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THE LATE MRS NULL

BY

FRANK R. STOCKTON

1886

CHAPTER I.

There was a wide entrance gate to the old family mansion of Midbranch, but it was never opened to admit the family or visitors; although occasionally a load of wood, drawn by two horses and two mules, came between its tall chestnut posts, and was taken by a roundabout way among the trees to a spot at the back of the house, where the chips of several generations of sturdy wood-choppers had formed a ligneous soil deeper than the arable surface of any portion of the nine hundred and fifty acres which formed the farm of Midbranch. This seldom opened gate was in a corner of the lawn, and the driving of carriages, or the riding of horses through it to the porch at the front of the house would have been the ruin of the short, thick grass which had covered that lawn, it was generally believed, ever since Virginia became a State.

But there had to be some way for people who came in carriages or on horseback to get into the house, and therefore the fence at the bottom of the lawn, at a point directly in front of the porch, was crossed by a set of broad wooden steps, five outside and five inside, with a platform at the top. These stairs were wide enough to accommodate eight people abreast; so that if a large carriage load of visitors arrived, none of them need delay in crossing the fence. At the outside of the steps ran the narrow road which entered the plantation a quarter of a mile away, and passed around the lawn and the garden to the barns and stables at the back.

On the other side of the road, undivided from it by hedge or fence, stretched, like a sea gently moved by a groundswell, a vast field, sometimes planted in tobacco, and sometimes in wheat. In the midst of this field stood a tall persimmon tree which yearly dropped its half-candied fruit upon the first light snow of the winter. It is true that persimmons, quite fit to eat, were to be found on this tree at an earlier period than this, but such fruit was never noticed by the people in those parts, who would not rudely wrench from Jack Frost his one little claim to rivalry with the sun as a fruit-ripener. To the right of the field was a wide extent of pasture land, running down to a small stream, or "branch," which, flowing between two other streams of the same kind a mile or two on either side of it, had given its name to the place. In front, to the left, lay a great forest of chestnut, oak, sassafras, and sweet gum, with here and there a clump of tall pines, standing up straight and stiff with an air of Puritanic condemnation of the changing fashions of the foliage about them.

On one side of the platform of the broad stile, which has been mentioned, sat one summer afternoon, the lady of the house. She was a young woman, and although her face was a good deal shadowed by her far-spreading hat, it was easy to perceive that she was a handsome one. She was the niece of Mr Robert Brandon, the elderly bachelor who owned Midbranch; and her mother, long since dead, had called her Roberta, which was as near as she could come to the name of her only brother.

Miss Roberta's father was a man whose mind and time were entirely given up to railroads; and although he nominally lived in New York, he was, for the greater part of the year, engaged in endeavors to forward his interests somewhere west of the Mississippi. Two or three months of the winter were generally spent in his city home. At these times he had his daughter with him, but the rest of the year she lived with her uncle, whose household she directed with much good will and judgment. The old gentleman did not keep her all the summer at Midbranch. He knew what was necessary for a young lady who had been educated in Germany and Switzerland, and who had afterwards made a very favorable impression in Paris and London; and so, during the hot weather, he took her with him to one of the fashionable Southern resorts, where they always stayed exactly six weeks.

The gentleman who was sitting on the other side of the platform, with his face turned towards her, had known Miss Roberta for a year or more, having met her at the North, and also in the Virginia mountains; and being now on a visit to the Green Sulphur Springs, about four miles from Midbranch, he rode over to see her nearly every day. There was nothing surprising in this, because the Green Sulphur, once a much frequented resort, had seen great changes, and now, although the end of the regular season had not arrived, it had Mr Lawrence Croft for its only guest. There was a spacious hotel there; there was a village of cottages of varying sizes; there were buildings for servants and managers; there was a ten-pin alley and a quiet ground; there were arbors and swings; and a square hole in a stone slab, through which a little pool of greenish water could be seen, with a tin cup, somewhat rusty, lying by it. But all was quiet and deserted, except one cottage, in which the man lived who had charge of the place, and where Mr Croft boarded. It was very pleasant for him to ride over to Midbranch and take a walk with Miss Roberta; and this was what they had been doing to-day.

Horseback rides had been suggested, but Mr Brandon objected to these. He knew Mr Croft to be a young man of good family and very comfortable fortune, and he liked him very much when he had him there to dinner, but he did not wish his niece to go galloping around the country with him. To quiet walks in the woods, and through the meadows, he could, of course, have no objection. A good many of Mr Brandon's principles, like certain of his books, were kept upon a top shelf, but Miss Roberta always liked to humor the few which the old gentleman was wont to have within easy reach.

This afternoon they had rambled through the woods, where the hard, smooth road wound picturesquely through the places in which it had been easiest to make a road, and where the great trunks of the trees were partly covered by clinging vines, which Miss Roberta knew to be either Virginia creeper or poison oak, although she did not remember which of these had clusters of five leaves, and which of three.

The horse on which Mr Croft had ridden over from the Springs was tied to a fence near by, and he now seemed to indicate by his restless movements that it was quite time for the gentleman to go home; but with this opinion Mr Croft decidedly differed. He had had a long walk with the lady and plenty of opportunities to say anything that he might choose, but still there was something very important which had not been said, and which Mr Croft very much wished to say before he left Miss Roberta that afternoon. His only reason for hesitation was the fact that he did not know what he wished to say.

He was a man who always kept a lookout on the bows of his daily action; in storm or in calm, in fog or in bright sunshine that lookout must be at his post; and upon his reports it depended whether Mr Croft set more sail, put on more steam, reversed his engine, or anchored his vessel. A report from this lookout was what he hoped to elicit by the remark which he wished to make. He desired greatly to know whether Miss Roberta March looked upon him in the light of a lover, or in that of an intimate acquaintance, whose present intimacy depended a good deal upon the propinquity of Midbranch and the Green Sulphur Springs. He had endeavored to produce upon her mind the latter impression. If he ever wished her to regard him as a lover he could do this in the easiest and most straightforward way, but the other procedure was much more difficult, and he was not certain that he had succeeded in it. How to find out in what light she viewed him without allowing the lady to perceive his purpose was a very delicate operation.

"I wish," said Miss Roberta, poking with the end of her parasol at some half-withered wild flowers which lay on the steps beneath her, "that you would change your mind, and take supper with us."

Mr Croft's mind was very busy in endeavoring to think of some casual remark, some observation regarding man, nature, or society, or even an anecdote or historical incident, which, if brought into the conversation, might produce upon the lady's countenance some shade of expression, or some variation in her tone or words which would give him the information he sought for. But what he said was: "Are they really suppers that you have, or are they only teas?"

"Now I know," said the lady, "why you have sometimes taken dinner with us, but never supper. You were afraid that it would be a tea."

Lawrence Croft was thinking that if this girl believed that he was in love with her, it would make a great deal of difference in his present course of action. If such were the case, he ought not to come here so often, or, in fact, he ought not to come at all, until he had decided for himself what he was going to do. But what could he say that would cause her, for the briefest moment, to unveil her idea of himself. "I never could endure," he said, "those meals which consist of thin shavings of bread with thick plasters of butter, aided and abetted by sweet cakes, preserves, and tea."

"You should have reserved those remarks," she said, "until you had found out what sort of evening meal we have."

He could certainly say something, he thought. Perhaps it might be some little fanciful story which would call up in her mind, without his appearing to intend it, some thought of his relationship to her as a lover—that is, if she had ever had such a notion. If this could be done, her face would betray the fact. But, not being ready to make such a remark, he said: "I beg your pardon, but do you really have suppers in the English fashion?"

"Oh, no," answered Miss Roberta, "we don't have a great cold joint, with old cheese, and pitchers of brown stout and ale, but neither do we content ourselves with thin bread and butter, and preserves. We have coffee as well as tea, hot rolls, fleecy and light, hot batter bread made of our finest corn meal, hot biscuits and stewed fruit, with plenty of sweet milk and buttermilk; and, if anybody wants it, he can always have a slice of cold ham."

"If I could only feel sure," thought Mr Croft, "that she looked upon me merely as an acquaintance, I would cease to trouble my mind on this subject, and let everything go on as before. But I am not sure, and I would rather not come here again until I am." "And at what hour," he asked, "do you partake of a meal like that?"

"In summer time," said Miss Roberta, "we have supper when it is dark enough to light the lamps. My uncle dislikes very much to be deprived, by the advent of a meal, of the out-door enjoyment of a late afternoon, or, as we call it down here, the evening."

"It would be easy enough," thought Mr Croft, "for me to say something about my being suddenly obliged to go away, and then notice its effect upon her. But, apart from the fact that I would not do anything so vulgar and commonplace, it would not advantage me in the slightest degree. She would see through the flimsiness of my purpose, and, no matter how she looked upon me, would show nothing but a well-bred regret that I should be obliged to go away at such a pleasant season." "I think the hour for your supper," said he, "is a very suitable one, but I am not sure that such a variety of hot bread would agree with me."

"Did you ever see more healthy-looking ladies and gentlemen than you find in Virginia?" asked Miss March.

"It is not that I want to know if she looks favorably upon me," said Lawrence Croft to himself, "for when I wish to discover that, I shall simply ask her. What I wish now to know is whether, or not, she considers me at all as a lover. There surely must be something I can say which will give me a clew." "The Virginians, as a rule," he replied, "are certainly a very well-grown and vigorous race."

"In spite of the hot bread," she said with a smile.

Just then Mr Croft believed himself struck by a happy thought. "You are not prepared, I suppose, to say, in consequence of it; and that recalls the fact that so much in this world happens in spite of things, instead of in consequence of them."

"I don't know that I exactly understand," said Miss Roberta.

"Well, for instance," said Mr Croft, "take the case of marriage. Don't you think that a man is more apt to marry in spite of his belief that he would be much better off as a bachelor, than in consequence of a conviction that a Benedict's life would suit him better?"

"That," said she, "depends a good deal on the woman."

As she said this Lawrence glanced quickly at her to observe the expression of her countenance. The countenance plainly indicated that its owner had suddenly been made aware that the afternoon was slipping away, and that she had forgotten certain household duties that devolved upon her.

"Here comes Peggy," she said, "and I must go into the house and give out supper. Don't you now think it would be well for you to follow our discussion of a Virginia supper by eating one?"

At this moment, there arrived at the bottom of the inside steps, a small girl, very black, very solemn, and very erect, with her hands folded in front of her very straight up-and-down calico frock, her features expressive of a wooden stolidity which nothing but a hammer or chisel could alter, and with large eyes fixed upon a far-away, which, apparently, had disappeared, leaving the eyes in a condition of idle out-go.

"Miss Rob," said this wooden Peggy, "Aun' Judy says it's more'n time to come housekeep."

"Which means," said Miss Roberta, rising, "that I must go and get my key basket, and descend into the store-room. Won't you come in? We shall find uncle on the back porch."

Mr Croft declined with thanks, and took his leave, and the lady walked across the smooth grass to the house, followed by the rigid Peggy.

The young man approached his impatient horse, and, not without some difficulty, got himself mounted. He had not that facility of sympathetically combining his own will and that of his horse which comes to men who from their early boyhood are wont to consider horses as objects quite as necessary to locomotion as shoes and stockings. But Lawrence Croft was a fair graduate of a riding school, and he went away in very good style to his cottage at the Green Sulphur Springs. "I believe," he said to himself, as he rode through the woods, "that Miss March expects no more of me than she would expect of any very intimate friend. I shall feel perfectly free, therefore, to continue my investigations regarding two points: First, is she worth having? and: Second, will she have me? And I must be very careful not to get the position of these points reversed."

When Miss Roberta went into the store-room, it was Peggy, who, under the supervision of her mistress, measured out the fine white flour for the biscuits for supper. Peggy was being educated to do these things properly, and she knew exactly how many times the tin scoop must fill itself in the barrel for the ordinary needs of the family. Miss Roberta stood, her eyes contemplatively raised to the narrow window, through which she could see a flush of sunset mingling itself with the outer air; and Peggy scooped once, twice, thrice, four times; then she stopped, and, raising her head, there came into the far-away gloom of her eyes a quick sparkle like a flash of black lightning. She made another and entirely supplementary scoop, and then she stopped, and let the tin utensil fall into the barrel with a gentle thud.

"That will do," said Miss Roberta.

That night, when she should have been in her bed, Peggy sat alone by the hearth in Aunt Judy's cabin, baking a cake. It was a peculiar cake, for she could get no sugar for it, but she had supplied this deficiency with molasses. It was made of Miss Roberta's finest white flour, and eggs there were in it and butter, and it contained, besides, three raisins, an olive, and a prune. When the outside of the cake had been sufficiently baked, and every portion of it had been scrupulously eaten, the good little Peggy murmured to herself: "It's pow'ful comfortin' for Miss Rob to have sumfin' on her min'."

CHAPTER II.

About a week after Mr Lawrence Croft had had his conversation with Miss March on the stile steps at Midbranch, he was obliged to return to his home in New York. He was not a man of business, but he had business; and, besides this, he considered if he continued much longer to reside in the utterly attractionless cottage at the Green Sulphur Springs, and rode over every day to the very attractive house at Midbranch, that the points mentioned in the previous chapter might get themselves reversed. He was a man who was proud of being, under all circumstances, frank and honest with himself. He did not wish, if it could be avoided, to deceive other people, but he was prudent and careful about exhibiting his motives and intended course of action to his associates. Himself, however, he took into his strictest confidence. He was fond of the idea that he went into the battle of life covered and protected by a great shield, but that the inside of the shield was a mirror in which he could always see himself. Looking into this mirror, he now saw that, if he did not soon get away from Miss Roberta, he would lay down his shield and surrender, and it was his intent that this should not happen until he wished it to happen.

It was very natural when Lawrence reached New York, that he should take pleasure in talking about Miss Roberta March and her family with any one who knew them. He was particularly anxious, if he could do so delicately and without exciting any suspicion of his object, to know as much as possible about Sylvester March, the lady's father. In doing this, he did not feel that he was prying into the affairs of others, but he could not be true to himself unless he looked well in advance before he made the step on which his mind was set. It was in this way that he happened to learn that about two years before, Miss March had been engaged to be married, but that the engagement had been broken off for reasons not known to his informants, and he could find out nothing about the gentleman, except that his name was Junius Keswick.

The fact that the lady had had a lover, put her in a new light before Lawrence Croft. He had had an idea, suggested by the very friendly nature of their intercourse, that she was a woman whose mind did not run out to love or marriage, but now that he knew that she was susceptible of being wooed and won, because these things had actually happened to her, he was very glad that he had come away from Midbranch.

The impression soon became very strong upon the mind of Lawrence that he would like to know what kind of man was this former lover. He had known Miss March about a year, and at the time of his first acquaintaince with her, she must have come very fresh from this engagement. To study the man to whom Roberta March had been willing to engage herself, was, to Lawrence's mode of thinking, if not a prerequisite procedure in his contemplated course of action, at least a very desirable one.

But he was rather surprised to find that no one knew much about Mr Junius Keswick, or could give him any account of his present whereabouts, although he had been, at the time when his engagement was in force, a resident of New York. To consult a directory was, therefore, an obvious first step in the affair; and, with this intent, Mr Croft entered, one morning, an apothecary's shop in a street which, though a busy one, was in a rather out-of-the-way part of the city.

"We haven't any directory, sir," said the clerk, "but if you will step across the street you can find one at that little shop with the green door. Everybody goes there to look at the directory."

The green door on the opposite side of the street, approached by a single flat step of stone, had a tin sign upon it, on which was painted:

"INFORMATION OF EVERY VARIETY FURNISHED WITHIN."

Pushing open the door, Lawrence entered a long, narrow room, not very well lighted, with a short counter on one side, and some desks, partially screened by a curtain, at the farther end. A boy was behind the counter, and to him Lawrence addressed himself, asking permission to look at a city directory.

"One cent, if you look yourself; three cents, if we look," said the boy, producing a thick volume from beneath the counter.

"One cent?" said Lawrence, smiling at the oddity of this charge, as he opened the book and turned to the letter K.

"Yes," said the boy, "and if the fine print hurts your eyes, we'll look for three cents."

At this moment a man came from one of the desks at the other end of the room, and handed the boy a letter with which that young person immediately departed. The new-comer, a smooth-shaven man of about thirty, with the air of the proprietor or head manager very strong upon him, took the boy's position behind the counter, and remarked to Lawrence: "Most people, when they first come here, think it rather queer to pay for looking at the directory, but you see we don't keep a directory to coax people to come in to buy medicines or anything else. We sell nothing but information, and part of our stock is what you get out of a directory. But it's the best plan all round, for we can afford to give you a clean, good book instead of one all jagged and worn; and as you pay your money, you feel you can look as long as you like, and come when you please."

"It is a very good plan," said Lawrence, closing the book, "but the name
I want is not here."

"Perhaps it is in last year's directory," said the man, producing another volume from under the counter.

"That wouldn't do me much good," said Lawrence. "I want to know where some one resides this year."

"It will do a great deal of good," said the other, "for if we know where a person has lived, inquiries can be made there as to where he has gone. Sometimes we go back three or four years, and when we have once found a man's name, we follow him up from place to place until we can give the inquirer his present address. What is the name you wanted, sir? You were looking in the K's."

"Keswick," said Lawrence, "Junius Keswick."

The man ran his finger and his eyes down a column, and remarked: "There is Keswick, but it is Peter, laborer; I suppose that isn't the party."

Lawrence smiled, and shook his head.

"We will take the year before that," said the man with cheerful alacrity, heaving up another volume. "Here's two Keswicks," he said in a moment, "one John, and the other Stephen W. Neither of them right?"

"No," said Lawrence, "my man is Junius, and we need not go any farther back. I am afraid the person I am looking for was only a sojourner in the city, and that his name did not get into the directory. I know that he was here year before last."

"All right, sir," said the other, pushing aside the volume he had been consulting. "We'll find the man for you from the hotel books, and what is more, we can see those two Keswicks that I found last. Perhaps they were relations of his, and he was staying with them. If you put the matter in our hands, we'll give you the address to-morrow night, provided it's an ordinary case. But if he has gone to Australia or Japan, of course, it'll take longer. Is it crime or relationship?"

"Neither," replied Lawrence.

"It is generally one of them," said the man, "and if it's crime we carry it on to a certain point, and then put it into the hands of the detectives, for we've nothing to do with police business, private or otherwise. But if it's relationship, we'll go right through with it to the end. Any kind of information you may want we'll give you here; scientific, biographical, business, healthfulness of localities, genuineness of antiquities, age and standing of individuals, purity of liquors or teas from sample, Bible items localized, china verified; in fact, anything you want to know we can tell you. Of course we don't pretend that we know all these things, but we know the people who do know, or who can find them out. By coming to us, and paying a small sum, the most valuable information, which it would take you years to find out, can be secured with certainty, and generally in a few days. We know what to do, and where to go, and that's the point. If it's a new bug, or a microscope insect we put it into the hands of a man who knows just what high scientific authority to apply to; if it's the middle name of your next door neighbor we'll give it to you from his baptismal record. I'm getting up a pamphlet-circular which will be ready in about a week, and which will fully explain our methods of business, with the charges for the different items, etc."

"Well," said Lawrence, taking out his pocket-book, "I want the address of Junius Keswick, and I think I will let you look it up for me. What is your charge?"

"It will be two dollars," said the man, "ordinary; and if we find inquiries run into other countries we will make special terms. And then there's seven cents, one for your look, and two threes for ours. You shall hear from us to-morrow night at your hotel or residence, unless you prefer to call here."

"I will call the day after to-morrow," said Lawrence, producing a five-dollar note.

"Very good," replied the proprietor. "Will you please pay the cashier?" pointing at the same time to a desk behind Lawrence which the latter had not noticed.

Approaching this desk, the top of which, except for a small space in front, was surrounded by short curtains, he saw a young girl busily engaged in reading a book. He proffered her the note, the proprietor at the same time calling out: "Two, seven."

The girl turned the book down to keep the place; then she took the note, and opened a small drawer, in which she fumbled for some moments. Closing the drawer, she rose to her feet and waved the note over the curtain to her right. "Haven't any change, eh?" said the man, coming from behind the counter, and putting on his hat. "As the boy's not here, I'll step out and get it."

The girl turned up her book, and began to read again, and Lawrence stood and looked at her, wondering what need there was of a cashier in a place like this. She appeared to be under twenty, rather thin-faced, and was plainly dressed. In a few moments she raised her eyes from her book, and said: "Won't you sit down, sir? I am sorry you have to wait, but we are short of change to-day, and sometimes it is hard to get it in this neighborhood."

Lawrence declined to be seated, but was very willing to talk. "Was it the proprietor of this establishment," he asked, "who went out to get the money changed??"

"Yes, sir," she answered. "That is Mr Candy."

"A queer name," said Lawrence, smiling.

The girl looked up at him, and smiled in return. There was a very perceptible twinkle in her eyes, which seemed to be eyes that would like to be merry ones, and a slight movement of the corners of her mouth which indicated a desire to say something in reply, but, restrained probably by loyalty to her employer, or by prudent discretion regarding conversation with strangers, she was silent.

Lawrence, however, continued his remarks. "The whole business seems to me very odd. Suppose I were to come here and ask for information as to where I could get a five-dollar note changed; would Mr Candy be able to tell me?"

"He would do in that case just as he does in all others," she said; "first, he would go and find out, and then he would let you know. Giving information is only half the business; finding things out is the other half. That's what he's doing now."

"So, when he comes back," said Lawrence, "he'll have a new bit of information to add to his stock on hand, which must be a very peculiar one, I fancy."

The cashier smiled. "Yes," she said, "and a very useful one, too, if people only knew it."

"Don't they know it?" asked Lawrence. "Don't you have plenty of custom?"

At this moment the door opened, Mr Candy entered, and the conversation stopped.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, sir," said the proprietor, passing some money to the cashier over the curtain, who, thereupon, handed two dollars and ninety-three cents to Lawrence through the little opening in front.

"If you call the day after to-morrow, the information will be ready for you," said Mr Candy, as the gentleman departed.

On the appointed day, Lawrence came again, and found nobody in the place but the cashier, who handed him a note.

"Mr Candy left this for you, in case he should not be in when you called," she said.

The note stated that the search for the address of Junius Keswick had opened very encouragingly, but as it was quite evident that said person was not now in the city, the investigations would have to be carried on on a more extended scale, and a deposit of three dollars would be necessary to meet expenses.

Lawrence looked from the note to the cashier, who had been watching him as he read. "Does Mr Candy want me to leave three dollars with you?" he asked.

"That's what he said, sir."

"Well," said Lawrence, "I don't care about paying for unlimited investigation in this way. If the gentleman I am in search of has left the city, and Mr Candy has been able to find out to what place he went, he should have told me that, and I would have decided whether or not I wanted him to do anything more."

The face of the cashier appeared troubled. "I think, sir," she said, "that if you leave the money, Mr Candy will do all he can to discover what you wish to know, and that it will not be very long before you have the address of the person you are seeking."

"Do you really think he has any clew?" asked Lawrence.

This question did not seem to please the cashier, and she answered gravely, though without any show of resentment: "That is a strange question after I advised you to leave the money."

Lawrence had a kind heart, and it reproached him. "I beg your pardon," said he. "I will leave the money with you, but I desire that Mr Candy will, in his next communication, give me all the information he has acquired up to the moment of writing, and then I will decide whether it is worth while to go on with the matter, or not."

He, thereupon, took out his pocket-book and handed three dollars to the cashier, who, with an air of deliberate thoughtfulness, smoothed out the two notes, and placed them in her drawer. Then she said: "If you will leave your address, sir, I will see that you receive your information as soon as possible. That will be better than for you to call, because I can't tell you when to come."

"Very well," said Lawrence, "and I will be obliged to you if you will hurry up Mr Candy as much as you can." And, handing her his card, he went his way.

The way of Lawrence Croft was generally a very pleasant one, for the fortunate conditions of his life made it possible for him to go around most of the rough places which might lie in it. His family was an old one, and a good one, but there was very little of it left, and of its scattered remnants he was the most important member. But although circumstances did not force him to do anything in particular, he liked to believe that he was a rigid master to himself, and whatever he did was always done with a purpose. When he travelled he had an object in view; when he stayed at home the case was the same.

His present purpose was the most serious one of his life: he wished to marry; and, if she should prove to be the proper person, he wished to marry Roberta March; and as a preliminary step in the carrying out of his purpose, he wanted very much to know what sort of man Miss March had once been willing to marry.

When five days had elapsed without his hearing from Mr Candy, he became impatient and betook himself to the green door with the tin sign. Entering, he found only the boy and the cashier. Addressing himself to the latter, he asked if anything had been done in his business.

"Yes, sir," she said, "and I hoped Mr Candy would write you a letter this morning before he went out, but he didn't. He traced the gentleman to Niagara Falls, and I think you'll hear something very soon."

"If inquiries have to be carried on outside of the city," said Lawrence, "they will probably cost a good deal, and come to nothing. I think I will drop the matter as far as Mr Candy is concerned."

"I wish you would give us a little more time," said the girl. "I am sure you will hear something in a few days, and you need not be afraid there will be anything more to pay unless you are satisfied that you have received the full worth of the money."

Lawrence reflected for a few moments, and then concluded to let the matter go on. "Tell Mr Candy to keep me frequently informed of the progress of the affair," said he, "and if he is really of any service to me I am willing to pay him, but not otherwise."

"That will be all right," said the cashier, "and if Mr Candy is—is prevented from doing it, I'll write to you myself, and keep you posted."

As soon as the customer had gone, the boy, who had been sitting on the counter, thus spoke to the cashier: "You know very well that old Mintstick has given that thing up!"

"I know he has," said the girl, "but I have not."

"You haven't anything to do with it," said the boy.

"Yes, I have," she answered. "I advised that gentleman to pay his money, and I'm not going to see him cheated out of it. Of course, Mr Candy doesn't mean to cheat him, but he has gone into that business about the origin of the tame blackberry, and there's no knowing when he'll get back to this thing, which is not in his line, anyway."

"I should say it wasn't!" exclaimed the boy with a loud laugh. "Sendin' me to look up them two Keswicks, who was both put down as cordwainers in year before last's directory, and askin' 'em if there was any Juniuses in their families."

"Junius Keswick, did you say? Is that the name of the gentleman Mr Candy was looking for?"

"Yes," said the boy.

Presently the cashier remarked: "I am going to look at the books." And she betook herself to the desk at the back part of the shop.

In about half an hour she returned and handed to the boy a memorandum upon a scrap of paper. "You go out now to your lunch," she said, "and while you are out, stop at the St. Winifred Hotel, where Mr Candy found the name of Junius Keswick, and see if it is not down again not long after the date which I have put on this slip of paper. I think if a person went to Niagara Falls he'd be just as likely to make a little trip of it and come back again as to keep travelling on, which Mr Candy supposes he did. If you find the name again, put down the date of arrival on this, and see if there was any memorandum about forwarding letters."

"All right," said the boy. "But I'll be gone an hour and a half. Can't cut into my lunch time."

In the course of a few days Lawrence Croft received a note signed Candy & Co. "per" some illegible initials, which stated that Mr Junius Keswick had been traced to a boarding-house in the city, but as the establishment had been broken up for some time, endeavors were now being made to find the lady who had kept the house, and when this was done it would most likely be possible to discover from her where Mr Keswick had gone.

Lawrence waited a few days and then called at the Information Shop. Again was Mr Candy absent; and so was the boy. The cashier informed him that she had found—that is, that the lady who kept the boarding-house had been found—and she thought she remembered the gentlemen in question, and promised, as soon as she could, to look through a book, in which she used to keep directions for the forwarding of letters, and in this way another clew might soon be expected.

"This seems to be going on better," said Lawrence, "but Mr Candy doesn't show much in the affair. Who is managing it? You?"

The girl blushed and then laughed, a little confusedly. "I am only the cashier," she said.

"And the laborious duties of your position would, of course, give you no time for anything else," remarked Lawrence.

"Oh, well," said the girl, "of course it is easy enough for any one to see that I haven't much to do as cashier, but the boy and Mr Candy are nearly always out, looking up things, and I have to do other business besides attending to cash."

"If you are attending to my business," said Lawrence, "I am very glad, especially now that it has reached the boarding-house stage, where I think a woman will be better able to work than a man. Are you doing this entirely independent of Mr Candy?"

"Well, sir," said the cashier, with an honest, straightforward look from her gray eyes that pleased Lawrence, "I may as well confess that I am. But there's nothing mean about it. He has all the same as given it up, for he's waiting to hear from a man at Niagara, who will never write to him, and probably hasn't any thing to write, and as I advised you to pay the money I feel bound in honor to see that the business is done, if it can be done."

"Have you a brother or a husband to help you in these investigations and searches?" asked Lawrence.

"No," said the cashier with a smile. "Sometimes I send our boy, and as to boarding houses, I can go to them myself after we shut up here."

"I wish," said Lawrence, "that you were married, and that you had a husband who would not interfere in this matter at all, but who would go about with you, and so enable you to follow up your clew thoroughly. You take up the business in the right spirit, and I believe you would succeed in finding Mr Keswick, but I don't like the idea of sending you about by yourself."

"I won't deny," said the cashier, "that since I have begun this affair I would like very much to carry it out; so, if you don't object, I won't give it up just yet, and as soon as anything happens I'll let you know."

CHAPTER III.

Autumn in Virginia, especially if one is not too near the mountains, is a season in which greenness sails very close to Christmas, although generally veering away in time to prevent its verdant hues from tingeing that happy day with the gloomy influence of the prophetic proverb about churchyards. Long after the time when the people of the regions watered by the Hudson and the Merrimac are beginning to button up their overcoats, and to think of weather strips for their window-sashes, the dwellers in the land through which flow the Appomattox and the James may sit upon their broad piazzas, and watch the growing glories of the forests, where the crimson stars of the sweet gum blaze among the rich yellows of the chestnuts, the lingering green of the oaks, and the enduring verdure of the pines. The insects still hum in the sunny air, and the sun is now a genial orb whose warm rays cheer but not excoriate.

The orb just mentioned was approaching the horizon, when, in an adjoining county to that in which was situated the hospitable mansion of Midbranch, a little negro boy about ten years old was driving some cows through a gateway that opened on a public road. The cows, as they were going homeward, filed willingly through the gateway, which led into a field, at the far end of which might be dimly discerned a house behind a mass of foliage; but the boy, whose head and voice were entirely too big for the rest of him, assailed them with all manner of reproaches and impellent adjectives, addressing each cow in turn as: "You, sah!" When the compliant beasts had hustled through, the youngster got upon the gate, and giving it a push with one bare foot, he swung upon it as far as it would go; then lifting the end from the surface of the ground he shut it with a bang, fastened it with a hook, and ran after the cows, his wild provocatives to bovine haste ringing high into the evening air.

This youth was known as Plez, his whole name being Pleasant Valley, an inspiration to his mother from the label on a grape box, which had drifted into that region from the North. He had just stooped to pick up a clod of earth with which to accentuate his vociferations, when, on rising, he was astounded by the apparition of an elderly woman wearing a purple sun-bonnet, and carrying a furled umbrella of the same color. Behind the spectacles, which were fixed upon him, blazed a pair of fiery eyes, and the soul of Plez shrivelled and curled up within him. His downcast eyes were bent upon his upturned toes, the clod dropped from his limp fingers, and his mouth which had been opened for a yell, remained open, but the yell had apparently swooned.

The words of the old lady were brief, but her umbrella was full of jerky menace, and when she left him, and passed on toward the outer gate, Plez followed the cows to the house with the meekness of a suspected sheep dog.

The cows had been milked, some by a rotund black woman named Letty, and some, much to their discomfort, by Plez himself, and it was beginning to grow dark, when an open spring wagon driven by a colored man, and with a white man on the back seat came along the road, and stopped at the gate. The driver having passed the reins to the occupant on the back seat, got down, opened the gate, and stood holding it while the other drove the horse into the road which ran by the side of the field to the house behind the trees. At this time a passer-by, if there had been one, might have observed, partly protruding from behind some bushes on the other side of the public road, and at a little distance from the gate, the lower portion of a purple umbrella. As the spring wagon approached, and during the time that it was turning into the gate, and while it was waiting for the driver to resume his seat, this umbrella was considerably agitated, so much so indeed as to cause a little rustling among the leaves. When the gate had been shut, and the wagon had passed on toward the house, the end of the umbrella disappeared, and then, on the other side of the bush, there came into view a sun-bonnet of the same color as the umbrella. This surmounted the form of an old lady, who stepped into the pathway by the side of the road, and walked away with a quick, active step which betokened both energy and purpose.

The house, before which, not many minutes later, this spring wagon stopped, was not a fine old family mansion like that of Midbranch, but it was a comfortable dwelling, though an unpretending one. The gentleman on the back seat, and the driver, who was an elderly negro, both turned toward the hall door, which was open and lighted by a lamp within, as if they expected some one to come out on the porch. But nobody came, and, after a moment's hesitation, the gentleman got down, and taking a valise from the back of the wagon, mounted the steps of the porch. While he was doing this the face of the negro man, which could be plainly seen in the light from the hall door, grew anxious and troubled. When the gentleman set his valise on the porch, and stood by it without making any attempt to enter, the old man put down the reins and quickly descending from his seat, hurried up the steps.

"Dunno whar ole miss is, but I reckon she done gone to look after de tukkies. She dreffle keerful dat dey all go to roos' ebery night. Walk right in, Mahs' Junius." And, taking up the valise, he followed the gentleman into the hall.

There, near the back door, stood the rotund black woman, and, behind her, Plez. "Look h'yar Letty," said the negro man, "whar ole miss?"

"Dunno," said the woman. "She done gib out supper, an' I ain't seed her sence. Is dis Mahs' Junius? Reckon' you don' 'member Letty?"

"Yes I do," said the gentleman, shaking hands with her; "but the Letty
I remember was a rather slim young woman."

"Dat's so," said Letty, with a respectful laugh, 'but, shuh 'nuf, my food's been blessed to me, Mahs' Junius."

"But whar's ole miss?" persisted the old man. "You, Letty, can't you go look her up?"

Now was heard the voice of Plez, who meekly emerged from the shade of Letty. "Ole miss done gone out to de road gate," said he. "I seen her when I brung de cows."

"Bress my soul!" ejaculated Letty. "Out to de road gate! An' 'spectin' you too, Mahs' Junius!"

"Didn't she say nuffin to you?" said the old man, addressing Plez.

"She didn't say nuffin to me, Uncle Isham," answered the boy, "'cept if I didn't quit skeerin' dem cows, an' makin' 'em run wid froin' rocks till dey ain't got a drip drap o' milk lef' in 'em, she'd whang me ober de head wid her umbril."

"'Tain't easy to tell whar she done gone from dat," said Letty.

The face of Uncle Isham grew more troubled. "Walk in de parlor, Mahs' Junius," he said, "an' make yourse'f comf'ble. Ole miss boun' to be back d'reckly. I'll go put up de hoss."

As the old man went heavily down the porch steps he muttered to himself:
"I was feared o' sumfin like dis; I done feel it in my bones."

The gentleman took a seat in the parlor where Letty had preceded him with a lamp. "Reckon ole miss didn't spec' you quite so soon, Mahs' Junius, cos de sorrel hoss is pow'ful slow, and Uncle Isham is mighty keerful ob rocks in de road. Reckon she's done gone ober to see ole Aun' Patsy, who's gwine to die in two or free days, to take her some red an' yaller pieces for a crazy quilt. I know she's got some pieces fur her."

"Aunt Patsy alive yet?" exclaimed Master Junius. "But if she's about to die, what does she want with a crazy quilt?"

"Dat's fur she shroud," said Letty. "She 'tends to go to glory all wrap up in a crazy quilt, jus chockfull ob all de colors of the rainbow. Aun' Patsy neber did 'tend to have a shroud o' bleached domestic like common folks. She wants to cut a shine 'mong de angels, an' her quilt's most done, jus' one corner ob it lef'. Reckon ole miss done gone to carry her de pieces fur dat corner. Dere ain't much time lef', fur Aun' Patsy is pretty nigh dead now. She's ober two hunnerd years ole."

"What!" exclaimed Master Junius, "two hundred?"

"Yes, sah," answered Letty. "Doctor Peter's old Jim was more'n a hunnerd when he died, an' we all knows Aun' Patsy is twice as ole as ole Jim."

"I'll wait here," said Master Junius, taking up a book. "I suppose she will be back before long."

In about half an hour Uncle Isham came into the kitchen, his appearance indicating that he had had a hurried walk, and told Letty that she had better give Master Junius his supper without waiting any longer for her mistress. "She ain't at Aun' Patsy's," said the old man, "and she's jus' done gone somewhar else, and she'll come back when she's a mind to, an' dar ain't nuffin else to say 'bout it."

Supper was eaten; a pipe was smoked on the porch; and Master Junius went to bed in a room which had been carefully prepared for him under the supervision of the mistress; but the purple sun-bonnet, and the umbrella of the same color did not return to the house that night.

Master Junius was a quiet man, and fond of walking; and the next day he devoted to long rambles, sometimes on the roads, sometimes over the fields, and sometimes through the woods; but in none of his walks, nor when he came back to dinner and supper, did he meet the elderly mistress of the house to which he had come. That evening, as he sat on the top step of the porch with his pipe, he summoned to him Uncle Isham, and thus addressed the old man:

"I think it is impossible, Isham, that your mistress started out to meet me, and that an accident happened to her. I have walked all over this neighborhood, and I know that no accident could have occurred without my seeing or hearing something of it."

Uncle Isham stood on the ground, his feet close to the bottom step; his hat was in his hand, and his upturned face wore an expression of earnestness which seemed to set uncomfortably upon it. "Mahs' Junius," said he, "dar ain't no acciden' come to ole miss; she's done gone cos she wanted to, an' she ain't come back cos she didn't want to. Dat's ole miss, right fru."

"I suppose," said the young man, "that as she went away on foot she must be staying with some of the neighbors. If we were to make inquiries, it certainly would not be difficult to find out where she is."

"Mahs' Junius," said Uncle Isham, his black eyes shining brighter and brighter as he spoke, "dar's culled people, an' white folks too in dis yer county who'd put on dere bes' clothes an' black dere shoes, an' skip off wid alacrousness, to do de wus kin' o sin, dat dey knowed for sartin would send 'em down to de deepes' and hottes' gullies ob de lower regions, but nuffin in dis worl' could make one o' dem people go 'quirin' 'bout ole miss when she didn't want to be 'quired about."

The smoker put down his pipe on the top step beside him, and sat for a few moments in thought. Then he spoke. "Isham," he began, "I want you to tell me if you have any notion or idea——"

"Mahs' Junius," exclaimed the old negro, "scuse me fur int'ruptin', but I can't help it. Don' you go, an ax an ole man like me if I tinks dat ole miss went away cos you was comin' an' if it's my true b'lief dat she'll neber come back while you is h'yar. Don' ask me nuffin like dat, Mahs' Junius. Ise libed in dis place all my bawn days, an' I ain't neber done nuffin to you, Mahs' Junius, 'cept keepin' you from breakin' you neck when you was too little to know better. I neber 'jected to you marryin' any lady you like bes', an' 'tain't f'ar Mahs' Junius, now Ise ole an' gittin' on de careen, fur you to ax me wot I tinks about ole miss gwine away an' comin' back. I begs you, Mahs' Junius, don' ax me dat."

Master Junius rose to his feet. "All right, Isham," he said; "I shall not worry your good old heart with questions." And he went into the house.

The next day this quiet gentleman and good walker went to see old Aunt Patsy, who had apparently consented to live a day or two longer; gave her a little money in lieu of pieces for her crazy bed-quilt; and told her he was going away to stay. He told Uncle Isham he was going away to stay away; and he said the same thing to Letty, and to Plez, and to two colored women of the neighborhood whom he happened to see. Then he took his valise, which was not a very large one, and departed. He refused to be conveyed to the distant station in the spring wagon, saying that he much preferred to walk. Uncle Isham took leave of him with much sadness, but did not ask him to stay; and Letty and Plez looked after him wistfully, still holding in their hands the coins he had placed there. With the exception of these coins, the only thing he left behind him was a sealed letter on the parlor table, directed to the mistress of the house.

Toward the end of that afternoon, two women came along the public road which passed the outer gate. One came from the south, and rode in an open carriage, evidently hired at the railroad station; the other was on foot, and came from the north; she wore a purple sun-bonnet, and carried an umbrella of the same color. When this latter individual caught sight of the approaching carriage, then at some distance, she stopped short and gazed at it. She did not retire behind a bush, as she had done on a former occasion, but she stood in the shade of a tree on the side of the road, and waited. As the carriage came nearer to the gate the surprise upon her face became rapidly mingled with indignation. The driver had checked the speed of his horses, and, without doubt, intended to stop at the gate. This might not have been sufficient to excite her emotions, but she now saw clearly, having not been quite certain of it before, that the occupant of the carriage was a lady, and, apparently, a young one, for she wore in her hat some bright-colored flowers. The driver stopped, got down, opened the gate, and then, mounting to his seat, drove through, leaving the gate standing wide open.

This contempt of ordinary proprietary requirements made the old lady spring out from the shelter of the shade. Brandishing her umbrella, she was about to cry out to the man to stop and shut the gate, but she restrained herself. The distance was too great, and, besides, she thought better of it. She went again into the shade, and waited. In about ten minutes the carriage came back, but without the lady. This time the driver got down, shut the gate after him, and drove rapidly away.

If blazing eyes could crack glass, the spectacles of the old lady would have been splintered into many pieces as she stood by the roadside, the end of her umbrella jabbed an inch or two into the ground. After standing thus for some five minutes, she suddenly turned and walked vigorously away in the direction from which she had come.

Uncle Isham, Letty, and the boy Plez, were very much surprised at the arrival of the lady in the carriage. She had asked for the mistress of the house, and on being assured that she was expected to return very soon, had alighted, paid and dismissed her driver, and had taken a seat in the parlor. Her valise, rather larger than that of the previous visitor, was brought in and put in the hall. She waited for an hour or two, during which time Letty made several attempts to account for the non-appearance of her mistress, who, she said, was away on a visit, but was expected back every minute; and when supper was ready she partook of that meal alone, and after a short evening spent in reading she went to bed in the chamber which Letty prepared for her.

Before she retired, Letty, who had shown herself a very capable attendant, said to her: "Wot's your name, miss? I allus likes to know the names o' ladies I waits on.''

"My name," said the lady, "is Mrs Null."

CHAPTER IV.

The Autumn sun was shining very pleasantly when, about nine o'clock in the morning, Mrs Null came out on the porch, and, standing at the top of the steps, looked about her. She had on her hat with the red flowers, and she wore a short jacket, into the pockets of which her hands were thrust with an air which indicated satisfaction with the circumstances surrounding her. The old dog, lying on the grass at the bottom of the steps, looked up at her and flopped his tail upon the ground. Mrs Null called to him in a cheerful tone and the dog arose, and, hesitatingly, put his forefeet on the bottom step; then, when she held out her hand and spoke to him again, he determined that, come what might, he would go up those forbidden steps, and let her pat his head. This he did, and after looking about him to assure himself that this was reality and not a dog dream, he lay down upon the door-mat, and, with a sigh of relief, composed himself to sleep. A black turkey gobbler, who looked as if he had been charred in a fire, followed by five turkey hens, also suggesting the idea that water had been thrown over them before anything but their surfaces had been burned, came timidly around the house and stopped before venturing upon the greensward in front of the porch; then, seeing nobody but Mrs Null, they advanced with bobbing heads and swaying bodies to look into the resources of this seldom explored region. Plez, who was coming from the spring with a pail of water on his head, saw the dog on the porch and the turkeys on the grass, and stopped to regard the spectacle. He looked at them, and he looked at Mrs Null, and a grin of amused interest spread itself over his face.

Mrs Null went down the steps and approached the boy. "Plez," said she, "if your mistress, or anybody, should come here this morning, you must run over to Pine Top Hill and call me. I'm going there to read."

"Don' you want me to go wid yer, and show you de way, Miss Null?" asked
Plez, preparing to set down his pail.

"Oh, no," said she, "I know the way." And with her hands still in her pockets, from one of which protruded a rolled-up novel, she walked down to the little stream which ran from the spring, crossed the plank and took the path which led by the side of the vineyard to Pine Top Hill.

This lady visitor had now been here two days waiting for the return of the mistress of the little estate; and the sojourn had evidently been of benefit to her. Good air, the good meals with which Letty had provided her, and a sort of sympathy which had sprung up in a very sudden way between her and everything on the place, had given brightness to her eyes. She even looked a little plumper than when she came, and certainly very pretty. She climbed Pine Top Hill without making any mistake as to the best path, and went directly to a low piece of sun-warmed rock which cropped out from the ground not far from the bases of the cluster of pines which gave the name to the hill. An extended and very pretty view could be had from this spot, and Mrs Null seemed to enjoy it, looking about her with quick turns of the head as if she wanted to satisfy herself that all of the scenery was there. Apparently satisfied that it was, she stretched out her feet, withdrew her gaze from the surrounding country, and regarded the toes of her boots. Now she smiled a little and began to speak.

"Freddy," said she, "I must think over matters, and have a talk with you about them. Nothing could be more proper than this, since we are on our wedding tour. You keep beautifully in the background, which is very nice of you, for that's what I married you for. But we must have a talk now, for we haven't said a word to each other, nor, perhaps, thought of each other during the whole three nights and two days that we have been here. I expect these people think it very queer that I should keep on waiting for their mistress to come back, but I can't help it; I must stay till she comes, or he comes, and they must continue to think it funny. And as for Mr Croft, I suppose I should get a letter from him if he knew where to write, but you know, Freddy, we are travelling about on this wedding tour without letting anybody, especially Mr Croft, know exactly where we are. He must think it an awfully wonderful piece of good luck that a young married couple should happen to be journeying in the very direction taken by a gentleman whom he wants to find, and that they are willing to look for the gentleman without charging anything but the extra expenses to which they may be put. We wouldn't charge him a cent, you know, Freddy Null, but for the fear that he would think we would not truly act as his agents if we were not paid, and so would employ somebody else. We don't want him to employ anybody else. We want to find Junius Keswick before he does, and then, maybe, we won't want Mr Croft to find him at all. But I hope it will not turn out that way. He said, it was neither crime nor relationship and, of course, it couldn't be. What I hope is, that it is good fortune; but that's doubtful. At any rate, I must see Junius first, if I can possibly manage it. If she would only come back and open her letter, there might be no more trouble about it, for I don't believe he would go away without leaving her his address. Isn't all this charming, Freddy? And don't you feel glad that we came here for our wedding tour? Of course you don't enjoy it as much as I do, for it can't seem so natural to you; but you are bound to like it. The very fact of my being here should make the place delightful in your eyes, Mr Null, even if I have forgotten all about you ever since I came."

That afternoon, as Mrs Null was occupying some of her continuous leisure in feeding the turkeys at the back of the house, she noticed two colored men in earnest conversation with Isham. When they had gone she called to the old man. "Uncle Isham," she said, "what did those men want?"

"Tell you what 'tis, Miss Null," said Isham, removing his shapeless felt hat, "dis yere place is gittin' wus an' wus on de careen, an' wat's gwine to happen if ole miss don' come back is more'n I kin tell. Dar's no groun' ploughed yit for wheat, an' dem two han's been 'gaged to come do it, an' dey put it off, an' put it off till ole miss got as mad as hot coals, an' now at las' dey've come, an' she's not h'yar, an' nuffin' can be done. De wheat'll be free inches high on ebery oder farm 'fore ole miss git dem plough han's agin."

"That is too bad, Uncle Isham," said Mrs Null. "When land that ought to be ploughed isn't ploughed, it all grows up in old field pines, don't it?"

"It don' do dat straight off, Miss Null," said the old negro, his gray face relaxing into a smile.

"No, I suppose not," said she. "I have heard that it takes thirty years for a whole forest of old field pines to grow up. But they will do it if the land isn't ploughed. Now, Uncle Isham, I don't intend to let everything be at a standstill here just because your mistress is away. That is one reason why I feed the turkeys. If they died, or the farm all went wrong, I should feel that it was partly my fault."

"Yaas'm," said Uncle Isham, passing his hat from one hand to the other, as he delivered himself a little hesitatingly—"yaas'm, if you wasn't h'yar p'raps ole miss mought come back."

"Now, Uncle Isham," said Mrs Null, "you mustn't think your mistress is staying away on account of me. She left home, as Letty has told me over and over, because your Master Junius came. Of course she thinks he's here yet, and she don't know anything about me. But if her affairs should go to rack and ruin while I am here and able to prevent it, I should think it was my fault. That's what I mean, Uncle Isham. And now this is what I want you to do. I want you to go right after those men, and tell them to come here as soon as they can, and begin to plough. Do you know where the ploughing is to be done?"

"Oh, yaas'm," said Uncle Isham, "dar ain't on'y one place fur dat. It's de clober fiel', ober dar, on de udder side ob de gyarden."

"And what is to be planted in it?" asked Mrs Null.

"Ob course dey's gwine to plough for wheat," answered Uncle Isham, a little surprised at the question.

"I don't altogether like that," said Mrs Null, her brows slightly contracting. "I've read a great deal about the foolishness of Southern people planting wheat. They can't compete with the great wheat farms of the West, which sometimes cover a whole county, and, of course, having so much, they can afford to sell it a great deal cheaper than you can here. And yet you go on, year after year, paying every cent you can rake and scrape for fertilizing drugs, and getting about a teacupful of wheat,—that is, proportionately speaking. I don't think this sort of thing should continue, Uncle Isham. It would be a great deal better to plough that field for pickles. Now there is a steady market for pickles, and, so far as I know, there are no pickle farms in the West."

"Pickles!" ejaculated the astonished Isham. "Do you mean, Miss Null, to put dat fiel' down in kukumbers at dis time o' yeah?"

"Well," said Mrs Null, thoughtfully, "I don't know that I feel authorized to make the change at present, but I do know that the things that pay most are small fruits, and if you people down here would pay more attention to them you would make more money. But the land must be ploughed, and then we'll see about planting it afterward; your mistress will, probably, be home in time for that. You go after the men, and tell them I shall expect them to begin the first thing in the morning. And if there is anything else to be done on the farm, you come and tell me about it to-morrow. I'm going to take the responsibility on myself to see that matters go on properly until your mistress returns."

Letty and her son, Plez, occupied a cabin not far from the house, while Uncle Isham lived alone in a much smaller tenement, near the barn and chicken house. That evening he went over to Letty's, taking with him, as a burnt offering, a partially consumed and still glowing log of hickory wood from his own hearth-stone. "Jes' lemme tell you dis h'yar, Letty," said he, after making up the fire and seating himself on a stool near by, "ef you want to see ole miss come back rarin' an' chargin', jes' you let her know dat Miss Null is gwine ter plough de clober fiel' for pickles."

"Wot's dat fool talk?" asked Letty.

"Miss Null's gwine to boss dis farm, dat's all," said Isham. "She tole me so herse'f, an' ef she's lef' alone she's gwine ter do it city fashion. But one thing's sartin shuh, Letty, if ole miss do fin' out wot's gwine on, she'll be back h'yar in no time! She know well 'nuf dat dat Miss Null ain't got no right to come an' boss dis h'yar farm. Who's she, anyway?"

"Dunno," answered Letty. "I done ax her six or seben time, but 'pears like I dunno wot she mean when she tell me. P'raps she's one o' ole miss' little gal babies growed up. I tell you, Uncle Isham, she know dis place jes as ef she bawn h'yar."

Uncle Isham looked steadily into the fire and rubbed the sides of his head with his big black fingers. "Ole miss nebber had no gal baby 'cept one, an' dat died when 'twas mighty little."

"Does you reckon she kill her ef she come back an' fin' her no kin?" asked Letty.

Uncle Isham pushed his stool back and started to his feet with a noise which woke Plez, who had been soundly sleeping on the other side of the fireplace; and striding to the door, the old man went out into the open air. Returning in less than a minute, he put his head into the doorway and addressed the astonished woman who had turned around to look after him. "Look h'yar, you Letty, I don' want to hear no sech fool talk 'bout ole miss. You dunno ole miss, nohow. You only come h'yar seben year ago when dat Plez was trottin' roun' wid nuffin but a little meal bag for clothes. Mahs' John had been dead a long time den; you nebber knowed Mahs' John. You nebber was woke up at two o'clock in the mawnin wid de crack ob a pistol, an' run out 'spectin' 'twas somebody stealin' chickens an' Mahs' John firin' at 'em, an' see ole miss a cuttin' for de road gate wid her white night-gown a floppin' in de win' behind her, an' when we got out to de gate dar we see Mahs' John a stannin' up agin de pos', not de pos' wid de hinges on, but de pos' wid de hook on, an' a hole in de top ob de head which he made hese'f wid de pistol. One-eyed Jim see de whole thing. He war stealin' cohn in de fiel' on de udder side de road. He see Mahs' John come out wid de pistol, an' he lay low. Not dat it war Mahs' John's cohn dat he was stealin', but he knowed well 'nuf dat Mahs' John take jes' as much car' o' he neighbus cohn as he own. An' den he see Mahs' John stan' up agin de pos' an' shoot de pistol, an' he see Mahs' John's soul come right out de hole in de top ob his head an' go straight up to heben like a sky-racket."

"Wid a whizz?" asked the open-eyed Letty."

"Like a sky-racket, I tell you," continued the old man, "an' den me an' ole miss come up. She jes' tuk one look at him and then she said in a wice, not like she own wice, but like Mahs' John's wice, wot had done gone forebber: 'You Jim, come out o' dat cohn and help carry him in!' And we free carried him in. An' you dunno ole miss, nohow, an' I don' want to hear no fool talk from you, Letty, 'bout her. Jes' you 'member dat!"

And with this Uncle Isham betook himself to the solitude of his own cabin.

"Well," said Letty to herself, as she rose and approached the bed in the corner of the room, "Ise pow'ful glad dat somebody's gwine to take de key bahsket, for I nebber goes inter dat sto'-room by myse'f widout tremblin' all froo my back bone fear ole miss come back, an' fin' me dar 'lone."

CHAPTER V.

When Lawrence Croft now took his afternoon walks in the city, he was very glad to wear a light overcoat, and to button it, too. But, although the air was getting a little nipping in New York, he knew that it must still be balmy and enjoyable in Virginia. He had never been down there at this season, but he had heard about the Virginia autumns, and, besides he had seen a lady who had had a letter from Roberta March. In this letter Miss March had written that as her father intended making a trip to Texas, and, therefore, would not come to New York as early as usual, she would stay at least a month longer with her Uncle Brandon; and she was glad to do it, for the weather was perfectly lovely, and she could stay out-of-doors all day if she wanted to.

Lawrence's walks, although very invigorating on account of the fine, sharp air, were not entirely cheering, for they gave him an opportunity to think that he was making no progress whatever in his attempt to study the character of Junius Keswick. He had entrusted the search for that gentleman's address to Mr Candy's cashier, who had informed him, most opportunely, that she was about to set out on a wedding tour, and that she had possessed herself of clues of much value which could be readily followed up in connection with the projected journey. But a fortnight or more had elapsed without his hearing anything from her, and he had come to the conclusion that hymeneal joys must have driven all thoughts of business out of her little head.

After hearing that Roberta March intended protracting her stay in the country the desire came to him to go down there himself. He would like to have the novel experience of that region in autumn, and he would like to see Roberta, but he could not help acknowledging to himself that the proceeding would scarcely be a wise one, especially as he must go without the desired safeguard of knowing what kind of man Miss March had once been willing to accept. He felt that if he went down to the neighborhood of Midbranch one of the battles of his life would begin, and that when he held up before him his figurative shield, he would see in its inner mirror that, on account of his own disposition toward the lady, he was in a condition of great peril. But, for all that, he wanted very much to go, and no one will be surprised to learn that he did go.

He was a little embarrassed at first in regard to the pretext which he should make to himself for such a journey. Whatever satisfactory excuse he could make to himself in this case would, of course, do for other people. Although he was not prone to make excuses for his conduct to other people in general, he knew he would have to give some reason to Mr Brandon and Miss Roberta for his return to Virginia so soon after having left it. He determined to make a visit to the mountains of North Carolina, and as Midbranch would lie in his way, of course he would stop there. This he assured himself was not a subterfuge. It was a very sensible thing to do. He had a good deal of time on his hands before the city season, at least for him, would begin, and he had read that the autumn was an admirable time to visit the country of the French Broad. How long a stop he would make at Midbranch would be determined by circumstances. He was sorry that he would not be able to look upon Miss Roberta with the advantage of knowing her former lover, but it was something to know that she had had a lover. With this fact in his mind he would be able to form a better estimate of her than he had formed before.

The man who lived in the cottage at the Green Sulphur Springs was somewhat surprised when Mr Croft arrived there, and desired to make arrangements, as before, for board, and the use of a saddle horse. But, although it was not generally conceded, this man knew very well that there was no water in the world so suitable to remedy the wear and tear of a city life as that of the Green Sulphur Springs, and therefore nobody could consider the young gentleman foolish for coming back again while the season permitted.

Lawrence arrived at his cottage in the morning; and early in the afternoon of the same day he rode over to Midbranch. He found the country a good deal changed, and he did not like the changes. His road, which ran for much of its distance through the woods, was covered with leaves, some green, and some red and yellow, and he did not fancy the peculiar smell of these leaves, which reminded him, in some way, of that gathering together of the characters in old-fashioned comedies shortly before the fall of the curtain. In many places where there used to be a thick shade, the foliage was now quite thin, and through it he could see a good deal of the sky. The Virginia creepers, or "poison oaks," whichever they were, were growing red upon the trunks of the trees as if they had been at table too long and showed it, and when he rode out of the woods he saw that the fields, which he remembered as wide, swelling slopes of green, with cattle and colts feeding here and there, were now being ploughed into corrugated stretches of monotonous drab and brown. If he had been there through all the gradual changes of the season, he, probably, would have enjoyed them as much as people ordinarily do; but coming back in this way, the altered landscape slightly shocked him.

When he had turned into the Midbranch gate, but was still a considerable distance from the house, he involuntarily stopped his horse. He could see the broad steps which crossed the fence of the lawn, and on one side of the platform on the top sat a lady whom he instantly recognized as Miss Roberta; and on the other side of the platform sat a gentleman. These two occupied very much the same positions as Lawrence, himself, and Miss March had occupied when we first became acquainted with them. Lawrence looked very sharply and earnestly at the gentleman. Could it be Mr Brandon? No, it was a much younger person.

His first impulse was to turn and ride away, but this would be silly and unmanly, and he continued his way to the stile. His disposition to treat the matter with contempt made him feel how important the matter was to him. The gentleman on the platform first saw Lawrence, and announced to the lady that some one was coming. Miss March turned around, and then rose to her feet.

"Upon my word!" she exclaimed, elevating her eyebrows a good deal more than was usual with her, "if that isn't Mr Croft!"

"Who is he?" asked the other, also rising.

"He is a New York gentleman whom I know very well. He was down here last summer, but I can't imagine what brings him here again."

Lawrence dismounted, tied his horse, and approached the steps. Miss Roberta welcomed him cordially, coming down a little way to shake hands with him. Then she introduced the two gentlemen.

"Mr Croft," she said, "let me make you acquainted with Mr Keswick."

The afternoon, or the portion of it that was left, was spent on the porch, Mr Brandon joining the party. It was to him that Lawrence chiefly talked, for the most part about the game and scenery of North Carolina, with which the old gentleman was quite familiar. But Lawrence had sufficient regard for himself and his position in the eyes of this family, to help make a good deal of general conversation. What he said or heard, however, occupied only the extreme corners of his mind, the main portion of which was entirely filled with the chilling fear that that man might be the Keswick he was looking for. Of course, there was a bare chance that it was not, for there might be a numerous family, but even this little stupid glimmer of comfort was extinguished when Mr Brandon familiarly addressed the gentleman as "Junius."

Lawrence took a good look at the man he was anxious to study, and as far as outward appearances were concerned he could find no fault with Roberta for having accepted him. He was taller than Croft, and not so correctly dressed. He seemed to be a person whom one would select as a companion for a hunt, a sail, or a talk upon Political Economy. There was about him an air of present laziness, but it was also evident that this was a disposition that could easily be thrown off.

Lawrence's mind was not only very much occupied, but very much perturbed. It must have been all a mistake about the engagement having been broken off. If this had been the case, the easy friendliness of the relations between Keswick and the old gentleman and his niece would have been impossible. Once or twice the thought came to Lawrence that he should congratulate himself for not having avowed his feelings toward Miss Roberta when he had an opportunity of doing so; but his predominant emotion was one of disgust with his previous mode of action. If he had not weighed and considered the matter so carefully, and had been willing to take his chances as other men take them, he would, at least, have known in what relation he stood to Roberta, and would not have occupied the ridiculous position in which he now felt himself to be.

When he took his leave, Roberta went with him to the stile. As they walked together across the smooth, short grass, a new set of emotions arose in Lawrence's mind which drove out every other. They were grief, chagrin, and even rage, at not having won this woman. As to actual speech, there was nothing he could say, although his soul boiled and bubbled within him in his desire to speak. But if he had anything to say, now was his chance, for he had told them that he would proceed with his journey the next day.

Miss Roberta had a way of looking up, and looking down at the same time, particularly when she had asked a question and was waiting for the answer. Her face would be turned a little down, but her eyes would look up and give a very charming expression to those upturned eyes; and if she happened to allow the smile, with which she ceased speaking, to remain upon her pretty lips, she generally had an answer of some sort very soon. If for no other reason, it would be given that she might ask another question. It was in this manner she said to Lawrence: "Do you really go away from us to-morrow?"

"Yes," said he, "I shall push on."

"Do you not find the country very beautiful at this season?" asked Miss
Roberta, after a few steps in silence.

"I don't like autumn," answered Lawrence. "Everything is drying up and dying. I would rather see things dead."

Roberta looked at him without turning her head. "But it will be just as bad in North Carolina," she said.

"There is an autumn in ourselves," he answered, "just as much as there is in Nature. I won't see so much of that down there."

"In some cases," said Roberta, slowly, "autumn is impossible."

They had reached the bottom of the steps, and Lawrence turned and looked toward her. "Do you mean," he asked, "when there has been no real summer?"

Roberta laughed. "Of course," said she, "if there has been no summer there can be no autumn. But you know there are places where it is summer all the time. Would you like to live in such a clime?"

Lawrence Croft put one foot on the step, and then he drew it back. "Miss March," said he, "my train does not leave until the afternoon, and I am coming over here in the morning to have one more walk in the woods with you. May I?"

"Certainly," she said, "I shall be delighted; that is, if you can overlook the fact that it is autumn."

When Miss Roberta returned to the house she found Junius Keswick sitting on a bench on the porch. She went over to him, and took a seat at the other end of the bench.

"So your gentleman is gone," he said.

"Yes," she answered, "but only for the present. He is coming back in the morning."

"What for?" asked Keswick, a little abruptly.

Miss Roberta took off her hat, for there was no need of a hat on a shaded porch, and holding it by the ribbons, she let it gently slide down toward her feet. "He is coming," she said, speaking rather slowly, "to take a walk with me, and I know very well that when we have reached some place where he is sure there is no one to hear him, he is going to tell me that he loves me; that he did not intend to speak quite so soon, but that circumstances have made it impossible for him to restrain himself any longer, and he will ask me to be his wife."

"And what are you going to say to him?" asked Keswick.

"I don't know," replied Roberta, her eyes fixed upon the hat which she still held by its long ribbons.

The next morning Junius Keswick, who had been up a long, long time before breakfast, sat, after that meal, looking at Roberta who was reading a book in the parlor. "She is a strange girl," thought he. "I cannot understand her. How is it possible that she can sit there so placidly reading that volume of Huxley, which I know she never saw before and which she has opened just about the middle, on a morning when she is expecting a man who will say things to her which may change her whole life. I could almost imagine that she has forgotten all about it."

Peggy, who had just entered the room to inform her mistress that Aunt Judy was ready for her, stood in rigid uprightness, her torpid eyes settled upon the lady. "I reckon," so ran the thought within the mazes of her dark little interior, "dat Miss Rob's wuss disgruntled dan she was dat ebenin' when I make my cake, fur she got two dif'ent kinds o' shoes on."

The morning went on, and Keswick found that he must go out again for a walk, although he had rambled several miles before breakfast. After her household duties had been completed, Miss Roberta took her book out to the porch; and about noon when her uncle came out and made some remarks upon the beauty of the day, she turned over the page at which she had opened the volume just after breakfast. An hour later Peggy brought her some luncheon, and felt it to be her duty to inform Miss Rob that she still wore one old boot and a new one. When Roberta returned to the porch after making a suitable change, she found Keswick there looking a little tired.

"Has your friend gone?" he asked, in a very quiet tone.

"He has not come yet," she answered.

"Not come!" exclaimed Keswick. "That's odd! However, there are two hours yet before dinner."

The two hours passed and no Lawrence Croft appeared; nor came he at all that day. About dusk the man at the Green Sulphur Springs rode over with a note from Mr Croft. The note was to Miss March, of course, and it simply stated that the writer was very sorry he could not keep the appointment he had made with her, but that it had suddenly become necessary for him to return to the North without continuing the journey he had planned; that he was much grieved to be deprived of the opportunity of seeing her again; but that he would give himself the pleasure, at the earliest possible moment, of calling on Miss March when she arrived in New York.

When Miss Roberta had read this note she handed it to Keswick, who, when he returned it, asked: "Does that suit you?"

"No," said she, "it does not suit me at all."

CHAPTER VI.

It was mail day at the very small village known as Howlett's, and to the fence in front of the post-office were attached three mules and a horse. Inside the yard, tied to the low bough of a tree, was a very lean and melancholy horse, on which had lately arrived Wesley Green, the negro man who, twice a week, brought the mail from Pocohontas, a railway station, twenty miles away. There was a station not six miles from Howlett's, but, for some reason, the mail bag was always brought from and carried to Pocohontas; Wesley Green requiring a whole day for a deliberate transit between the two points.

In the post-office, which was the front room of a small wooden house approached by a high flight of steps, was the postmistress, Miss Harriet Corvey, who sat on the floor in one corner, while before her extended a semicircle of men and boys. In this little assemblage certain elderly men occupied seats which were considered to belong to them quite as much as if they had been hired pews in a church, and behind them stood up a row of tall young men and barefooted boys of the neighborhood, while, farthest in the rear, were some quiet little darkies with mail bags slung across their shoulders.

On a chair to the right, and most convenient to

Miss Harriet, sat old Madison Chalkley, the biggest and most venerable citizen of the neighborhood. Mr Chalkley never, by any chance, got a letter, the only mail matter he received being, "The Southern Baptist Recorder," which came on Saturdays, but, like most of the people present, he was at the post-office every mail day to see who got anything. Next to him sat Colonel Iston, a tall, lean, quiet old gentleman, who had, for a long series of years, occupied the position of a last apple on a tree. He had no relatives, no friends with whom he corresponded, no business that was not conducted by word of mouth. In the last fifteen years he had received but one letter, and that had so surprised him that he carried it about with him three days before he opened it, and then he found that it was really intended for a gentleman of the same name in another county. And yet everybody knew that if Colonel Iston failed to appear in his place on mail day, it would be because he was dead or prostrated by sickness.

With the mail bag on the floor at her left, Miss Harriet, totally oblivious of any law forbidding the opening of the mails in public, would put her hand into its open mouth, draw forth a letter or a paper, hold it up in front of her spectacles, and call out the name of its owner. Most of the letters went to the black boys with the mail bags who came from country houses in the neighborhood, but whoever received letter, journal, or agricultural circular, received also at the same time the earnest gaze of everybody else in the room. Sometimes there was a letter for which there was no applicant present and then Miss Harriet would say: "Is anybody going past Mrs Willis Summerses?" And if anybody was, he would take the letter, and it is to be hoped he remembered to deliver it in the course of a week.

In spite of the precautions of the postmistress uncalled for letters would gradually accumulate, and there was a little bundle of these in one of the few pigeon holes in a small desk in the corner of the room, in the drawer of which the postage stamps were kept. Now and then a registered letter would arrive, and this always created considerable sensation in the room, and if the legal recipient did not happen to be present, Miss Harriet never breathed a quiet breath until he or she had been sent for, had taken the letter, and given her a receipt. Sometimes she sat up as late as eleven o'clock at night on mail days, hoping that some one who had been sent for would arrive to relieve her of a registered letter.

All the mail matter had been distributed, everybody but Mr Madison Chalkley had left the room; and when the old gentleman, as was his wont on the first day of the month, had gone up to the desk, untied the bundle of uncalled-for letters, the outer ones permanently rounded by the tightness of the cord, and after carefully looking over them, one by one, had made his usual remark about the folly of people who wouldn't stay in a place until their letters could get to them, had tied up the bundle and taken his departure; then Miss Harriet put the empty mail bag under the desk, and went up-stairs where an old lady sat by the window, sewing in the fading light.

"No letters for you to-day, Mrs Keswick," said she.

"Of course not," was the answer, "I didn't expect any."

"Don't you think," said Miss Harriet, taking a seat opposite the old lady, "that it is about time for you to go home and attend to your affairs?"

"Well, upon my word!" said Mrs Keswick, letting her hands and her work fall in her lap, "that's truly hospitable. I didn't expect it of you, Harriet Corvey."

"I wouldn't have said it," returned the postmistress, "if I hadn't felt dead certain that you knew you were always welcome here. But Tony Miles told me, just before the mail came in, that the lady who's at your place is running it herself, and that she's going to use pickle brine for a fertilizer."

"Very likely," said Mrs Keswick, her face totally unmoved by this intelligence—"very likely. That's the way they used to do in ancient times, or something of the same kind. They used to sow salt over their enemy's land so that nothing would ever grow there. That woman's family has sowed salt over the lands of me and mine for three generations, and it's quite natural she should come here to finish up."

There was a little silence after this, and then Miss

Harriet remarked: "Your people must know where you are. Why don't they come and tell you about these things?"

"They know better," answered Mrs Keswick, with a grim smile. "I went away once before, and Uncle Isham hunted me up, and he got a lesson that he'll never forget. When I want them to know where I am, I'll tell them."

"But really and truly"—said Miss Harriet "and you know I only speak to you for your own good, for you pay your board here, and if you didn't you'd be just as welcome—do you intend to keep away from your own house as long as that lady chooses to stay there?"

"Exactly so long," answered the old lady. "I shall not keep them out of my house if they choose to come to it. No member of my family ever did that. There is the house, and they are free to enter it, but they shall not find me there. If there was any reason to believe that everything was dropped and done with, I would be as glad to see him as anybody could be, but I knew from his letter just what he was going to say when he came, and as things have turned out, I see that it was all worse than I expected. He and Roberta March were both coming, and they thought that together they could talk me down, and make me forgive and be happy, and all that stuff. But as I wasn't there, of course he wouldn't stay, and so there she is now by herself. She thinks I must come home after a while, and the minute I do that, back he'll come, and then they'll have just what they wanted. But I reckon she'll find that I can stick it out just as long as she can. If Roberta March turns things upside down there, it'll be because she can't keep her hands out of mischief, and that proves that she belongs to her own family. If there's any harm done, it don't matter so much to me, and it will be worse for him in the end. And now, Harriet Corvey, if you've got to make up the mail to go away early in the morning, you'd better have supper over and get about it."

Meanwhile, at Mrs Keswick's house Mrs Null was acting just as conscientiously as she knew how. She had had some conversations with Freddy on the subject, and she had assured him, and at the same time herself, that what she was doing was the only thing that could be done. "It was dreadfully hard for me to get the money to come down here," she said to him,—"you not helping me a bit, as ordinary husbands do—and I can't afford to go back until I have accomplished something. It's very strange that she stays away so long, without telling anybody where she has gone to, but I know she is queer, and I suppose she has her own reasons for what she does. She can't be staying away on my account, for she doesn't know who I am, and wouldn't have any objections to me if she did know. I suspect it is something about Junius which keeps her away, and I suppose she thinks he is still here. But one of them must soon come back, and if I can see him, or find out from her where he is, it will be all right. It seems to me, Freddy, that if I could have a good talk with Junius things would begin to look better for you and me. And then I want to put him on his guard about this gentleman who is looking for him. By the way, I suppose I ought to write a letter to Mr Croft, or he'll think I have given up the job, and will set somebody else on the track, and that is what I don't want him to do. I can't say that I have positively anything to report, but I can say that I have strong hopes of success, considering where I am. As soon as I found that Junius had really left the North, I concluded that this would be the best place to come to for him. And now, Freddy, there's nothing for us to do but to wait, and if we can make ourselves useful here I'm sure we will be glad to do it. We both hate being lazy, and a little housekeeping and farm managing will be good practice for us during our honeymoon."

Putting on her hat, she went down into the garden where uncle Isham was at work. She could find little to do there, for he was merely pulling turnips, and she could see nothing to suggest in regard to his method of work. She had found, too, that the old negro had not much respect for her agricultural opinions. He attended to his work as if his mistress had been at home, and although, in regard to the ploughing, he had carried out the orders of Mrs Null, he had done it because it ought to be done, and because he was very glad for some one else to take the responsibility.

"Uncle Isham," said she, after she had watched the process of turnip pulling for a few minutes, "if you haven't anything else to do when you get through with this, you might come up to the house, and I will talk to you about the flower beds, I suppose they ought to be made ready for the winter."

"Miss Null," said the old man, slowly unbending his back, and getting himself upright, "dar's allus sumfin' else to do. Eber sence I was fus' bawn dar was sumfin else to do, an' I spec's it'll keep on dat ar way till de day I dies."

"Of course there will be nothing else to do then but to die," observed
Mrs Null; "but I hope that day is far off, Uncle Isham."

"Dunno 'bout dat, Miss Null," said he. "But den some people do lib dreffle long. Look at ole Aun' Patsy. Ise got to live a long time afore I's as ole as Aun' Patsy is now."

"You don't mean to say," exclaimed Mrs Null, "that Aunt Patsy is alive yet!"

"Ob course she is. Miss Null," said Uncle Isham. "If she'd died sence you've been here we'd a tole you, sartin. She was gwine to die las' week, but two or free days don' make much dif'rence to Aun' Patsy, she done lib so long anyhow."

"Aunt Patsy alive!" exclaimed Mrs Null again. "I'm going straight off to see her."

When she had reached the house, and had informed Letty where she was going, the rotund maid expressed high approbation of the visit, and offered to send Plez to show Miss Null the way.

"I don't need any one to go with me," said that lady, and away she started.

"She don' neber want nobody to show her nowhar," said Plez, returning with looks of much disapprobation to his business of peeling potatoes for dinner.

When Mrs Null reached the cabin of Aunt Patsy, after about fifteen minutes' walk, she entered without ceremony, and found the old woman sitting on a very low chair by the window, with the much-talked-of, many-colored quilt in her lap. Her white woolly head was partially covered with a red and yellow handkerchief, and an immense pair of iron-bound spectacles obstructed the view of her small black face, lined and seamed in such a way that it appeared to have shrunk to half its former size. In her long, bony fingers, rusty black on the outside, and a very pale tan on the inside, she held a coarse needle and thread and a corner of the quilt. Near by, in front of a brick-paved fireplace, was one of her great-granddaughters, a girl about eighteen years old, who was down upon her hands and knees, engaged with lungs, more powerful than ordinary bellows, in blowing into flame a coal upon the hearth.

"How d'ye Aunt Patsy?" said Mrs Null. "I didn't expect to see you looking so well."

"Dat's Miss Null," said the girl, raising her eyes from the fire, and addressing her ancestor.

The old woman stuck her needle into the quilt, and reached out her hand to her visitor, who took it cordially.

"How d'ye, miss?" said Aunt Patsy, in a thin but quite firm voice, while the young woman got up and brought Mrs Null a chair, very short in the legs, very high in the back, and with its split-oak bottom very much sunken.

"How are you feeling to-day, Aunt Patsy?" asked Mrs Null, gazing with much interest on the aged face.

"'Bout as common," replied the old woman. "I didn't spec' to be libin' dis week, but I ain't got my quilt done yit, an' I can't go 'mong de angels wrop in a shroud wid one corner off."

"Certainly not," answered Mrs Null. "Haven't you pieces enough to finish it?"

"Oh, yaas, I got bits enough, but de trouble is to sew 'em up. I can't sew very fas' nowadays."

"It's a pity for you to have to do it yourself," said Mrs Null. "Can't this young person, your daughter, do it for you?"

"Dat's not my darter," said the old woman. "Dat's my son Tom's yaller boy Bob's chile. Bob's dead. She can't do no sewin' for me. I'm 'not gwine ter hab folks sayin', Aun' Patsy done got so ole she can't do her own sewin'."

"If you are not going to die till you get your quilt finished, Aunt
Patsy," said Mrs Null, "I hope it won't be done for a long time."

"Don' do to be waitin' too long, Miss. De fus' thing you know some udder culled pusson'll be dyin' wrop up in a quilt like dis, and git dar fus'."

Mrs Null now looked about her with much interest, and asked many questions in regard to the old woman's comfort and ailments. To these the answers, though on the whole satisfactory, were quite short, Aunt Patsy, apparently, much preferring to look at her visitor than to talk to her. And a very pretty young woman she was to look at, with a face which had grown brighter and plumper during every day of her country sojourn.

When Mrs Null had gone, promising to send Aunt Patsy something nice to eat, the old woman turned to her great-grand-daughter, and said, "Did anybody come wid her?"

"Nobody comed," said the girl. "Reckon' she done git herse'f los' some o' dese days."

The old woman made no answer, but folding up the maniac coverlid, she handed it to the girl, and told her to put it away.

That night Uncle Isham, by Mrs Null's orders, carried to Aunt Patsy a basket, containing various good things considered suitable for an aged colored woman without teeth.

"Miss Annie sen' dese h'yar?" asked the old woman, taking the basket and lifting the lid.

"Miss Annie!" exclaimed Uncle Isham. "Who she?"

"Git out, Uncle Isham!" said Aunt Patsy, somewhat impatiently. "She was h'yar dis mawnin'."

"Dat was Miss Null," said Isham.

"Miss Annie all de same," said Aunt Patsy, "on'y growed up an' married. D'ye mean to stan' dar, Uncle Isham, an' tell me you don' know de little gal wot Mahs' John use ter carry in he arms ter feed de tukkies?"

"She and she mudder dead long ago," said Isham. "You is pow'ful ole,
Aun' Patsy, an' you done forgit dese things."

"Done forgit nuffin," curtly replied the old woman. "Don' tell me no moh' fool stuff. Dat Miss Annie, growed up an' married."

"Did she tell you dat?" asked Isham.

"She didn't tell me nuffin'. She kep' her mouf shet 'bout dat, an' I kep' my mouf shet. Don' talk to me! Dat's Miss Annie, shuh as shootin'. Ef she hadn't fotch nuffin' 'long wid her but her eyes I'd a knowed dem; same ole eyes dey all had. An' 'sides dat, you fool Isham, ef she not Miss Annie, wot she come down h'yar fur?"

"Neber thinked o' dat!" said Uncle Isham, reflectively. "Ef you's so pow'ful shuh, Aun' Patsy, I reckon dat is Miss Annie. Couldn't 'spec me to 'member her. I wasn't much up at de house in dem times, an' she was took away 'fore I give much 'tention ter her."

"Don' ole miss know she dar?" asked Aunt Patsy.

'"She dunno nuffin' 'bout it," answered Isham. "She's stayin' away cos she think Mahs' Junius dar yit."

"Why don' you tell her, now you knows it's Miss Annie wot's dar?"

"You don' ketch me tellin her nuffin'," replied the old man shaking his head. "Wish you was spry 'nuf ter go, Aun' Patsy. She'd b'lieve you; an' she couldn't rar an' charge inter a ole pusson like you, nohow."

"Ain't dar nobody else in dis h'yar place to go tell her?" asked Aunt
Patsy.

"Not a pusson," was Isham's decided answer.

"Well den I is spry 'nuf!" exclaimed Aunt Patsy, with a vigorous nod of her head which sent her spectacles down to her mouth, displaying a pair of little eyes sparkling with a fire, long thought to be extinct. "Ef you'll carry me dar, to Miss Harriet Corvey's, I'll tell ole miss myse'f. I didn't 'spec to go out dat dohr till de fun'ral, but I'll go dis time. I spected dar was sumfin' crooked when Miss Annie didn't tole me who she was. Ise not 'feared to tell ole miss, an' you jes' carry me up dar, Uncle Isham."

"I'll do dat," said the old man, much delighted with the idea of doing something which he supposed would remove the clouds which overhung the household of his mistress. "I'll fotch de hoss an' de spring waggin an' dribe you ober dar."

"No, you don' do no sech thing!" exclaimed Aunt Patsy, angrily. "I ain't gwine to hab no hosses to run away, an' chuck me out on de road. Ef you kin fotch de oxen an' de cart, I go 'long wid you, but I don' want no hosses."

"Dat's fus' rate," said Isham. "I'll fotch de ox cart, an' carry you ober. When you want ter go?"

"Dunno jes' now," said Aunt Patsy, pushing away a block of wood which served for a footstool, and making elaborate preparations to rise from her chair. "I'll sen' fur you when I's ready."

The next morning was a very busy one for Aunt Patsy's son Tom's yellow boy Bob's child; and by afternoon it was necessary to send for two colored women from a neighboring cabin to assist in the preparations which Aunt Patsy was making for her projected visit. An old hair covered trunk, which had not been opened for many years, was brought out, and the contents exposed to the unaccustomed light of day; two coarse cotton petticoats were exhumed and ordered to be bleached and ironed; a yellow flannel garment of the same nature was put aside to be mended with some red pieces which were rolled up in it; out of several yarn stockings of various ages and lengths two were selected as being pretty much alike, and laid by to be darned; an old black frock with full "bishop sleeves," a good deal mended and dreadfully wrinkled, was given to one of the neighbors, expert in such matters, to be ironed; and the propriety of making use of various other ancient duds was eagerly and earnestly discussed. Aunt Patsy, whose vitality had been wonderfully aroused, now that there was some opportunity for making use of it, spent nearly two hours turning over, examining, and reflecting upon a pair of old-fashioned corsets, which, although they had been long cherished, she had never worn. She now hoped that the occasion for their use had at last arrived but the utter impossibility of getting herself into them was finally made apparent to her, and she mournfully returned them to the trunk.

Washing, starching, ironing, darning, patching, and an immense deal of talk and consultation, occupied that and a good deal of the following day, the rest of which was given up to the repairing of an immense pair of green baize shoes, without which Aunt Patsy could not be persuaded to go into the outer air. It was Saturday morning when she began to dress for the trip, and although Isham, wearing a high silk hat, and a long black coat which had once belonged to a clergyman, arrived with the ox cart about noon, the old woman was not ready to start till two or three hours afterward. Her assistants, who had increased in number, were active and assiduous. Aunt Patsy was very particular as to the manner of her garbing, and gave them a great deal of trouble. It had been fifteen years since she had set foot outside of her house, and ten more since she had ridden in any kind of vehicle. This was a great occasion, and nothing concerning it was to be considered lightly.

"'Tain't right," she said to Uncle Isham when he arrived, "fur a pow'ful ole pusson like me to set out on a jarney ob dis kin' 'thout 'ligious sarvices. 'Tain't 'spectable."

Uncle Isham rubbed his head a good deal at this remark. "Dunno wot we gwine to do 'bout dat," he said. "Brudder Jeemes lib free miles off, an' mos' like he's out ditchin'. Couldn't git him h'yar dis ebenin', nohow."

"Well den," said Aunt Patsy, "you conduc' sarvices yourse'f, Uncle
Isham, an' we kin have prar meetin', anyhow."

Uncle Isham having consented to this, he put his oxen under the care of a small boy, and collecting in Aunt Patsy's room the five colored women and girls who were in attendance upon her, he conducted "prars," making an extemporaneous petition which comprehended all the probable contingencies of the journey, even to the accident of the right wheel of the cart coming off, which the old man very reverently asserted that he would have lynched with a regular pin instead of a broken poker handle, if he could have found one. After the prayer, with which Aunt Patsy signified her entire satisfaction by frequent Amens, the company joined in the vigorous singing of a hymn, in which they stated that they were "gwine down to Jurdun, an' tho' the road is rough, when once we shuh we git dar, we all be glad enough; de rocks an' de stones, an' de jolts to de bones will be nuffin' to de glory an' de jiy."

The hymn over, Uncle Isham clapped on his hat, and hurried menacingly after the small boy, who had let the oxen wander along the roadside until one wheel of the cart was nearly in the ditch. Aunt Patsy now partook of a collation, consisting of a piece of hoe-cake dipped in pork fat, and a cup of coffee, which having finished, she declared herself ready to start. A chair was put into the cart, and secured by ropes to keep it from slipping; and then, with two women on one side and Uncle Isham on the other, while another woman stood in the cart to receive and adjust her, she was placed in position.

Once properly disposed she presented a figure which elicited the lively admiration of her friends, whose number was now increased by the arrival of a couple of negro boys on mules, who were going to the post-office, it being Saturday, and mail day. Around Aunt Patsy's shoulders was a bright blue worsted shawl, and upon her head a voluminous turban of vivid red and yellow. Since their emancipation, the negroes in that part of the country had discarded the positive and gaudy colors that were their delight when they were slaves, and had transferred their fancy to delicate pinks, pale blues, and similar shades. But Aunt Patsy's ideas about dress were those of by-gone days, and she was too old now to change them, and her brightest handkerchief had been selected for her head on this important day. Above her she held a parasol, which had been graciously loaned by her descendant of the fourth generation. It was white, and lined with pink, and on the edges still lingered some fragments of cotton lace.

Uncle Isham now took his position by the side of his oxen, and started them; and slowly creaking, Aunt Patsy's vehicle moved off, followed by the two boys on mules, three colored women and two girls on foot, and by two little black urchins who were sometimes on foot, but invariably on the tail of the cart when they could manage to evade the backward turn of Uncle Isham's eye.

"Ef I should go to glory on de road, Uncle Isham," said Aunt Patsy, as the right wheel of the cart emerged from a rather awkward rut, "I don' want no fuss made 'bout me. You kin jes' bury me in de clothes I got on, 'cep'n de pararsol, ob course, which is Liza's. Jes' wrop de quilt all roun' me, an' hab a extry size coffin. You needn't do nuffin' more'n dat."

"Oh, you's not gwine to glory dis time, Aun' Patsy," replied Uncle Isham, who did not want to encourage the idea of the old woman's departure from life while in his ox cart. But after this remark of the old woman he was extraordinarily careful in regard to jolts and bumps.

When the procession reached the domain of Miss Harriet Corvey, there was gathered inside the yard quite a number of the usual attendants on mail days, awaiting the arrival of Wesley Green with his waddling horse and leather bag. But all interest in the coming of the mail was lost in the surprise and admiration excited by the astounding apparition of old Aunt Patsy in the ox cart, attended by her retinue. As the oxen, skilfully guided by Uncle Isham's long prod, turned into the yard, everybody came forward to find out the reason of this unlooked-for occurrence. Even old Madison Chalkley, his stout legs swaddled in home-made overalls, dismounted from his horse, and Colonel Iston raised his tall form from the porch step where he had been sitting, and approached the cart.

"Upon my word," said a young fellow, with high boots, slouched hat, and a riding whip, "if here ain't old Aunt Patsy come after a letter! Where do you expect a letter from, Aunt Patsy?"

The old woman fixed her spectacles on him for an instant, and then said in a clear voice which could be heard by all the little crowd: "'Tain't from nobody dat I owes any money to, nohow, Mahs' Bill Trimble."

A general laugh followed this rejoinder, and Uncle Isham grinned with gratified pride in the enduring powers of his charge. The old woman now put down her parasol, and made as if she would descend from the cart.

"You needn't git out, Aun' Patsy," said several negro boys at once.
"We'll fotch your letters to you."

"Git 'long wid you!" said the old woman angrily. "I didn't come here fur no letters. Ef I wanted letters I'd sen' 'Liza fur 'em. Git out de way."

A chair was now brought, and placed near the cart; a woman mounted into the vehicle to assist her; Uncle Isham and another colored man stood ready to receive her, and Aunt Patsy began her descent. This, to her mind, was a much more difficult and dangerous proceeding than getting into the cart, and she was very slow and cautious about it. First, one of her great green baize feet was put over the tail of the cart, and resting her weight upon the two men, Aunt Patsy allowed it to descend to the chair, where it was gradually followed by the other foot. Having safely accomplished this much, the old woman ejaculated: "Bress de Lor'!" When, in the same prudent manner, she had reached the ground, she heaved a sigh of relief, and fervently exclaimed: "De Lor' be bressed!"

Supported by Uncle Isham, and the other man, Aunt Patsy now approached the steps. She was so old, so little, so bowed, and so apparently feeble, that several persons remonstrated with her for attempting to go into the house when anything she wanted would be gladly done for her. "Much 'bliged," said the old woman, "but I don' want no letters nor nuffin'. I's come to make a call on de white folks, an' I's gwine in."

This announcement was received with a laugh, and she was allowed to proceed without further hindrance. She got up the porch steps without much difficulty, her supporters taking upon themselves most of the necessary exertion; but when she reached the top, she dispensed with their assistance. Shuffling to the front door, she there met Miss Harriet Corvey, who greeted the old woman with much surprise, but shook hands with her very cordially.

"Ebenin', Miss Har'et," said Aunt Patsy. And then, lowering her voice she asked: "Is ole miss h'yar?"

Miss Harriet hesitated a moment, and then she answered: "Yes, she is, but I don't believe she'll come down to see you."

"Oh, I'll go up-stars," said Aunt Patsy. "Whar she?"

"She's in the spare chamber," said Miss Harriet; and Aunt Patsy, with a nod of the head signifying that she knew all about that room, crossed the hall, and began, slowly but steadily, to ascend the stairs. Miss Harriet gazed upon her with amazement, for Aunt Patsy had been considered chair-ridden when the postmistress was a young woman. Arrived at the end of her toilsome ascent, Aunt Patsy knocked at the door of the spare chamber, and as the voice of her old mistress said, "Come in!" she went in.

CHAPTER VII.

When Lawrence Croft reached the Green Sulphur Springs, after his interview with Miss March, his soul was still bubbling and boiling with emotion, and it continued in that condition all night, at least during that great part of the night of which he was conscious. The sight of the lady he loved, under the new circumstances in which he found her, had determined him to throw prudence and precaution to the winds, and to ask her at once to be his wife.

But the next morning Lawrence arose very late. His coffee had evidently been warmed over, and his bacon had been cooked for a long, long time. The world did not appear to him in a favorable light, and he was obliged to smoke two cigars before he was at all satisfied with it. While he was smoking he did a good deal of thinking, and it was then that he came to the conclusion that he would not go over to Midbranch and propose to Roberta March. Such precipitate action would be unjust to himself and unjust to her. In her eyes it would probably appear to be the act of a man who had been suddenly spurred to action by the sight of a rival, and this, if Roberta was the woman he believed her to be, would prejudice her against him. And yet he knew very well that these reasons would avail nothing if he should see her as he intended. He had found that he was much more in love with her than he had supposed, and he felt positively certain that the next time he was alone with her he would declare his passion.

Another thing that he felt he should consider was that the presence of Keswick, if looked upon with a philosophic eye, was not a reason for immediate action. If the old engagement had positively been broken off, he was at the house merely as a family friend; while, on the other hand, if the rupture had not been absolute, and if Roberta really loved this tall Southerner and wished to marry him, there was a feeling of honor about Lawrence which forbade him to interfere at this moment. When she came to New York he would find out how matters really stood, and then he would determine on his own action.

And yet he would have proposed to Roberta that moment if he had had the opportunity. Her personal presence would have banished philosophy, and even honor.

Lawrence was a long time in coming to these conclusions, and it was late in the afternoon when he despatched his note. Having now given up his North Carolina trip—one object of which had been still another visit to Midbranch on his return—he was obliged to wait until the next day for a train to the North; and, consequently, he had another evening to devote to reflections. These, after a time, became unsatisfactory. He had told the exact truth in his note to Roberta, for he felt that it was necessary for him to leave that part of the country in order to make impossible an interview for which he believed the proper time had not arrived. He was consulting his best interests, and also, no doubt, those of the lady. And yet, in spite of this reasoning, he was not satisfied with himself. He felt that his note was not entirely honest and true. There was subterfuge about it, and something of duplicity. This he believed was foreign to his nature, and he did not like it.

Lawrence had scarcely finished his breakfast the next morning when Mr Junius Keswick arrived at the door of his cottage. This gentleman had walked over from Midbranch and was a little dusty about his boots and the lower part of his trousers. Lawrence greeted him politely, but was unable to restrain a slight indication of surprise. It being more pleasant on the porch than in the house, Mr Croft invited his visitor to take a seat there, and the latter very kindly accepted the cigar which was offered him, although he would have preferred the pipe he had in his pocket.

"I thought it possible," said Keswick, as soon as the two had fairly begun to smoke, "that you might not yet have left here, and so came over in the hope of seeing you."

"Very kind," said Lawrence.

Keswick smiled. "I must admit," said he, "that it was not solely for the pleasure of meeting you again that I came, although I am very glad to have an opportunity for renewing our acquaintance. I came because I am quite convinced that Miss March wished very much to see you at the time arranged between you, and that she was annoyed and discomposed by your failure to keep your engagement. Considering that you did not, and probably could not, know this, I deemed I would do you a service by informing you of the fact."

"Did Miss March send you to tell me this?" exclaimed Lawrence.

"Miss March knows nothing whatever of my coming," was the answer.

"Then I must say, sir," exclaimed Lawrence, "that you have taken a great deal upon yourself."

Keswick leaned forward, and after knocking off the ashes of his cigar on the outside of the railing, he replied in a tone quite unmoved by the reproach of his companion: "It may appear so on the face of it, but, in fact I am actuated only by a desire to serve Miss March, for whom I would do any service that I thought she desired. And, looking at it from your side, I am sure that I would be very much obliged to any one who would inform me, if I did not know it, that a lady greatly wished to see me."

"Why does she want to see me?" asked Croft. "What has she to say to me?"

"I do not know," said Keswick. "I only know that she was very much disappointed in not seeing you yesterday."

"If that is the case, she might have written to me," said Lawrence.

"I do not think you quite understand the situation," observed his companion. "Miss March is not a lady who would even intimate to a gentleman that she wished him to come to her when it was obvious that such was not his desire. But it seemed to me that if the gentleman should become aware of the lady's wishes through the medium of a third party, the matter would arrange itself without difficulty."

"By the gentleman going to her, I suppose," remarked Croft.

"Of course," said Keswick.

"There is no 'of course' about it," was Lawrence's rather quick reply.

At that moment some letters were brought to him from a little post-office near by, to which he had ordered his mail to be forwarded. As the address on one of these letters caught his eye, the somewhat stern expression on his face gave place to a smile, and begging his visitor to excuse him, he put his other letters into his pocket, and opened this one. It was very short, and was from Mr Candy's cashier. It was written from Howlett's, Virginia, a place unknown to him, and stated that the writer expected in a very short time to give him some accurate information in regard to Mr Keswick, and expressed the hope that he would allow the affair to remain entirely in her hands until she should write again. It was quite natural that, under the circumstances, Lawrence should smile broadly as he folded up this note. The man in question was sitting beside him, and, in a measure, was turning the tables upon him. Lawrence had been very anxious to find out what sort of a man was Keswick, and the latter now seemed in the way of making some discoveries in the same line in regard to Lawrence. One thing he must certainly do; he must write as soon as possible to his enterprising agent, and tell her that her services were no longer needed. She must have pushed the matter with a great deal of energy to have brought her down to Virginia, and he could not help hoping that her discretion was equal to her investigative capacity.

When, after this little interruption, Lawrence again addressed Junius Keswick his manner was so much more affable that the other could not fail but notice it.

"Mr Keswick," he said, "as our conversation seems to be based upon personalities, perhaps you will excuse me if I ask you if I am mistaken in believing that you were once engaged to be married to Miss March?"

"You are entirely correct," said Junius. "I was engaged to her, and I hope to be engaged to her again."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Croft, turning in his chair with a start.

"Yes," continued Keswick, "our engagement was dissolved in consequence of a certain family complication, and as I said before, I hope in time to be able to renew it."

Lawrence threw away his cigar, and sat for a few moments in thought. The engagement, then, did not exist. Roberta was free. Recollections came to him of his own intercourse with her during the past summer, and his heart gave a bound. "Mr Keswick," said he, "upon consideration of the matter I think I will call upon Miss March this morning."

If Keswick had expressed himself entirely satisfied with this decision he would have done injustice to his feelings. The service he had taken upon himself to perform for Miss March he had considered a duty, but if his mission had failed he would have been better pleased than with its success. He made, however, a courteous reply to Croft's remark, and rose to depart. But this the other would not allow.

"You told me," said Croft, "that you walked over here; but it is much warmer now, and you must not think of such a thing as walking back. The man here has a horse and buggy. I will get him to harness up, and I will drive you over to Midbranch."

As there was no good reason why he should decline this offer, Junius accepted it, and in half an hour the two were on their way.

CHAPTER VIII.

Old Mr Brandon of Midbranch was not in a very happy frame of mind, and he had good reasons for dissatisfaction. He was an ardent supporter of a marriage between his niece and Junius Keswick; and when the engagement had been broken off he had considered that both these young people had acted in a manner very foolish and contrary to their best interests. There was no opposition to the match except from old Mrs Keswick, who was the aunt of Junius, but who considered herself as occupying the position of a mother. Junius was the son of a sister who had also married into the Keswick family, and his parents having died while he was a boy, his aunt had taken him under her charge, and her house had then became his home; although of late years some of his absences had been long ones. Mrs Keswick had no personal objections to Roberta, never having seen that lady, and knowing little of her; but an alliance between her Junius and any member of that branch of the Brandons, "which," to use the old lady's own words, "had for four generations cheated, stripped, and scornfully used my people, scattering their atoms over the face of three counties," was monstrous. Nothing could make her consent to such an enormity, and she had informed Junius that if he married that March girl three of them should live together—himself, his wife, and her undying curse. In order that Miss March might not fail to hear of this post-connubial arrangement, she had been informed of it by letter. Of course this had broken off the engagement, for Roberta would not live under a curse, nor would she tear a man from the only near relative he had in the world. Keswick himself, like most men, would have been willing to have this tearing take place for the sake of uniting himself to such a charming creature as Roberta March. But the lady on one side was as inflexible as the lady on the other, and the engagement was definitely and absolutely ended.

Mr Brandon considered all this as stuff and nonsense. He could not deny that his branch of the Brandons had certainly got a good deal out of Mrs Keswick's family. But here was a chance to make everything all right again, and he would be delighted to see Junius, a relative, although a distant one, come into possession of Midbranch. As for the old lady's opposition, that should not be considered at all, he thought. It was his opinion that her mind had been twisted by her bad temper, and nothing she could say could hurt anybody.

Of late Mr Brandon had been much encouraged by the fact that Junius had begun to resume his position as a friend of the family. This was all very well. If the young people, by occasional meetings, could keep alive their sentiments toward each other, the time would come when all opposition would cease, and the marriage would become an assured fact. He did not believe either of the young people would care enough for a post-mortem curse, if there should be one, to keep themselves separated from each other on its account for the rest of their lives.

But the recent quite unexpected return of Lawrence Croft to Midbranch, combined with the evident discomposure into which Roberta had been thrown by his failure to come the next day, had given the old gentleman some unpleasant ideas. His niece had mentioned that she expected Mr Croft that day, and although she said nothing in regard to her subsequent disappointment and vexation, his mind was quite acute enough to perceive it. Exactly what it all meant he knew not, but it augured danger. For the first time he began to look upon Mr Croft in the light of a suitor for Roberta. If a jealous feeling at finding another person on the ground was the cause of his not coming again, it showed that he was in earnest, and this, added to the evident disturbance of mind of both Roberta and Junius, was enough to give Mr Brandon most serious fears that an obstacle to his cherished plan was arising. Roberta was fond of city life, of society, of travel, and if she had really made up her mind that her union with Junius was no longer to be thought of, the advent of a man like Croft, who had been making her acquaintance all summer, and who had now returned to Virginia, no doubt for the sole purpose of seeing her again was, to say the least, exceedingly ominous. One thing only could correct this deplorable state of affairs. The absurd bar to the union of Junius and Roberta should be removed, and they should be allowed to enter upon the happiness that was their right.

Above all, the estate of Midbranch should not be suffered to go into the possession of an outsider, who might be good enough, but who was of no earthly moment or interest to the Brandons. He would go himself, and see the widow Keswick, and talk her out of her nonsense. It was a long time since he had met the old wild cat, as he termed her, and his recollection of the last interview was not pleasant, but he was not afraid of her, and he hoped that the common sense of what he would say would bring her to reason.

Mr Brandon made up his mind during the night; and when he came down to breakfast he was very glad to find that Junius had already gone out for a walk. The distance to the widow Keswick's house was about fifteen miles, a pleasant day's ride for the old gentleman, and as he did not expect to return until the next day, he felt obliged to inform Roberta of his destination, although, of course, he said nothing about the object of his visit. He told his niece that he was obliged to see the widow Keswick on business, to which remark she listened without reply.

Soon after breakfast he mounted his good horse, Albemarle, and early in the afternoon he arrived at the widow Keswick's gate. He had looked for a stormy reception, in which the thunder-bolts of rage should burst around him, and he was surprised, therefore, to be received with the frigidity of the North Pole.

"I never expected," she said, without any previous courtesy, "to see one of your people under my roof, and it is not very long ago since I would have gone away from it the moment any one of you came near it."

"I am happy, madam," said Mr Brandon, in his most courteous manner, "that that day is past."

"My staying won't do you any good," said the old lady, whose purple sun-bonnet seemed to heave with the uprisal of her hair, "except, perhaps, to get you a better meal than the servants would have given you. But I want a lawyer, and I can't afford to pay for one either, and when I saw you coming I just made up my mind to get something out of you, and if I do it, it'll be the first red mark for my side of the family."

Mr Brandon assured her that nothing would give him more pleasure than to assist her in any way in his power.

"Very well, then," said Mrs Keswick, "just sit down on that bench, and, when we have got through, your horse can be taken, and you can rest a while, though it seems a very curious thing that you should want to stop here to rest."

"Well, madam," said Mr Brandon, seating himself as comfortably as possible on a wooden bench, "I shall be happy to hear anything you have to say."

The old lady did not sit down, but stood up in front of him, leaning on her umbrella, with which faithful companion she had been about to set out on her walk. "When my son Junius came home a while ago—" she began.

"Do you still call him your son?" interrupted Mr Brandon.

"Indeed I do!" was the very prompt answer. "That's just what he is. And, as I was going to say, when he wrote me a short time ago that he was coming here, I believed, from his letter, that he had some scheme on hand in regard to your niece, and I made up my mind I wouldn't stay in the house to hear anything more said on that subject. I had told him that I never wanted him to say another word about it; and it made my blood boil, sir, to think that he had come again to try to cozen me into the vile compact."

"Madam!" exclaimed Mr Brandon.

"The next day," continued Mrs Keswick, "a lady arrived; and as soon as I saw her drive into the gate I felt sure it was Roberta March, and that the two had hatched up a plot to come and work on my feelings, and so I wouldn't come near the house."

"Madam!" exclaimed Mr Brandon, "how could you dream such a thing of my niece? You don't know her, madam."

"No," said the old lady, "I don't know her, but I knew she belonged to your family, and so I was not to be surprised at anything she did. But I found out I was mistaken. An old negro woman recognized this young person as the daughter of my younger sister you know there were three of us. The child was born and raised here, but I have not seen and have scarcely heard of her since she was eight years old."

"That's very extraordinary, madam," said Mr Brandon.

"No, it isn't, when you consider the stubbornness, the obstinacy, and the wickedness of some people. My sister sickened when the child was about six years old, and her husband, Harvey Peyton—"

"I have frequently heard of him, madam," said Mr Brandon.

"And I wish I never had," said she. "Well, he was travelling most of the time, a thing my sister couldn't do; but he came here then and stayed, off and on, till she died. And not long afterward, just because I told him that I intended to consider the child as my child, and that she should have the name of Keswick instead of his name, and should know me as her mother, and live with me always, he got angry and flared up, and actually took the child away. I gave it to him hot, I can tell you, before he left, and I never saw him again. He was so eaten up with rage because I wanted to take the little Annie for my own, that he filled her mind with such prejudices against me that when he died a year or two ago, she actually went to work to get her own living instead of applying to me for help. But now she has come down here, and I was really filled with joy to have her again and carry out the plan on which my heart had long been set—that is to marry her to her cousin Junius, and let them have this farm when I am gone,——?"

At this Mr Brandon raised his eyebrows, and lowered the corners of his mouth.

"But I suddenly discover," continued the old, lady, "that the little wretch is married—actually married."

At this Mr Brandon lowered his eyebrows and raised the corners of his mouth. "Did her husband come with her?" he asked, pleasantly. And he gave a few long, free breaths as if he had just passed in safety a very dangerous and unsuspected rock.

"No, he didn't," replied the old lady. "I don't know where he is, and, from what I can make out, he is an utterly good-for-nothing fellow, allowing his wife to go where she pleases, and take care of herself. Now this abominable marriage stands square in the way of the plan which again rose up in my mind the moment I heard that the girl was in my house. If Junius and she should marry, there would be no more dangers for me to look out for."

"But the existence of a husband," said Mr Brandon blandly, "puts an end to all thoughts of such an alliance."

"No it don't," said the old lady, bringing her umbrella down with force on the porch. "Not a bit of it. Such an outrageous marriage should not be suffered to exist. They should be divorced. He does nothing for her, and neglects and deserts her absolutely. There's every ground for a divorce, or enough grounds, at any rate. All that's necessary is for a lawyer to take it up. I don't know any lawyers, and when I saw you riding up from the road gate I said to myself: 'Here's the very man I want,—and it's full time I should get something from people who have taken nearly everything from me.'"

Mr Brandon bowed.

"And now," continued the old lady, "I am going to put the case into your hands. The man is, evidently, a good-for-nothing scoundrel, and has probably spent the little money that her miserable father left her. It's a clear case of desertion, and there should be no trouble at all in getting the divorce."

Mr Brandon looked down upon the floor of the porch, and smiled. This was a pretty case, he thought, to put into his hands. Here was a marriage which was the strongest protection in the promotion of his own plan, and he was asked to annul it. "Very good," thought Mr Brandon, "very good." And he smiled again. But he was an old-fashioned gentleman, and not used to refuse requests made to him by ladies. "I will look into it, madam," said he. "I will look into it, and see what can be done."

"Something must be done," said the old lady; "and the right thing too.
How long do you intend to stay here?"

"I thought of spending the night, madam, as my horse and myself are scarcely in condition to continue our journey to-day."

"Stay as long as you like," said Mrs Keswick. "I turn nobody from my doors, even if they belong to the Brandon family. I want you to talk to my niece, and get all you can out of her about this thing, and then you can go to work and blot out this contemptible marriage as soon as possible."

"The first thing," said Mr Brandon, "will be to talk to the lady."

This reply being satisfactory to Mrs Keswick, Uncle Isham was called to take the horse and attend to him, while the master was invited into the house.

Mr Brandon first met Mrs Null at supper time, and her appearance very much pleased him. "It is not likely," he said to himself, "that the man lives who would willingly give up such a charming young creature as this." They were obliged to introduce themselves to each other, as the lady of the house had not yet appeared. After a while Letty, who was in attendance, advised them to sit down as "de light bread an' de batter-bread was gittin' cole."

"We could not think of such a thing as sitting at table before Mrs
Keswick arrives," said Mr Brandon.

"Oh, dar's no knowin' when she'll come," said the blooming Letty. "She may be h'yar by breakfus time, but dar ain't nobuddy in dis yere worl' kin tell. She's down at de bahn now, blowin' up Plez fur gwine to sleep when he was a shellin' de cohnfiel' peas. An' when she's got froo wid him she's got a bone to pick wid Uncle Isham 'bout de gyardin'. 'Tain't no use waitin' fur ole miss. She nebber do come when de bell rings. She come when she git ready, an' not afore."

Mr Brandon now felt quite sure that it was the intention of his hostess not to break bread with one of his family, and so he seated himself, Mrs Null taking the head of the table and pouring out the tea and coffee.

"It has been a long time, madam, since you were in this part of the country," said the old gentleman, as he drew the smoking batter-bread toward him and began to cut it.

"Yes," said Mrs Null, "not since I was a little girl. I suppose you have heard, sir, that Aunt Keswick and my father were on very bad terms, and would not have anything to do with each other?"

"Oh, yes," said Mr Brandon, "I have heard that."

"But my father is not living now, and I am down here again."

"And your husband? He did not accompany you?" said Mr Brandon.

"No," replied Mrs Null, very quickly. "We were both very sorry that it was not possible for him to come with me."

Mr Brandon's spirits began to rise. This did not look quite like desertion. "I have no doubt you have a very good husband. I am sure you deserve such a one," he said with the air of a father, and the purpose of a lawyer.

"Good!" exclaimed Mrs Null, her eyes sparkling.

"He couldn't be better if he tried! Will you have sweet milk, or buttermilk?"

"Buttermilk, if you please," said Mr Brandon. "Of course your aunt was delighted to have you with her again."

"Oh," said Mrs Null, with a laugh, "she was not at home when I arrived, but when she returned nothing could be too good for me. Why, she had been here scarcely half an hour, and hadn't taken off her sun-bonnet, before she told me I was to marry Junius and we two were to have this farm."

"A very pleasant plan, truly," said Mr Brandon.

"But then, you see," continued the young girl, "Mr Null stood dreadfully in the way of such an arrangement; and when Aunt Keswick heard about him you can't imagine what a change came over her."

"Oh, yes I can; yes I can," exclaimed Mr Brandon—"I can imagine it very well."

"But she didn't give up a bit," said Mrs Null. "I don't think she ever does give up."

"You are right, there," said Mr Brandon, "quite right. But what does she propose to do?"

"I don't know, I'm sure; but she said I had no right to marry without the consent of my surviving relatives, and that she was going to look into it. I can't think what she means by that."

Mr Brandon made no immediate answer. He gave Mrs Null some damson preserves, and he took some himself, and then he helped himself to a great hot roll, from a plate that Letty had just brought in, and carefully opening it he buttered it on the inside, and covered one-half of it with the damson preserves. This he began slowly to eat, drinking at times from the foaming glass of buttermilk at the side of his plate, from which the coffee-cup had been removed. When he had finished the half roll he again spoke. "I think, my dear young lady, that your aunt is desirous of having your marriage set aside."

"How can she do that?" exclaimed the girl, her face flushing. "Has she been talking to you about it?"

"I cannot deny that she has spoken to me on the subject," he answered, "I being a lawyer. But I will say to you, in strict confidence, please, that if you and your husband are sincerely attached to each other there is nothing on earth she can do to separate you."

"Attached!" exclaimed Mrs Null. "It would be impossible for us to be more attached than we are. We never have had the slightest difference, even of opinion, since our wedding day. Why, I believe that we are more like one person than any married couple in the world."

"I am very glad to hear it," said Mr Brandon, finishing his buttermilk—"very glad indeed. And, feeling as you do, I am certain that nothing your aunt can say will make any impression on you in regard to seeking a divorce."

"I should think not!" said Mrs Null, sitting up very straight. "Divorce indeed!"

"I fully uphold you in the stand you have taken," said Mr Brandon. "But I beg you will not mention this conversation to your aunt. It would only annoy her. Is your cousin expected here shortly?"

"I believe so," she said. "To be sure, my aunt left the house the last time he came, but she has his address, and has written for him. I think she wants us to get acquainted as soon as possible, so that no time will be lost in marrying us after poor Mr Null is disposed of."

"Very good, very good," said Mr Brandon with a laugh. "And now, my dear young friend, I want to give you a piece of advice. Stay here as long as you can. Your aunt will soon perceive the absurdity of her ideas in regard to your husband, and will cease to annoy you. Make a friend of your cousin Junius, whom I know and respect highly; and he certainly will be of advantage to you. Above all things, endeavor to thoroughly reconcile him and Mrs Keswick, so that she will cease to oppose his wishes, and to interfere with his future fortune. If you can bring back good feeling between these two, you will be the angel of the family."

"Thank you," said Mrs Null, as they rose from the table.

The next morning, after Mr Brandon and Mrs Null had breakfasted together, the mistress of the house, having apparently finished the performance of the duties which had kept her from the breakfast-table, had some conversation with her visitor. In this he repeated very little of what he had said to the younger lady the night before, but he assured Mrs Keswick that he had discovered that it would be a very delicate thing to propose to her niece a divorce from her husband, a thing to which she was not at all inclined, as he had found.

"Of course not! of course not!" exclaimed Mrs Keswick. "She can't be expected to see what a wretched plight she has got herself into by marrying this straggler from nobody knows where."

"But, madam," said Mr Brandon, "if you worry her about it, she will leave you, and then all will be at an end. Now, let me advise you as your lawyer. Keep her here as long as you can. Do everything possible to foster friendship and good feeling between her and Junius; and to do this you must forget as far as possible all that has gone by, and be friendly with both of them yourself."

"Humph!" said the widow Keswick. "I didn't ask you for advice of that sort."

"It is all a part of the successful working of the case, madam," said Mr Brandon. "A thorough good feeling must be established before anything else can be done."

"I suppose so," said the old lady. "She must learn to like us before she begins to hate him. And how about your niece? Are you going to send her down here to help on in the good feeling?"

"I have not brought my niece into this affair," replied Mr Brandon, with dignity.

"Well, then, see that you don't," was the widow Keswick's reply. And the interview terminated.

When Mr Brandon rode away on his good horse Albemarle, he looked at the post of the road gate from which he was lifting the latch by means of the long wooden handle arranged for the convenience of riders, and said to himself: "John Keswick was a good man, but I don't wonder he came out here and shot himself. It is a great pity though that it wasn't his wife who did it, instead of him. That would have been a blessing to all of us. But," he added, contemplatively, as he closed the gate, "the people in this world who ought to blow out their brains, never do."

Soon after he had gone, Mrs Null went up Pine Top Hill, and sat down on the rock to have a "think." "Now, then, Freddy," she said, "everything depends on you. If you don't stand by me I am lost—that is to say, I must go away from here before Junius comes; and you know I don't want to do that. I want to see him on my account, and on his account too; but I don't want him crammed down my throat for a husband the moment he arrives, and that is just what will happen if you don't do your duty, Mr Null. Even if it wasn't for you, I don't want to look at him from the husband point of view, because, of course, he is a very different person from what he used to be, and is a total stranger to me.

"It is actually more than twelve years since I have seen him, and besides that, he is just as good as engaged to that niece of Mr Brandon's, who is a horrible mixture of a she-wolf and a female mule, if I am to believe Aunt Keswick, but I expect she is, truly, a very nice girl. Though, to be sure, she can't have much spirit if she consented to break off her marriage just on account of the back-handed benediction which Aunt Keswick told me she offered her as a wedding gift. If I had wanted to marry a man I would have let the old lady curse the heels off her boots before I would have paid any attention to her. Cursing don't hurt anybody but the curser.

"What I want of Junius is to make a friend of him, if he turns out to be the right kind of a person, and to tell him about this Mr Croft who is so anxious to find him. The only person I have met yet who seems like an ordinary Christian is old Mr Brandon, and he's a sly one, I'm afraid. Aunt Keswick thinks he stopped here on his way somewhere, but I don't believe a word of it. I believe he came for reasons of his own, and went right straight back again. You are almost as much to him, Freddy, as you are to me. It would have made you laugh if you could have seen how his face lighted up when he heard we were happy together, and that I would not listen to a divorce. And yet I am sure he has promised Aunt Keswick to see what he can do about getting one. He wants me to stay here and make friends of Aunt Keswick and Junius, but he wouldn't like that if it were not for you, Mr Null. You make everything safe for him.

"And now, Freddy, I tell you again, that all depends upon you. If I'm to stay here—and I want to do that, for a time any way, for although Aunt Keswick is so awfully queer, she's my own aunt, and that's more than I can say for anybody else in the world—you must stiffen up, and stand by me. It won't do to give way for a minute. If necessary you must take tonics, and have a steel rod down your back, if you can't keep yourself erect without it. You must have your legs padded, and your chest thrown out; and you must stand up very strong and sturdy, Freddy, and not let them push you an inch this way or that. And now that we have made up our minds on this subject, we'll go down, for it's getting a little cool on the top of this hill."

CHAPTER IX.

On the morning of her uncle's departure from Midbranch, Roberta came out on the porch, and took her seat in a large wooden arm-chair, putting down her key basket on the floor beside her. The day was bright and sunny, and the shadows of two or three turkey buzzards, who were circling in the air, moved over the field in front of the house. In this field also moved, not so fast, nor so gracefully as the shadows, two ploughs, one near by, and the other at quite a distance. The woods which shut out a great part of the horizon showed many a bit of color, but the scene, although bright enough in some of its tones, was not a cheering one to Roberta; and she needed cheering.

Had it not been for the delay of her father in making his winter visit to New York, she would now be in that city, but if things had gone on as she expected they would, she would have been perfectly satisfied to remain several weeks longer at Midbranch. Junius Keswick, who had not visited the house for a long time, had come to them again; and, now that the subject of love and marriage had been set aside, it was charming to have him there as a friend. They not only walked in the woods, but they took long rides over the country, Mr Brandon having waived his objections in regard to his niece riding about with gentlemen. She had even been pleased with the unexpected return of Lawrence Croft, for, for reasons of her own, she wished very much to have a talk with him. But he had not fulfilled his promise to her, and had gone away in a very unsatisfactory manner.

This morning she felt a little lonely, too, for Junius had left the place before breakfast, and she did not know where he had gone; and her uncle had actually ridden away to see that horrible widow Keswick, merely stating that his errand was a business one, and that he would be back the next day. Roberta knew that there had been a great deal of business, particularly that of an unpleasant kind, between the two families, but she did not believe that there was any ordinary affair concerning dollars and cents which would require the presence of her uncle at the house of his old enemy. She was very much afraid that he had gone there to try to smooth up matters in regard to Junius and herself. The thought of this made her indignant. She did not know what her uncle would say, and she did not want him to say anything. He could not make the horrible old creature change her mind in regard to the marriage, and if this was not done, there was no use discussing the matter at all, and she did not wish people to think she was anxious for the match.

It was plain, however, that her uncle's desire for it had experienced a strong revival; and the unexpected return of Lawrence Croft had probably had a great effect on him. He had not objected to the visits of that gentleman during the summer, but he had never shown any strong liking for him, and Roberta said to herself that she could not see, for her part, why this should be; Mr Croft was a thorough gentleman, an exceedingly well educated and agreeable man.

As to Junius, she was afraid that he had not the spirit which she used to think he possessed. There was something about him she could not understand. In former days, when Junius was in New York, she compared him with the young men there, very much to his advantage, but now Mr Croft seemed to throw him somewhat in the background. When Croft wanted to do anything he did it; even his failure to come to her when he said he would do so showed strength of will. If Junius had promised to come he would have come, even if he had not wanted to do so, and there would have been something weak about that.

While she thus sat thinking, and gazing over the landscape, she saw afar off, on a portion of the road which ran along-side the woods, a vehicle slowly making its way to the house. Roberta had large and beautiful eyes, but they were not of the kind which would enable her to discover at so great a distance what sort of vehicle this was, and who was in it. As the road led nowhere but to Midbranch she was naturally desirous to know who was coming. She stepped into the hall, and, taking a small bell, rang it vigorously, and in a moment her youthful handmaiden, Peggy, appeared upon the scene. Peggy's habit of projecting her eyes into the far away could often be turned to practical account for her vision was, in a measure, telescopic.

"What is that coming here along the road?" asked Miss Roberta, stepping upon the porch, and pointing out the distant vehicle.

Peggy stood up straight, let her arms hang close to her sides, and looked steadfastly forth. "Wot's comin', Miss Rob," said she, "is the buggy 'longin' to Mister Michaels, at de Springs, an' his ole mud-colored hoss is haulin' it. Dem dat's in it is Mahs' Junius an' Mister Crof'."

"Are you sure of that?" exclaimed Miss Roberta in astonishment. "Look again."

"Yaas'm," replied Peggy. "I's sartin shuh. But dey jes gwine behin' de trees now."

The road was not again visible for some distance, but when the buggy reappeared Peggy gave a start, and exclaimed: "Dar's on'y one pusson in it now, Miss Rob."

"Which is it?" exclaimed her mistress quickly, shading her eyes, and endeavoring to see for herself.

"It's Mister Crof'," said Peggy. "Mahs' Junius mus' done gone back."

"It is too bad!" exclaimed Miss Roberta. "I will not see him. Peggy," she said, snatching up the key basket, and stepping toward the hall door, "when that gentleman, Mr Croft, comes, you must tell him that I am up-stairs lying down, that I am not well, and cannot see him, and that your Master Robert is not at home."

"Ef Mahs' Junius come, does you want me to tell him de same thing?"

"But you said he was not in the buggy," said her mistress.

"No'm," answered Peggy, "but p'raps he done cut acrost de plough fiel', an' git h'yar fus'."

"If he comes first," said Miss Roberta, a shade of severity pervading her handsome features, "I want to see him." And with this, she went up-stairs.

Peggy, with her shoes on, possessed the stolid steadiness of a wooden grenadier, for the heaviness of the massive boots seemed to permeate her whole being, and communicated what might be considered a slow and heavy footfall to her intellect. Peggy, without shoes, was a panther on two legs, and her mind, like her body, was capable of enormous leaps. Slipping off her heavy brogans, she made a single bound, and stood upon the railing of the porch, and, throwing her arm around a post, gazed forth from this point of vantage.

"Bress my eberlastin' soul!" she exclaimed, "if Mister Crof ain't got ter de road gate, and is a waitin' dar fur somebody to come open it! Does he think anybody gwine to see him all de way from de house, and come open de gate? Reckin' he don' know dat ole mud-color hoss. He mought git out and let down de whole fence, an' dat ole hoss ud nebber move. Bress my soul moh' p'intedly! ef Mahs' Junius ain't comin' 'long ter open de gate!"

For a few moments Peggy stood and stared, her mind not capable of grasping this astounding situation. "No, he ain't nudder!" she presently exclaimed with an air of relief. "Mahs' Junius done tole him dat ef he want dat gate open he better git down and open it hese'f. Dat's right Mahs' Junius! Stick up to dat! Dar go Mahs' Junius into de woods an' Mister Crof' he git out, an' go after him. Dey's gwine to fight, sartin, shuh! Lordee! wot fur dey 'low dem bushes ter grow 'long de fence to keep folks from seein' wot's gwine on!"

There was nothing now to be seen from the railing, and Peggy jumped down on the porch. Her activity seemed to pervade her being. She ran down the front steps, crossed the lawn, and mounted the stile. Here she could catch sight of the two men who seemed to be disputing. This was too much for Peggy. If there was to be a fight she wanted to see it; and, apart from her curiosity, she had a loyal interest in the event. Down the steps, and along the road she went at the top of her speed, and soon reached the gate. Her arrival was not noticed by any one except the mud-colored horse, who gazed at her inquiringly; and looking through the bars, without opening the gate, Peggy had a good view of the gentlemen.

The situation was a more simple one than Peggy had imagined. The road, for the last half mile, had been an up-hill one, and Keswick, as much to stretch his own legs as to save those of the horse, had alighted to walk, while Lawrence, as in duty bound, had waited for him at the gate. Here a little argument had arisen. Keswick, who did not wish to be at the house, or indeed about the place while Roberta was having her conference with Mr Croft, had said that he had concluded not to go up to the house at present, but would take a walk through the woods instead. Lawrence, who thought he divined his reason, felt an honorable indisposition to accept this advantage at the hands of a man who was, most indisputably, his rival. If they went together it would not appear as if he had waited for Keswick's absence to return; and there would still be no reason why he should not have his private walk and talk with Miss March.

At all events, it seemed to him unfair to leave Keswick at the gate while he went up to the house by himself, and the notion of it did not please him at all. Keswick, however, was very resolute in his opposition. He objected even to seeing Roberta and Croft together. He thought, besides, if he and Croft came to the house at the same time it would appear very much as if he, Junius, had brought the other, and this was an appearance he wished very much to avoid. He had walked away, and Lawrence had jumped from the buggy to continue the friendly argument which was not finished when Peggy arrived. Almost immediately after this event Keswick positively insisted that he would go for a walk, and Lawrence reluctantly turned toward the vehicle.

Peggy's mind was filled with horror. Master Junius had been frightened away, and the other man was coming up to the house! She could not stand there and allow such a catastrophe. Jerking open the gate, she rushed into the road and confronted Keswick.

"Mahs' Junius," she exclaimed, "Miss Rob's orful sick wid her back an' her j'ints, an' she say she can't see no kump'ny folks, an' Mahs' Robert he done gone away to see ole Miss Keswick. I jes run down h'yar to tell you to hurry up."

Keswick started. "Where did you say your Master Robert had gone?"

"To ole Miss Keswick's. He went dis mawnin'."

Junius turned slightly pale, and addressing Mr Croft, said: "Something very strange must have happened here! Miss March is ill, and Mr Brandon has gone to a place to which I think nothing but a matter of the utmost importance could take him."

"In that case," said Mr Croft, "it will be highly improper for me to go to the house just now. I am very glad that I heard the news before I got there. I will return to the Springs, and will call to-morrow and inquire after Miss March's health. Do not let me detain you as your presence is evidently much needed at the house."

"Thank you," said Keswick, hurriedly shaking hands with him. "I am afraid something very unexpected has happened, and so beg you will excuse me. Good-morning." And passing through the gateway, he rapidly strode toward the house, while Lawrence prepared to turn his horse's head toward the Springs.

But, although Junius Keswick walked rapidly, Peggy, who had started first for the house, kept well in advance of him. Away she went, skipping, running, dancing. Once she stopped and turned, and saw that the buggy, with the mud-colored horse, was being driven away, and that Master Junius was coming along the road to the house. Then she started off, and ran steadily, the rapid show of the light-colored soles of her feet behind her suggestive of a steamer's wake. Up the broad stile she went, two steps at a time, and down the other side in a couple of jumps; a dozen skips took her across the lawn; and she bounded up to the porch as if each wooden step had been a springing board. She rushed up-stairs, and stood at the open door of Miss Roberta's room where that lady reclined upon a lounge.

"Hi', Miss Rob!" she exclaimed, involuntarily snapping her fingers as she spoke. "Mahs' Junius comin', all by hese'f, an' I done sent de udder gemman clean off, kitin'!"

CHAPTER X.

Junius Keswick was received by Miss Roberta in the parlor. Her face was colder and sterner than he had ever seen it before, and his countenance was very much troubled. Each wished to speak first, and ask questions, but the lady went immediately to the front.

"How did it happen that you and Mr Croft were coming here together?
Where had you been?"

"We came from the Green Sulphur Springs, where I called on him this morning."

"I thought he was obliged to return immediately to the North. What made him change his mind?"

"Perhaps it will be better not to discuss that now," said Junius.

"I wish to discuss it," was the reply. "What induced him not to go?"

"I did," answered Junius, looking steadfastly at her. "Did you not wish to see him?"

For a moment Miss Roberta did not answer, but her face grew pale, and she threw herself back in the chair in which she was sitting. "Never in my life," she said, "have I been subjected to such mortification! Of course I wished him to come, but to come of his own accord, and not at my bidding. How do you suppose I would have felt if he had presented himself, and asked me what I wished to say to him? It is an insult you have offered me."

"It is not an insult," said Keswick quietly. "It was a service of—of affection. I saw that you were annoyed and troubled by Mr Croft's failure to keep his engagement, and what I did was simply—"

"Stop!" said Roberta peremptorily. "I do not wish to talk of it any more."

Junius stood before her a moment in silence, and then he said: "Will you tell me if my Aunt Keswick is ill or dead, and why did Mr Brandon go there?"

"She is neither;" answered Roberta, "and he went there on business." And with this she arose and left the room.

Peggy, who had been in the hall, now made a bolt down the back stairs into the basement regions, where was situated the kitchen. In this spacious apartment she found Aunt Judy, the cook, sitting before a large wood fire, and holding in her hand a long iron ladle. There was nothing near her which she could dip or stir with a ladle, and it was probably retained during her period of leisure as a symbol of her position and authority.

Peggy squatted on her heels, close to Aunt Judy's side, and thus addressed her: "Aun' Judy, ef I tell you sumfin', soul an' honor, hope o' glory, you'll neber tell?"

"Hope o' glory, neber!" said Aunt Judy, turning a look of interest on the girl.

"Well, den, look h'yar. You know Miss Rob she got two beaux; one is
Mahs' Junius, an' de udder is de gemman wid de speckle trousers from de
Norf."

"Yes, I know dat," said Aunt Judy. "Has dey fit?"

"Not yit, but dey wos gwine to," said Peggy, "but I seed 'em, an' I tore down de road to de gate whar dey wos gittin ready to fight, an' I jes' let dat dar Mister Crof' know wot low-down white trash Miss Rob think he wos, an' den he said ef dat war so 'twant no use fur to come in, an' he turn' roun' de buggy, an' cl'ar'd out. Den Mahs' Junius he come to de house, an' dar Miss Rob in de parlor waitin' fur him. I stood jes' outside de doh', so's to be out de way, but Mahs' Junius he kinder back agin de doh', an' shet it. But I clap'd my year ter de crack, an' I hear eberything dey said."

"Wot dey say?" asked Aunt Judy, her mouth open, her eyes dilated, and the long ladle trembling in her hand.

"Mahs' Junius he say to Miss Rob that he lub her better'n his own skin, or de clouds in de sky, or de flowers in de fiel' wot perish, an' dat de udder man he done cut an' run, an' would she be Miss Junius all de res' ob der libes foreber an' eber, amen?"

"Dat wos pow'ful movin'!" ejaculated Aunt Judy. "An' wot did Miss Rob say?"

"Miss Rob she say, 'I 'cept your kind offer, sah, wid pleasure.' An' den
I hearn 'em comin', an' I cut down h'yar."

"Glory! Hallelujah!" exclaimed Aunt Judy, bringing her ladle down upon the brick hearth. "Now is I ready to die when my time comes, fur Mahs' Junius 'll have dis farm, an' de house, an' de cabins, an' dey won't go to no strahnger from de Norf."

"Amen," said Peggy. "An' Aun' Judy, dat ar piece ob pie ain't no 'count to nobuddy."

"You kin hab it, chile," said Aunt Judy, rising, and taking from a shelf a large piece of cold apple pie, "an' bressed be de foots ob dem wot fotch good tidin's."

Junius Keswick did not see Miss Roberta again that day, and early in the morning he borrowed one of the Midbranch horses, and rode away. He did not wish to be at the house when Mr Croft should come; and, besides, he was very anxious and disturbed in regard to matters at the Keswick farm. Of all places in the world why should Mr Brandon go there?

It was not a very pleasant ride that Junius Keswick took that morning. He had anxieties in regard to what he would meet with at his aunt's house, and he had even greater anxieties as to what he was leaving behind him at Midbranch. It was quite evident that Roberta was angry with him, and this was enough to sadden the soul of a man who loved her as he loved her, who would have married her at any moment, in spite of all opposition, all threats, all curses. He was not in the habit of looking at himself after the manner of Lawrence Croft, but on this occasion he could not help a little self-survey.

Was it a purely disinterested motive he asked himself, that took him over to the Springs to bring back Lawrence Croft? Did he not believe in his soul that Roberta would never have spoken so freely to him in regard to what the gentleman from the North would probably say to her if she had not intended to decline that gentleman's offer? And was there not a wish in his heart that this matter might be definitely and satisfactorily settled before Roberta and Mr Croft went to New York for the winter? He could not deny that this issue to the affair had been in his mind; and yet he felt that he could conscientiously assure himself that if he had thought things would turn out otherwise, he still would have endeavored to make the man perform the duty expected of him by Roberta, in whose service Junius always felt himself to be. But, apparently, he had not benefited himself or anybody else, except, perhaps, Croft, by this service which he had performed.

It was late in the forenoon when Junius met Mr Brandon returning to Midbranch. In answer to his expressions of surprise, Mr Brandon, who appeared in an exceptionally good humor, informed Junius of his reasons for the visit to the widow Keswick, and what he had found when he arrived there.

"Your little cousin," said he, "is a most charming young creature, and on interested motives I should oppose your going to your aunt's house, were it not for the fact that she is married, and, therefore, of no danger to you. I was very glad to find her there. Her influence over your aunt will, I think, be highly advantageous, and the first fruit of it is that the old lady will now welcome you with open arms. Would you believe it! she has already announced that she wishes to make a match between you and this little cousin; and in order to do so, has actually engaged me to endeavor to bring about a divorce between the young lady and her absent husband. The widow Keswick has as many cranks and crotchets in her head as there are seeds in a tobacco pod; but this is the queerest and the wildest of them all. The couple seem very much attached to each other, and nothing can be said against the husband except that he did not accompany his wife on her visit to her relatives; and if he knew anything about the old lady I don't blame him a bit. Now your course, my dear boy, is perfectly plain. Let your aunt talk as much as she pleases about this divorce, and your union with the little Annie. It won't hurt anybody, and she must talk herself out in time. In the mean time take advantage of the present circumstances to mollify and tone down, so to speak, the good old lady. Make her understand that we are all her friends, and that there is no one in the connection who would wish to do her the slightest harm. This would be our Christian duty at any time, but it is more particularly our duty now. I would like you to bring your cousin over to see us before Roberta goes away. I invited her to come, and told her that my niece would first call upon her were it not for the peculiar circumstances. But if the families can be in a measure brought together—and I shall make it a point to ride over there occasionally—if your aunt can be made to understand the kindly feelings we really have toward her, and can be induced to set aside, even in a slight degree, the violent prejudice she now holds against us, all may yet turn out well. Now go, my boy, and may the best of success go with you. Don't trouble yourself about sending back the horse. Keep him as long as you want him."

Mr Brandon rode on, leaving Junius to pursue his way. "It is very pleasant," thought the young man, who had said scarcely a word during the interview, "to hear Mr Brandon talk about all turning out well, but when he gets home he may discover that there is something to be done at Midbranch as well as on the Keswick place."

Mr Brandon's reflections were very different from those of Junius. It appeared to him that a reconciliation between the two families, even though it should be a partial one, was reasonably to be expected. That newly arrived cousin was an angel. She was bound to do good. A marriage between his niece and Junius Keswick was the great object of the old gentleman's heart, and he longed to see the former engagement between them re-established before Roberta went to New York, where her beauty and attractiveness would expose his cherished plan to many dangers.

The road he was on led directly north, and it was joined about a quarter of a mile above by the road which ran through the woods to the Green Sulphur Springs. On this road, at a point nearly opposite to him, he could see, through the foliage, a horseman riding toward the point of junction. Something about this person attracted his attention, and Mr Brandon took out a pair of eye-glasses and put them on. As soon as he had obtained another good view of the horseman he recognized him as Mr Croft. The old gentleman took off his glasses and returned them to his vest pocket, and his face began to flush. In his early acquaintance with Mr Croft he had not objected to him, because he wished his niece to have company, and he had a firm belief in the enduring quality of her affection for Junius. But, latterly, his ideas in regard to the New York gentleman had changed. He had thought him somewhat too assiduous, and when he had unexpectedly returned from the North, Mr Brandon had not been at all pleased, although he had been careful not to show his displeasure. This condition of things made him feel uneasy, and had prompted his visit to the widow Keswick. And now that everything looked so fair and promising, here was that man, whom he had supposed to have left this part of the country, riding toward his house.

Mr Brandon was an easy-going man, but he had a backbone which could be greatly stiffened on occasion. He sat up very straight on his horse, and urged the animal to a better pace, so that he arrived first at the point where the roads met. Here he awaited Mr Croft, who soon rode up. The old gentleman's greeting was very courteous.

"You are on the way to my house, I presume," he said.

Mr Croft assured him that he was, and hoped that Miss March was quite well.

"I have been from home for a little while," said Mr Brandon, "but I believe my niece enjoys her usual health. I have had a long ride this morning," he continued, "and feel a little tired. Would it inconvenience you, sir, if we should dismount and sit for a time on yonder log by the roadside? It would rest me, and I would like to have a little talk with you."

Lawrence wondered very much that the old gentleman should want to rest when he was not a mile from his own house, but of course he consented to the proposed plan, and imitated Mr Brandon by riding under a large tree, and fastening his bridle to a low-hanging bough. The two gentlemen seated themselves on the log, and Mr Brandon, without preface, began his remarks.

"May I be pardoned for supposing, sir," he said, "that your present visit to my house is intended for my niece?"

Lawrence looked at him a little earnestly, and replied that it was so intended.

"Then, sir, I think I have the right to ask, as my niece's present guardian, and almost indeed as her father, whether or not your visit is connected in any way with matrimonial overtures toward that lady?"

Not wishing to foolishly and dishonorably deny that such was his purpose in going to Midbranch; and feeling that it would be as unwise to decline answering the question as it would be unmanly to resort to subterfuge about it, Lawrence replied, that his object in visiting Miss March that day was to make matrimonial overtures to her.

"I think," said Mr Brandon, "that you will be obliged to me if I make you acquainted with the present condition of affairs between Miss March and Mr Junius Keswick."

"Has not their engagement been broken off?" interrupted Lawrence.

"Only conditionally," answered the old gentleman. "They love each other. They wish to be married. With one exception, all their relatives desire that they should marry. It would be a union, not only congenial in the highest degree to the parties concerned, but of the greatest advantage to our family and our family fortunes. There is but a single obstacle to this most desirable union, and that is the unwarrantable opposition of one person. But, I am happy to say that this opposition is on the point of being removed. I consider it to be but a matter of days when my niece and Mr Keswick, with the full approbation of the relatives on either side, will renew in the eyes of the world that engagement which I consider still exists in fact."

"If this is so," said Lawrence, grinding his heel very deeply into the ground, "why was I not told of it?"

"My dear sir!" exclaimed Mr Brandon, "have you ever intimated to me or to any of my family, that your intentions in visiting Midbranch were other than those of an ordinary friend or acquaintance?"

Lawrence admitted that he had never made any such intimation.

"Then, sir," said Mr Brandon, "what reason could we have for mentioning this subject to you—a subject that would not have been referred to now, had it not been for your admission of your intended object in visiting my house?"

Lawrence had no answer to make to this, but it was not easy to turn him from his purpose. "Excuse me, sir," he said, "but I think a matter of this sort should be left to the lady. If she is not inclined to receive my addresses she will say so, and there is an end of it."

The face of Mr Brandon slightly reddened, but his voice remained as quiet and courteous as before. "You do not comprehend, sir, the state of affairs, or you would see that a procedure of that kind would be extremely ill-judged at this time. Were it known that at this critical moment Miss March was addressed by another suitor, it would seriously jeopardize the success of plans which we all have very much at heart."

Lawrence did not immediately reply to this crafty speech. His teeth were very firmly set, and he looked steadfastly before him. "I do not understand all this," he said, presently, "nor do I see that there is any need for my understanding it. In fact I have nothing to do with it. I wish to propose marriage to Miss March. If she declines my offer there is an end of the matter. If she accepts me, then it is quite proper that all your plans should fall to the ground. She is the principal in the affair, and it is due to her and due to me that she should make the decision in this case."

Mr Brandon had not quite so many teeth as his younger companion, but the very fair number which remained with him were set together quite as firmly as those of Lawrence had been. He remarked, speaking very distinctly but without any show of emotion: "I see, sir, that it is quite impossible for us to think alike on this subject, and there is, therefore, nothing left for me to do but to ask you—and I assure you, sir, that the request is as destitute of any intention of discourtesy as if it were based upon the presence of sickness or family affliction—that you will not visit my house at present."

Lawrence rose to his feet with a good deal of color in his face. "That settles the matter for the present," he said. "Of course I shall not go to a house which is forbidden to me. I wish you good-morning, sir." And he stalked to his horse, and endeavored to pull down the limb to which its bridle was attached.

Mr Brandon followed him. "You must mount before you can unfasten your bridle," he said. "And allow me to assure you, sir, that as soon as this little affair is settled I shall be very happy indeed to see you again at my house."

Lawrence having succeeded in loosening his bridle from the tree, made answer with a bow, and galloped away to the Green Sulphur Springs.

Mr Brandon now mounted and rode home. This was the first time in his life that he had ever forbidden any one to visit Midbranch, and yet he did not feel that he had been either discourteous or inhospitable. "There are times," he said to himself, "when a man must stand up for his own interest; and this is one of the times."

CHAPTER XI.

In the little dining-room of the cottage at the Green Sulphur Springs sat that evening Lawrence Croft, a perturbed and angry, but a resolute man. He had been quite a long time coming to the conclusion to propose to Roberta March, and now that he had made up his mind to do so, even in spite of certain convictions, it naturally aroused his indignation to find himself suddenly stopped short by such an insignificant person as Mr Brandon, a gentleman to whom, in this affair, he had given no consideration whatever. The fact that the lady wished to see him added much to his annoyance and discomfiture. He had no idea what reason she had for desiring an interview with him, but, whatever she should say to him, he intended to follow by a declaration of his sentiments. He had not the slightest notion in the world of giving up the prosecution of his suit; but, having been requested not to come to Midbranch, what was he to do? He might write to Miss March, but that would not suit him. In a matter like this he would wish to adapt his words and his manner to the moods and disposition of the lady, and he could not do this in a letter. When he wooed a woman, he must see her and speak to her. To any clandestine approach, any whispered conversation beneath her window, he would give no thought. Having been asked by the master of the house not to go there, he would not go; but he would see her, and tell his love. And, more than that, he would win her.

That morning, while waiting for the time to approach when it would be proper for him to go to Midbranch, he had been reading in a bound volume of an old English magazine, which was one of the five books the cottage possessed, an account of a battle which had interested him very much. The commander of one army had massed his forces along and below the crest of a line of low hills, the extreme right of his line being occupied by a strong force of cavalry. The army opposed to him was much stronger than his own, and it was not long before the battle began to go very much against him. His positions on the left were carried by the combined charge of the larger portion of the enemy's forces, and, in spite of a vigorous resistance, his lines were forced back, down the hill, and into the valley. It was quite evident he could make no stand, and was badly beaten. Thereupon, he sent orders to his generals on the left to retreat, in as good order as possible, across a small river in their rear. While this movement was in progress, and the enemy was making the greatest efforts to prevent it, the commander put himself at the head of his cavalry and led them swiftly from the scene of battle. He took them diagonally over the crest of the hill, down the other side, and then charging with this fresh body of horse upon the rear and camp of the enemy, he swiftly captured the general-in-chief, his staff, and the Minister of War, who had come down to see how things were going on. With these important prisoners he dashed away, leaving the acephalous enemy to capture his broken columns if he could.

This was the kind of thing Lawrence Croft would like to do. For an hour or more he puzzled his brains as to how he should make such a cavalry charge, and at last he came to a determination; he would ask Junius Keswick to assist him. There was something odd about this plan which pleased Croft. Keswick was his rival, with the powerful backing of Mr Brandon and a whole tribe of relatives, and it might naturally be supposed that he was the last man in the world of whom he would ask assistance. But, looking at it from his point of view, Lawrence thought that not only would he be taking no undue advantage of the other in asking him to help him in this matter, but that Keswick ought not and would not object to it. If Miss March really preferred Croft, Keswick should feel himself bound in honor to do everything he could to let the two settle the affair between themselves. This was drawing the point very fine, but Lawrence persuaded himself that if the case were reversed he would not marry a girl who had not chosen another man, simply because she had had no opportunity of doing so. He had a strong belief that Keswick was of his way of thinking, and before he went to bed he wrote his rival a note, asking him to call upon him the following day.

Early the next morning the note was carried over to Midbranch by a messenger, who returned, saying that Mr Keswick had gone away, and that his present address was Howlett's in the same county. This piece of information caused Lawrence Croft to open his eyes very wide. A few days before he had received a letter from Mrs Null, written at Howlett's, and now Keswick had gone there. He had been very much surprised when he found that the cashier had so successfully carried on the search for Keswick as to come into the very county in Virginia where he was; and he intended to write to her that he had no further occasion for her services; but he had not done so, and here were the pursuer and the pursued in the same town, or village, or whatever Howlett's was. He gave Mrs Null credit for being one of the best detectives he had ever heard of; for, apparently, she had not only been able to successfully track the man she was in search of, but to find out where he was going, and had reached the place in question before he did. But he also berated her soundly in his mind for her over-officiousness. He had not wished her to swoop down upon the man, but only to inform him of his whereabouts. The next thing that would probably happen would be the appearance of Mrs Null at the Green Sulphur Springs, holding Keswick by the collar. He deeply regretted that he had ever intrusted this young woman with the investigation, not because he had since met Keswick himself, but for the reason that she was entirely too energetic and imprudent. If Keswick should find out from her that she had been in search of him, and why, it might bring about a very unpleasant state of affairs.

Croft saw now, quite plainly, what he must do. He must go to Howlett's as quickly as possible. Perhaps Keswick and the cashier had not yet met, and, in that case, all he would have to do would be to remunerate the young woman and her husband—for she had informed him that she intended to combine this business with a wedding tour—and send them off immediately. He could then have his conference with Keswick there as well as at the Springs. If any mischief had already been done, he did not know what course he might have to pursue, but it was highly necessary for him to be on the spot as soon as possible. He greatly disliked to leave the neighborhood of Roberta March, but his absence would only be temporary.

After an early dinner, he mounted the horse which he had hired from his host of the Springs, and, with a valise strapped behind him, set out for Howlett's. He had made careful inquiries in regard to the road, and after a ride somewhat tiresome to a man not used to such protracted horseback exercise, arrived at his destination about sundown. When he reached the scattered houses which formed, as he supposed, the outskirts of the village, for such he had been told it was, he rode on, but soon found that he had left Howlett's behind him, and that those supposed outskirts were the place itself. Hewlett's was nothing, in fact, but a collection of eight or ten houses quite widely separated from each other, and the only one of them which exhibited any public character whatever, was the store, a large frame building standing a little back from the road. Turning his horse, Lawrence rode up to the store and inquired if there was any house in the neighborhood where he could get lodging for the night.

The storekeeper, who came out to him, was a very little man whose appearance recalled to Croft the fact that he had noticed, in this part of the State, a great many men who were extremely tall, and a great many who were extremely small, which peculiarity, he thought, might assist a physiologist in discovering the different effects of hot bread upon different organizations. He was quite as cordial, however, as the biggest, burliest, and jolliest host who ever welcomed a guest to his inn, as he informed Mr Croft that there was no house in the village which made a business of entertaining strangers, but if he chose to stop with him he would keep him and his horse for the night, and do what he could to make him comfortable.

Lawrence ate supper that night with the storekeeper, his wife, and five of his children; but as he was very hungry, and the meal was a plentiful one, he enjoyed the experience.

"I suppose you're goin' on to Westerville in the mornin'?" said the little host.

"No," replied Croft, "I am not going any farther than this place. Do you know if a gentleman named Keswick arrived here recently?"

"Why, yaas," said the man, "if you mean Junius Keswick."

"Certainly he did," said Mrs Storekeeper. "He rode through here yesterday, and he stopped at the store to see if we had any of that Lynchburg tobacco he used to smoke when he lived here. He's gone on to his aunt's."

"Where is that?" asked Croft.

"It's about two miles out on the Westerville road," said the little man. "If I'd knowed you wanted to see him, I'd 'a told you to keep right on, and you could 'a stopped with Mrs Keswick over night."

Lawrence wished to ask some questions about Mrs Null, but he was afraid to do so lest he might excite suspicions by connecting her with Keswick. If the latter had gone two miles out of town, perhaps she had not yet seen him.

The room in which Lawrence slept that night was to him a very odd one. It was a long apartment, at one end of which was a clean, comfortable bed, a couple of chairs, and a table on which was a basin and pitcher. At the other end were piles of new-looking boxes, containing groceries of various kinds, rolls of cotton cloth and other dry goods, and, what attracted his attention more than anything else, a vast number of bright tin cans, bearing on their sides brilliant pictures of tomatoes, peaches, green corn, and other preservable eatables. These were evidently the reserved stores of the establishment, and they were so different from the bedroom decorations to which he was accustomed, that it quite pleased Lawrence to think that with all his experience in life he was now lodged in a manner entirely novel to him. As he lay awake looking at the moonlight glittering on the sides of the multitude of cans, the thought came into his mind that this had probably been the room of the Nulls when they were here.

"As this is the only house in the place where travellers are entertained," he said to himself, "of course they must have come to it. And as they are not here now, it is quite plain that they must have gone away. I am very glad of it, especially if they left before Keswick arrived, for their departure probably prevented an awkward situation. But I shall ask the storekeeper no questions about these people. There is no better way of giving inquisitive folk the entrée to your affairs than by asking questions. Of course there was no reason why they should stay here after they had successfully traced Keswick to this part of the country; and every reason, if they wanted to enjoy themselves, why they should go away. But I can't help being sorry that I did not meet the young woman, and have an opportunity of paying her for her trouble, and giving her a few words of advice in regard to her action, or, rather, non-action in this matter. She has a fine head for business, but I should like to feel certain that she understands that her business with me is over."

And he turned his eyes from the glittering cans, and slept.

The next morning, Lawrence Croft rode on to Mrs Keswick's house, and when he reached the second, or inner gate, he saw, on the other side of it, an elderly female, wearing a purple sun-bonnet and carrying a purple umbrella. There was something very eccentric about the garb of this elderly personage, and many an inexperienced city man would have taken her for a retired nurse, or some other domestic retainer of the family, but there was a steadfastness in her gaze, and a fire in her eye, which indicated to Lawrence that she was one much more accustomed to give orders than to take them. He raised his hat very politely, and asked if Mr Keswick was to be found there.

If the commander of the army, about whom Mr Croft had recently been reading, had beheld in the earlier stages of the battle a strong, friendly force advancing to his aid, he would not have been more delighted than Lawrence would have been had he known what a powerful ally to his cause stood beneath that purple sun-bonnet.

"Do you mean Junius Keswick?" said the old lady.

"Yes, madam," answered Croft.

"He is here, and you will find him at the house."

The gate was partly open, and Lawrence rode in. The old lady stepped aside to let him pass.

"Do you want to see him on business?" she said. "How did you know he was here?"

"I inquired at Howlett's, madam."

Mrs Keswick would have liked to ask some further questions, but there was something about Lawrence's appearance that deterred her.

"You can tie your horse under that tree over there," she said, pointing to a spot more trampled by hoofs than the old lady wished any other portion of her house-yard to be.

When Lawrence had tied his bridle to a hook suspended by a strap from one of the lower branches of the indicated tree, he advanced to the house; and a very much astonished man was he to see, sitting side by side on the porch, Junius Keswick and Mr Candy's cashier. They were seated in the shade of a mass of honeysuckle vines, and were so busily engaged in conversation that they had not perceived his approach. Even now Lawrence had time to look at them for a few moments before they turned their eyes upon him.

Equally astonished were the two people on the porch, who now arose to their feet. Junius Keswick naturally wondered very much why Mr Croft should come to see him here; and as for the young lady, she was almost as much terrified as surprised. Had this man come down from New York to swoop upon her cousin? Had it been possible that she could have given him any idea of the whereabouts of Junius? In her last note to him she had been very careful to promise information, but not to give any, hoping thus to gain time to get an insight into the matter, and to keep her cousin out of danger, if, indeed, any danger threatened. But here the pursuer had found Junius in less than a day after she had first met him herself. But when she saw Junius advance and shake hands in a very friendly way with Mr Croft, her terror began to decrease, although her surprise continued at the same high-water mark, and Keswick found himself in a flood of the same emotion when Croft very politely saluted his cousin by name, which salutation was returned in a manner which indicated that the parties were acquainted.

At first Croft had been prompted to ignore all knowledge of the cashier, and meet her as a stranger, but his better sense prevented this, for how could he know what she had been saying about him.

"I was about to introduce you to my cousin," said Keswick, "but I see that you already know each other."

"I have had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Null in New York," said Lawrence, to whom the word cousin gave what might be called a more important surprise than anything with which this three-sided interview had yet furnished its participants. He gave a quick glance at the lady, and discovered her very steadfastly gazing at him. "I hope," he said, "that you and your husband have had a very pleasant trip."

"Mr Null did not come with me," she quietly replied.

Lawrence Croft was a man to whom it gave pleasure to deal with problematic situations, unexpected developments, and the like; but this was too much of a conundrum for him. That the man, whose address he had employed this girl to find out, should prove to be her cousin, and that she should start on her bridal trip without her husband, were points on which his reason had no power to work. One thing, however, he quickly determined upon. He would have an interview with Madam Cashier, and have her explain these mysteries. She was, virtually, his agent, and had no right to conceal from him what she had been doing, and why she had done it.

It was necessary, however, that he should waste no time in thoughts of this kind, but should immediately state to Mr Keswick the reason of his visit; for it could not be supposed he had called in a merely social way. "I wish to speak to you," he said, "on a little matter of business."

At these words Mrs Null excused herself, and went into the house. Her mind was troubled as she wondered what the business was which had made this New York gentleman so extraordinarily desirous to find her cousin. Was it anything that would injure Junius? She looked back as she entered the door, but the object of her solicitude was sitting with a face so calm and composed that it showed very plainly he did not expect any communication which would be harmful to him.

"It is a satisfaction," thought Mr Croft, "a very great satisfaction that I can enter upon the object of my visit knowing that my affairs and my actions have not been discussed by this gentleman and Mrs Null."

CHAPTER XII.

Old Mrs Keswick would willingly have followed the strange gentleman to the house in order to know the object of his visit, but as he had come to see Junius she refrained, for she knew her nephew would not like any appearance of curiosity on her part. Her reception of Junius had been very different indeed from that she had previously accorded him when she declined to be found under the same roof with him. Now he was here under very different auspices, and for him the very plumpest poultry was slain, and everything was done to make him comfortable and willing to stay and become acquainted with his cousin, Mrs Null. A match between these two young people was the present object of the old lady's existence, and she set about making it with as much determination and confidence as if there had been no such person as Mr Null. Of this individual she had the most contemptible opinion. She had never asked many questions about him, because, in her intercourse with her niece, she wished, as far as possible, to ignore him. Having mentally pictured him in various mean conditions of life, she had finally settled it in her mind that he was an agent for some patent fertilizer; a man of this kind being a very obnoxious person to her. This avocation, however, constituted in the old lady's mind no excusable reason for his protracted absence; and if ever a wife was deserted, she believed that her niece Annie was such a wife.

"If he should stay away much longer," she said to herself, "we shall have no more trouble in getting a divorce than to have his funeral sermon preached. And if there is any talk of his coming here, or of her going to him, I'll put my foot down on that sort of thing, if I've a foot left to do it with."

When she had first perceived the approach of Mr Croft, a fear had seized her that this might be the recreant husband, but the gentlemanly appearance of the stranger soon dispelled this idea from her prejudiced mind. Apart from the fact that she had no business at the house with her nephew's visitor, she had positive business in the garden with old Uncle Isham, and there she repaired. There was some work to be done in regard to a flower pit, in which some of her choicest plants were to be domiciled during the winter, and this she wished personally to oversee. Although the autumn was well advanced, the day was somewhat warm; and as the pair, whom Mr Croft had seen on the porch, had been glad to shelter themselves in the shade of the honeysuckle vines, so Mrs Keswick seated herself on a little bench behind a large arbor, still covered by heavy vines, which stood on the boundary line between the garden and the front yard, and opened on the latter. This bench, which was always shady in the morning, she had had placed there that she might comfortably direct the labors of old Isham, the boy Plez, or whoever, for the time being, happened to be her gardener.

Mr Croft did not immediately begin the statement of the business which had brought him to see Junius Keswick. Several windows of the house opened on the porch, and he did not wish what he had to say to be heard by any one except the person he was addressing. "I desire to talk to you on some private matters," he said. "Could we not walk a little away from the house?"

"Certainly," said Junius, rising. "We will step over to that arbor by the garden. We shall be quite comfortable and secluded there. This is the place," said Junius, as they seated themselves in the arbor, "where, when a boy, I used to come to smoke. My aunt did not allow this diversion, but I managed to do a good deal of puffing before I was found out."

"Then you used to live here?" asked Croft.

"Oh, yes," said Keswick, "my parents died when I was quite a little fellow, and my aunt had charge of me until I had grown up."

"Was that your aunt whom I met at the gate? There was something about her bearing and general appearance which greatly interested me."

"She is a most estimable lady," returned Junius. And not wishing further to discuss his relative, he added: "And now, what is it, sir, that I can have the pleasure of doing for you?"

"The matter regards Miss March," said Croft.

"I presumed so," remarked the other. "I will state it as briefly as possible," continued Croft. "In consequence of your visit to me at the the Springs, I set out, the day before yesterday, to make another attempt to call on Miss March, the first one having been frustrated, as you may remember, by the information we received at the gate in regard to Miss March's indisposition, which, as I have heard nothing more of it, I hope was of no importance."

"Of none whatever," said Junius.

"When I was within a mile or so of Midbranch," continued Croft, "I met Mr Brandon, who requested me not to come to his house, and, in fact, to cease my visits altogether."

"What!" cried Keswick, very much surprised. "That is not at all like Mr
Brandon. What reason could he have for treating you in such a manner?"

"The very best in the world," said Croft. "Having, as the guardian of his niece, asked me the object of my visit to Miss March, and, having been informed by me that it was my intention to propose matrimony to the lady, he requested that I would not visit at his house." "On what ground did he base his objection to your visit?" asked Keswick.

"He made no objection to me; he simply stated that he did not desire me to come, because he wished his niece to marry you."

"Quite plainly spoken," remarked Keswick.

"Nothing could be more so," replied Croft. "I could not expect any one to be franker with me than he was. He went on to inform me that a match between the lady and yourself was greatly desired by the whole family connection, with a single exception, which, however, he did not name, and, while he gave me to understand that he had no reason to fear that, so far as the lady was concerned, my proposal would interfere with your prospects, still, were it known that there was another aspirant in the field, a very undesirable state of things might ensue. What this state of affairs was he did not state, but I presume it had something to do with the exceptional opposition to which he referred."

"And what did you say to all that?" asked Junius.

"I said very little. When a man asks me not to come to his house, I don't go. But, nevertheless, I have fully made up my mind to propose to Miss March as soon as I can get an opportunity. I have nothing to do with family arrangements or family opposition. You have told me that you are not engaged to her, and I am going to try to be engaged to her. She is the one to decide this matter. And now I have called upon you, Mr Keswick, to see if there is any way in which you can assist me in obtaining an interview with Miss March."

"Don't you think," said Junius, "that it is rather cool in you to ask me to assist you in this matter?"

"Not at all," replied the other. "If it had not been for you I should now be in New York, with no thought of present proposals of marriage. But you came to me, and insisted that I should see the lady." "That was simply because she had expressed a strong desire to see you."

"Very good," said Lawrence. "I tried to go to her, as you know, and was prevented. Now all I ask of you is to help me to do what you so strongly urged me to do. There is nothing particularly cool in that, I think."

Keswick did not immediately reply. "I am not sure," he said, "that Miss
March still wishes to see you."

"That may be," replied Croft, speaking a little warmly. "None of us exactly know what she thinks or wishes. But I want to find out what she thinks about me by distinctly asking her. And I should suppose you would consider it to your advantage, as well as mine, that I should do so." "I have my own opinion on that point," said Keswick, "which it is not necessary to discuss at present. If I were to assist you to an interview with Miss March it would be on the lady's account, not on yours or mine. But apart from the fact that I do not know if she now desires an interview, I would not do anything that would offend or annoy Mr Brandon."

"I don't ask that of you," said Croft, "but couldn't you use your influence with him to give me a fair chance with the lady? That is all I ask, and, whether she accepts me or rejects me, I am sure everybody ought to be satisfied."

Keswick smiled. "You don't leave any margin for sentiment," he said, "but I suppose it is just as well to deal with this matter in a practical way. I do not think, however, that any influence I can exert on Mr Brandon would induce him to allow you to address his niece if he is opposed to it, and I am sure he would have a very strange opinion of me if I attempted such a thing. At present I do not see that I can help you at all, but I will think over the matter, and we will talk of it again."

"Thank you," said Croft, rising. "And when shall I call upon you to hear your decision?"

It was rather difficult for Junius Keswick to answer a question like this on the spur of the moment. He arose and walked with Croft out of the arbor. His first impulse, as a Virginia gentleman, was to invite his visitor to stay at the house until the matter should be settled, but he did not know what extraordinary freak on the part of his aunt might be caused by such an invitation. But before he had decided what to say, they were met by Mrs Keswick coming from the garden. Junius thereupon presented Mr Croft, who was welcomed by the old lady with extended hand and exceeding cordiality.

"I am very glad," she said, "to meet a friend of my nephew. But where are you going, Sir? Certainly not toward your horse. You must stay and dine with us."

Lawrence hesitated. He had no claims on the hospitality of these people, but he wished very much to have an opportunity to speak to Mrs Null. "Thank you," he said, "but I am staying down here at the village, and it is but a short ride." "Staying at Hewlett's?" exclaimed Mrs Keswick. "At which hotel, may I ask?"

Lawrence laughed. "I am stopping with the storekeeper," he said.

"That settles it!" said the old lady, giving her umbrella a jab into the ground. "Tom Peckett's accommodations may be good enough for pedlers and travelling agents, but they are not fit for gentlemen, especially one of my nephew's friends. You must stay with us, sir, as long as you are in this neighborhood. I insist upon it." Junius was very much astonished at his aunt's speech and manner. The old lady was not at all inhospitable; so far was it otherwise the case, that, rather than deprive an objectionable visitor of the shelter of her roof, she would go from under it herself; but he had never known her to "gush" in this manner upon a stranger. He now felt at liberty, however, to obey his own impulses, and urged Mr Croft to stay with them.

"You are very kind, indeed," said Lawrence, "and I shall be glad to defer for the present my return to my 'hotel.' This will give me the additional pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with Mrs Null."

"What!" exclaimed Mrs Keswick, "do you know her, too? And to think of you stopping at Peckett's! Your home, sir, while you stay in these parts, is here."

Before the three reached the house, Mrs Keswick had inquired how long Mr Croft had known her niece; and had discovered, much to her disappointment, that he had never met Mr Null. Shortly after the arrival at the house of the gentleman on horseback little Plez ran into the kitchen, where Letty was engaged in preparing vegetables for dinner.

"Who d'ye think is done come?" he exclaimed. "Miss Annie's husband! Jes' rid up to de house."

"Dat so?" cried Letty, dropping into her lap the knife and the potato she was peeling. "Well, truly, when things does happen in dis worl' dey comes all in a lump. None ob de fam'ly been nigh de house for ebber so long; an' den, 'long comes Mahs' Junius hisse'f, an' Miss Annie dat's been away sence she was a chile, an' ole Mr Brandon, wot Uncle Isham say ain't been h'yar fur years and years, an' now Miss Annie's husband comes kitin' up! An' dar's ole Aun' Patsy wot says dat if dat gemman ebber come h'yar she want to know it fus' thing. She was dreffle p'inted about dat. An' now, look h'yar, you Plez, jus' you cut round to your Aun' Patsy's, an' tell her Miss Annie's husband's done come."

"Whar ole Miss?" inquired Plez. "She 'sleep?"

"No, she mighty wide awake," said Letty. "But you take dem knives an' dat board an' brick, an' run down to de branch to clean 'em. An', when you gits dar, you jus' slip along, 'hind de bushes, till you's got ter de cohn fiel', an' den you cut 'cross dar to Aun' Patsy's. An' don' you stop no time dar, fur if ole Miss finds you's done gone, she'll chop you up wid dem knives."

Plez was quite ready for a reckless dash of this kind, and in less than twenty minutes old Patsy was informed that Mr Null had arrived. The old woman was much affected by the information. She was uneasy and restless, and talked a good deal to herself, occasionally throwing out a moan or a lament in the direction of her "son Tom's yaller boy Bob's chile." The crazy quilt, which was not yet finished, though several pieces had been added since we last saw it, was laid aside; and by the help of the above mentioned great granddaughter the old hair trunk was hauled out and opened. Over this hoard of treasures, Aunt Patsy spent nearly two hours, slowly taking up the various articles it contained, turning them over, mumbling over them, and mentally referring many of them to periods which had become historic. At length she pulled out from one of the corners of the trunk a pair of very little blue morocco shoes tied together by their strings. These she took into her lap, and, shortly afterward, had the trunk locked, and pushed back into its place. The shoes, having been thoroughly examined through her great iron-bound spectacles, were thrust under the mattress of her bed.

That evening, Uncle Isham stepped in to see the old woman, who was counteracting the effects of the cool evening air by sitting as close as possible to the remains of the fire which had cooked the supper. She was very glad to see him. She wanted somebody to whom she could unburden her mind. "Wot you got to say 'bout Miss Annie's husband," she asked, "wot done come to-day?"

"Was dat him?" exclaimed the old man. "Nobody tole me dat."

This was true, for the good-natured Letty, having discovered the mistake that had been made, had concluded to say nothing about it and to keep away from Aunt Patsy's for a few days, until the matter should be forgotten.

"Well, I spec Miss Annie's mighty glad to git him back agin," continued the old man, after a moment's reflection. "He's right much of a nice lookin' gemman. I seed him this ebenin' a ridin' wid Mahs' Junius."

"P'raps Miss Annie is glad," said the ole woman, "coz she don' know. But
I ain't."

"Wot's de reason fur dat?" inquired Isham.

"It's a pow'ful dreffle thing dat Miss Annie's husband's done come down h'yar. He don' know ole miss."

"Wot's de matter wid ole miss?" asked Isham, in a quick tone.

"She done talk to me 'bout him," said the old woman. "She done tole me jus' wot she think of him. She hate him from he heel up. I dunno wot she'll do to him now she got him. Mighty great pity fur pore Miss Annie dat he ever come h'yar."

"Ole miss ain't gwine ter do nuffin' to him," said Isham, in a gruff and troubled tone.

"Don' you b'lieve dat," said Aunt Patsy. "When ole miss don' like a pusson, dat pusson had better look out. But I ain't gwine to be sottin' h'yar an' see mis'ry comin' to Miss Annie."

"Wot you gwine to do?" asked Isham.

"I's gwine ter speak my min' to ole miss. I's gwine to tell her not to do no kunjerin' to Miss Annie's husban'. She gwine to hurt dat little gal more'n she hurt anybody else."

Old Isham sat looking into the fire with a very worried and anxious expression on his face. He was intensely loyal to his mistress, aware as he was of her short-comings, or rather her long-goings. Although he felt a good deal of fear that there might be some truth in Aunt Patsy's words, he was very sure that if she took it upon herself to give warning or reproof to old Mrs Keswick, a storm would ensue; and where the lightning would strike he did not know. "You better look out, Aun' Patsy," he said. "You an' ole miss been mighty good fren's fur a pow'ful long time, an' now don' you go gittin' yourse'f in no fraction wid her, jus' as you' bout to die."

"Ain't gwine to die," said the old woman, "till I done tole her wot's on my min'."

"Aun' Patsy," said Uncle Isham, after gazing silently in the fire for a minute or two, "dar was a brudder wot come up from 'Melia County to de las' big preachin', an' he tole in his sarment a par'ble wot I b'lieve will 'ply fus rate to dis 'casion. I's gwine to tell you dat."

"Go 'long wid it," said Aunt Patsy.

"Well, den," said Isham, "dar was once a cullud angel wot went up to de gate ob heaben to git in. He didn't know nuffin' 'bout de ways ob de place, bein' a strahnger, an' when he see all de white angels a crowdin' in at de gate where Sent Peter was a settin', he sorter looked round to see if dar warn't no gate wot he might go in at. Den ole Sent Peter he sings out: 'Look h'yar, uncle, whar you gwine? Dar ain't no cullud gal'ry in dis 'stablishment. You's got to come in dis same gate wid de udder folks.' So de cullud angel he come up to de gate, but he kin' a hung back till de udders had got in. Jus' den 'long comes a white angel on hossback, wot was in a dreffle hurry to git in to de gate. De cullud angel, he mighty p'lite, an' he went up an' tuk de hoss, an' when de white angel had got down an' gone in, he went roun' lookin' fur a tree to hitch him to. But when he went back agin to de gate, Sent Peter had jus' shet it, and was lockin' it up wid a big padlock. He jus' looks ober de gate at de cullud angel an' he says: 'No 'mittance ahfter six o'clock.' An' den he go in to his supper."

"An' wot dat cullud angel do den?" asked Eliza, who had been listening breathlessly to this narrative.

"Dunno," said Isham, "but I reckin de debbil come 'long in de night an' tuk him off. Dar's a lesson in dis h'yar par'ble wot 'ud do you good to clap to your heart, Aun' Patsy. Don' you be gwine roun' tryin' to help udder people jus' as you is all ready to go inter de gate ob heaben. Ef you try any ob dat dar foolishness, de fus' thing you know you'll find dat gate shet."

"Is dat your 'Melia County par'ble?" asked the old woman.

"Dat's it," answered Isham.

"Reckon dat country's better fur 'bacca dan fur par'bles," grunted Aunt
Patsy.

CHAPTER XIII.

Lawrence Croft had no idea of leaving the neighborhood of Howlett's until Keswick had made up his mind what he was going to do, and until he had had a private talk with Mrs Null; and, as it was quite evident that the family would be offended if a visitor to them should lodge at Peckett's store, he accepted the invitation to spend the night at the Keswick house; and in the afternoon Junius rode with him to Howlett's, where he got his valise, and paid his account.

But no opportunity occurred that day for a tête-a-tête with Mrs Null. Keswick was with him nearly all the afternoon; and in the evening the family sat together in the parlor, where the conversation was a general one, occasionally very much brightened by some of the caustic remarks of the old lady in regard to particular men and women, as well as society at large. Of course he had many opportunities of judging, to the best of his capacity, of certain phases of character appertaining to Mr Candy's cashier; and, among other things, he came to the conclusion that probably she was a young woman who would get up early in the morning, and he, therefore, determined to do that thing himself, and see if he could not have a talk with her before the rest of the family were astir.

Early rising was not one of Croft's accustomed habits, but the next morning he arose a good hour before breakfast time. He found the lower part of the house quite deserted, and when he went out on the porch he was glad to button up his coat, for the morning air was very cool. While walking up and down with his hands in his pockets, and looking in at the front door every time he passed it, in hopes that he might see Mrs Null coming down the stairs, he was greeted with a cheery "good morning," by a voice in the front yard. Turning hastily, he beheld Mrs Keswick, wearing her purple sun-bonnet, but without her umbrella.

"Glad you like to be up betimes, sir," said she. "That's my way, and I find it pays. Nobody works as well, and I don't believe the plants and stock grow as well, while we are asleep."

Lawrence replied that in the city he did not get up so early, but that the morning air in the country was very fine.

"And pretty sharp, too," said Mrs Keswick. "Come down here in the sunshine, and you will find it pleasanter. Step back a little this way, sir," she said, when Lawrence had joined her, "and give me your opinion of that locust tree by the corner of the porch. I am thinking of having it cut down. Locusts are very apt to get diseased inside, and break off, and I am afraid that one will blow over some day and fall on the house." Lawrence said he thought it looked like a very good tree, and it would be a pity to lose the shade it made.

"I might plant one of another sort," said the old lady, "but trees grow too slow for old people, though plenty fast enough for young ones. I reckon I'll let it stand awhile yet. You were talking last night of Midbranch, sir. There used to be fine trees there, though it's many years since I've seen them. Have you been long acquainted with the family there?"

Lawrence replied that he had known Miss March a good while, having met her in New York.

"She is said to be a right smart young lady," said Mrs Keswick, "well educated, and has travelled in Europe. I am told that she is not only a regular town lady, but that she makes a first-rate house-keeper when she is down here in the country."

Lawrence replied that he had no doubt that all this was very true.

"I have never seen her," continued the old lady, "for there has not been much communication between the two families of late years, although they used to be intimate enough. But my nephew and niece have been away a great deal, and old people can't be expected to do much in the way of visiting. But I have a notion," she said, after gazing a few moments in a reflective way at the corner of the house, "that it would be well now to be a little more sociable again. My niece has no company here of her own sex, except me, and I think it would do her good to know a young lady like Miss March. Mr Brandon has asked me to let Annie come there, but I think it would be a great deal better for his niece to visit us. Mrs Null is the latest comer."

Lawrence, speaking much more earnestly than when discussing the locust tree, replied that he thought this would be quite proper.

"I think I may invite her to come here next week," said Mrs Keswick, still meditatively and without apparent regard to the presence of Croft, "probably on Friday, and ask her to spend a week. And, by the way, sir," she said, turning to her companion, "if you are still in this part of the country I would be glad to have you ride over and stay a day or two while Miss March is here. I will have a little party of young folks in honor of Mrs Null. I have done nothing of the kind for her, so far."

Lawrence said he had no doubt that he would stay at the Green Sulphur a week or two longer, and that he would be most happy to accept Mrs Keswick's kind invitation.

They then moved toward the house, but, suddenly stopping, as if she had just thought of something, Mrs Keswick remarked: "I shall be obliged to you, sir, if you will not say anything about this little plan of mine, just now. I have not spoken of it to any one, having scarcely made up my mind to it, and I suppose I should not have mentioned it to you if we had not been talking about Midbranch. There is nothing I hate so much as to have people hear I am going to give them an invitation, or that I am going to do anything, in fact, before I have fully made up my mind about it."

Lawrence assured her that he would say nothing on the subject, and she promised to send him a note to the Green Sulphur, in case she finally determined on having the little company at her house.

"Now," triumphantly thought Croft, "it matters not what Keswick decides to do, for I don't need his assistance. An elderly angel in a purple sun-bonnet has come to my aid. She is about to do ever so much more for me than I could expect of him, and I prefer her assistance to that of my rival. Altogether it is the most unexpected piece of good luck."

After breakfast there came to Lawrence the opportunity of a private conference with Mrs Null. He was standing alone on the porch when she came out of the door with her hat on and a basket in her hand, and said she was going to see a very old colored woman who lived in the neighborhood, who was considered a very interesting personage; and perhaps he would like to go there with her. Nothing could suit Croft better than this, and off they started.

As soon as they were outside the yard gate the lady remarked: "I have been trying hard to give you a chance to talk to me when the others were not by. I knew you must be perfectly wild to ask me what this all meant; why I never told you that Mr Keswick was my cousin, and the rest of it." "I can't say," said Lawrence, "that I am absolutely untamed and ferocious in regard to the matter, but I do really wish very much that you would give me some explanation of your very odd doings. In fact, that is the only thing that now keeps me here."

"I thought so," said Mrs Null. "As I supposed you had got through with your business with Junius, I did not wish to detain you here any longer than was necessary."

"Thank you," said Lawrence.

"You are welcome," she said. "And when I saw you standing on the porch by yourself, the idea of being generous to old Aunt Patsy came into my mind. And here we are. Now, what do you want to know first?"

"Well," said Mr Croft, "I would like very much to know how a young lady like you came to be Mr Candy's cashier."

"I supposed you would want to know that," she said. "It's a dreadfully long story, and as it is a strictly family matter I had almost made up my mind last night that I ought not to tell it to you at all, but as I don't know how much you are mixed up with the family, I afterward thought it best, for my own sake, to explain the matter to you. So I will give you the principal points. My mother was a sister of Mrs Keswick, and Junius' mother was another sister. Both his parents died when he was a boy, and Aunt Keswick brought him up. My mother died here when I was quite small, and I stayed until I was eight years old. Aunt Keswick and my father were not very good friends, and when she came to look upon me as entirely her own child, and wished to deprive him of all rights and privileges as a parent, he resented it very much, and, at last, took me away. I don't remember exactly how this was done, but I know there was a tremendous quarrel, and my father and aunt never met again.

"He took me to New York; and there we lived very happily until about two years ago, when my father died. He was a lawyer by profession, but at that time held a salaried position in a railroad company, and when he died, of course our income ceased. The money that was left did not last very long, and then I had to decide what I was to do. It would have been natural for me to go to my only relatives, Aunt Keswick and Junius. But my father had been so opposed to my aunt having anything to do with me that I could not bear to go to her. He had really been so much afraid that she would try to win me away from him, or in some way gain possession of me, that he would not even let her know our address, and never answered the few letters from her which reached him, and which he told me were nothing but demands that her sister's child should be given back to her. Junius had written to me, how many times I do not know, but two letters had come to me that were very good and affectionate, quite different from my aunt's, but even these my father would not let me answer; it would be all the same thing, he said, as if I opened communication with my Aunt Keswick. Therefore, out of respect to my father, and also in accordance with my own wishes, I gave up all idea of coming down here, and went to work to support myself. I tried several things, and, at last, through a friend of my father, who was a regular customer of Mr Candy, I got the position of cashier in the Information Shop. It was an awfully queer place, but the work was very easy, and I soon got used to it. Then you came making inquiries for an address. At first I did not know that the person you wanted was Junius Keswick and my cousin, but after I began to look into the matter I found that it must be he who you were after. Then I became very much troubled, for I liked Junius, who was the only one of my blood whom I had any reason to care for; and when one sees a person setting a detective—for it is all the same thing—upon the track of another person, one is very apt to think that some harm is intended to the person that is being looked up. I did not know what business Junius was in, nor what his condition was, but even if he had been doing wrong, I did not wish you to find him until I had first seen him, and then, if I found you could do him any harm, I would warn him to keep out of your way."

"Do you think that was fair treatment of me?" asked Croft.

"You were nothing to me, and Junius was a great deal," she answered. "And yet I think I was fair enough. The only money you paid was what Mr Candy charged; and when I spoke of receiving money for my services when the affair was finished I only did it that it might all be more business like, and that you should not drop me and set somebody else looking after Junius. That was the great thing I was afraid of, so I did all I could to make you satisfied with me."

"I don't see how your conscience could allow you to do all this," said
Croft.

"My conscience was very much pleased with me," was the answer. "What I did was a stratagem, and perfectly fair too. If I had found that it was right for you to see Junius, I would have done everything I could to help you communicate with him. But when I did at last see him, down you swooped upon us before I had an opportunity of saying a word about you."

"Your marriage was a very fortunate thing for you," said Mr Croft, "for if it had not been for that I should never have allowed you to go about the country looking up a gentleman in my behalf. But how did you get over your repugnance to your aunt?"

"I didn't get over it," she said, "I conquered it, for I found that this was the most likely place to meet Junius. And Aunt Keswick has certainly treated me in the kindest manner, although she is very angry about Mr Null. But when I first came and she did not know who I was, she behaved in the most extraordinary manner."

"What did she do?" asked Croft.

"Never you mind," she answered, with a little laugh. "You can't expect to know all the family affairs."

They had now arrived at Aunt Patsy's cabin, and Mrs Null entered, followed at a little distance by Croft. The old woman had seen them as they were walking along the road, and her little black eyes sparkled with peculiar animation behind her great spectacles. Her granddaughter happened not to be at home, but Aunt Patsy got up, and with her apron rubbed off the bottoms of two chairs, which she placed in convenient positions for her expected visitors. When they came in they found her in a very perturbed condition. She answered Mrs Null's questions with a very few words and a great many grunts, and kept her eyes fixed nearly all the time upon Mr Croft, endeavoring to find out, perhaps, if he had yet been subjected to any kind of conjuring.

When all the questions which young people generally put to old servants had been asked by Mrs Null, and Croft had made as many remarks as might have been expected of him in regard to the age and recollections of this interesting old negress, Aunt Patsy began to be much more disturbed, fearing that the interview was about to come to an end. She actually got up and went to the back door to look for Eliza.

"Do you want her?" anxiously inquired Mrs Null, going to the old woman's side.

"Yaas, I wants her," said Aunt Patsy. "I 'spec' she at Aggy's house—dat cabin ober dar—but I can't holler loud 'nuf to make her h'yere me." "I'll run over there and tell her you want her," said Mrs Null, stepping out of the door.

"Dat's a good chile," said Aunt Patsy, with more warmth than she had yet exhibited. "Dat's your own mudder's good chile!" And then she turned quickly into the room.

Croft had risen as if he were about to follow Mrs Null, or, at least, to see where she had gone. But Aunt Patsy stopped him. "Jus' you stay h'yar one little minute," she said, hurriedly. "I got one word to say to you, sah." And she stood up before him as erect as she could, fixing her great spectacles directly upon him. "You look out, sah, fur ole miss," she said, in a voice, naturally shrill, but now heavily handicapped by age and emotion, "ole Miss Keswick, I means. She boun' to do you harm, sah. She tole me so wid her own mouf."

"Mrs Keswick!" exclaimed Croft. "Why, you must be mistaken, good aunty.
She can have no ill feelings towards me."

"Don' you b'lieve dat!" said the old woman. "Don' you b'lieve one word ob dat! She hate you, sah, she hate you! She not gwine to tell you dat. She make you think she like you fus' rate, an' den de nex' thing you knows, she kunjer you, an' shribble up de siners ob your legs, an' gib you mis'ry in your back, wot you neber git rid of no moh'. Can't tell you nuffin' else now, for h'yar comes Miss Annie," she added hurriedly, and, stepping to the bedside, she drew from under the mattrass a pair of little blue shoes, tied together by their strings. "Jes' you take dese h'yar shoes," she said, "an' ef eber you think ole miss gwine ter kunjer you, jes' you hol' up dem shoes right afore her face. Dar now, stuff 'em in your pocket. Don' you tell Miss Annie wot I done say to you. 'Member dat, sah. It ud kill her, shuh."

At this moment Mrs Null entered, just as the shoes had been slipped into the side-pocket of Mr Croft's coat by the old woman. And as she did so, she whispered, in a tone that could not but have its effect upon him, "Now, nebber tell her, honey."

"Here is Eliza," said Mrs Null, as she came in, followed by the great granddaughter. "And I think," she said to Mr Croft, "it is time for us to go. Good-bye, Aunt Patsy. You can send back the basket by Eliza."

When the two left the cabin, Croft walked thoughtfully for a few moments, wondering what in the world the old woman could have meant by her strange words and gift to him. Concluding, however, that they could have been nothing but the drivelings of weak-minded old age, he dismissed them from his mind and turned his attention to his companion. "We were speaking," he said, "of Mr Null. Do you expect him shortly?"

"Well, no," said the lady. "I can't say that I do."

"That is odd," said Lawrence. "I thought this was your wedding journey."

"So it is, in a measure," said she, "but there is no necessity of his coming here. Didn't I tell you that my aunt was opposed to the marriage?" "But she might as well make up her mind to it now," he said.

"She is not in the habit of making up her mind to things she don't like. Do you know," she added, looking around with a half smile, as if she took pleasure in astonishing him, "that Aunt Keswick is going to try to have us divorced?"

"What!" exclaimed Croft. "Divorced! Is there any ground for it?"

"She has other matrimonial plans for me, that's all."

"What an extraordinary individual she must be!" he exclaimed. "But she can never carry out such a ridiculous scheme as that."

"I don't know," she said. "She has already consulted Mr Brandon on the subject."

"What nonsense!" cried Croft. "If you and Mr Null are satisfied, nobody else has anything to do with it."

"Mr Null and I are of one mind," said she, "and agree perfectly. But don't you think it is a terrible thing to know you must always face an irritated aunt?"

"Oh," said Croft, looking around at her very coldly and sternly, "I begin to see. I suppose a separation would improve your prospects in life. But it can't be done if your husband is opposed to it."

"Mr Croft," said the lady, her face flushing a good deal, "you have no right to speak to me in that way, and attribute such motives to me. No matter whom I had married, I would never give him up for the sake of money, or a farm, or anything you think my aunt could give me."

"I beg your pardon," said Croft, "if I made a mistake, but I don't see what else I could infer from your remarks."

"My remarks," said she, "were,—well, they have a different meaning from what you supposed." She walked on in silence for a few moments, and then, looking up to her companion, she said: "I have a great mind to tell you something, if you will promise, at least for the present, not to breathe it to a living soul."

Instantly the lookout on the bow of Lawrence Croft's life action called out: "Breakers ahead!" and almost instantly its engine was stopped, and every faculty of its commander was on the alert. "I do not know," he said, "that I am entitled to your confidence. Would it be of any advantage to you to tell me what you propose?"

"It would be of advantage, and you are entitled," she added quickly. "It is about Mr Null, and you ought to know it, for you instigated my wedded life."

"I instigated!"—exclaimed Mr Croft. And then he stopped short, both in his speech and walk.

"Yes," said the lady, stopping also, and turning to face him, "you did, and you ought to remember it. You said if I had a husband to travel about with me you would like very much to employ me in the search for Mr Keswick, and it was solely on that account that I went and got married." Observing the look of blank and utter amazement on his face, she smiled, and said: "Please don't look so horribly astonished. Mr Null is void."

As she made this remark the lady looked up at her companion with a smile and an expression of curiosity as to how he would take the announcement. Lawrence gazed blankly at her for a moment, and then he broke into a laugh. "You don't mean to say," he exclaimed, "that Mr Null is an imaginary being?"

"Entirely so," she replied. "My dear Freddy is nothing but a fanciful idea, with no attribute whatever except the name."

"You are a most extraordinary young person," said Lawrence; "almost as extraordinary as your aunt. What in the world made you think of doing such a thing? and why do you wish to keep up the delusion among your relatives, even so far as to drive your aunt to the point of getting you divorced from your airy husband?" And he laughed again. "I told you how I came to think of it," she said, as they walked on again. "It was very plain that if I wanted to travel about as your agent I must be married, and I have found a husband quite a protection and an advantage, even when he doesn't go about with me; and as to keeping up the delusion, as you call it, in my own family, I have found that to be absolutely necessary, at least for the present. My aunt, even when I was a little girl, determined to take my marriage into her own hands; and since I have returned to her, this desire has come up again in the most astonishing way. It is her principal subject of conversation with me. Were it not for the protection which my dear Freddy Null gives me I should be thrown bodily into the arms of the person whom my aunt has selected, and he would be obliged to take me, whether he wanted to or not, or be cast forth forever. So you see how important it is that my aunt should think I am married; and I do hope you will not tell anybody about Mr Null."

"Of course I will keep your secret," said Croft. "You may rely upon that; but don't you think—do you believe that this sort of thing is altogether right?"

She did not answer for a few moments, and then she said: "I suppose you must consider me a very deceptive sort of person, but you should remember that these things were not done for my own good, and, as far as I can see, they were the only things that could be done. Do you suppose I was going to let you pounce down on my cousin and do him some injury, for, as you kept your object such a secret, I did not suppose it could be anything but an injury you intended him."

"A fine opinion of me!" said Croft.

"And then, do you suppose," she continued, "that I would allow my aunt to quarrel with Junius and disinherit him, as she says she will, should he decline to marry me. I expected to drop my married name when I came here, but I had not been with my aunt fifteen minutes before I saw that it would never do for me to be a single woman while I stayed with her; and so I kept my Freddy by me. I did not intend, at all, to tell you all these things about my cousin, and I only did it because I did not wish you to think that I was a sly, mean creature, deceiving others for my own good."

"Well," said Croft, "although I can't say you are right in making your relatives believe you are married when you are not, still I see you had very fair reasons for what you did, and you certainly showed a great deal of ingenuity and pluck in carrying out your remarkable schemes. By-the-way," he continued, somewhat hesitatingly, "I am in your debt for your services to me."

"Not a bit of it!" she exclaimed quickly. "I never did a thing for you. It was all for myself, or, rather, for my cousin. The only money due was that which you paid to Mr Candy before I took charge of the matter." Lawrence felt that this was rather a sore subject with his companion, and he dropped it. "Do you still hold the position of cashier in the Information Shop?"

"No," she said. "When I started out on my lonely wedding tour I gave up that, and if I should go back to New York, I do not think I should want to take it again.".

"Do you propose soon to return to New York?" he asked.

"No; at least I have made no plans in regard to it. I think it would grieve my aunt very much if I were to go away from her now, and as long as I have Mr Null to protect me from her matrimonial schemes, I am glad to stay with her. She is very kind to me."

"I think you are entirely right in deciding to stay here," he said, looking around at her, and contrasting in his mind the bright-faced, and somewhat plump young person walking beside him with the thin-faced girl in black whom he had seen behind the cashier's desk.

"Now," said she, with a vivacious little laugh, "I have poured out my whole soul before you, and, in return, I want you to gratify a curiosity which is fairly eating me up. Why were you so anxious to find my Cousin Junius? And how did you happen to come here the very day after he arrived? And, more than that, how was it that you had seen him at Midbranch so recently? You were talking about it last night. It couldn't have been my letter from Howlett's that brought you down here?"

"No," said Lawrence, "my meeting with Mr Keswick at Midbranch was entirely accidental. When I arrived there, a few days ago, I had no reason to suppose that I should meet him. But I must ask you to excuse me from giving my reasons for wishing to find your cousin, and for coming to see him here. The matter between us has now become one of no importance, and will be dropped."

The lady's face flushed. "Oh, indeed!" she said. And during the short remainder of their walk to the house she made no further remark.

CHAPTER XIV.

When Lawrence and his companion reached the house, they found on the porch Mrs Keswick and her nephew; and, after a little general conversation, the latter remarked to Mr Croft that he had found it would not be in his power to attend to that matter he had spoken of; to which Croft replied that he was very much obliged to him for thinking of it, and that it was of no consequence at all, as he would probably make other arrangements. He then stated that he would be obliged to return to the Green Sulphur Springs that day, and that, as it was a long ride, he would like to start as soon as his horse could be brought to him. But this procedure was condemned utterly by the old lady, who insisted that Mr Croft should not leave until after dinner, which meal should be served earlier than usual in order to give him plenty of time to get to the Springs before dark, and as Lawrence had nothing to oppose to her very urgent protest, he consented to stay. Before dinner was ready he found out why the protest was made. The old lady took him aside and made inquiries of him in regard to Mr Null. He had already informed her that he was not acquainted with that gentleman, but she thought, as Mr Croft seemed to be going about the country a good deal, he might possibly meet with her niece's husband; and, if he should do so, she would be very glad to have him become acquainted with him.

To this Lawrence replied with much gravity that he would be happy to do so.

"Mr Null has not yet come to my house," said Mrs Keswick, "and it is very natural that one should desire to know the husband of her only niece who is, or should be, the same as a daughter to her."

"A very natural wish indeed," said Lawrence.

"I am not quite sure in what business Mr Null is engaged," she continued, "and, although I asked my niece about it, she answered in a very evasive way, which makes me think his occupation is one she is not proud of. I have reason to suppose, however, that he is an agent for the sale of some fertilizing compound."

At this Lawrence could not help smiling very broadly.

"It may appear very odd and ridiculous to you," she said, "that a person connected with my family should be engaged in a business like that, for those fertilizers, as you ought to know, are all humbugs of the vilest kind. The only time I bought any it took my whole wheat crop to pay for it, and as for the clover I got afterward, a grasshopper could have eaten the whole of it. I am afraid he didn't tell her his business before he married her, and I'm glad she's ashamed of it. As far as I can find out, it does not seem as if Mr Null has any intention of coming here for some time; and, as I said before, I do very much want to know something about him—that is from a disinterested outsider. One cannot expect a recently married young woman to give a correct account of her husband."

"I do not believe," said Mr Croft, "that there is any probability that I shall ever meet the gentleman—our walks in life being so different."

"I should hope so, indeed!" interrupted Mrs Keswick. "But people of all sorts do run across each other."

"But if I do meet with him," he continued, "I shall take great pleasure in giving you my impressions by letter, or in person, of your nephew-in-law." "Don't call him that!" exclaimed the old lady with much asperity. "I don't acknowledge the title. But I won't say any more about him," with a grim smile, "or you may think I don't like him."

"Some of these days," he said, "you may come to be of the opinion that he is exactly the husband you would wish your niece to have."

"Never!" she cried. "If he were an angel in broadcloth. But I mustn't talk about these things. I mentioned Mr Null to you because you are the only person of my acquaintance who, I suppose, is likely to meet with him. In regard to that little company I spoke of to you, I have not quite made up my mind about it, and, therefore, haven't mentioned it; but if I carry out the plan I will write to you at the Springs, and shall certainly expect you to be one of us." "That would give me great pleasure," said Lawrence, in a tone which indicated to the quick brain of the old lady that he would like to make a condition, but was too polite to do so.

"If Miss March should agree to come," she said, "it might be pleasant for you to make one of her party and ride over at the same time. However, I'll let you know if she is coming, and then you can join her or not, as suits your convenience."

"Thank you very much," said Lawrence, in a tone which betrayed no reserves.

As he rode away that afternoon, Lawrence Croft, as his habit was on such occasions, revolved in his mind what he had heard and said and done during this little visit to the Keswick family. "Nothing could have turned out better," he thought. "To be sure the young man could not or would not be of any assistance to me, which is probably what I ought to have expected, but the strong-tempered old lady, his aunt, promises to be of tenfold more service than he could possibly be. As to that very odd young lady, Mrs Keswick's niece, I imagine that she does not regard me very favorably, for she was quite cool after I refused to let her into the secret of my desire to find her cousin, but as I did not ask for her confidences, she had no right to expect a return for them. And, by-the-way, it's odd how many confidences have been reposed in me since I've been down here. Keswick begins it; then old Brandon takes up the strain; after that Mr Candy's ex-cashier tells me the story of her life, and entrusts me with the secret of her marriage with a man of wind—that most useful Mr Null; after that, her aunt makes me understand how much she hates Mr Null, and how she would like me to find out something disreputable about him; and then—, by George! I forgot the old negro woman in the cabin!" At this he put his hand in the side-pocket of his coat, and drew out the pair of little blue shoes. "Why in the name of common sense did the old hag give me these? And why should she suppose that Mrs Keswick intended me a harm? The old lady never saw or heard of me until yesterday, and her manner certainly indicated no dislike of me. But, of course, Aunt Patsy's brain is cracked, and she didn't know what she was talking about. I shall keep the shoes, however, and if ever the venerable purple sun-bonnet runs afoul of me, I shall hold them up before it and see what happens."

And so, very well satisfied with the result of his visit to Hewlett's, he rode on to the Green Sulphur Springs.

On the afternoon of the next day Miss March received an invitation from Mrs Keswick to spend a few days with her, and make the acquaintance of her niece who had recently returned to the home of her childhood. The letter, for it was much more than a note of invitation, was cordial, and in parts pathetic. It dwelt upon the sundered pleasant relations of the two families, and expressed the hope that Mr Brandon's visit to her might be the beginning of a renewal of the old intimacy. Mrs Keswick took occasion to incidentally mention that the house would be particularly dull for her niece just now, as Junius was on the point of starting for Washington, where he would be detained some weeks on business; and she hoped, most earnestly, that Miss Roberta would accept this invitation to make her acquaintance and that of her niece; and she designated Thursday of the following week as the day on which she would like her to come.

As may reasonably be supposed, this letter greatly astonished Miss March, who carried it to her uncle, and asked him to explain, if he could, what it meant. The old gentleman was a good deal surprised when he read it; but it delighted him in a far greater degree. He perceived in it the first fruits of his diplomacy. Mrs Keswick saw that it would be to her interest, for a time at least, to make friends with him; and this was the way she took to do it. She would not come to Midbranch herself, and bring the niece, but she would have Roberta come to her. In the pathos and cordiality Mr Brandon believed not at all. What the old hypocrite probably wanted was to enlist his grateful sympathy in that ridiculous divorce case. But, whatever her motives might be, he would be very glad to have his niece go to her; for if anything could make an impression upon that time-hardened and seasoned old chopping-block of a woman, it was Roberta's personal influence. If Mrs Keswick should come to know Roberta, that knowledge would do more than anything else in the world to remove her objections to the marriage he so greatly desired.

He said nothing of all this to his niece; but he most earnestly counselled her to accept the invitation and make a visit to the two ladies. Of course Roberta did not care to go, but as her uncle appeared to take the matter so much to heart, she consented to gratify him, and wrote an acceptance. She found, also, when she had thought more on the matter, that she had a good deal of curiosity to see this Mrs Keswick, of whom she had heard so much, and who had had such an important influence on her life.

CHAPTER XV.

On the afternoon of the day on which Mrs Keswick's letter arrived at
Midbranch, Peggy had great news to communicate to Aunt Judy, the cook:
"Miss Rob's gwine to Mahs' Junius' house in de kerridge, an' I's gwine
'long wid her to set in front wid Sam."

"Mahs' Junius aint got no house," said Aunt Judy, turning around very suddenly. "Does you mean she gwine ter old Miss Keswick's?"

"Yaas," answered Peggy.

"Well, den, why don' you say so? Dat aint Mahs' Junius' house nohow, though he lib dar as much as he lib anywhar. Wot she gwine dar fur?"

"Gwine to git married, I reckon," said Peggy.

"Git out!" ejaculated Aunt Judy. "Wid you fur bride'maid?"

"Dunno," answered Peggy. "She done tole me she didn't think she'd have much use fur me, but Mahs' Robert, he said it were too far fur her to go widout a maid; but ef she want me fur bride'maid I'll do dat too."

"You bawn fool!" shouted Aunt Judy. "You ain't got sense 'nuf to hock the frocks ob de bridesmaids. An dat's all fool talk about Miss Rob gwine dar to be married. When she an' Mahs' Junius hab de weddin', dey'll hab it h'yar, ob course. She gwine to see ole Miss Keswick, coz dat's de way de fus' fam'lies allus does afore dey hab dere weddin'. I's pow'ful glad she's gwine dar, instid ob ole Miss Keswick comin' h'yar. I don' wan' her kunjerin' me, an' she'd do dat as quick as winkin' ef de batter bread's a leetle burned, or dar's too much salt in de soup. You's got to keep youse'f mighty straight, you Peggy, when you gits whar ole Miss Keswick is. Don' you come none ob your fool tricks, or she kunjer you, an' one ob your legs curl up like a pig's tail, an' neber uncurl no moh'. How you like dat?"

To this Peggy made no reply, but with her eyes steadfastly fixed on Aunt Judy, and her lower jaw very much dropped, she mentally resolved to keep herself as straight as possible during her stay at the Keswick's.

"Dar's ole Aun' Patsy," continued the speaker. "It's a mighty long time sence I've seen Aun' Patsy. Dat was when I went ober dar wid Miss Rob's mudder when de two fam'lys was fren's. I was her maid, an' went wid her jes as Mahs' Robert wants you ter go 'long wid Miss Rob. He ain't gwine to furgit how they did in de ole times when de ladies went visitin' in dere kerridges fur to stay free, four days. Aun' Patsy were pow'ful ole den, but she didn't die soon 'nuf, an' ole Miss Keswick she kunjer her, an' now she can't die at all."

"Neber die!" ejaculated Peggy.

"Neber die, nohow!" answered Aunt Judy. "Mighty offen she thought she gwine to die but 'twarnt no use. She can't do it. An' de las' time I hear ob her, she alibe yit, jes' de same as eber. An' dar was Mahs' John Keswick. She cunjer him coz he rode de gray colt to de Coht House when she done tole him to let dat gray colt alone, coz 'twarnt hisen but hern, an' he go shoot hese'f dead by de gate pos'. You's got to go fru by dat pos' when you go inter de gate."

"Dat same pos'!" cried Peggy.

"Yaas," said Aunt Judy, "dat same one. An' dey tells me dat on third Chewsdays, which is Coht day, de same as when he took de gray colt, as soon as it git dark he ghos' climb up to de top ob dat pos', an' set dar all night."

With a conjuring old woman in the house, and a monthly ghost on the gate-post outside, the Keswick residence did not appear as attractive to Peggy as it had done before, but she mentally determined that while she was there she would be very careful to look out sharp for herself, a performance for which she was very well adapted.

It was on a pleasant autumn morning that Mr Brandon very carefully ensconced his niece in the family carriage, with Peggy and a trusty negro man, Sam, on the outside front seat. "I would gladly go with you, my dear," he said, "even without the formality of an invitation, but it is far better for you to go by yourself. My very presence would provoke an antagonism in the old lady, while with you, personally, it is impossible that any such feeling should exist. I hope your visit may do away with all ill feeling between our families."

"I want you to understand, uncle," said Miss Roberta, "that I am making this visit almost entirely to please you, and I shall do everything in my power to make Mrs Keswick feel that you and I are perfectly well disposed toward her; but you can't expect me to exhibit any great warmth of friendship toward a person who once used such remarkable and violent expressions in regard to me."

"But those feelings, my dear," said Mr Brandon, "if we are to believe
Mrs Keswick's letter, have entirely disappeared."

"It is quite natural that they should do so," said Roberta, "as there is no longer any reason for them. And there is another thing I want to impress on your mind, Uncle Robert, you must expect no result from this visit except a renewal of amity between yourself and Mrs Keswick."

"I understand it perfectly," said the old gentleman, feeling quite confident that if his family and Mrs Keswick should once again become friendly, the main object of his desires would not be difficult of accomplishment. "And now, my dear, I will not detain you any longer. I hope you may have a very pleasant visit, and I advise you to cultivate that young Mrs Null, whom I take to be a very sensible and charming person." And then he kissed her good-bye and shut the carriage door.

It was about the middle of the afternoon when Sam drove through the outer Keswick gate, and Peggy, who had jumped down to open said gate, had made herself positively sure that, at present, there was no ghost sitting upon the post. Before she reached the house, Roberta began to wonder a good deal if she should find Mrs Keswick the woman she had pictured in her mind. But when the carriage drew up in front of the porch there came out to meet her, not the mistress of the estate, but a much younger lady, who tripped down the steps and reached Roberta as she descended from the carriage.

"We are very glad to see you, Miss March," she said. "My aunt is not here just now, but will be back directly."

"This is Mrs Null, isn't it?" said Roberta, and as the other smiled and answered with a slight flush that it was, Roberta stooped just the little that was necessary, and kissed her. Mrs Keswick's niece had not expected so warm a greeting from this lady, to whom she was almost a stranger, and instantly she said to herself: "In that kiss Freddy dies to you." For some days she had been turning over and over in her mind the question whether or not she should tell Roberta March that she was not Mrs Null. She greatly disliked keeping up the deception where it was not necessary, and with Roberta, if she would keep the secret, there was no need of this aerial matrimony. Besides her natural desire to confide in a person of her own sex and age, she did not wish Mr Croft to be the only one who shared her secret; and so she had determined that her decision would depend on what sort of girl Roberta proved to be. "If I like her I'll tell her; if I don't, I won't," was the final decision. And when Roberta March looked down upon her with her beautiful eyes and kissed her, Freddy Null departed this life so far as those two were concerned.

Mrs Keswick had, apparently, made a very great miscalculation in regard to the probable time of arrival of her guest, for Miss March and Peggy, and even Sam and the horses, had been properly received and cared for, and Miss March had been sitting in the parlor for some time, and still the old lady did not come into the house. Her niece had grown very anxious about this absence, and had begun to fear that her aunt had treated Miss March as she had treated her on her arrival, and had gone away to stay. But Plez, whom she had sent to tell his mistress that her visitor was in the house, returned with the information that "ole miss" was in one of the lower fields directing some men who were digging a ditch, and that she would return to the house in a very short time. Thus assured that no permanent absence was intended, she went into the parlor to entertain Miss March, and to explain, as well as she could, the state of affairs; when, as she entered the door, she saw that lady suddenly arise and look steadfastly out of the window.

"Can that be Mr Croft?" Miss March exclaimed.

The younger girl made a dash forward and also looked out of the window. Yes, there was Mr Croft, riding across the yard toward the tree where horses were commonly tied.

"Did you expect him?" asked Roberta, quickly.

"No more than I expected the man in the moon," was the impulsive and honest answer of her companion.

"I am very glad to see you, Mrs Null," said Lawrence, when that lady met him on the porch. And when he was shown into the parlor, he greeted Miss March with much cordiality, but no surprise. But when he inquired after other members of the family, he was much surprised to find that Mr Keswick had gone to Washington. "Was not this very unexpected, Mrs Null?" he asked.

"Why, no," she answered. "Junius told us, almost as soon as he came here, that he would have to be in Washington by the first of this week."

Mr Croft did not pursue this subject further, but presently remarked:
"Are you and I the first comers, Miss March?"

Roberta looked from one of her companions to the other, and remarked: "I do not understand you."

Lawrence now perceived that he was treading a very uncertain and, perhaps, dangerous path of conversation, and the sooner he got out of it the better; but, before he could decide what answer to make, a silent and stealthy figure appeared at the door, beckoning and nodding in a very mysterious way. This proved to be the plump black maid, Letty, who, having attracted the attention of the company, whispered loudly, "Miss Annie!" whereupon that young lady immediately left the room.

"What other comers did you expect?" then asked Roberta of Mr Croft.

"I certainly supposed there would be a small company here," he said, "probably neighborhood people, but if I was mistaken, of course I don't wish to say anything more about it to the family."

"Were you invited yourself?" asked Roberta.

Croft wished very much that he could say that he had accidentally dropped in. But this he could not do, and he answered that Mrs Keswick asked him to come about this time. He did not consider it necessary to add that she had written to him at the Springs, renewing her invitation very earnestly, and mentioning that Miss March had consented to make one of the party.

This was as far as Roberta saw fit to continue the subject, on the present occasion; and she began to talk about the charming weather, and the pretty way in which the foliage was reddening on the side of a hill opposite the window. Mr Croft was delighted to enter into this new channel of speech, and discussed with considerable fervor the attractiveness of autumn in Virginia. Miss Annie found Letty in a very disturbed state of mind. The dinner had been postponed until the arrival of Miss March, and now it had been still further delayed by the non-arrival of the mistress of the house, and everything was becoming dried up, and unfit to eat. "This will never do!" exclaimed Miss Annie. "I will go myself and look for aunt. She must have forgotten the time of day, and everything else."

Putting on her hat she ran out of the back door, but she did not have to go very far, for she found the old lady in the garden, earnestly regarding a bed of turnips. "Where have you been, my dear aunt?" cried the girl. "Miss March has been here ever so long, and Mr Croft has come, and dinner has been waiting until it has all dried up. I was afraid that you had forgotten that company was coming to-day."

"Forgotten!" said the old lady, glaring at the turnips. "It isn't an easy thing to forget. I invited the girl, and I expected her to come, but I tell you, Annie, when I saw that carriage coming along the road, all the old feeling came back to me. I remembered what its owners had done to me and mine, and what they are still trying to do, and I felt I could not go into the house, and give her my hand. It would be like taking hold of a snake."

"A snake!" cried her niece, with much warmth. "She is a lovely woman! And her coming shows what kindly feelings she has for you. But, no matter what you think about it, aunt, you have asked her here, and you must come in and see her. Dinner is waiting, and I don't know what more to say about your absence."

"Go in and have dinner," said Mrs Keswick. "Don't wait for me. I'll come in and see her after a while; but I haven't yet got to the point of sitting down to the table and eating with her."

"Oh, aunt!" exclaimed Annie, "you ought never to have asked her if you are going to treat her in this way! And what am I to say to her? What excuse am I to make? Are you not sick? Isn't something the matter with you?"

"You can tell them I'm flustrated," said the old lady, "and that is all that's the matter with me. But I'm not coming in to dinner, and there is no use of saying anything more about it."

Annie looked at her, the tears of mortification still standing in her eyes. "I suppose I must go and do the best I can," she said, "but, aunt, please tell me one thing. Did you invite any other people here? Mr Croft spoke as if he expected to see other visitors, and if they ask anything more about it, I don't know what to say."

"The only other people I invited," said the old lady with a grim grin, "were the King of Norway, and the Prime Minister of Spain, and neither of them could come." Annie said no more, but hurrying back to the house, she ordered dinner to be served immediately. At first the meal was not a very lively one. The young hostess pro tempore explained the absence of the mistress of the house by stating that she had had a nervous attack—which was quite true—and that she begged them to excuse her until after dinner. The two guests expressed their regret at this unfortunate indisposition, but each felt a degree of embarrassment at the absence of Mrs Keswick. Roberta, who had heard many stories of the old woman, guessed at the true reason, and if the distance had not been so great, she would have gone home that afternoon. Lawrence Croft, of course, could imagine no reason for the old lady's absence, except the one that had been given them, but he suspected that there must be some other. He did his best, however, to make pleasant conversation; and Roberta, who began to have a tender feeling for the little lady at the head of the table, who, she could easily see, had been placed in an unpleasant position, seconded his efforts with such effect that, when the little party had concluded their dinner with a course of hot pound cake and cream sauce, they were chatting together quite sociably.

In about ten minutes after they had all gone into the parlor, Miss Annie excused herself, and presently returned with a message to Miss March that Mrs Keswick would be very glad to see her in another room. This was a very natural message from an elderly lady, who was not well, but Roberta arose and walked out of the parlor with a feeling as if she were about to enter the cage of an erratic tigress. But she met with no such creature. She saw in the back room, into which she was ushered, a small old woman, dressed very plainly, who came forward to meet her, extending both hands, into one of which Roberta placed one of her own.

"I may as well say at once, Roberta March," said Mrs Keswick, "that the reason I didn't come to meet you when you first arrived was, that I couldn't get over, all of a sudden, the feelings I have had against your family for so many years."

"Why then, Mrs Keswick," said Roberta, very coldly, "did you ask me to come?"

"Because I wanted you to come," said Mrs Keswick, "and because I thought I was stronger than I turned out to be; but you must make allowances for the stiffness which gets into old people's dispositions as well as their backs. I want you to understand, however, that I meant all I said in that letter, and I am very glad to see you. If anything in my conduct has seemed to you out of the way, you must set it down to the fact that I was making a very sudden turn, and starting out on a new track in which I hope we shall all keep for the rest of our lives."

Roberta could not help thinking that the sudden turn in the new track began with the visit of her uncle to this house, and that the old lady need not have inflicted upon her the disagreeable necessity of witnessing a hostess taking a very repulsive cold plunge; but all she said was that she hoped the families would now live together in friendly relations; and that she was sure that, if this were to be, it would give her uncle a great deal of pleasure. She very much wanted to ask Mrs Keswick how Mr Croft happened to be here at this time, but she felt that her very brief acquaintance with the lady would not warrant the discussion of a subject like that.

"She is very much the kind of woman I thought she was," said Roberta to herself, when, after some further hospitable remarks from Mrs Keswick, the two went to the parlor together to find Mr Croft. But that gentleman, having been deserted by all the ladies, was walking up and down the greensward in front of the house, smoking a cigar. Mrs Keswick went out to him, and greeted him very cordially, begging him to excuse her for not being able to see him as soon as he came.

Lawrence set all this aside in his politest manner, but declared himself very much disappointed in not seeing Mr Keswick, and also remarked that from what she had said to him on his last visit he had expected to find quite a little party here.

"I am sorry," said the old lady, "that Junius is away, for he would be very glad to see you, and it never came into my mind to mention to you that he was obliged to be in Washington at this time. And, as for the party, I thought afterwards that it would be a great deal cosier just to have a few persons here."

"Oh, yes," said Lawrence, "most certainly, a great deal cosier."

Mrs Keswick ate supper with her guests, and behaved very well. During the evening she sustained the main part of the conversation, giving the company a great many anecdotes and reminiscences of old times and old families, relating them in an odd and peculiar way that was very interesting, especially to Croft, to whom the subject matter was quite new. But, although her three companions listened to the old lady with deferential attention, interspersed with appropriate observations, each one made her the object of severe mental scrutiny, and endeavored to discover the present object of her scheming old mind. Roberta was quite sure that her invitation and that of Mr Croft was a piece of artful management on the part of the old lady, and imagined, though she was not quite sure about it, that it was intended as a bit of match-making. To get her married to somebody else, would be, of course, the best possible method of preventing her marrying Junius; and this, she had reason to believe, was the prime object of old Mrs Keswick's existence. But why should Mr Croft be chosen as the man with whom she was to be thrown. She had learned that the old lady had seen him before, but was quite certain that her acquaintance with him was slight. Could Junius have told his aunt about the friendship between herself and Mr Croft? It was not like him, but a great many unlikely things take place.

As for Lawrence, he knew very well there was a trick beneath his invitation, but he could not at all make out why it had been played. He had been given an admirable opportunity of offering himself to Miss March, but there was no reason, apparent to him, why this should have been done.

Miss Annie, watching her aunt very carefully, and speaking but seldom, quite promptly made up her mind in regard to the matter. She knew very well the bitter opposition of the old woman to a marriage between Junius and Miss March; and saw, as plainly as she saw the lamp on the table, that Roberta had been brought here on purpose to be sacrificed to Mr Croft. Everything had been made ready, the altar cleared, and, as well as the old lady's grindstone would act, the knife sharpened. "But," said Miss Annie to herself, "she needn't suppose that I am going to sit quiet and see all this going on, with Junius away off there in Washington, knowing nothing about any of it."

Miss Roberta retired quite early to her room, having been fatigued by her long drive, and she was just about to put out her light when she heard a little knock at the door. Opening it slightly, she saw there Junius Keswick's cousin, who also appeared quite ready for bed.

"May I come in for a minute?" said Annie.

"Certainly," replied Miss March, admitting her, and closing the door after her.

"I have something to tell you," said the younger lady, admiring as she spoke, the length of her companion's braided hair. "I intended to keep it until to-morrow, but since I came up stairs I felt I could not let you sleep a night under the same roof with me without knowing it. I am not Mrs Null."

"What!" exclaimed Roberta, in a tone which made Annie lift up her hands and implore her not to speak so loud, for fear that her aunt should hear her. "I know she hasn't come up stairs yet, for she sits up dreadfully late, but she can hear things, almost anywhere. No, I am not Mrs Null. There is no such person as Mr Null, or, at least, he is a mere gaseous myth, whom I married for the sake of the protection his name gave me."

"This is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard," said Roberta. "You must tell me all about it."

"I don't want to keep you up," said Annie, "you must be tired."

"I am not tired," said Roberta, "for every particle of fatigue has flown away." And with this she made Annie sit down beside her on the lounge. "Now you must tell me what this means," she said. "Can it be that your aunt does not know about it?"

"Indeed, she does not," said Annie. "I married Freddy Null in New York, for reasons which we need not talk of now, for that matter is all past and gone; but when I came here, I found almost immediately, that he would be more necessary to me in this house than anywhere else."

"I cannot imagine," said Roberta, "why a gaseous husband should be necessary to you here."

"It is not a very easy thing to explain," said the other, "that is, it is easy enough, but—"

"Oh," said Roberta, catching the reason of her companion's hesitation, "I don't think you ought to object to tell me your reason. Does it relate to your cousin Junius?"

"Well," said Annie, "not altogether, and not so much to him as to my aunt." "I think I see," said Roberta. "A marriage between you two would suit her very well. Are you afraid that she would try to force him on you?"

"Oh, no;" said Annie, "that would be bad enough, but it would not be so embarrassing, and so dreadfully unpleasant, as forcing me on him, and that is what aunt wants to do. And you can easily see that, in that case, I could not stay in this house at all. I scarcely know my cousin as a man, my strongest recollection of him being that of a big and very nice boy, who used to climb up in the apple-trees to get me apples, and then come down to the very lowest branch where he could drop the ripest ones right into my apron, and not bruise them. But, even if I had been acquainted with him all these years, and liked him ever so much, I couldn't stay here and have aunt make him take me, whether he wanted to, or not. And, unless you knew my aunt very well, you could not conceive how unscrupulously straightforward she is in carrying out her plans."

"And so," said Roberta, "you have quite baffled her by this little ruse of a marriage."

"Not altogether," said Annie with a smile, "for she vows she is going to get me divorced from Mr Null."

"That is funnier than the rest of it," said Roberta, laughing. And they both laughed together, but in a subdued way, so as not to attract the attention of the old lady below stairs. "And now, you see," said Annie, "why I must be Mrs Null while I stay here. And you will promise me that you will never tell any one?"

"You may be sure I shall keep your queer secret. But have you not told it to any one but me?"

"Yes," said Annie, "but I have only told it to one other, Mr Croft. But please don't speak of it to him."

"Mr Croft!" exclaimed Roberta. "How in the world did you come to tell him? Do you know him so well as that?"

"Well," said Annie, "it does seem out of the way, I admit, that I should
tell him, but I can't give you the whole story of how I came to do it.
It wouldn't interest you—at least, it would, but I oughtn't to tell it.
It is a twisty sort of thing."

"Twisty?" said Roberta, drawing herself up, and a little away from her companion.

Annie looked up, and caught the glance by which this word was accompanied, and the tone in which it was spoken went straight to her soul. "Now," said she, "if you are going to look at me, and speak in that way, I'll tell you every bit of it." And she did tell the whole story, from her first meeting with Mr Croft in the Information Shop, down to the present moment.

"What is your name, anyway?" said Roberta, when the story had been told.

"My name," said the other, "is Annie Peyton."

"And now, do you know, Annie Peyton," said Roberta, passing her fingers gently among the short, light-brown curls on her companion's forehead, "that I think you must have a very, very kindly recollection of the boy who used to come down to the lowest branches of the tree to drop apples into your apron."

CHAPTER XVI.

Shortly after Peggy arrived with her mistress at the Keswick residence, her mind began to be a good deal disturbed. She had been surprised, when the carriage drew up to the door, that "Mahs' Junius" had not rushed down to meet his intended bride, and when she found he was not in the house, and had, indeed, gone away from home, she did not at all know what to make of it. If Miss Rob took the trouble to travel all the way to the home of the man that the Midbranch people had decided she should marry, it was a very wonderful thing, indeed, that he should not be there to meet her. And while these thoughts were turning themselves over in the mind of this meditative girl of color, and the outgoing look in her eyes was extending itself farther and farther, as if in search of some solution of the mystery, up rode Mr Croft.

"Dar he!" exclaimed Peggy, as she stood at the corner of the house where she had been pursuing her meditations. "He!" she continued in a voice that would have been quite audible to any one standing near. "Upon my libin' soul, wot brung him h'yar? Miss Rob don' wan' him round, nohow. I done druv him off wunst. Upon my libin' soul, he's done brung his bag behin' him on de saddle, an' I reckon he's gwine to stay."

As Mr Croft dismounted and went into the house, Peggy glowered at him; sundry expressions, sounding very much like odds and ends of imprecations which she had picked up in the course of a short but investigative existence, gurgling from her lips. "I wish dat ole Miss Keswick kunjer him. Ef she knew how Miss Rob hate him, she curl he legs up, an' gib him mis'ry spranglin' down he back."

The hope of seeing this intruder well "kunjered" by the old lady was the only thing that gave a promise of peace to the mind of Peggy; and though her nature was by no means a social one, she determined to make the acquaintance of some one or other in the house; hoping to find out how Mrs Keswick conducted her conjurations; at what time of day or night they were generally put into operation; and how persons could be brought under their influence.

The breakfast hour in the Keswick house was a variable one. Sometimes the mistress of the establishment rose early and wanted her morning meal before she went out of doors; at other times she would go off to some distant point on the farm to see about something that was doing or ought to be done, and breakfast would be kept waiting for her. The delays, however, were not all due to the old lady's irregular habits. Very often Letty would come up stairs with the information that the "bread ain't riz;" and as a Virginia breakfast without hot bread would be an impossibility, the meal would be postponed until the bread did conclude to rise, or until some substitute, such as "beaten biscuit" had been provided.

On the morning after his arrival, Lawrence Croft came down stairs about eight o'clock, and found the lower part of the house deserted; and glancing into the dining-room as he passed its open door, he saw no signs of breakfast. The house was cool, but the sun appeared to be shining warmly outside, and he stepped out of the open back door into a small flower garden, with a series of broad boards down the walk which lay along the middle of it. Up and down this board walk Lawrence strode, breathing the fresh air, and thinking over matters. He was not at all satisfied at being here during Keswick's absence, feeling that he was enjoying an advantage which, although it was quite honorable, did not appear so. What he had to do was to get an interview with Miss March as soon as possible, and have that matter over. When he had been definitely accepted or rejected, he would go away. And, whatever the result might be, he would write to his rival as soon as he returned to the Springs, and inform him of it, and would also explain how he had happened to be here with Miss March. While he was engaged in planning these honorable intentions, there came from the house Mrs Keswick's niece, with a basket in one hand, and a pair of scissors in the other, and she immediately applied herself to cutting some geraniums and chrysanthemums, which were about the last flowers left blooming at that season in the garden. "Good morning," said Croft, from the other end of the walk. "I am glad to see you out so early."

"Good morning," she replied, with a look which indicated that she was not at all glad to see him, "but I don't think it is early."

Croft had noticed on the preceding day that her coolness towards him still continued, but it did not suit him to let her know that he perceived it. He went up to her, and in a very friendly way remarked: "There is something I wish very much you would tell me. What is your name? It is very odd that during all the time I have been acquainted with you I have never known your name."

"You must have taken an immense interest in it," she said, as she snipped some dried leaves off a twig of geranium she had cut.

"It was not that I did not take any interest," said Croft, "but at first your name never came forward, and I soon began to know you by the title which your remarkable condition of wedlock gave you."

"And that is the name," said the lady, very decidedly, "by which I am to be known in this house. I am very proud of my maiden name, but I am not going to tell it to you for fear that some time you will use it."

"Oh!" ejaculated Mr Croft. "Then I suppose I am to continue even to think of you as Mrs Null."

"You needn't think of me at all," said she, "but when you speak to me I most certainly expect you to use that name. It was only by a sort of accident that you came to know it was not my name." "I don't consider it an accident at all," said Croft. "I look upon it as a piece of very kindly confidence."

Miss Annie gave a little twist to her mouth, which seemed to indicate that if she spoke she should express her contempt of such an opinion, and Croft continued:

"I am very sorry that upon that occasion I should have felt myself obliged to refuse your request that I should make you acquainted with my reasons for desiring to know Mr Keswick's whereabouts. But I am sure, if you understood the matter, you would not be in the least degree—"

"Oh, you need not trouble yourself about that," she interrupted. "I don't want you to tell me anything at all. It is quite easy, now, to see why you wished to know where my cousin was."

"It is impossible that you should know!" exclaimed Croft.

"We will say no more about it," replied Annie. "I am quite satisfied."

"I would give a good deal," said Lawrence, after looking steadily at her for a few moments, "to know what you really do think."

Annie had cut all the flowers she wanted, or, rather, all she could get; and she now stood up and looked her companion full in the face. "Mr Croft," she said, "it has been necessary, and it is necessary now for me to have some concealments, and I am sorry for it; but it isn't at all necessary for me to conceal my opinion of your reasons for wanting to know about Junius. You were really in pursuit of Miss March, and knowing that he was in love with her, you wanted to make sure that when you went to her, he wouldn't be there. It is my firm opinion that is all there is about it; and the fact of your turning up here just after my cousin left, proves it."

"Miss Annie," exclaimed Croft—"I have heard you called by that name, and I vow I won't call you Mrs Null, when there is no need for it—you were never more mistaken in your life, and I am very sorry that you should have such a low opinion of me as to think I would wish to take advantage of your cousin during his absence."

"Then why do you do it?" asked Miss Annie, with a little upward pitch of her chin.

At this moment the breakfast-bell rang, and Mrs Keswick appeared in the back door, evidently somewhat surprised to see these two conversing in the garden.

"I am very much vexed," said Lawrence, as he followed his companion, who had suddenly turned towards the house, "that you should think of me in this way."

But to this remark Miss Annie had no opportunity to reply.

After breakfast, Mrs Keswick proved the truth of what her niece had said about her unscrupulous straightforwardness when carrying out her projects. She had invited Mr Croft and Miss March to her house in order that the former might have the opportunity which she had discovered he wanted and could not get, of offering himself in marriage to the lady; and she now made it her business to see that Mr Croft's opportunity should stand up very clear and definite before him; and that all interfering circumstances should be carefully removed. She informed her niece that she wished her to go with her to a thicket on the other side of the wheat field which that young lady had advised should be ploughed for pickles, to look for a turkey-hen which she had reason to believe had been ridiculous enough to hatch out a brood of young at this improper season. Annie demurred, for she did not want to go to look for turkeys, nor did she want to give Mr Croft any opportunities; but the old lady insisted, and carried her off. Croft felt that there was something very bare and raw-boned about the position in which he was left with Miss March; and he thought that lady might readily suppose that Mrs Keswick's object was to leave them together. He imagined that, himself, though why she should be so kind to him he could not feel quite certain. However, his path lay straight before him, and if the old lady had whitewashed it to make it more distinct, he did not intend to refuse to walk in it.

"I have been looking at that hill over yonder," said he, "with a cluster of pine trees on the brow of it. I should think there would be a fine view from that hill. Would you not like to walk up there?"

Lawrence felt that this proposition was quite in keeping with the bareness of the previous proceedings, but he did not wish to stay in the house and be subject to the unexpected return of the old lady and her niece.

"Certainly," said Miss March; "nothing would please me better." And so they walked up Pine Top Hill.

When they reached this elevated position, they sat down on the rock on which Mrs Null had once conversed with Freddy, and admired the view, which was, indeed, a very fine one. After about five minutes of this, which Lawrence thought was quite enough, he turned to his companion and said:

"Miss March, I do not wish you to suppose that I brought you up here for the purpose of viewing those rolling hills and distant forests."

"You didn't?" exclaimed Roberta, in a tone of surprise.

"No," said he; "I brought you here because it is a place where I could speak freely to you, and tell you I love you."

"That was not at all necessary," said Miss March. "We had the lower floor of the house entirely to ourselves, and I am sure that Mrs Keswick would not have returned until you had waved a handkerchief, or given some signal from the back of the house that it was all over."

Croft looked at her with a troubled expression. "Miss March," said he, "do you not think I am in earnest? Do you not believe what I have said?" "I have not the slightest doubt you are in earnest," she answered. "The magnitude of the preparation proves it." "I am glad you said that, for it gives me the opportunity for making an explanation," said Lawrence. "Our meeting at this place may be a carefully contrived stratagem, but it was not contrived by me. I am very well aware that Mr Keswick also wishes to marry you—"

"Did you see that in the Richmond Dispatch or in one of the New York papers?" interrupted Miss March.

"That is a point," said Lawrence, overlooking the ridicule, "which we need not discuss. I am perfectly aware that Mr Keswick is my rival, but I wish you to understand that I am not voluntarily taking any undue advantage of his absence. I believe him to be a very fair and generous man, and I would wish to be as open and generous as he is. When I came, I expected to find him here, and, standing on equal ground with him, I intended to ask you to accept my love."

"Well, then," said Roberta, "would it not be more fair and generous for you to go away now, and postpone this proposal until some time when you would each have an equal chance?"

"No, it would not," said Lawrence, vehemently. "I have now an opportunity of telling you that I love you ardently, passionately; and nothing shall cause me to postpone it. Will you not consider what I say? Will you make no answer to this declaration of most true and honest love?"

"I am considering what you have said," she answered; "and I am very glad to hear that you did not know of this cunning little trap that Mrs Keswick has laid for me. It is all very plain to me, but I do not know why she should have selected you as one of the actors in the plot. Have you ever told her that you are a suitor for my hand?"

"Never!" exclaimed Lawrence. "She may have imagined it, for she heard I was a frequent visitor to Midbranch. But let us set all that aside. I am on fire with love for you. Will you tell me that you can return that love, or that I must give up all hope? This is the most important question of my whole life. I beg you, from the bottom of my heart, to decide it."

"Mr Croft," said she, "when you used to come, nearly every day, to see me at Midbranch, and we took those long walks in the woods, you never talked in this way. I considered you as a gentleman whose prudence and good sense would not allow him to step outside of the path of perfectly conventional social intercourse. This is not conventional and not prudent."

"I loved you then, and I love you now;" exclaimed Lawrence. "You must have known that I loved you, for my declaration does not in the least surprise you."

"Once—it was the last time you visited Midbranch—I suspected, just a little, that your mind might be affected somewhat in the way you speak of, but I supposed that attack of weakness had passed away."

"I know what you mean," said Lawrence, "but I can't endure to talk of such trifles. I love you, Roberta—"

"Miss March," she interrupted.

"And I want you to tell me if you love me in return."

Miss March rose from the rock where she had been sitting, and her companion rose with her. After a moment's silence, during which he watched her with intense eagerness, she said: "Mr Croft, I am going to give you your choice. Would you prefer being refused under a cherry tree, or under a sycamore?"

There was a little smile on her lips as she said this, which Lawrence could not interpret.

"I decline being refused under any tree," he said with vehemence.

"I prefer the cherry tree," said she, "there is a very pretty one over there on the ridge of this hill, and its leaves are nearly all gone, which would make it quite appropriate—but what is the meaning of this? There comes Peggy. It isn't possible that she thinks it's time for me to give out something to Aunt Judy."

Croft turned, and there was the wooden Peggy, marching steadily up the hill, and almost upon them.

"What do you want, Peggy?" asked Miss Roberta.

"Dar's a man down to de house dat wants him," pointing to Mr Croft.

Lawrence was very much surprised. "A man who wants me!" he exclaimed.
"You must be mistaken."

"No sah," replied Peggy, "you's de one."

For a moment Lawrence hesitated. His disposition was to let any man in the world, be he president or king, wait until he had settled this matter with Miss March. But with Peggy present it was impossible to go on with the love-making. He might, indeed, send her back with a message, but the thought came to him that it would be well to postpone for a little the pressing of his suit, for the lady was certainly in a very untoward humor, and he was not altogether sorry to have an excuse for breaking off the interview at this point. He had not yet been discarded, and he would like to think over the matter, and see if he could discover any reason for the very disrespectful manner, to say the least of it, with which Miss March had received his amatory advances. "I suppose I must go and see the man," he said, "though I can't imagine who it can possibly be. Will you return to the house?"

"No," said Miss Roberta, "I will stay here a little longer, and enjoy the view."

CHAPTER XVII.

As Lawrence Croft walked down Pine Top Hill his mind was in a good deal of a hubbub. The mind of almost any lover would be stirred up if he came fresh from an interview, in which his lady had pinned him, to use a cruel figure, in various places on the wall to see how he would spin and buzz in different lights. But the disdainful pin had not yet gone through a vital part of Lawrence's hopes, and they had strength to spin and buzz a good deal yet. As soon as he should have an opportunity he would rack his brains to find out what it was that had put Roberta March into such a strange humor. No one who simply desired to decline the addresses of a gentleman would treat her lover as Miss March had treated him. It was quite evident that she wished to punish him. But what had been his crime?

But the immediate business on his hands was to go and see what man it was who wished to see him. Ordinarily the fact that a man had called upon him would not be considered by Lawrence a matter for cogitation, but as he walked toward the house it seemed to him very odd that any one should call upon him in such an out-of-the-way place as this, where so few people knew him to be. He was not a business man, but a large portion of his funds were invested in a business concern, and it might be that something had gone wrong, and that a message had been sent him. His address at the Green Sulphur Springs was known, and the man in charge there knew that he was visiting Mrs Keswick.

These considerations made him a little anxious, and helped to keep his mind in the hubbub which has been mentioned.

When he reached the front of the house, Lawrence saw a lean, gray horse tied to a tree, and a man sitting upon the porch; and as soon as he made his appearance the latter came down the steps to meet him.

"I didn't go into the house, sir," he said, "because I thought you'd just as lief have a talk outside."

"What is your business?" asked Croft.

The man moved a few steps farther from the house, and Lawrence followed him.

"Is it anything secret you have to tell me?" he asked.

"Well, yes, sir, I should think it was," replied the other, a tall man, with sandy hair and beard, and dressed in a checkered business suit, which had lost a good deal of the freshness of its early youth. "I may as well tell you at once who I am. I am an anti-detective. Never heard of that sort of person, I suppose?"

"Never," said Lawrence, curtly.

"Well, sir, the organization which I belong to is one which is filling a long felt want. You know very well, sir, that this country is full of detective officers, not only those who belong to a regular police force, but lots of private ones, who, if anybody will pay them for it, will go to Jericho to hunt a man up. Now, sir, our object is to protect society against these people. When we get information that a man is going to be hounded down by any of these detectives—and we have private ways of knowing these things—we just go to that man, and if he is willing to become one of our clients, we take him into our charge; and our business, after that, is to keep him informed of just what is being done against him. He can stay at home in comfort with his wife, settle up his accounts, and do what he likes, and the day before he is to be swooped down on, he gets notice from us, and comfortably goes to Chicago, or Jacksonville, where he can take his ease until we post him of the next move of the enemy. If he wants to take extra precautions, and writes a letter to anybody in the place where he lives, dated from London or Hong Kong, and sends that letter under cover to us, we'll see that it is mailed from the place it is dated from, and that it gets into the hands of the detectives. There have been cases where a gentleman has had six months or a year of perfect comfort, by the detectives being thrown off by a letter like this. That is only one of the ways in which we help and protect persons in difficulties who, if it wasn't for us, would be dragged off, hand-cuffed, from the bosom of their families; and who, even if they never got convicted, would have to pay a lot of money to get out of the scrape. Now, I have put myself a good deal out of the way, sir, to come to you, and offer you our assistance."

"Me!" exclaimed Croft. "What are you talking about?"

The man smiled. "Of course, it's all right to know nothing about it, and it's just what we would advise; but I assure you we are thoroughly posted in your affair, and to let you know that we are, I'll just mention that the case is that of Croft after Keswick, through Candy."

"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed Lawrence, getting red in the face.
"There is no such case!"

He was about to say more, when a few words from the anti-detective stopped him suddenly.

"Look here, Mr Keswick," said the man, leveling a long fore-finger at him, and speaking very earnestly, "don't you go and flatter yourself that this thing has been dropped, because you haven't heard of it for a month or two; and if you'll take my advice, you'll make up your mind on the spot, either to let things go on and be nabbed, or to put yourself under our protection, and live in entire safety until this thing has blown over, without any trouble, except a little travelling." At the mention of Keswick's name, Lawrence had seen through the whole affair at a single mental glance. The man was after Junius Keswick, and his business was to Lawrence more startling and repugnant than it could possibly be to any one else. It was necessary to be very careful. If he immediately avowed who he was, the man might yet find Keswick, before warning and explanation could be got to him, and not only put that gentleman in a very unpleasant state of mind, but do a lot of mischief besides. He did not believe that Mr Candy had recommenced his investigations without consultation with him, but this person evidently knew that such an investigation had been set on foot, and that would be sufficient for his purposes. Lawrence decided to be very wary, and he said to the man, "Did you ask for me here by name?"

"No, sir," said the other, "I had information that you were here, and that you were the only gentleman who lived here and although you are in your own home, I did not know but this was one of those cases in which names were dropped and servants changed, to suit an emergency. I asked the little darkey I saw at the front of the house if she lived here, and she told me she had only just come. That put me on my guard, and so I merely asked if the gentleman was in, and she went and got you. We're very careful about calling names, and you needn't be afraid that any of our people will ever give you away on that line."

Lawrence reflected for a moment, and then he said: "What are your terms and arrangements for carrying on an affair of this kind?"

"They are very simple and moderate," said the man, taking a wallet from his pocket. "There is one of our printed slips, which we show but don't give away. To become a client all you have to do is to send fifteen dollars to the office, or to pay it to me, if you think no time should be lost. That will entitle you to protection for a year. After that we make the nominal charge of five dollars for each letter sent you, giving you information of what is going on against you. For extra services, such as mailing letters from distant points, of course there will be extra charges."

Lawrence glanced over the printed slip, which contained information very similar to that the man had given him, and as he did so, he came to the conclusion that there would be nothing dishonest in allowing the fellow to continue in his mistake, and to endeavor to find out what mischief was about to be done in his, Lawrence's, name, and under his apparent authority. "I will become a subscriber," said he, taking out his pocket-book, "and request that you give me all the information you possess, here and immediately."

"That is the best thing to do," said the man, taking the money, "for, in my opinion, no time is to be lost. I'll give you a receipt for this."

"Don't trouble yourself about that," said Lawrence; "let me have your information."

"You're very right," said the man. "It's a great deal better not to have your name on anything. And now for the points. Candy, who has charge of Croft's job, is going more into the detective business than he used to be, and we have information that he has lately taken up your affair in good, solid earnest. He found out that Croft had put somebody else on your track, without regularly taking the business out of his hands, and this made him mad; and I don't wonder at it, for Croft, as I understand, has plenty of money, and if he concluded to throw Candy over, he ought to have done it fair and square, and paid him something handsome in consideration for having taken the job away. But he didn't do anything of the kind, and Candy considers himself still in his employment, and vows he's going to get hold of you before the other party does; so, you see, you have got two sets of detectives after you, and they'll be mighty sharp, for the first one that gets you will make the money."

"Where are Candy's detectives now?" asked Lawrence.

"That I can't tell you positively, as I am so far from our New York office, to which all information comes. But now that you are a subscriber, I'll communicate with head-quarters and the necessary points will be immediately sent to you by telegraph, if necessary. All that you have to do is to stay here until you hear from us."

"From the way you spoke just now," said Lawrence, "I supposed the detective would be here to-day or to-morrow."

"Oh no," said the other, "Candy has not the facilities for finding people that we have. But it takes some time for me to communicate with head-quarters and for you to hear from there; and so, as I said before, there isn't an hour to be lost. But you're all right now."

"I expected you to give me more definite information than this," said Lawrence, "but now, I suppose, I must wait until I hear from New York, at five dollars a message."

"My business is to enlist subscribers," said the other. "You couldn't expect me to tell you anything definite when I am in an out-of-the-way place like this."

"Did you come down to Virginia on purpose to find me?" asked Lawrence.

"No," said the man, "I am on my way to Mobile, and I only lose one train by stopping here to attend to your business."

"How did you know I was here?"

"Ah," said the anti-detective, with a smile, "as I told you, we have facilities. I knew you were at this house, and I came here, straight as a die."

"It is truly wonderful," said Lawrence, "how accurate your information is. And now I will tell you something you can have, gratis. You have made one of the most stupid blunders that I ever heard of. Mr Keswick went away from here, nearly a week ago, and I am the Mr Croft whom you supposed to be in pursuit of him."

The man started, and gave vent to an unpleasant ejaculation.

"To prove it," said Lawrence, "there is my card, and," putting his hand into his pocket, "here are several letters addressed to me. And I want to let you know that I am not in pursuit of Mr Keswick; that he and I are very good friends; and that I have frequently seen him of late; and so you can just drop this business at once. And as for Candy, he has no right to take a single step for which I have not authorized him. I merely employed him to get Mr Keswick's address, which I wished for a very friendly motive. I shall write to Candy at once."

The man's face was not an agreeable study. He looked angry; he looked baffled; and yet he looked incredulous. "Now, come," said he, "if you are not Keswick, what did you pay me that money for?"

"I paid it to you," said Lawrence, "because I wanted to find out what dirty business you were doing in my name. I have had the worth of my money, and you can now go."

The man did not go, but stood gazing at Lawrence in a very peculiar way. "If Mr Keswick isn't here," he said, "I believe you are here waiting for him, and I am going to stay and warn him. People don't set private detectives on other men's tracks just for friendly motives."

Lawrence's face flushed and he made a step forward, but suddenly checking himself, he looked at the man for a moment and then said: "I suppose you want me to understand that if I become one of your subscribers in my own name, you will be willing to withhold the information you intended to give Mr Keswick."

"Well," said the man, relapsing into his former confidential tones, "business is business. If I could see Mr Keswick, I don't know whether he would employ me or not. I have no reason to work for one person more than another, and, of course, if one man comes to me and another doesn't, I'm bound to work for the man who comes. That's business!"

"You have said quite enough," said Lawrence. "Now leave this place instantly!"

"No, I won't!" said the man, shutting his mouth very tightly, as he drew himself up and folded his arms on his chest.

Lawrence was young, well-made, and strong, but the other man was taller, heavier, and perhaps stronger. To engage in a personal contest to compel a fellow like this to depart, would be a very unpleasant thing for Lawrence to do, even if he succeeded. He was a visitor here, the ladies would probably be witnesses of the conflict, and although the natural impulse of his heart, predominant over everything else at that moment, prompted him to spring upon the impudent fellow and endeavor to thrash him, still his instincts as a gentleman forbade him to enter into such a contest, which would probably have no good effect, no matter how it resulted. Never before did he feel the weakness of the moral power of a just cause when opposed to brutal obstinacy. Still he did not retreat from his position. "Did you hear what I said?" he cried. "Leave this place!"

"You are not master here," said the other, still preserving his defiant attitude, "and you have no right to order me away. I am not going."

Despite his inferiority in size, despite his gentlemanly instincts, and despite his prudent desire not to make an exhibition of himself before Miss March and the household, it is probable that Lawrence's anger would have assumed some form of physical manifestation, had not Mrs Keswick appeared suddenly on the porch. It was quite evident to her, from the aspect of the two men, that something was wrong, and she called out: "Who's that?"

"That, madam," said Lawrence, stepping a little back, "is a very impertinent man who has no business here, and whom I've ordered off the place, and, as he has refused to go, I propose—"

"Stop!" cried the old lady. And turning, she rushed into the house. Before either of the men could recover from their surprise at her sudden action, she reappeared upon the porch, carrying a double-barreled gun. Taking her position on the top of the flight of steps, with a quick movement of her thumb she cocked both barrels. Then, drawing herself up and resting firmly on her right leg, with the left advanced, she raised the gun; her right elbow well against her side, and with her extended left arm as steady as one of the beams of the roof above her. She hooked her forefinger around one of the triggers, her eagle eye glanced along the barrels straight at the head of the anti-detective, and, in a clarion voice she sang out "Go!"

The man stared at her. He saw the open muzzles of the gun barrels; beyond them, he saw the bright tops of the two percussion caps; and still beyond them, he saw the bright and determined eye that was taking sight along the barrels. All this he took in at a glance, and, without word or comment, he made a quick dodge of his head, jumped to one side, made a dash for his horse, and, untying the bridle with a jerk, he mounted and galloped out of the open gate, turning as he did so to find himself still covered by the muzzles of that gun. When he had nearly reached the outer gate and felt himself out of range, he turned in his saddle, and looking back at Lawrence, who was still standing where he had left him, he violently shook his fist in the air.

"Which means," said Lawrence to himself, "that he intends to make trouble with Keswick."

"That settled him," said the old lady, with a grim smile, as she lowered the muzzle of the gun, and gently let down the hammers. "Madam," said Lawrence, advancing toward her, "may I ask if that gun is loaded?"

"I should say so," replied the old lady. "In each barrel are two thimblefuls of powder, and half-a-box of Windfall's Teaberry Tonic Pills, each one of them as big and as hard as a buckshot. They were brought here by a travelling agent, who sold some of them to my people; and I tell you, sir, that those pills made them so sick that one man wasn't able to work for two days, and another for three. I vowed if that agent ever came back, I'd shoot his abominable pills into him, and I've kept the gun loaded for the purpose. Was this a pill man? I scarcely think he was a fertilizer, because it is rather late in the season for those bandits."

"He is a man," said Lawrence, coming up the steps, "who belongs to a class much worse than those you have mentioned. He is what is called a blackmailer."

"Is that so?" cried the old lady, her eyes flashing as she brought the butt of the gun heavily upon the porch floor. "I'm very glad I did not know it; very glad, indeed; for I might have been tempted to give him what belonged to another, without waiting for him to disobey my order to go. I am very much troubled, sir, that this annoyance should have happened to you in my house. Pray do not allow it to interfere with the enjoyment of your visit here, which I hope may continue as long as you can make it convenient." The words and manner convinced Lawrence that that they did not merely indicate a conventional hospitality. The old lady meant what she said. She wanted him to stay.

That morning he had become convinced that he had been invited there because Mrs Keswick wished him to marry Miss March; and she had done this, not out of any kind feeling toward him, because that would be impossible, considering the shortness of their acquaintance, but because she was opposed to her nephew's marriage with Miss March, and because he, Lawrence, was the only available person who could be brought forward to supplant him. "But whatever her motive is," thought Lawrence, "her invitation comes in admirably for me, and I hope I shall get the proper advantage from it."

Shortly after this, Lawrence sat in the parlor, by himself, writing a letter. It was to Junius Keswick; and in it he related the facts of his search for him in New York, and the reason why he desired to make his acquaintance. He concealed nothing but the fact that Keswick's cousin had had anything to do with the affair. "If she wants him to know that," he thought, "she can tell him herself. It is not my business to make any revelations in that quarter." He concluded the letter by informing Mr Keswick of the visit of the anti-detective, and warning him against any attempts which that individual might make upon his pocket, assuring him that the man could tell him nothing in regard to the affair that he now did not know.

After dinner, during which meal Miss March appeared in a very good humor, and talked rather more than she had yet done in the bosom of that family, Lawrence had his horse saddled, and rode to the railroad station, about six miles distant, where he posted his letter; and also sent a telegram to Mr Junius Keswick, warning him to pay no attention to any man who might call upon him on business connected with Croft and Keswick, and stating that an explanatory letter had been sent.

The anti-detective had left on a train an hour before, but Lawrence felt certain that the telegram would reach Keswick before the man could possibly get to him, especially as the latter had probably not yet found out his intended victim's address.

CHAPTER XVIII.

As Lawrence Croft rode back to Mrs Keswick's house, after having posted to his rival the facts in the case of Croft after Keswick, he did not feel in a very happy or triumphant mood. The visit of the anti-detective had compelled him to write to Keswick at a time when it was not at all desirable that he should make any disclosures whatever in regard to his love affair with Miss March, except that very important disclosure which he had made to the lady herself that morning. Of course there was no great danger that any intimation would reach Miss March of Mr Croft's rather eccentric search for his predecessor in the position which he wished to occupy in her affections. But the matter was particularly unpleasant just now, and Lawrence wished to occupy his time here in business very different from that of sending explanations to rivals and warding off unfriendly entanglements threatened by a blackmailer.

It was absolutely necessary for him to find out what he had done to offend Miss March. Offended that lady certainly was, and he even felt that she was glad of the opportunity his declaration gave her to inflict punishment upon him. But still he did not despair. When she had made him pay the penalty she thought proper for whatever error he had committed, she might be willing to listen to him. He had not said anything to her in regard to his failure to make her the promised visit at Midbranch, for, during the only time he had been alone with her here, the subject of an immediate statement of his feelings toward her had wholly occupied his mind. But it now occurred to him that she had reason to feel aggrieved at his failure to keep his promise to her, and she must have shown that feeling, for, otherwise, her most devoted friend, Mr Junius Keswick, would never have made that rather remarkable visit to him at the Green Sulphur Springs. Of course he would not allude to that visit, nor to her wish to see him, for she had sent him no message, nor did he know what object she had in desiring an interview. But it was quite possible that she might have taken umbrage at his failure to come to her when expected, and that this was the reason for her present treatment of him. To this treatment Lawrence might have taken exception, but now he did not wish to judge her in any way. His only desire in regard to her was to possess her, and therefore, instead of condemning her for her unjust method of showing her resentment, he merely considered how he should set himself right with her. Cruel or kind, just or unjust, he wanted her.

And then, as he slowly trotted along the lonely and uneven road, it suddenly flashed upon him, as if in mounting a hill, a far-reaching landscape, hitherto unseen, had in a moment, spread itself out before him, that, perhaps, Miss March had divined the reason of his extremely discreet behavior toward her. Was it possible that she had seen his motives, and knew the truth, and that she resented the prudence and caution he had shown in his intercourse with her?

If she had read the truth, he felt that she had good reason for her resentment, and Lawrence did not trouble himself to consider if she had shown too much of it or not. He remembered the story of the defeated general, and, feeling that so far he had been thoroughly defeated, he determined to admit the fact, and to sound a retreat from all the positions he had held; but, at the same time, to make a bold dash into the enemy's camp, and, if possible, capture the commander-in-chief and the Minister of War.

He would go to Roberta, tell her all that he had thought, and explain all that he had done. There should be no bit of truth which she could have reasoned out, which he would not plainly avow and set before her. Then he would declare to her that his love for her had become so great, that, rushing over every barrier, whether of prudence, doubt, or indecision, it had carried him with it and laid him at her feet. When he had come to this bold conclusion, he cheered up his horse with a thump of his heel and cantered rapidly over the rest of the road.

Peggy, having nothing else to do, was standing by the yard gate when he came in sight, and she watched his approach with feelings of surprise and disgust. She had seen him ride away, and not considering the fact that he did not carry his valise with him, she supposed he had taken his final departure. She had conceived a violent dislike to Mr Croft, looking upon him in the light of an interloper and a robber, who had come to break up that expected marriage between Master Junius and Miss Rob, which the servants at Midbranch looked forward to as necessary for the prosperity of the family; and the preliminary stages of which she had taken upon herself the responsibility of describing with so much minuteness of detail. With the politeness natural to the Southern negro, she opened the gate for the gentleman, but as she closed it behind him, she cast after him a look of earnest malevolence. "Ef dot ole Miss Keswick don' kunjer you, sah," she said in an undertone, "I's gwine to do it myse'f. So, dar!" And she gave her foot a stamp on the ground.

Lawrence, all ignorant of the malignant feeling he had excited in this, to him, very unimportant and uninteresting black girl, tied his horse and went into the house. As he passed the open door of the parlor he saw a lady reading by a window in the farthest corner. Hanging up his hat, he entered, hoping that the reader, whose form was partially concealed by the back of the large rocking chair in which she was sitting, was Miss March. But it was not; it was Mrs Keswick's niece, deeply engrossed by a large-paged novel. She turned her head as he entered, and said: "Good evening."

"Good evening, Miss Annie," said Lawrence, seating himself in a chair opposite her on the other side of the window.

"Mr Croft," said she, laying her book on her lap, and inclining herself slightly toward him, "you have no right to call me Miss Annie, and I wish you would not do it. The servants in the South call ladies by their first names, whether they are married or not, but people would think it very strange if you should imitate them. My name in this house is Mrs Null, and I wish you would not forget it."

"The trouble with me is," said Lawrence, with a smile, "that I cannot forget it is not Mrs Null, but, of course, if you desire it, I will give you that name."

"I told you before how much I desired it," said she, "and why. When my aunt finds out the exact state of this affair, I shall wish to stay no longer in this house; and I don't want my stay to come to an end at present. I am very happy here with the only relatives I have in the world, who are ever so much nicer people than I supposed they were, and you have no right to come here and drive me away."

"My dear young lady," said Croft, "I wouldn't do such a thing for the world. I admit that I am very sorry that it is necessary, or appears to you to be so, that you should be here under false colors, but—"

"Appears to be," said she, with much emphasis on the first word. "Why, can't you see that it would be impossible for me, as a young unmarried woman, to come to the house of a man, whose proprietor, as Aunt Keswick considers herself to be, has been trying to marry to me, even before I was grown up; for the letters that used to make my father most angry were about this. I hate to talk of these family affairs, and I only do it so that you can be made understand things."

"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "do not think I wish to blame you. You have had a hard time of it, and I can see the peculiarities of your residence here. Don't be afraid of me; I will not betray your secret. While I am here, I will address you, and will try to think of you as a very grave young matron. But I wish very much that you were not quite so grave and severe when you address me. When I was here last week your manner was very different. We were quite friendly then."

"I see no particular reason," said Annie, "why we should be friendly."

"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, after a little pause, during which he looked at her attentively, "I don't believe you approve of me."

"No," said she, "I don't."

He could not help smiling at the earnest directness of her answer, though he did not like it. "I am sorry," he said, "that you should have so poor an opinion of me. And, now, let me tell you what I was going to say this morning, that my only object in finding your cousin was to know the man who had been engaged to Miss March."

"So that you could find out what she probably objected to in him, and could then try and not let her see anything of that sort in you."

"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "you are unjust. There is no reason why you should speak to me in this way."

"I would like to know," she said, "what cause there could possibly be for your wanting to become acquainted with a man who had been engaged to the lady you wished to marry, if you didn't intend to study him up, and try to do better yourself."

"My motive in desiring to become acquainted with Mr Keswick," said Lawrence, "is one you could scarcely understand, and all I can say about it is, that I believed that if I knew the gentleman who had formerly been the accepted lover of a lady, I should better know the lady."

"You must be awfully suspicious," said she.

"No, I am not," he answered, "and I knew you would not understand me. My only desire in speaking to you upon this subject is that you may not unreasonably judge me."

"But I am not unreasonable," said Annie. "You are trying to get Miss March away from my cousin; and I don't think it is fair, and I don't want you to do it. When you were here before, I thought you two were good friends, but now I don't believe it."

How friendly might be the relations between himself and Keswick, when the latter should read his letter about the Candy affair, and should know that he was in this house with Miss March, Lawrence could not say; but he did not allude to this point in his companion's remarks. "I do not think," he said, "that you have any reason to object to my endeavoring to win Miss March. Even if she accepts me, it will be to the advantage of your cousin, because if he still hopes to obtain her, the sooner he knows he cannot do so, the better it will be for him. My course is perfectly fair. I am aware that the lady is not at present engaged to any one, and I am endeavoring to induce her to engage herself to me. If I fail, then I step aside."

"Entirely aside, and out of the way?" asked Mrs Null.

"Entirely," answered Lawrence.

"Well," said Annie, leaning back in her chair, in which before she had been sitting very upright, "you have, at last, given me a good deal of your confidence; almost as much as I gave you. Some of the things you say I believe, others I don't."

Lawrence was annoyed, but he would not allow himself to get angry. "I am not accustomed to being disbelieved," he said, gravely. "It is a very unusual experience, I assure you. Which of my statements do you doubt?"

"I don't believe," said Annie, "that you will give her up if she rejects you while you are here. You are too wilful. You will follow her, and try again."

"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "I do not feel justified in speaking to a third person of these things, but this is a peculiar case, and, therefore, I assure you, and request you to believe me, that if Miss March shall now positively refuse me, I shall feel convinced that her affections are already occupied, and that I have no right to press my suit any longer."

"Would you like to begin now?" said Annie. "She is coming down stairs."

"You are entirely too matter-of-fact," said Lawrence, smiling in spite of himself, and, in a moment, Roberta entered the room.

If the young lady in the high-backed rocking-chair had any idea of giving Mr Croft and Miss March an opportunity of expressing their sentiments toward each other, she took no immediate steps to do so; for she gently rocked herself; she talked about the novel she had been reading; she blamed Miss March for staying so long in her room on such a beautiful afternoon; and she was the primary cause of a conversation among the three upon the differences between New York weather and that of Virginia; and this continued until old Mrs Keswick joined the party, and changed the conversation to the consideration of the fact that a fertilizer agent, a pill man, or a blackmailer would find out a person's whereabouts, even if he were attending the funeral of his grandmother on a desert island.

The next morning, about an hour after breakfast, Lawrence was walking up and down on the grass in front of the house, smoking a cigar, and troubling his mind. He had had no opportunity on the previous evening to be alone with Miss March, for the little party sat together in the parlor until they separated for bed; and so, of course, nothing was yet settled. He was overstaying the time he had expected to spend here, and he felt nervous about it. He had hoped to see Miss March after breakfast, but she seemed to have withdrawn herself entirely from observation. Perhaps she considered that she had sufficiently rejected him on the previous morning, and that she now intended, except when she was sure of the company of the others, to remain in her room until he should go away. But he had no such opinion in regard to their interview on Pine Top Hill. He believed that he had been punished, not rejected, and that when he should be able to explain everything to her, he would be forgiven. That, at least, was his earnest hope, and hope makes us believe almost anything.

But, although there were so many difficulties in his way, Lawrence had a friend in that household who still remained true to him. Mrs Keswick, with sun-bonnet and umbrella, came out upon the porch, and said cheerily: "I should think a gentleman like you would prefer to be with the ladies than to be walking about here by yourself. They have gone to take a walk in the woods. I should have said that Miss March has gone on ahead, with her little maid Peggy. My niece was going with her, but I called her back to attend to some housekeeping matters for me, and I think she will be kept longer than she expected, for I have just sent Letty to her to be shown how to cut out a frock. But you needn't wait; you can go right through the flower-garden, and take the path over the fields into the woods." And, having concluded this bit of conscienceless and transparent management, the old lady remarked that she, herself, was going for a walk, and left him.

Lawrence lost no time in following her suggestions. Throwing away his cigar, he hurried through the house and the little flower-garden, a gate at the back of which opened into a wide pasture-field. This field sloped down gently to a branch, or little stream, which ran through the middle of it, and then the ground ascended until it reached the edge of the woods. Following the well-defined path, he looked across the little valley before him, and could see, just inside the edge of the woods—the trees and bushes being much more thinly attired than in the summer time—the form of a lady in a light-colored dress with a red scarf upon her shoulders, sometimes moving slowly, sometimes stopping. This was Roberta, and those woods were a far better place than the exposed summit of Pine Top Hill, in which to plight his troth, if it should be so that he should be able to do it, and there were doubtless paths in those woods through which they might afterwards wander, if things should turn out propitiously. At all events, in those woods would he settle this affair.

His intention was still strong to make a very clean breast of it to Roberta. If she had blamed him for his prudent reserve, she should have full opportunity to forgive him. All that he had been she should know, but far more important than that, he would try to make her know, better than he had done before, what he was now. Abandoning all his previous positions, and mounted on these strong resolutions, thus would he dash into her camp, and hope to capture her.

Reaching the little ravine, at the bottom of which flowed the branch, now but two or three feet wide, he ran down the rather steep slope and stepped upon the stout plank which bridged the stream. The instant he did so, the plank turned beneath him as if it had been hung on pivots, and he fell into the stony bed of the branch. It was an awkward fall, for the leg which was undermost came down at an angle, and his foot, striking a slippery stone, turned under him. In a moment he was on his feet, and scrambled up the side of the ravine, down which he had just come. When he reached the top he sat down and put both his hands on his right ankle, in which he felt considerable pain. In a few minutes he arose, and began to walk toward the house, but he had not taken a dozen steps before he sat down again. The pain in his ankle was very severe, and he felt quite sure that he had sprained it. He knew enough about such things to understand that if he walked upon this injured joint, he would not only make the pain worse, but the consequences might be serious. He was very much annoyed, not only that this thing had happened to him, but that it had happened at such an inauspicious moment. Of course, he could not now go on to the woods, and he must get somebody to help him to the house. Looking about, he saw, at a distance, Uncle Isham, and he called loudly to him. As soon as Lawrence was well away from the edge of the ravine, there emerged from some thick bushes on the other side of it, and at a short distance from the crossing-place, a negro girl, who slipped noiselessly down to the branch; moved with quick steps and crouching body to the plank; removed the two round stones on which it had been skilfully poised, and replaced it in its usual firm position. This done, she slipped back into the bushes, and by the time Isham had heard the call of Mr Croft, she was slowly walking down the opposite hill, as if she were coming from the woods to see why the gentleman was shouting.

Miss March also heard the call, and came out of the woods, and when she saw Lawrence sitting on the grass on the other side of the branch, with one hand upon his ankle, she knew that something had happened, and came down toward him. Lawrence saw her approaching, and before she was even near enough to hear him, he began to shout to her to be careful about crossing the branch, as the board was unsafe. Peggy joined her, and walked on in front of her; and when Miss March understood what Lawrence was saying, she called back that she would be careful. When they reached the ravine, Peggy ran down, stepped upon the plank, jumped on the middle of it, walked over it, and then back again, and assured her mistress that it was just as good as ever it was, and that she reckoned the city gentleman didn't know how to walk on planks, and that "he jes' done fall off."

Miss March crossed, stepping a little cautiously, and reached Lawrence just as Uncle Isham, with strong arms and many words of sympathy, had assisted him to his feet. "What has happened to you, Mr Croft?" she exclaimed.

"I was coming to you," he said; "and in crossing the stream the plank turned under me, and I am afraid I have sprained my ankle. I can't walk on it."