"O! Lord, Marse George! Glory be ter God! Out o' de wilderness! De projeckin' son am back ergin!"
"It's Eneas!" screamed the little bride, gathering up her skirts and rushing out. In
the strong light, as the wedding party hurriedly followed, we could see the old negro hanging to his master as he filled the night with his weird cries. Catching the excitement, the negroes around began to moan and chant, taking their text from the old man's words.
"Where have you been, sir?" The Major was trying to free himself and choking with tears and laughter.
"All over de blessed worl', Marse George! But I'm home ergin!—You hyar me, niggers?—home ergin!"
"Stop, sir!"—But suddenly the old man grew rigid in the grasp of a momentous thought. His voice sank to a whisper audible to only a few of us:
"Marse George, wha's Nancy?"
"Nancy is dead, Eneas," said the Major, sadly.
"Thank God!" said the old man fervently.