“I done tole Mirandy dat I was sho’ yo’ won’t buy no sech horse, suh.” Then, as he finally took up the tray, he added: “Miss Jinny say to tell yo’-all she done ask Mist’ Dan’l Carter to dinner, suh.”
The colonel looked at his watch.
“I didn’t know it was so late, Plato. Where’s Miss Virginia?”
“She an’ Mist’ Dan’l in de parlor, suh. Miss Jinny, she been playin’ fo’ him. She step out an’ tell me to tell yo’ she ask him to dinner.”
“You get out a bottle of the old Burgundy, Plato,” said the colonel, and then added hastily: “Oh, no, I forgot—he doesn’t drink anything but water. But, all the same, I like Mr. Daniel.”
“Yessuh,” said Plato. “Mighty good lawyer. I done heah Judge Jessup say he wouldn’t wonder if Mist’ Dan’l git to be Pres’dent United States hisself!”
The colonel laughed. Then he rose slowly to his full height, ran his fingers through his white hair, and started for the house. He was going in to see Daniel. He liked to talk to him. But, as he entered the wide, old hall, he heard the soft strains of Virginia’s music. He stopped involuntarily to listen. She was playing an old tune, a love-song that the colonel loved. Virginia’s grandmother had played it to him.
The old man stood listening, his eyes dreaming. Music is the most poignant of all reminders. The old hall was the same into which he had led his bride so many years ago. There was Grandfather Denbigh’s clock in the corner, with the sun and the moon and the stars inlaid on its dial. There was the high chair in which one Governor Denbigh had sat. Things were shabby, the rug under his feet was frayed, but the dear familiarity of it all moved his heart.
He felt a lump in his throat, and tried in vain to swallow it. Without disturbing Virginia’s playing, he moved to the door of the drawing-room and looked in.
It was nearly six o’clock in the evening, and the western sun shone warmly in the wide window behind the piano. It warmed and mellowed every object in the quaint, old-fashioned room. It touched on the dull gold frame of General Denbigh’s portrait painted by Peale; it showed the tall harpsichord by the chimney-place, and the quaint, spindle-legged chairs with their shabby damask seats. The walls, mellowed by time, had the ruddy tints that form a background for old pictures and dull furniture.