"Oh, at three, at three," answered Billy Byles. "I have not got into these people's bad habits yet."
"Indeed!" cried Bessy coming up. "I did not know that you ever let any bad habit pass you, Mr. Byles, without trying it on at least."
"You are a wicked little satirist, Miss Bessy," he answered; "but I know the cause of your malice: you are angry at my taking Sir Richard away from you to dine with me on Friday."
"If you don't do any worse with him than that, I don't care," said Bessy; "but I doubt you both, I tell you. Come, cousin Richard, let us go, or we shall have a warm walk back." And leaving Mr. Byles, we walked on towards the edge of the forest. For the first hundred yards or so Bessy walked on profoundly silent, with her eyes fixed upon the ground; but then she looked up, with a sigh and a sad shake of the head, saying, "It wont do, Richard." It were needless to deny that the interest displayed in my fate by such a lovely creature produced very sweet emotions; but still there was no possibility of making any reply to what she said without subjecting myself to questions which I could not answer sincerely; and therefore, affecting not to have heard her speak, I tried to lead her mind away in some other direction. Though I think she saw the object, she gave in to it quietly; and we walked on for about a mile, talking of various matters of mere passing interest. Our way lay through the woods; and I may notice here how much more of the land, especially in this state of Virginia, is uncultivated than we generally imagine in England. When we talk of a plantation, we think of a wide tract of country all smoothly laid out in maize, or tobacco, or cotton, or rice, and don't comprehend that perhaps two-thirds of that plantation will be forest, either the first or second growth. I must remark, too, that a good deal of the country, especially on the sea-board, has gone back to forest; the earlier colonists having been like prodigals newly come into a fortune, and exhausted their lands with unvarying crops, principally of tobacco. Thus, what was once, we have every reason to believe, very fertile soil, will now only bear pine or other trees of hardy habits. At length we came to a small open space between the wood through which we had passed and another beyond. It could not be more than a hundred and fifty yards wide, but extended on either hand as far as the eye could see, like a long avenue through the forest. The grass with which the ground was covered was very green and soft, being sheltered, I suppose, from the heat of the sun by the woods on either side, and fertilized by the moisture which trees invariably draw around them.
"This is a curious interval in the woods," I said, looking up and down. "I should almost be tempted to think a river once flowed down here."
"Oh, no," she answered; "they have a tradition in the country that it was caused by what they call here a flaw of wind, which broke clear through the forest, like a hemmed-in warrior cutting his way through his enemies. The trees that the blast overthrew have long since decayed; but the path that he made for himself still remains. Man boasts his mighty deeds; but when will king or conqueror leave such permanent traces of his footsteps as are here?"
"And yet, dear Bessy," I answered, "man can occasionally hew for himself ways more magnificent, more indelible than this. The forest around may be cut down, the roots rot away, the plough-share pass over where we stand, and not a trace be left. But the mighty human mind, when nobly and vigorously exerted, opens out, for everlasting ages, paths which millions follow every day, and which are never blotted out. He who sweeps away the prejudices of a race--he who opens out a wide and noble path for the human mind--he who leads an Exodus from any land of darkness to a land of light, performs a more powerful and more permanent work than the tempest--ay, and one more beneficent."
"True, true," she cried eagerly, "very true; but such thoughts set my little weak brain whirling. I should like to have been a man, and done some great deeds; but here I am, a mere Virginian girl, no stronger than a butterfly, and fit only for small thoughts and petty personal adventures. But, talking of adventures, I could make your hair stand on end, if I chose, by a tale of what happened in this wood, through which we are going. It has been called 'The Hunter Wood' ever since."
"And what is it?" I asked.
"No, no," she answered, "I won't tell you now; I should only frighten myself; and in ten minutes we shall be at Nat Turner's cottage, for this is the boundary of Mr. Travis's property. We will come back the other way, for the sun will then throw the shade more northerly, and that will bring us to the house where uncle Jack, as they call him, pays a visit every year."