“I have no parents, sir.”
“Then a near relation, or a guardian?”
“Neither, sir. I am independent of all ties.”
“Have you no friend to whom you can go for advice?”
“I had a friend, but she gave me up because I’m an Abolitionist.”
“My poor little lady! An Abolitionist? You? In times like these? When Sumter has fallen, too? No wonder your friend has cast you off. Who is she?”
“Miss Laura Tremaine. She lives at the St. Charles. Do you know her, sir?”
“Slightly. I met her in the drawing-room not long since. She does not appear unamiable. But why are you an Abolitionist?”
“Because I believe in God.”
Vance felt that this was the summing-up of the whole matter. He looked with new interest on the “little lady.” In height she was somewhat shorter than Estelle,—not much over five feet two and a half. Not from her features, but from the maturity of their expression, he judged she might have reached her eighteenth year. Somewhat more of a brunette than Estelle, and with fine abundant hair of a light brown. Eyes—he could not quite see their color; but they were vivid, penetrating, earnest. Features regular, and a profile even more striking in its beauty than her front face. A figure straight and slim, but exquisitely rounded, and every movement revealing some new grace. Where had he seen a face like it?