Finally, into the waiting solitude, came Sir Charles—Sir Charles, tall, slender, graceful, freshly wigged and powdered, his lieutenant's uniform of scarlet and white in harmony with the morning, the Gentleman's Magazine in one of his well-kept hands, an eye-glass on a silken cord in the other. He seated himself in an evidently accustomed place at the table, pushed back his chair a little, comfortably crossed his legs, and began to reperuse an article on the best methods of preserving fox-brushes, which had engaged his attention the evening before. He was not a rapid reader, and he had not half finished the column when he felt, unmistakably, another presence near him. Thereupon he permitted himself an unmannerly luxury:
"Good-morning, Debby," he murmured, without looking up.
"Good-morning, Sir Charles," was the reply.
Then, quickly throwing aside his paper, the young man rose, bowed as he should have done, and stood looking at her who was before him.
"THE YOUNG MAN ROSE AND BOWED"
Deborah stood in the glass doorway, half in and half out of the room. Her face was slightly flushed, and her hair, as usual, in a state of delightful, crinkly disorder. Otherwise her appearance was immaculate, and, for all Sir Charles could have told, she might have been in a costume of brocade and lace. It was no more, however, than a faded blue and white homemade linen over a petticoat of brown holland, with a small white muslin kerchief crossed upon her breast. She was bareheaded, and the hair that had been tossed into a thousand rebellious ringlets was tied back with a blue ribbon. Deborah Travis, Sir Charles Fairfield's second cousin, and Madame Trevor's first, was, at this time, seventeen years old, and not yet so pretty as she gave promise of being—later. Nevertheless, Sir Charles' poorly concealed devotion in her direction was a matter that was not discussed in the Trevor family. The tongues of slaves, however, are seldom bridled among themselves; and neat things upon this interesting topic were not infrequently spoken round cabin-fires on cool evenings in the quarters.
"You've quite recovered, I trust, Deborah, from your—your indisposition of yesterday?"
The girl's cheeks grew pink as she answered, quietly, "Quite, thank you, Sir Charles."