Supper was sent up to Miss Lou and her guest, and the old woman, having at last some sense of security, made her first good meal since "things began to happen." Then she hankered after her pipe. "I'll get it for you," said the warm-hearted girl. She stole to the head of the landing, and, the hall below being clear at the moment, she flitted down and out at the back door, reaching the deserted cabin unobserved. How desolate it looked in the fading twilight! The fire was out on the hearth, and the old creaking chair was empty. But Miss Lou did not think of Aun' Jinkey. Her thoughts were rather of a stranger whose face had been eloquent of gratitude as he offered to shield her with his life. Then she remembered his excited question as to the time of the marriage. "When?" Had her answer anything to do with the sudden and bold departure? Her heart was in a sudden flutter. She snatched the corncob pipe and tobacco pouch, and sped back again in a strange blending of fear and hope. She felt guilty that she could dare hope to see him, a Yankee, again. "But his smile was so pleasant and frank!" she murmured. "Oh, I never remember to have had such genial, honest, unreserved good-will looked at me by any one except mammy, and she's so old and wrinkled that she can't look much of anything. What handsome, kind, dark eyes he had! Yet they would all say, 'He's a monster!'"
She made her way back in safety until she reached the head of the stairs, and then came plump upon her aunt. "Where have you been?" asked Mrs. Baron, sharply.
"After Aun' Jinkey's pipe."
"Horrible! I forbid her smoking in this house."
"I shall permit her to smoke in my room."
"You have no right."
"Very well; then I'll go with her to her cabin."
"My dear sister," said Mrs. Whately, putting her hand on the irate lady's arm, "I think it will be better to let our niece have her way in such little things. We must remember that she is no longer a child."
"I think she is acting like a very perverse and foolish one; but then rather than have any more scenes"—and looking unutterable things she passed on down the stairs.
"My dear, I wish to see you by and by. Won't you let me?" said Mrs. Whately. "I wish to see you—I must see you before I sleep," replied the girl, decisively.