“I have that honour.”
“Well, I always said you’d turn out well! d——d if I didn’t! I shall live to see you Chief Justice of the Supreme Court yet! And hark you, nephew; I intend to go home and live with you. I feel it my duty to encourage you. I’ll stick to you, Mark. I don’t care what Clement Sutherland and the rest say. I’ll stick to you, my boy. You shall never have it to say that your old uncle fell away from you. But now, tell me, how is your little wife? Well, I know, else you would not be here, eh?”
“Rosalie is well, but not strong.”
“Never was, poor little thing. And how are the little children, and how many of them are there, and are they girls or boys, or both, and what are their names?”
“We have no children.”
“What! lost them all? Well, poor little things, they are better off.”
“We never had any children.”
“Oh-h-h! Whew-w-w!” whistled Mr. Bolling, rather disconcerted; then resuming, he said—“well, neither have the Ashleys. That’s strange! What the d——l’s that hubbub in the dining-room? Ugh! It’s the niggers toting that animal up to bed! He, who seven years ago was called the brightest rising star on the political horizon! Now look at him! That is India’s fault! What tremendous power women have for evil!”
“And for good!” said Mark Sutherland, as his thoughts flew to his guardian angel, Rosalie.
Wearied with his journey, and longing for the solitude that would leave him free to reflect upon all that he had just heard, Mark Sutherland expressed a wish to retire. Mr. Bolling rang for the night lamps, and they parted for the night.