Bergan could not fail to be delighted with a gift so generous and so timely; bestowed, too, with a delicacy of manner, an appearance of asking a favor instead of conferring one, in strong contrast with his uncle's wonted bluntness. Visions of long, solitary rides of exploration rose fascinatingly before him. Nor would he suffer his pleasure to be alloyed by any insidious doubt lest the gift might some day take the form of an unpleasant obligation.
The road ran along the bank of the creek, passing divers fields under cultivation, and divers others long "turned out,"—that is, exhausted, and left to lapse back into their primitive pine-barrenness. In the course of an hour, the two gentlemen came upon a second negro quarter, considerably larger than the first, but with the same general characteristics, even to the threshing-mill. This one, however, ran by water power, instead of steam.
The horses were here left in charge of a negro, while the gentlemen walked over to the rice fields. They soon came into view, stretching, almost as far as the eye could reach, along the bank of a broad, turbid river. Bergan speedily became much interested in their complicated system of dykes, ditches, canals, and gates; as well as in watching the dusky laborers, both men and women, that were busy therein. Leaving details for results, however, he could not but be impressed with the fact that a vast amount of hard work was annually done, and a rich and remunerative crop annually reaped. Plainly, Major Bergan was an energetic, skilful manager.
On his part, the Major was greatly pleased with his nephew's intelligent interest, and predicted, more than once, that he would make a rice-planter of him, in due time, who would show his neighbors "what was what."
The sun was half way down the western slope, when the uncle and nephew returned to the cottage. Dinner over, the Major civilly expressed his regret that he was unexpectedly called to another part of the plantation. Bergan could accompany him; or—not to disappoint him of his promised visit to the old Hall—he could get the keys of Maumer Rue, and explore it by himself.
Bergan eagerly caught at the latter alternative. Nor, to do him justice, was the Major at all displeased thereby. Without troubling himself to analyze his own emotions, he yet felt an unconquerable aversion to the task of showing his nephew through the deserted home of his forefathers. Though little accustomed to care for the opinions or the feelings of others, he foresaw an inevitable mortification in looking with Bergan upon the ruin and desolation for which he knew himself to be so largely responsible; since, if he had not invited the ravages of time, he had put forth no hand to stay them. Perhaps this feeling was strong enough, even, to lend to the business that called him away, an imperative aspect which it might otherwise have lacked.
Bergan, on his part, was well content to dispense with his uncle's guidance. Not only would his presence be a constraint upon his own irrepressible emotions of sadness, regret, and, possibly, indignation; but there would be a rare, subtile charm in wandering alone through precincts at once so familiar and so strange, in finding out for himself (or led only by the shadowy image of his maiden mother), spots hallowed by the tender touch of oldtime joys and sorrows, and nooks and corners darkened not more by mould and cobwebs than by the clinging dust of immemorial family tradition.
First, however, Major Bergan requested his companionship as far as the stable. There they found a bright looking boy, somewhat older than Jip, who had just finished rubbing down the filly of which Bergan had so lately become the master, and now stood regarding the result with great apparent satisfaction.
"Well, Brick," said the Major, sternly, "I hope you've done better than you did last time."
"Yes, massa, she done berry fine, I'se sure,—spec' I put a right smart hour on her. Look a dar, now, don' she shine?"