"Yes, indeed," assented the doctor. "Yes, sah. Now, ain't that the young lady a-comin' down the walk?"
Judge and doctor and driver now turned their gaze beyond the lion-headed gateway to the winding walk that passed among the trees up to the old mansion house. Far off, through the great columns of the trees, there might indeed this morning now be seen the flutter of a gown of white. The faint sound of voices might be heard. Mary Ellen, conscientious marketer, was discussing joints and salads with her aunt. And then Mary Ellen, deliberately tying the strings of her bonnet under her chin, turned, answering her aunt's summons for replevin of a forgotten fan. Then, slowly, calmly, the gown of white became more distinct as she came nearer, her tall figure composing well with the setting of this scene. For her patiently waited the judge and the doctor and the driver.
"Good mawnin', Miss Beecham," said the driver as she passed, touching his hat and infusing more stiffness to his spine.
"Good morning, sir," she replied pleasantly.
"Uh-ah, good mawnin', Miss Beecham, good mawnin'," said Judge Wilson; and "Good mawnin'," said Dr. Gregg.
"Good morning, Judge Wilson," replied Mary Ellen, as she entered the car.—"Good morning, Dr. Gregg." The gentlemen made way for her upon the shady side of the car, and lifted their hats ceremoniously.
"L'il late this mawnin', Miss Beecham, seems like," said the judge, with no trace of resentment in his tones.
Dr. Gregg upon this morning began his customary reproach also, but it halted upon his tongue. "Miss Beecham," he said, "pardon me, allow me—are you ill?"
For Mary Ellen, settling herself for her regular morning ride with her regular companions, all at once went pale as she gazed out the window. She scarcely heard the kind remark. She was looking at a man—a tall man with a brown face, with broad shoulders, with a long, swinging, steady stride. This man was coming up the side of the street, along the path between the fence and the burdocks that lined the ditch. His shoes were white with the limestone dust, but he seemed to care nothing for his way of locomotion, but reached on, his head up, his eye searching eagerly.
Not with equipage, not mounted as a Southern cavalier, not announced, but in the most direct and swiftest way in his power had Edward Franklin come. Strong, eager, masterful, scorning the blazing sun, his reckless waste of energy marked him as a stranger in that place. He stopped at the gateway for one moment, looking up the path, and then turned swiftly toward the car as though called audibly.