“Well, he knows where to find me.”
“Yes, he say he gwine fine you—dat’s huccome he come, an’ he gwine keep on till he do fine you.” Still’s heart sank.
“I don’t know what he wants with me,” he growled, as he turned away and went into the house. The great hall filled with pictures had never looked so big or so dark. The eyes fastened on him from the walls seemed to search him. Those of the “Indian-Killer” pierced him wherever he went.
“Curse them; they are all alike,” he growled. “I wish I had let them have the d——d rubbish. I would, but for having to take that one down.”
Poor Virgy, who had been given the room that had formerly been Jacquelin’s, came toward him. She was scared and lonely in her new surroundings, and had been crying.
This increased her father’s ill-humor. He inquired if she had seen Captain Allen. She had, but he had only bowed to her; all he had said was to the servant.
“Did he seem excited?” Still asked.
“No, he only looked quiet. He looked like one of those pictures up there.” It was an unlucky illustration. Her father broke out on her so severely that she ran to her own room weeping. It was only of late that he had begun to be so harsh.
Still, left alone, sat down and without delay wrote a letter to Captain Allen, expressing regret that he had been away when he called. He also wrote a letter to Dr. Cary, which he sent out that night, apologizing to Mrs. Gray and calling heaven to witness that he had not meant to offend her, and did not even know she was on the place when he rode up. He did not wait for replies. The next morning before daylight he left for the city.