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 tall figure until it ascended the stone steps and paused upon the porch, whence came the sound of voices. Through the wide open doors he could see the swinging lamp in the centre of the great hall and the broad stairway leading to the floor above. For a moment he stood motionless; then, turning back into the avenue, he retraced his steps to his father'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 the fulness of the winter to young Nat Turner—one of the Turners of Nicholas's boyhood. By the light of the kerosene lamp she looked wonderfully fair and fresh, her auburn curls hanging heavily against her cheek as she bent over the cambric in her lap.
As Nicholas entered she looked up brightly, exclaiming: "Oh, it's you!" in disappointed accents.