getin to-morrow's issue, they must wait over till election day. It's a pitythis is Saturday--but you'll have them in, I dare say. " "Yes; I'll take them down, " said Dudley. He descended in the elevator, walking rapidly when he reached the pavement. Diggs's parting words cameback to him and he repeated them as he went. Tomorrow's was the lastpaper before election day. If the speech were reported in the morningissue and Burr's friends made no denial, there would be, as far as thecountry voters were concerned, a silence of two days. The contest wasnot yet decided, this he knew--it would be a close one, and a straw'sweight might turn the scales of public favour. Rann realised this too, for he did not fling slime at men for nothing--there was a seriouspurpose underneath the last act of his play. He was doing it for thesake of those Democrats whose constituents were divided againstthemselves, and he was trusting to himself to hold the votes that camehis way when the cloud should have passed from Burr again. It was all soevident that Dudley held his breath for one brief instant. The wholescheme lay bare before him--he had but to drop these letters into thenearest box, and Rann's purpose would be fulfilled. In the howl ofreprobation that followed the hounding of Burr his own hour would come. And granted that the governor was cleared before the meeting of thecaucus--well, men are easier to keep than to win--and he might not becleared after all. A clock near at hand struck the hour. He raised his head and saw the"Standard" office across the street--and the temptation passed asswiftly as it had come. The instinct of generations was stronger thanthe appeal of the moment--he might sin a great sin, but he could nevercommit a meanness. With sudden energy he crossed the street and ran up the stairs. V Again he was returning to Kingsborough. The familiar landscape rushed byhim on either side--green meadow and russet woodland, gray swamp anddwarfed brown hill, unploughed common and sun-ripened field of corn. Itwas like the remembered features of a friend, when the change thatstartles the unaccustomed eye seems to exist less in the well-known facethan in the image we have carried in our thoughts. It was all there as it had been in his youth--the same and yet not thesame. The old fields were tilled, the old lands ran waste in broomsedge, but he himself had left his boyhood far behind--it was his own visionthat was altered, not the face of nature. The commons were not so wideas he had thought them, the hills not so high, the hollows not sodeep--even the blue horizon had drawn a closer circle. A man on his way to the water-cooler stopped abruptly at his side. "Well, I declar, if 'tain't the governor!" Nicholas looked up, and recognising Jerry Pollard, shook hisoutstretched hand. "When did you leave Kingsborough?" he inquired. "Oh, I jest ran up this morning to lay in a stock of winter goods. Trade's thriving this year, and you have to hustle if you want to keepup with the tastes of yo' customers. Times have changed since I had youin my sto'. " "I dare say. I am glad to hear that you are doing well. Was the judgetaken ill before you left Kingsborough?" "The judge? Is he sick? I ain't heard nothin' 'bout it. It wa'n't more'na week ago that I told him he was lookin' as young as he did befo' thewar. It ain't often a man can keep his youth like that but his Cęsar isjust such another. Cęsar was an old man as far back as I remember, and, bless you, he's spryer than I am this minute. He'll live to be a hundredand die of an accident. " "That's good, " said the governor with rising interest. "Kingsborough's afine place to grow old in. Did you bring any news up with you?" "Well, I reckon not. Things were pretty lively down there last night, but they'd quieted down this morning. They brought a man over fromHagersville, you know, and befo' I shut up sto' last evening Jim Browncame to town, talkin' mighty big 'bout stringin' up the fellow. Jimalways did talk, though, so nobody thought much of it. He likes to gethis mouth in, but he's right particular 'bout his hand. The sheriff saidhe warn't lookin' for trouble. " "I'm glad it's over, " said the governor. The train was nearingKingsborough, and as it stopped he rose and followed Jerry Pollard tothe station. There was no one he knew in sight, and, with his bag in his hand, hewalked rapidly to the judge's house. His anxiety had caused him toquicken his pace, but when he had opened the gate and ascended thesteps he hesitated before entering the hall, and his breath cameshortly. Until that instant he had not realised the strength of the tiethat bound him to the judge. The hall was dim and cool, as it had been that May afternoon when hisfeet had left tracks of dust on the shining floor. Straight ahead he sawthe garden, lying graceless and deserted, with the unkemptness ofextreme old age. A sharp breeze blew from door to door, and the driedgrasses on the wall stirred with a sound like that of the wind among abed of rushes. He mounted the stairs slowly, the weight of his tread creaking thepolished wood. Before the threshold of the judge's room again hehesitated, his hand upraised. The house was so still that it seemed tobe untenanted, and he shivered suddenly, as if the wind that rustled thedried grasses were a ghostly footstep. Then, as he glanced back down thewide old stairway, his own childhood looked up, at him--an alien figure, half frightened by the silence. As he stood there the door opened noiselessly, and the doctor came out, peering with shortsighted eyes over his lowered glasses. When he ranagainst Nicholas he coughed uncertainly and drew back. "Well, well, ifit isn't the governor!" he said. "We have been looking for Tom--but ourfriend the judge is better--much better. I tell him he'll live yet tosee us buried. " A load passed suddenly from Nicholas's mind. The ravaged face of the olddoctor--with its wrinkled forehead and its almost invisibleeyes--became at once the mask of a good angel. He grasped theoutstretched hand and crossed the threshold. The judge was lying among the pillows of his bed, his eyes closed, hisgreat head motionless. There was a bowl of yellow chrysanthemums on atable beside him, and near it Mrs. Burwell was measuring dark drops intoa wineglass. She looked up with a smile of welcome that cast a cheerfullight about the room. Her smile and the colour of the chrysanthemumswere in Nicholas's eyes as he went to the bed and laid his hand upon thestill fingers that clasped the counterpane. The judge looked at him with a wavering recognition. "Ah, it is you, Tom, " he said, and there was a yearning in his voice that fell like agulf between him and the man who was not his son. At the moment it cameto Nicholas with a great bitterness that his share of the judge's heartwas the share of an outsider--the crumbs that fall to the beggar thatwaits beside the gate. When the soul has entered the depths and looksback again it is the face of its own kindred that it craves--theresponsive throbbing of its own blood in another's veins. This was Tom'splace, not his. He leaned nearer, speaking in an expressionless voice. "It's I, sir--Nicholas--Nicholas Burr. " "Yes, Nicholas, " repeated the judge doubtfully; "yes, I remember, whatdoes he want? Amos Burr's son--we must give him a chance. " For a moment he wandered on; then his memory returned in uncertainpauses. He looked again at the younger man, his sight grown stronger. "Why, Nicholas, my dear boy, this is good of you, " he exclaimed. "I hada fall--a slight fall of no consequence. I shall be all right if Cęsarwill let me fast a while. Cęsar's getting old, I fear, he moves soslowly. " He was silent, and Nicholas, sitting beside the bed, kept his eyes onthe delicate features that were the lingering survival of a lost type. The splendid breadth of the brow, the classic nose, the firm, thin lips, and the shaven chin--these were all downstairs on faded canvases, magnificent over lace ruffles, or severe above folded stocks. Over thepillows the chrysanthemums shed a golden light that mingled in his mindwith the warm brightness of Mrs. Burwell's smile--giving the room thefestive glimmer of an autumn garden. A little later Cęsar shuffled forward, the wineglass in his hand. Thejudge turned towards him. "Is that you, Cęsar?" he asked. The old negro hurried to the bedside. "Here I is, Marse George; I'seright yer. " The judge laughed softly. "I wouldn't take five thousand dollars foryou, Cęsar, " he said. "Tom Battle offered me one thousand for you, and Itold him I wouldn't take five. You are worth it, Cęsar--every cent ofit--but there's no man alive shall own you. You're free, Cęsar--do youhear, you're free!" "Thanky, Marse George, " said Cęsar. He passed his arm under the judge'shead and raised him as he would a child. As the glass touched his lipsthe judge spoke in a clear voice. "To the ladies!" he cried. "He is regaining the use of his limbs, " whispered Mrs. Burwell softly. "He will be well again, " and Nicholas left the room and went downstairs. At the door he gave his instructions to a woman servant. "I shall returnto spend the night, " he said. "You will see that my room is ready. Yes, I'll be back to supper. " He had had no dinner, but at the moment thiswas forgotten. In the relief that had come to him he wanted solitude andthe breadth of the open fields. He was going over the old groundagain--to breathe the air and feel the dust of the Old Stage Road. He passed the naked walls of the church and followed the wide whitestreet to the college gate. Then, turning, he faced the way to hisfather's farm and the distant pines emblazoned on the west. A clear gold light flooded the landscape, warming the pale dust of thedeserted road. The air was keen with the autumn tang, and as he walkedthe quick blood leaped to his cheeks. He was no longer conscious of hisforty years--his boyhood was with him, and middle age was a dream, orless than a dream. In the branch road a fall of tawny leaves hid the ruts of wheels, andthe sun, striking the ground like a golden lance, sent out sharp, fierysparks as from a mine of light. Overhead the red trees rustled. It was here that Eugenia had ridden beside him in the earlymorning--here he had seen her face against the enkindled branches--andhere he had placed the scarlet gum leaves in her horse's bridle. Thebreeze in the wood came to him like the echo of her laugh, faded as thememory of his past passion. Well, he had more than most men, for he hadthe ghost of a laugh and the shadow of love. Passing his father's house, he went on beyond the fallen shanty ofUncle Ish into the twilight of the cedars. At the end of the avenue hesaw the rows of box--twisted and tall with age--leading to the emptyhouse, where the stone steps were wreathed in vines. Did Eugenia evercome back, he wondered, or was the house to crumble as Miss Chris'srockery had done? On the porch he saw the marks made by the general'schair, which had been removed, and on one of the long green benchesthere was an E cut in a childish hand. At a window above--Eugenia'swindow--a shutter hung back upon its hinges, and between the muslincurtains it seemed to him that a face looked out and smiled--not theface of Eugenia, but a ghost again, the ghost of his old romance. He went into the garden, crossing the cattle lane, where the footprintsof the cows were fresh in the dust. Near at hand he heard a voiceshouting. It was the voice of the overseer, but the sound startled him, and he awoke abruptly to himself and his forty years. The spell of thepast was broken--even the riotous old garden, blending its many coloursin a single blur, could not bring it back. The chrysanthemums and theroses and the hardy zenias that came up uncared for were powerless toreinvoke the spirit of the place. If Eugenia, in her full-blownmotherhood, had risen in an overgrown path he might have passed her byunheeding. His Eugenia was a girl in a muslin gown, endowed withimmortal youth--the youth of visions unfulfilled and desire unquenched. His Eugenia could never grow old--could never alter--could never leavethe eternal sunshine of dead autumns. In his nostrils was the keensweetness of old-fashioned flowers, but his thoughts were not of them, and, turning presently, he went back as he had come. It was dark when atlast he reached the judge's house and sat down to supper. He was with the judge until midnight, when, before going to his room, hedescended the stairs and went out upon the porch. He had been thinkingof the elections three days hence, and the outcome seemed to him morehopeful than it had done when he first came forward as a candidate. Theuncertainty was almost as great, this he granted; but behind him hebelieved to be the pressure of the people's will--which the schemes ofpoliticians had not turned. Tuesday would prove nothing--nor had theconventions that had been held; when the meeting of the caucus came, hewould still be in ignorance--unaware of traps that had been laid orsurprises to be sprung. It was the mark to which his ambition hadaimed--the end to which his career had faced--that now rose before him, and yet in his heart there was neither elation nor distrust. He had donehis best--he had fought fairly and well, and he awaited what the daymight bring forth. Above him a full moon was rising, and across the green the crooked pathwound like a silver thread, leading to the glow of a night-lamp thatburned in a sick-room. The night, the air, the shuttered houses were assilent as the churchyard, where the tombstones glimmered, row on row. Only somewhere on the vacant green a hound bayed at the moon. He looked out an instant longer, and was turning back, when his eyecaught a movement among the shadows in the distant lane. A quick thoughtcame to him, and he kept his gaze beneath the heavy maples, where themoonshine fell in flecks. For a moment all was still, and then into thelight came the figure of a man. Another followed, another, and another, passing again into the dark and then out into the brightness that ledinto the little gully far beyond. There was no sound except the bayingof the dog; the figures went on, noiseless and orderly and grim, fromdark to light and from light again to dark. There were at most a dozenmen, and they might have been a band of belated workmen returning totheir homes or a line of revellers that had been sobered into silence. They might have been--but a sudden recollection came to him, and heclosed the door softly and went out. There was but one thing that itmeant; this he knew. It meant a midnight attack on the gaol, and a mandead before morning, who must die anyway--it meant vengeance so quietyet so determined that it was as sure as the hand of God--and it meantthe defiance of laws whose guardian he was. He broke into a run, crossing the green and following the path that roseand fell into the gullies as it led on to the gaol. As he ran he saw theglow of the night-lamp in the sick-room, and he heard the insistentbaying of the hound. The moonlight was thick and full. It showed the quiet hill flanked bythe open pasture; and it showed the little whitewashed gaol, and thelate roses blooming on the fence. It showed also the mob that hadgathered--a gathering as quiet as a congregation at prayer. But in thesilence was the danger--the determination to act that choked backspeech--the grimness of the justice that walks at night--the triumph ofa lawless rage that knows control. As he reached the hill he saw that the men he had followed had beenenforced by others from different roads. It was not an outbreak of swiftdesperation, but a well-planned, well-ordered strategy; it was not a mobthat he faced, but an incarnate vengeance. He came upon it quickly, and as he did so he saw that the sheriff wasahead of him, standing, a single man, between his prisoner and the rope. "For God's sake, men, I haven't got the keys, " he called out. Nicholas swung himself over the fence and made his way to the entrancebeneath the steps that led to the floor above. He had come as one of themen about him, and they had not heeded him. Now, as he faced them fromthe shadow he saw here and there a familiar face--the face of a boy hehad played with in childhood. Several were masked, but the others raisedbare features to the moonlight--features that were as familiar as hisown. Then he stood up and spoke. "Men, listen to me. In the name of the Law, I swear to you that justice shall be done--I swear. " A voice came from somewhere. "We ain't here to talk--you stand aside, and _we'll_ show you what we're here for. " Again he began. "I swear to you--" "We don't want no swearing. " On the outskirts of the crowd a manlaughed. "We don't want no swearing, " the voice repeated. The throng pressed forward, and he saw the faces that he knew crowdingcloser. A black cloud shut out the moonlight. Above the pleading of thesheriffs tones he heard the distant baying of the hound. He tried to speak again. "We'll be damned, but we'll get the nigger!"called some one beside him. The words struck him like a blow. He sawred, and the sudden rage upheld him. He knew that he was to fight--ablind fight for he cared not what. The old savage instinct blazed withinhim--the instinct to do battle to death--to throttle with, his singlehand the odds that opposed. With a grip of iron he braced himselfagainst the doorway, covering the entrance. "I'll be damned if you do!" he thundered. A quick shot rang out sharply. The flash blinded him, and the smoke hungin his face. Then the moon shone and he heard a cry--the cry of awell-known voice. "By God, it's Nick Burr!" it said. He took a step forward. "Boys, I am Nick Burr, " he cried, and he went down in the arms of themob. They raised him up, and he stood erect between the leaders. There wasblood on his lips, but a man tore off a mask and wiped it away. "By God, it's Nick Burr!" he exclaimed as he did so. Nicholas recognised his voice and smiled. His face was gray, but hiseyes were shining, and as he steadied himself with all his strength, hesaid with a laugh. "There's no harm done, man. " But when they laid himdown a moment later he was dead. He lay in the narrow path between the doorstep and the gate where rosesbloomed. Some one had started for the nearest house, but the crowd stoodmotionless about him. "By God, it's Nick Burr!" repeated the man who hadheld him. The sheriff knelt on the ground and raised him in his arms. As he foldedhis coat about him he looked up and spoke. "And he died for a damned brute, " was what he said. VI It was the afternoon of election day, and Eugenia sat in herdrawing-room with Sally Bassett. Outside there was the sound of tramping feet, for the people were givinghim burial. They had been passing so for half an hour and they stillwent on, on, on--he was going to his grave in state. "There are the drums, " said Sally, turning her ear. "All Virginia hascome to town, I believe. The whole city is in mourning, and by and bythey will put up his statue in the Capitol Square--but if he had lived, would he have had the senatorship?" "Ah, who knows?" said Eugenia. She played idly with the spoon of herteacup, her eyes on the coals. "As you say--who knows?" murmured the other. "And, after all, it isperhaps better that he died just now. He would have tried to lift us toohigh, and we should have fallen back. He was a hero, and the publiccan't always keep to the heroic level. " There were tears in her voice. Eugenia turned from her and said nothing. After, Sally had gone she still sat with her cup in her hand before thefire. Her child was rolling on the floor at her feet, but she did notstoop to him. She was not thinking--she was merely resting fromemotion--as she would rest for the remainder of her days. The sound of tramping feet died away. The cars passed once more, andalong the block a boy went whistling a tune. Everything was beginningagain--everything would go on as it had gone since the dawn of time, andshe would go with it. The best or the worst of it was that she would gohappily--neither regretting nor despairing, but filled to thefinger-tips with the cheerful energy of a busy life. Suddenly she caught up her child with a frantic rapture and held him toher bosom, kissing the small hands that reached up to her lips. This washer portion, and even to-day she was content. An hour later Dudley found her sitting there when he entered, and as hestraightened himself against the mantel he looked down on her with anaffectionate gaze. "He was a great man, " he said simply, and his generous spirit rang inhis voice. "Yes, he was a great man, " repeated Eugenia. She looked up at herhusband as he stood before her--buoyant with expectation, mellowed bythe glow of assured success. He smiled into her face, and she smiledback again with quick tenderness. Then she bent above her child andkissed his lips, and the sunlight coming from the day without shone inher eyes.