“You’d better hurry, my man,” suggested Monroe, “they’ll be looking for you.”
“They will that––folks all gwine home, an’ need a sight o’ waiten’ on; thah’s the likeness, Mahs Captain;” he handed him a small oval frame, commenced crowding the other articles hurriedly back into the bag; “fo’ God’s sake, be careful o’ that; I don’ want it to fetch harm to that gal, but I don’ allow neither fo’ Madame Caron to be made trouble if I can help it.”
“You’re a faithful fellow; there’s a coin in exchange for the picture; you’d better go. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Pluto was profuse in his thanks, while Monroe hunted for a match with which to view the picture.
He struck a light and opened the little closed frame as Pluto started for the side door. An instant later he snapped 334 it shut again, and as the darky reached the steps Monroe’s hand was on his shoulder:
“Wait a bit,” he said, briefly. “You say that is the picture of Rhoda’s mother? Now tell me again what her name is.”
“Who?––Margeret? Why, her name Margeret Loring, I reckon, but Nelse did say her right name was ’Caris––Lacaris. Retta Lacaris what she called when she jest a young gal an’ Mahs Tom Loring fust bought her.”
Monroe repeated the name in order to impress it on his memory. He took a pencil and note book out of his pocket.
Pluto half offered his hand for the little oval frame, for there was enough light where they stood to see it by, but Monroe slipped it with the note book into an inner pocket. “The Colonel will want you; you had better go,” he said, turning away, and walking directly from the house he crossed the lawn out of sight and hearing of the departing guests. All the gay chatter jarred on him, oppressed as he was with the certainty of some unknown calamity overhanging those laughing people on the veranda. What it was he did not know, but he would leave in the morning.
He had been gone an hour. He was missed, but no one except Masterson took any special notice of it, and he was wary about asking questions, remembering Colonel McVeigh’s attitude in the morning over the disputed question. But as he was enjoying a final cigar with Judge Clarkson on the lawn––the Judge was the very last to leave and was waiting for his horse––all his suspicions were revived with added strength as McVeigh strode hurriedly across the veranda towards them.