The old negro let the reins rest on the horses’ glossy backs, flicked a fly from one of their heads with his whip, and continued, retrospectively:
“Dis place now dey name Love’s Retreat, an’ no wonder, fer sech a place fer courtin’ an’ sparkin’ sho’ly nebber was seen. Ole marster and mistis had four chillun—two sons and two daughters—all four beautiful as cud be, an’ all de young folks in de kentry used to be comin’ an’ goin’ here; an’ de sparkin’ dat went on in dem flower-gyardens an’ rose-arbors was a caution—you hear me! Umme, but dem was gay times ’fore de war! But, umme, when ’twas all ober, an’ Marse Captain Varian comes home wid his arm gone, an’ his two sons dead on de feil o’ battle, an’ de niggers all free, an’ eb’ryt’ing gone to wrack an’ ruin, why, ole mistis nebber hole up her head no more—she jest died, dey say, ob a broken heart for her poor boys lost an’ gone. An’ bime-by de oldest geerl she fell in lub wid a Yank she met up North, an’ married him spite o’ all de ’jections ob old marse, who, naterally, hated de Yanks, dough dey say dat Marse Fred Foster was a mighty fine gen’l’man, all de same, an’ rich as we all’s folks. But Miss P’liny—de youngest geerl, she made a missallyance, too, so her pa said—up an’ married a poor lawyer, an’ bime-by she got divossed from him, an’ no wonder; it was a shame de way he kerried on wid dat ward ob his, de brazen creeter! So now, when marse captain died, five years ago, dey warn’t no one left at Love’s Retreat but Mrs. Varian an’ her little son. Dey travel ’bout a great deal now, so I’se ’feard dey’ll never build up dis ole place ag’in.”
CHAPTER XXVII.
“WHERE THE CLEMATIS BOUGHS INTWINE.”
Uncle Rube had rambled on heedlessly as though he loved his subject while his hearers listened in painful wonder; but now Madame Ray brought him up suddenly by saying, nervously:
“That is enough, Uncle Rube. Drive on a few miles further and we will return.”
A strange terror was stirring in her breast—terror of some startling revelation that might shock Cinthia in the old man’s rambling talk. She dared not let him utter another word; but strange suspicions were awakened in her breast, and she resolved to have a private conversation with Uncle Rube to solve her doubts.
One of his statements had struck her with peculiar force.
He had spoken of Captain Varian’s youngest daughter’s marriage and divorce from her husband.
In the next breath he had called her Mrs. Varian, Varian being her maiden name.
Why did the divorced woman and her son both bear the family name? And who was the divorced husband? Of his name Madame Ray began to have a secret prescient dread.