Spring had come, the joyous, impatient spring of the South, bringing in one day a new world, full of warmth and splendour. The old house of the Spaniards gleamed once more in the sunshine, long shafts of gold penetrated the shadows of the magnolias and rested with a dazzling brilliance upon the surrounding line of columns. And the garden along the terrace burst into a sudden glory that showed it knew well that the cold winds of the North had died away for many months.
Far down the hillside the great river crept stealthily out of its banks, crawling up and up until the lowlands of the opposite shore became a wide, yellow, seemingly boundless sea.
Then the seared forest began to tremble into a faint green, and everywhere were the chatter of birds and the sounds of awakening life. Weather prophets shook their heads, saying the spring had come too early, that it would mean a bad season for the crops; the plantation overseers were caught napping, and rushed hundreds of slaves into the field to make the ground ready for planting; and along the road toward the town three caravans of Voyageurs had passed already, on their way from New Orleans to St. Louis—all this in the early part of March.
The days, lengthening and full of a lazy warmth, were perfect for a short cessation from the routine of the schoolroom, so that when the young schoolmaster had asked for a week's leave in which he might ride to a day's distant village, for the purpose of passing his examinations before the Judges of the Supreme Court, his request was readily granted. The boys had received the announcement with childish delight. Natalia had said nothing.
The day after the schoolroom was closed, the little girl wandered far down the hillside, and watched the great river, turbulent and angry in its swollen channel. She sat there a long time, not thoroughly contented in the freedom of the holiday, for the last few weeks had been unhappy ones for her. The schoolmaster had been severe and impatient for many days, and he had not taken her with him on his long walks through the woods. Until lately it had been almost the daily custom to go directly after dinner along the crest of the hill quite away from the road, toward the town. Natalia would dance along beside him, flitting away now and then to inspect a hitherto undiscovered grapevine swing or a new birdnest, and then again walking slowly beside him, listening intently while he told her some wonderful story of bygone days. Sometimes when the story was very complicated and the words too big for her to grasp the meaning, she would walk close beside him, one hand in his, her eyes shut tight while she listened only to the music of his voice. Many days they would go quite into the town and stop at Judge Houston's for a half hour, and while Mrs. Houston gave them huge slices of jelly cake, and raisins, and tall goblets of milk, the Judge and the schoolmaster would discuss the new laws of the State. Then it was such fun to come back, in the late afternoon, when the wind was whistling through the trees and the grove about the house was filling with queer shadows, and find everybody gathered about the blazing logs for a while before the study hour.
But all this had ended a month before. The schoolmaster walked no more in the afternoons; he went directly from the dinner table to the library, and shut himself in, not coming out even when the supper bell rang, and many nights when Mammy Dicey carried the little girl up to her room she could see a line of light beneath the library door. It would be there still when she came down hours later, and twice it had been there when she went back to waken the children in the morning. It was this way to the day he left, not one minute wasted, as he drove himself on and on toward his examinations.
Natalia had at first been impatient and complaining of the neglect, then she had become wounded, and at last silent, and what might have been a joyous holiday grew more and more monotonous.
When the seventh day had come she had gone down to the big gate, taking the great cumbersome Shakespeare with her, and, settling herself comfortably against the post, had waited for the schoolmaster's return. In the happiness of seeing him again she had become quite forgiving.
The morning passed and he did not come. The afternoon dragged along until the birds had all fluttered into the grove, and gone to sleep—still, he did not come. Night came on, a question or two was asked, and at last bedtime arrived, with no news.
Mammy Dicey sat beside Natalia's bed a long time that night, singing the whole repertoire of lullabys that usually closed the dusky little lids, without avail. Natalia lay staring up at the ceiling with wide-open eyes full of doubts and fears. There had come a report the day after the schoolmaster's departure, that Jacob Phelps, a notorious highwayman, had suddenly appeared near the town and robbed the Jackson coach in broad daylight. With the incident, all the memories and experiences of the town folk were awakened, and each one was recounting what he had heard of the man. It added picturesqueness to the tales, that the freebooter was not a member of a gang, but accomplished his daring robberies without the aid of confederates; and in contrast to all the robbers that infested this new country, he killed his victims only when forced to do so in escaping. The tales had reached the children through the servants, and for Natalia there had been no peace during the long days of the schoolmaster's absence.