But in spite of all the tempting beauty of the place there was an air of desertion about it that one felt rather than saw. The sultry summer day was drawing to its close. Evening was casting its lengthening shadows across the paths. Many of the beautiful blossoms drooped their heads as if weary and sad, while every window and door was closely fastened.
There was not a single sign of life about the place, when suddenly the click of the garden gate was heard, and a man with hasty steps came walking up the path. His face was pale and handsome, his eyes blue, and his drooping, silky mustache a decided red. The hair of the head, however, was of a darker hue, a handsome brown. He was admitted to the house by an old negress, whose face wore an extremely doleful expression.
“Hello! Aunt Betty, what’s wrong? Your young mistress is well, I hope?” But not waiting for answer he pushed by her, and was half way up the stairway when the old woman’s voice arrested his footsteps.
“No use, Massa Hunter. The young Missis is not upstairs.”
“Not upstairs! Then where is she, pray? Tell me at once.”
For answer the old woman covered her face with her snowy apron and burst into tears.
“What is the meaning of this?” the young man demanded. “Has anything happened? Where is Cora? Don’t you see how you are torturing me?”
“I don’t know. Indeed I don’t! She just put on her plainest dress and says to me: ‘I is going away, aunty, you can keep dis as a present from me,’ and she gi’ me a purse all filled with gold. ‘You is to remain here,’ she says, ‘until the massa comes and den you gi’ him dis.’ Then she gi’ me lettah, and dat is all I knows.”
His face was ashy white and his hand shook as with palsy as the negress handed him the missive which he instinctively knew was a farewell from the one woman who was dearer to him than life. A deadly fear crept into his heart as he went into the little parlor and closed the door as if to shut out the glad sunlight while he read the words that had been penned with a broken heart. Here and there a stain, a tell-tale mark had been left by a falling tear.
“You will forget,” she wrote, “that such a one as I have ever crossed your path. It is better thus. It seems my destiny only to bring pain and suffering to those who love me.