Cassie paused, and regarded him with a peculiar look for an instant.
"Ahem!" she said, after a pause. "No; he's a widderer, with only one child, a daughter, 'bout nine months old, and a nevvy a year or so older. No, there ain't no young ladies—I mean real ladies—in the village, 'cept Miss Lizzie Erliston."
He paid no attention to the meaning tone in which this was spoken, and after lingering a few moments longer, Cassie took her leave, inwardly wondering who the handsome and inquisitive stranger could be.
"Praps this'll tell," said Cassie, as she lifted the stranger's portmanteau, and examined it carefully for name and initials. "Here it is, I declare!" she exclaimed, as her eyes fell on the letters "B. O.," inscribed on the steel clasp. "B. O. I wonder what them stands for! 'B O' bo. Shouldn't wonder if he was a beau. Sakes alive! what can his name be and what can he want? Well, I ain't likely to tell anybody, 'cause I don't know myself. 'Has he got any grown-up darters?'" she muttered, as the young man's question came again to her mind. "Maybe he's a fortin' hunter. I've hern tell o' sich. Well, I hope Miss Lizzie won't have anything to do with him if he is, and go throw herself away on a graceless scamp like Miss Esther did. Well, I guess, if he goes courtin' there, old Thunderclap will be in his wool, and—O, massy on us!—if that Sally hain't let the fire go dead out, while I was talkin' up-stairs with 'B. O.' Little black imp! won't I give it to her?"
The morning after the storm dawned clear and cold. All traces of the preceding night's tempest had passed away, and the sun shone forth brightly in a sky of clear, cloudless blue.
The handsome young stranger stood in the bar-room of the "Eagle," gazing from the open door at the bay, sparkling and flashing in the sun's light, and dotted all over with fishing-boats. Behind the counter sat worthy Giles Fox, smoking his pipe placidly. From the interior of the building came at intervals the voice of Cassie, scolding right and left at "You Sally" and "little black imp."
Suddenly the stranger beheld, emerging from a forest path on the right of the inn, a gentleman on horseback. He rode slowly, and the stranger observed that all the villagers he encountered saluted him respectfully, the men pulling off their hats, the women dropping profound courtesies, and the children, on their way to school, by scampering in evident alarm across meadows and fields.
As he drew rein before the inn-door, the stranger drew back. The old gentleman entered and approached the bar.
"Good-morning, Giles," he said, addressing the proprietor of the "Eagle" in a patronizing tone.
"Good-morning, squire—good-morning, sir. Fine day after the storm last night," said the host, rising.