'No; I'll go myself. Look after my horse.'
I strode through the parlors and the passage way to the old room. Selma was seated on a lounge by the side of Joe, her head on his shoulder. As I opened the door, I spoke the two words: 'My child!'
She looked up, sprang to her feet, and rushed into my arms.
'And you are safe!' I cried, putting back her soft brown hair, and kissing her pale, beautiful forehead.
'Yes, I am safe. My brother is here—I am safe.'
'Joe—God bless you!—you're a noble fellow!'
He was only twenty-three, but his face was already seamed and haggard, and his hair thickly streaked with white! We sat down, and from Selma's lips I learned the events of the preceding months.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Selma arrived at home about a week after her father's funeral. The affairs of the plantation were going on much as usual, but Mrs. Preston was there in apparently the greatest grief. She seemed inconsolable; talked much of her loss, and expressed great fears for the future. Her husband had left no will, and nothing would remain for her but the dower in the real estate, and that would sell for but little.
The more Preston's affairs were investigated, the worse they appeared. He was in debt everywhere. An administrator was appointed, and he decided that a sale of everything—the two plantations and the negroes—would be necessary.