"I'm going to call James and Bushnell to meet you," she said, "and they're going to be so glad when I tell them you're not one bit like Mr. Jervais said you were." She smiled happily. "He said you were a regular old Yankee schoolmaster—and a crippled one at that! Oh!" she cried, seeing the quick flash of pain in Sargent's face—it was the thrust that always made him flinch—"I didn't mean to hurt you!" Her eyes darkened suddenly and the tears rushed down her checks. "Now you won't like me at all—I'm so—so sorry!" Then she ran weeping out of the room.
So it was that Sargent Everett's long journey from Maine to Mississippi in those old days came to an end. Sitting in his room that night at the tavern, writing home by the light of a single candle, he held his quill poised above the paper, while the faces of the day rushed in procession before him. The wrinkled, weather-beaten face of the steamboat captain; the kind, noble features of the Virginia gentleman; the calm, placid face of the chatelaine of the old Spanish home; and last of all, the haunting grey eyes of the little girl. In each of them he found something that made him realize they would help in the moulding of his future. His first step had been made. What would the unknown bring to him? His head sank on his arms and the words of the far away one rang in his ears, urging him on and on to success.
A light tap sounded on the door.
"Come in," he called out, and the shining face of Jonas appeared in the doorway.
"Boss, I jes' cum ter fin' out ef yer didn' want hit open'd now?"
"No, Jonas," Sargent smiled, glancing at the bottle of champagne placed conspicuously on the table. "I've decided to keep it as a souvenir of my first day in a new country—and of some one whose advice, I verily believe, saved the day!"
BOOK II
THE LAWYER
CHAPTER I
PICTURES IN THE FIRE