The last stage of the journey was made in carriages.
They reached Roselands just as the sun was setting amid a mass of crimson, gold and amber-colored clouds forming a gorgeous background to a landscape of more than ordinary beauty.
"Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed Mildred, as her uncle handed her from the carriage. "I was prepared to be charmed with the place, but it exceeds my expectations."
"Let me bid you welcome and hope that first impressions may prove lasting, your stay here most enjoyable," he said, with a gratified smile.
But now Mildred's attention was taken up by the reception that had been prepared for them:—just such an one as she had often heard described by her mother.
The plantation was large; the dwelling also; and a dozen or more of house servants headed by the housekeeper, who was a very respectable white woman, had ranged themselves in a double row across the veranda, and down the wide entrance hall.
Their faces were full of delight, their hands held out in joyous greeting, glad words of welcome on every tongue, as master, mistress, guest, and children, with their attendants, passed slowly between the ranks, shaking hands and making kind inquiries right and left.
Some of the older ones remembered Mildred's mother, and our heroine's heart warmed toward them as they sounded "Miss Marcia's" praises, and averred that her daughter bore a striking resemblance to her in looks.
"Mrs. Brown, this young lady is my niece," said Mr. Dinsmore, laying a hand on Mildred's shoulder, and addressing himself to the housekeeper, "and I commend her to your special care. Please see that she is well waited upon, and wants for nothing that house or plantation can supply. Here, Rachel," to a young mulatto girl, "I appoint you Miss Mildred's waiting maid; you are to be always at her call, and do whatever she directs."