As for Betty, she liked this tall fellow who helped her through the fatigue of those long days, when there was only the unbroken sweep of the forest on either hand, with here and there a clearing where some outrageous soul was making a home for himself. The shores became duller, wilder, more uninteresting as they advanced, and then at last they entered the Mississippi, and she was almost home.
Betty was not unexcited by the prospect. She would be the mistress of the most splendid place in West Tennessee. She secretly aspired to be a brilliant hostess. She could remember when the doors of Belle Plain were open to whoever had the least claim to distinction—statesmen and speculators in land; men who were promoting those great schemes of improvement, canals and railroads; hard-featured heroes of the two wars with England—a diminishing group; the men of the modern army, the pathfinders, and Indian fighters, and sometimes a titled foreigner. She wondered if Tom had maintained the traditions of the place. She found that Carrington had heard of Belle Plain. He spoke of it with respect, but with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, for how could he feel enthusiasm when he must begin his chase after fortune with bare hands?—he suffered acutely whenever it was mentioned. The days, like any other days, dwindled. The end of it all was close at hand. Another twenty-four hours and Carrington reflected there would only be good-by to say.
“We will reach New Madrid to-night,” he told her. They were watching the river, under a flood of yellow moonlight.
“And then just another day—Oh, I can hardly wait!” cried Betty delightedly. “Soon I shall hope to see you at Belle Plain, Mr. Carrington,” she added graciously.
“Thank you, your—your family—” he hesitated.
“There's only just Tom—he's my half-brother. My mother was left a widow when I was a baby. Later, some years after, she married Tom's father.”
“Oh—then he's not even your half-brother?”
“He's no relation at all—and much older. When Tom's father died my mother made Tom, manager, and still later he was appointed my guardian.”
“Then you own Belle Plain?” and Carrington sighed.
“Yes. You have never seen it?—it's right on the river, you know?” then Betty's face grew sober: “Tom's dreadfully queer—I expect he'll require a lot of managing!”