Chapter Fifty One.

Chapter Fifty One.Who was the Rider?I felt faint enough to have reeled from the saddle; but the necessity of concealing the thoughts that were passing within me, kept me firm. There are suspicions that even a bosom friend may not share; and mine were of this character, if suspicions they could be called. Unhappily, they approached the nature of convictions.I saw that Gallagher was mystified; not, as I supposed, by the tracks upon the ground, but by my behaviour in regard to them. He had observed my excited manner on taking up the trail, and while following it; he could not have failed to do so; and now, on reaching the glade, he looked upon a pallid face, and lips quivering with emotions to him unintelligible.“What is it, Geordie, my boy? Do you think the ridskin has been after some dhirty game? Playing the spy on your plantation, eh?”The question aided me in my dilemma. It suggested a reply which I did not believe to be the truth.“Likely enough,” I answered, without displaying any embarrassment; “an Indian spy, I have no doubt of it; and evidently in communication with some of the negroes, since this is the track of a pony that belongs to the plantation. Some of them have ridden thus far to meet him; though for what purpose it is difficult to guess.”“Massa George,” spoke out my black follower, “dar’s no one ebber ride da White Fox, ’ceptin’—”“Jake!” I shouted, sharply interrupting him, “gallop forward to the house, and tell them we are coming. Quick, my man!”My command was too positive to be obeyed with hesitation; and, without finishing his speech, the black put spurs to his cob, and rode rapidly past us.It was a manoeuvre of mere precaution. But the moment before, I had no thought of dispatching anavant courierto announce us. I knew what the simple fellow was about to say: “No one ebber ride da White Fox, ’ceptin’ Missa Vaginny;” and I had adopted this ruse to stifle his speech.I glanced towards my companion, after Jake had passed out of sight. He was a man of open heart and free of tongue, with not one particle of the secretive principle in his nature. His fine florid face was seldom marked by a line of suspicion; but I observed that it now wore a puzzled expression, and I felt uneasy. No remark, however, was made by either of us; and turning into the path which Jake had taken, we rode forward.The path was a cattle-track—too narrow to admit of our riding abreast; and Gallagher permitting me to act as pilot, drew his horse into the rear. In this way we moved silently onward.I had no need to direct my horse. It was an old road to him: he knew where he was going. I took no heed of him, but left him to stride forward at his will.I scarcely looked at the path—once or twice only—and then I saw the tracks of the pony—backward and forward; but I heeded them no more; I knew whence and whither they led.I was too much occupied with thoughts within, to notice aught without or around me.Could it have been any other than Virginia? Who else? It was true what Jake had intended to say—that no one except my sister ever rode “White Fox”—no one upon the plantation being permitted to mount this favourite miniature of a steed.Yes—there was an exception. I had seen Viola upon him. Perhaps Jake would have added this exception, had I allowed him to finish his speech. Might it have been Viola?But what could be her purpose in meeting the Seminole chief? for that the person who rode the pony had held an interview with the latter, there could not be the shadow of a doubt; the tracks told that clearly enough.What motive could have moved the quadroon to such a meeting? Surely none. Not surely, either; how couldIsay so? I had been long absent; many strange events had transpired in my absence—many changes. How could I tell but that Viola had grown “tired” of her sable sweetheart, and looked kindly upon the dashing chieftain? No doubt there had been many opportunities for her seeing the latter; for, after my departure for the north, several years had elapsed before the expulsion of the Powells from their plantation. And now, that I thought of it, I remembered something—a trifling circumstance that had occurred on that very day when young Powell first appeared among us: Viola had expressed admiration of the handsome youth. I remembered that this had made Black Jake very angry; that my sister, too, had been angry, and scolded Viola, as I thought at the time, for mortifying her faithful lover. Viola was a beauty, and like most beauties, a coquette. My conjecture might be right. It was pleasant to think so; but, alas, poor Jake!Another slight circumstance tended to confirm this view. I had observed of late a change in my henchman; he was certainly not as cheerful as of yore; he appeared more reflective—serious—dull.God grant that this might be the explanation!There was another conjecture that offered me a hope; one that, if true, would have satisfied me still better, for I had a strong feeling of friendship for Black Jake.The other hypothesis was simply what Gallagher had already suggested—although White Fox was not allowed to be ridden, some of the people might havestolen him for a ride. It was possible, and not without probability. There might be disaffected slaves on our plantation—there were on almost every other—who were in communication with hostile Indians. The place was more than a mile from the house. Riding would be pleasanter than walking; and taking the pony from its pastures might be easily accomplished, without fear of observation. A great black negro may have been the rider after all. God grant thatthismight be the true explanation!The mental prayer had scarcely passed my thoughts, when an object came under my eyes, that swept my theories to the wind, sending a fresh pang through my heart.A locust tree grew by the side of the path, with its branches extending partially across. A strip of ribbon had caught on one of the spines, and was waving in the breeze. It was silk, and of fine texture—a bit of the trimming of a lady’s dress torn off by the thorn.To me it was a sad token. My fabric of hopeful fancies fell into ruin at the sight. No negro—not even Viola—could have left such evidence as that; and I shuddered as I spurred past the fluttering relic.I was in hopes my companion would not observe it; but he did. It was too conspicuous to be passed without notice. As I glanced back over my shoulder, I saw him reach out his arm, snatch the fragment from the branch, and gaze upon it with a puzzled and inquiring look.Fearing he might ride up and question me, I spurred my horse into a rapid gallop, at the same time calling to him to follow.Ten minutes after, we entered the lawn and pulled up in front of the house. My mother and sister had come out into the verandah to receive us; and we were greeted with words of welcome.But I heard, or heeded them not; my gaze was riveted on Virginia—upon her dress. It was ariding-habit: the plumed chapeau was still upon her head!My beautiful sister—never seemed she more beautiful than at that moment; her cheeks were crimsoned with the wind, her golden tresses hanging over them. But it joyed me not to see her so fair: in my eyes, she appeared a fallen angel.I glanced at Gallagher as I tottered out of my saddle: I saw that he comprehended all. Nay, more—his countenance wore an expression indicative of great mental suffering, apparently as acute as my own. My friend he was—tried and true; he had observed my anguish—he now guessed the cause; and his look betokened the deep sympathy with which my misfortune inspired him.

I felt faint enough to have reeled from the saddle; but the necessity of concealing the thoughts that were passing within me, kept me firm. There are suspicions that even a bosom friend may not share; and mine were of this character, if suspicions they could be called. Unhappily, they approached the nature of convictions.

I saw that Gallagher was mystified; not, as I supposed, by the tracks upon the ground, but by my behaviour in regard to them. He had observed my excited manner on taking up the trail, and while following it; he could not have failed to do so; and now, on reaching the glade, he looked upon a pallid face, and lips quivering with emotions to him unintelligible.

“What is it, Geordie, my boy? Do you think the ridskin has been after some dhirty game? Playing the spy on your plantation, eh?”

The question aided me in my dilemma. It suggested a reply which I did not believe to be the truth.

“Likely enough,” I answered, without displaying any embarrassment; “an Indian spy, I have no doubt of it; and evidently in communication with some of the negroes, since this is the track of a pony that belongs to the plantation. Some of them have ridden thus far to meet him; though for what purpose it is difficult to guess.”

“Massa George,” spoke out my black follower, “dar’s no one ebber ride da White Fox, ’ceptin’—”

“Jake!” I shouted, sharply interrupting him, “gallop forward to the house, and tell them we are coming. Quick, my man!”

My command was too positive to be obeyed with hesitation; and, without finishing his speech, the black put spurs to his cob, and rode rapidly past us.

It was a manoeuvre of mere precaution. But the moment before, I had no thought of dispatching anavant courierto announce us. I knew what the simple fellow was about to say: “No one ebber ride da White Fox, ’ceptin’ Missa Vaginny;” and I had adopted this ruse to stifle his speech.

I glanced towards my companion, after Jake had passed out of sight. He was a man of open heart and free of tongue, with not one particle of the secretive principle in his nature. His fine florid face was seldom marked by a line of suspicion; but I observed that it now wore a puzzled expression, and I felt uneasy. No remark, however, was made by either of us; and turning into the path which Jake had taken, we rode forward.

The path was a cattle-track—too narrow to admit of our riding abreast; and Gallagher permitting me to act as pilot, drew his horse into the rear. In this way we moved silently onward.

I had no need to direct my horse. It was an old road to him: he knew where he was going. I took no heed of him, but left him to stride forward at his will.

I scarcely looked at the path—once or twice only—and then I saw the tracks of the pony—backward and forward; but I heeded them no more; I knew whence and whither they led.

I was too much occupied with thoughts within, to notice aught without or around me.

Could it have been any other than Virginia? Who else? It was true what Jake had intended to say—that no one except my sister ever rode “White Fox”—no one upon the plantation being permitted to mount this favourite miniature of a steed.

Yes—there was an exception. I had seen Viola upon him. Perhaps Jake would have added this exception, had I allowed him to finish his speech. Might it have been Viola?

But what could be her purpose in meeting the Seminole chief? for that the person who rode the pony had held an interview with the latter, there could not be the shadow of a doubt; the tracks told that clearly enough.

What motive could have moved the quadroon to such a meeting? Surely none. Not surely, either; how couldIsay so? I had been long absent; many strange events had transpired in my absence—many changes. How could I tell but that Viola had grown “tired” of her sable sweetheart, and looked kindly upon the dashing chieftain? No doubt there had been many opportunities for her seeing the latter; for, after my departure for the north, several years had elapsed before the expulsion of the Powells from their plantation. And now, that I thought of it, I remembered something—a trifling circumstance that had occurred on that very day when young Powell first appeared among us: Viola had expressed admiration of the handsome youth. I remembered that this had made Black Jake very angry; that my sister, too, had been angry, and scolded Viola, as I thought at the time, for mortifying her faithful lover. Viola was a beauty, and like most beauties, a coquette. My conjecture might be right. It was pleasant to think so; but, alas, poor Jake!

Another slight circumstance tended to confirm this view. I had observed of late a change in my henchman; he was certainly not as cheerful as of yore; he appeared more reflective—serious—dull.

God grant that this might be the explanation!

There was another conjecture that offered me a hope; one that, if true, would have satisfied me still better, for I had a strong feeling of friendship for Black Jake.

The other hypothesis was simply what Gallagher had already suggested—although White Fox was not allowed to be ridden, some of the people might havestolen him for a ride. It was possible, and not without probability. There might be disaffected slaves on our plantation—there were on almost every other—who were in communication with hostile Indians. The place was more than a mile from the house. Riding would be pleasanter than walking; and taking the pony from its pastures might be easily accomplished, without fear of observation. A great black negro may have been the rider after all. God grant thatthismight be the true explanation!

The mental prayer had scarcely passed my thoughts, when an object came under my eyes, that swept my theories to the wind, sending a fresh pang through my heart.

A locust tree grew by the side of the path, with its branches extending partially across. A strip of ribbon had caught on one of the spines, and was waving in the breeze. It was silk, and of fine texture—a bit of the trimming of a lady’s dress torn off by the thorn.

To me it was a sad token. My fabric of hopeful fancies fell into ruin at the sight. No negro—not even Viola—could have left such evidence as that; and I shuddered as I spurred past the fluttering relic.

I was in hopes my companion would not observe it; but he did. It was too conspicuous to be passed without notice. As I glanced back over my shoulder, I saw him reach out his arm, snatch the fragment from the branch, and gaze upon it with a puzzled and inquiring look.

Fearing he might ride up and question me, I spurred my horse into a rapid gallop, at the same time calling to him to follow.

Ten minutes after, we entered the lawn and pulled up in front of the house. My mother and sister had come out into the verandah to receive us; and we were greeted with words of welcome.

But I heard, or heeded them not; my gaze was riveted on Virginia—upon her dress. It was ariding-habit: the plumed chapeau was still upon her head!

My beautiful sister—never seemed she more beautiful than at that moment; her cheeks were crimsoned with the wind, her golden tresses hanging over them. But it joyed me not to see her so fair: in my eyes, she appeared a fallen angel.

I glanced at Gallagher as I tottered out of my saddle: I saw that he comprehended all. Nay, more—his countenance wore an expression indicative of great mental suffering, apparently as acute as my own. My friend he was—tried and true; he had observed my anguish—he now guessed the cause; and his look betokened the deep sympathy with which my misfortune inspired him.

Chapter Fifty Two.Cold Courtesy.I received my mother’s embrace with filial warmth; my sister’s in silence—almost with coldness. My mother noticed this, and wondered. Gallagher also shewed reserve in his greeting of Virginia; and neither did this pass unobserved.Of the four, my sister was the least embarrassed; she was not embarrassed at all. On the contrary, her lips moved freely, and her eyes sparkled with a cheerful expression, as if really joyed by our arrival.“You have been on horseback, sister?” I said, in a tone that affected indifference as to the reply.“Say, rather, pony-back. My little Foxey scarcely deserves the proud title of horse. Yes, I have been out for an airing.”“Alone?”“Quite alone—solus bolus, as the black people have it.”“Is it prudent, sister?”“Why not? I often do it. What have I to fear? The wolves and panthers are hunted out, and White Fox is too swift either for a bear or an alligator.”“There are creatures to be encountered in the woods more dangerous than wild beasts.”I watched her countenance as I made the remark, but I saw not the slightest change.“What creatures, George?” she asked in a drawling tone, imitating that in which I had spoken.“Redskins—Indians,” I answered abruptly.“Nonsense, brother; there are no Indians in this neighbourhood—at least,” added she with marked hesitation, “none thatweneed fear. Did I not write to tell you so? You are fresh from the hostile ground, where I suppose there is an Indian in every bush; but remember, Geordy, you have travelled a long way, and unless you have brought the savages with you, you will find none here. So, gentlemen, you may go to sleep to-night without fear of being awakened by theYo-ho-ehee.”“Is that so certain, Miss Randolph?” inquired Gallagher, now joining in the conversation, and no longer “broguing” it. “Your brother and I have reason to believe that some, who have already raised the war-cry, are not so far off from the settlements of the Suwanee.”“MissRandolph! Ha, ha, ha! WhyMisterGallagher, where did you learn that respectful appellative? It is so distant you must have fetched it a long way.Itused to be Virginia, and Virgine, and Virginny, and simple ’Gin—for which last I could have spitted you,MisterGallagher, and would, had you not given up calling me so. What’s the matter? It is just three months since we—that is, you and I, Mister Gallagher—met last; and scarcely two since Geordy and I parted; and now you are both here—one talking as solemnly as Solon, the other as soberly as Socrates! George, I presume, after another spell of absence, will be styling meMissRandolph—I suppose that’s the fashion at the fort. Come, fellows,” she added, striking the balustrade with her whip, “your minds and your mouths, and give me the reason of this wonderful ‘transmogrification,’ for by my word, you shall not eat till you do!”The relation in which Gallagher stood to my sister requires a little explanation. He was not new either to her or my mother. During their sojourn in the north, he had met them both; but the former often. As my almost constant companion, he had ample opportunity of becoming acquainted with Virginia; and he had, in reality, grown well acquainted with her. They met on the most familiar terms—even to using the diminutives of each other’s names; and I could understand why my sister regarded “Miss Randolph” as a rather distant mode of address; but I understood, also, why he had thus addressed her.There was a period when I believed my friend in love with Virginia; that was shortly after their introduction to each other. But as time wore on, I ceased to have this belief. Their behaviour was not that of lovers—at least, according to my notion. They were toofriendlyto be in love. They used to romp together, and read comic books, and laugh, and chatter by the hour about trivial things, and call each other jack-names, and the like. In fact, it was a rare thing to hear them either talk or act soberly when in each other’s company. All this was so different from my ideas of how two loverswouldact—so different from the way in whichIshould have acted—that I gave up the fancy I had held, and afterwards regarded them as two beings whose characters had a certain correspondence, and whose hearts were in unison for friendship, but not for love.One other circumstance confirmed me in this belief: I observed that my sister, during Gallagher’s absence, had little relish for gaiety, which had been rather a characteristic of her girlish days; but the moment the latter would make his appearance, a sadden change would come over her, and she would enter withabandoninto all the idle bagatelle of the hour.Love, thought I, does not so exhibit itself. If there was one in whom she felt a heart-interest, it was not he who was present. No—Gallagher was not the man; and the play that passed between them was but the fond familiarity of two persons who esteemed each other, without a spark of love being mixed up in the affection.The dark suspicion that now rested upon his mind, as upon my own, had evidently saddened him—not from any feeling of jealousy, but out of pure friendly sympathy for me—perhaps, too, for her. His bearing towards her, though within the rules of the most perfect politeness,waschanged—much changed; no wonder she took notice of it—no wonder she called for an explanation.“Quick!” cried she, cutting the vine-leaves with her whip. “Is it a travesty, or are you in earnest? Unbosom yourselves both, or I keep my vow—you shall have no dinner. I shall myself go to the kitchen, and countermand it.”Despite the gloomy thoughts passing within, her manner and the odd menace compelled Gallagher to break into laughter—though his laugh was far short of the hearty cachinnation she had been accustomed to hear from him.I was myself forced to smile; and, seeing the necessity of smothering my emotions, I stammered forth what might pass for an explanation. It was not the time for the true one.“Verily, sister,” said I, “we are too tired for mirth, and too hungry as well. Consider how far we have ridden, and under a broiling sun! Neither of us has tasted a morsel since leaving the fort, and our breakfast there was none of the most sumptuous—corncakes and weak coffee, with pickled pork. How I long for some of Aunt Sheba’s Virginia biscuits and ‘chicken fixings.’ Pray, let us have our dinner, and then you shall see a change in us! We shall both be as merry as sand-boys after it.”Satisfied with this explanation, or affecting to be so—for her response was a promise to let us have our dinner—accompanied by a cheerful laugh—my sister retired to make the necessary change in her costume, while my friend and I were shown to our separate apartments.At dinner, and afterwards, I did my utmost to counterfeit ease—to appear happy and cheerful. I noticed that Gallagher was enacting a similarmétier.Perhaps this seeming may have deceived my mother, but not Virginia. Ere many hours had passed, I observed signs of suspicion—directed equally against Gallagher as myself. She suspected that all was not right, and began to show pique—almost spitefulness—in her conversation with us both.

I received my mother’s embrace with filial warmth; my sister’s in silence—almost with coldness. My mother noticed this, and wondered. Gallagher also shewed reserve in his greeting of Virginia; and neither did this pass unobserved.

Of the four, my sister was the least embarrassed; she was not embarrassed at all. On the contrary, her lips moved freely, and her eyes sparkled with a cheerful expression, as if really joyed by our arrival.

“You have been on horseback, sister?” I said, in a tone that affected indifference as to the reply.

“Say, rather, pony-back. My little Foxey scarcely deserves the proud title of horse. Yes, I have been out for an airing.”

“Alone?”

“Quite alone—solus bolus, as the black people have it.”

“Is it prudent, sister?”

“Why not? I often do it. What have I to fear? The wolves and panthers are hunted out, and White Fox is too swift either for a bear or an alligator.”

“There are creatures to be encountered in the woods more dangerous than wild beasts.”

I watched her countenance as I made the remark, but I saw not the slightest change.

“What creatures, George?” she asked in a drawling tone, imitating that in which I had spoken.

“Redskins—Indians,” I answered abruptly.

“Nonsense, brother; there are no Indians in this neighbourhood—at least,” added she with marked hesitation, “none thatweneed fear. Did I not write to tell you so? You are fresh from the hostile ground, where I suppose there is an Indian in every bush; but remember, Geordy, you have travelled a long way, and unless you have brought the savages with you, you will find none here. So, gentlemen, you may go to sleep to-night without fear of being awakened by theYo-ho-ehee.”

“Is that so certain, Miss Randolph?” inquired Gallagher, now joining in the conversation, and no longer “broguing” it. “Your brother and I have reason to believe that some, who have already raised the war-cry, are not so far off from the settlements of the Suwanee.”

“MissRandolph! Ha, ha, ha! WhyMisterGallagher, where did you learn that respectful appellative? It is so distant you must have fetched it a long way.Itused to be Virginia, and Virgine, and Virginny, and simple ’Gin—for which last I could have spitted you,MisterGallagher, and would, had you not given up calling me so. What’s the matter? It is just three months since we—that is, you and I, Mister Gallagher—met last; and scarcely two since Geordy and I parted; and now you are both here—one talking as solemnly as Solon, the other as soberly as Socrates! George, I presume, after another spell of absence, will be styling meMissRandolph—I suppose that’s the fashion at the fort. Come, fellows,” she added, striking the balustrade with her whip, “your minds and your mouths, and give me the reason of this wonderful ‘transmogrification,’ for by my word, you shall not eat till you do!”

The relation in which Gallagher stood to my sister requires a little explanation. He was not new either to her or my mother. During their sojourn in the north, he had met them both; but the former often. As my almost constant companion, he had ample opportunity of becoming acquainted with Virginia; and he had, in reality, grown well acquainted with her. They met on the most familiar terms—even to using the diminutives of each other’s names; and I could understand why my sister regarded “Miss Randolph” as a rather distant mode of address; but I understood, also, why he had thus addressed her.

There was a period when I believed my friend in love with Virginia; that was shortly after their introduction to each other. But as time wore on, I ceased to have this belief. Their behaviour was not that of lovers—at least, according to my notion. They were toofriendlyto be in love. They used to romp together, and read comic books, and laugh, and chatter by the hour about trivial things, and call each other jack-names, and the like. In fact, it was a rare thing to hear them either talk or act soberly when in each other’s company. All this was so different from my ideas of how two loverswouldact—so different from the way in whichIshould have acted—that I gave up the fancy I had held, and afterwards regarded them as two beings whose characters had a certain correspondence, and whose hearts were in unison for friendship, but not for love.

One other circumstance confirmed me in this belief: I observed that my sister, during Gallagher’s absence, had little relish for gaiety, which had been rather a characteristic of her girlish days; but the moment the latter would make his appearance, a sadden change would come over her, and she would enter withabandoninto all the idle bagatelle of the hour.

Love, thought I, does not so exhibit itself. If there was one in whom she felt a heart-interest, it was not he who was present. No—Gallagher was not the man; and the play that passed between them was but the fond familiarity of two persons who esteemed each other, without a spark of love being mixed up in the affection.

The dark suspicion that now rested upon his mind, as upon my own, had evidently saddened him—not from any feeling of jealousy, but out of pure friendly sympathy for me—perhaps, too, for her. His bearing towards her, though within the rules of the most perfect politeness,waschanged—much changed; no wonder she took notice of it—no wonder she called for an explanation.

“Quick!” cried she, cutting the vine-leaves with her whip. “Is it a travesty, or are you in earnest? Unbosom yourselves both, or I keep my vow—you shall have no dinner. I shall myself go to the kitchen, and countermand it.”

Despite the gloomy thoughts passing within, her manner and the odd menace compelled Gallagher to break into laughter—though his laugh was far short of the hearty cachinnation she had been accustomed to hear from him.

I was myself forced to smile; and, seeing the necessity of smothering my emotions, I stammered forth what might pass for an explanation. It was not the time for the true one.

“Verily, sister,” said I, “we are too tired for mirth, and too hungry as well. Consider how far we have ridden, and under a broiling sun! Neither of us has tasted a morsel since leaving the fort, and our breakfast there was none of the most sumptuous—corncakes and weak coffee, with pickled pork. How I long for some of Aunt Sheba’s Virginia biscuits and ‘chicken fixings.’ Pray, let us have our dinner, and then you shall see a change in us! We shall both be as merry as sand-boys after it.”

Satisfied with this explanation, or affecting to be so—for her response was a promise to let us have our dinner—accompanied by a cheerful laugh—my sister retired to make the necessary change in her costume, while my friend and I were shown to our separate apartments.

At dinner, and afterwards, I did my utmost to counterfeit ease—to appear happy and cheerful. I noticed that Gallagher was enacting a similarmétier.

Perhaps this seeming may have deceived my mother, but not Virginia. Ere many hours had passed, I observed signs of suspicion—directed equally against Gallagher as myself. She suspected that all was not right, and began to show pique—almost spitefulness—in her conversation with us both.

Chapter Fifty Three.My Sister’s Spirit.For the remainder of that day and throughout the next, this unsatisfactory state of things continued, during which time the three of us—my friend, my sister, and myself—acted under a polite reserve. It was triangular, for I had not made Gallagher my confidant, but left him entirely to his conjectures. He was a true gentleman; and never even hinted at what he must have well-known was engrossing the whole of my thoughts. It was my intention to unbosom myself to him, and seek his friendly advice, but not until a little time had elapsed—not till I had obtained a fulléclaircissementfrom Virginia.I waited for an opportunity to effect this. Not but that many a one offered—many a time might I have found her alone; but, on each occasion, my resolution forsook me. I actually dreaded to bring her to a confession.And yet I felt that it was my duty. As her brother—the nearest male relative, it was mine to guard her honour—to preserve the family escutcheon pure and untarnished.For days was I restrained from this fraternal duty—partly through a natural feeling of delicacy—partly from a fear of the disclosure I might draw forth. I dreaded to know the truth. That a correspondence had passed between my sister and the Indian chief—that it was in all probability still going on—that a clandestine meeting had taken place—more than one, mayhap—all this I knew well enough. But to what length had these proceedings been carried? How far had my poor sister compromised herself? These were the interrogatories to which I dreaded the answer.I believed she would tell me the truth—that is, if entreated; if commanded,no.Of the last, I felt satisfied. I knew her proud spirit—prouder of late. When roused to hostility, she could be capable of the most obstinate resistance—firm and unyielding. There was much of my mother’s nature in her, and little of my father’s. Personally, as already stated, she resembled her mother; intellectually, there was also a similitude. She was one of those women—for she now deserved the title—who have never known the restraint of a severe discipline, and who grow up in the belief that they have no superior, no master upon earth. Hence the full development of a feeling of perfect independence, which, among American women, is common enough, but, in other lands, can only exist among those of the privileged classes. Uncontrolled by parent, guardian, or teacher—for this last had not been allowed to “rule by the rod”—my sister had grown to the age of womanhood, and she felt herself as masterless as a queen upon her throne.She was independent in another sense—one which exerts a large influence over the freedom of the spirit—her fortune was her own.In the States of America, the law of entail is not allowed; it is even provided against by statute. Those statesmen presidents who in long line succeeded the Father of the Republic, were wise legislators. They saw lurking under this wicked law—which, at most, appears only to affect the family relations—the strong arm of the political tyrant; and, therefore, took measures to guard against its introduction to the land. Wisely did they act, as time will show, or, indeed, has shown already; for had the congress of Washington’s day but sanctioned the law of entail, the great American republic would long since have passed into an oligarchy.Untrammelled by any such unnatural statute, my father had acted as all men of proper feeling are likely to do; he had followed the dictates of the heart, and divided his property in equal shares between his children. So far as independence of fortune went, my sister was my equal.Of course, our mother had not been left unprovided for, but the bulk of the patrimonial estate now belonged to Virginia and myself.My sister, then, was an heiress—quite independent of either mother or brother—bound by no authority to either, except that which exists in the ties of the heart—in filial and sororal affection.I have been minute with these circumstances, in order to explain the delicate duty I had to perform, in calling my sister to an account.Strange that I reflected not on my own anomalous position. At that hour, it never entered my thoughts. Here was I affianced to the sister of this very man, with the sincere intention of making her my wife.I could perceive nothing unnatural, nothing disgraceful in the alliance—neither would society. Such, in earlier times, had done honour to Rolfe, who had mated with a maiden of darker skin, less beauty, and far slighter accomplishments than Maümee. In later days, hundreds of others had followed his example, without the loss either ofcasteor character; and why should not I? In truth, the question had never occurred to me, for it never entered my thoughts that my purpose in regard tomyIndianfiancéewas otherwise than perfectlyen règle.It would have been different had there been a taint ofAfrican bloodin the veins of my intended. Then, indeed, might I have dreaded the frowns of society—for in America it is not the colour of the skin that condemns, but the blood—the blood. The white gentleman may marry an Indian wife; she may enter society without protest—if beautiful, become a belle.All this I knew, while, at the same time, I was slave to a belief in the monstrous anomaly that where the blood is mingled from the other side—where the woman is white and the man red—the union becomes amésalliance, a disgrace. By the friends of the former, such a union is regarded as a misfortune—a fall; and when the woman chances to be alady—ah! then, indeed—Little regard as I had for many of my country’s prejudices, regarding race and colour, I was not free from the influence of this social maxim. To believe my sister in love with an Indian, would be to regard her as lost—fallen! No matter how high in rank among his own people—no matter how brave—how accomplished he might be—no matter if it were Osceola himself!

For the remainder of that day and throughout the next, this unsatisfactory state of things continued, during which time the three of us—my friend, my sister, and myself—acted under a polite reserve. It was triangular, for I had not made Gallagher my confidant, but left him entirely to his conjectures. He was a true gentleman; and never even hinted at what he must have well-known was engrossing the whole of my thoughts. It was my intention to unbosom myself to him, and seek his friendly advice, but not until a little time had elapsed—not till I had obtained a fulléclaircissementfrom Virginia.

I waited for an opportunity to effect this. Not but that many a one offered—many a time might I have found her alone; but, on each occasion, my resolution forsook me. I actually dreaded to bring her to a confession.

And yet I felt that it was my duty. As her brother—the nearest male relative, it was mine to guard her honour—to preserve the family escutcheon pure and untarnished.

For days was I restrained from this fraternal duty—partly through a natural feeling of delicacy—partly from a fear of the disclosure I might draw forth. I dreaded to know the truth. That a correspondence had passed between my sister and the Indian chief—that it was in all probability still going on—that a clandestine meeting had taken place—more than one, mayhap—all this I knew well enough. But to what length had these proceedings been carried? How far had my poor sister compromised herself? These were the interrogatories to which I dreaded the answer.

I believed she would tell me the truth—that is, if entreated; if commanded,no.

Of the last, I felt satisfied. I knew her proud spirit—prouder of late. When roused to hostility, she could be capable of the most obstinate resistance—firm and unyielding. There was much of my mother’s nature in her, and little of my father’s. Personally, as already stated, she resembled her mother; intellectually, there was also a similitude. She was one of those women—for she now deserved the title—who have never known the restraint of a severe discipline, and who grow up in the belief that they have no superior, no master upon earth. Hence the full development of a feeling of perfect independence, which, among American women, is common enough, but, in other lands, can only exist among those of the privileged classes. Uncontrolled by parent, guardian, or teacher—for this last had not been allowed to “rule by the rod”—my sister had grown to the age of womanhood, and she felt herself as masterless as a queen upon her throne.

She was independent in another sense—one which exerts a large influence over the freedom of the spirit—her fortune was her own.

In the States of America, the law of entail is not allowed; it is even provided against by statute. Those statesmen presidents who in long line succeeded the Father of the Republic, were wise legislators. They saw lurking under this wicked law—which, at most, appears only to affect the family relations—the strong arm of the political tyrant; and, therefore, took measures to guard against its introduction to the land. Wisely did they act, as time will show, or, indeed, has shown already; for had the congress of Washington’s day but sanctioned the law of entail, the great American republic would long since have passed into an oligarchy.

Untrammelled by any such unnatural statute, my father had acted as all men of proper feeling are likely to do; he had followed the dictates of the heart, and divided his property in equal shares between his children. So far as independence of fortune went, my sister was my equal.

Of course, our mother had not been left unprovided for, but the bulk of the patrimonial estate now belonged to Virginia and myself.

My sister, then, was an heiress—quite independent of either mother or brother—bound by no authority to either, except that which exists in the ties of the heart—in filial and sororal affection.

I have been minute with these circumstances, in order to explain the delicate duty I had to perform, in calling my sister to an account.

Strange that I reflected not on my own anomalous position. At that hour, it never entered my thoughts. Here was I affianced to the sister of this very man, with the sincere intention of making her my wife.

I could perceive nothing unnatural, nothing disgraceful in the alliance—neither would society. Such, in earlier times, had done honour to Rolfe, who had mated with a maiden of darker skin, less beauty, and far slighter accomplishments than Maümee. In later days, hundreds of others had followed his example, without the loss either ofcasteor character; and why should not I? In truth, the question had never occurred to me, for it never entered my thoughts that my purpose in regard tomyIndianfiancéewas otherwise than perfectlyen règle.

It would have been different had there been a taint ofAfrican bloodin the veins of my intended. Then, indeed, might I have dreaded the frowns of society—for in America it is not the colour of the skin that condemns, but the blood—the blood. The white gentleman may marry an Indian wife; she may enter society without protest—if beautiful, become a belle.

All this I knew, while, at the same time, I was slave to a belief in the monstrous anomaly that where the blood is mingled from the other side—where the woman is white and the man red—the union becomes amésalliance, a disgrace. By the friends of the former, such a union is regarded as a misfortune—a fall; and when the woman chances to be alady—ah! then, indeed—

Little regard as I had for many of my country’s prejudices, regarding race and colour, I was not free from the influence of this social maxim. To believe my sister in love with an Indian, would be to regard her as lost—fallen! No matter how high in rank among his own people—no matter how brave—how accomplished he might be—no matter if it were Osceola himself!

Chapter Fifty Four.Asking an Explanation.Suspense was preying upon me; I could endure it no longer. I at length resolved upon demanding an explanation from my sister, as soon as I should find her alone.The opportunity soon offered. I chanced to see her in the lawn, down near the edge of the lake. I saw that she was in a mood unusually cheerful.“Alas!” thought I, as I approached full of my resolutions—“these smiles! I shall soon change them to tears. Sister.”She was talking to her pets, and did not hear me, or pretended she did not.“Sister!” I repeated, in a louder voice.“Well, what is it?” she inquired, drily, without looking up.“Pray, Virginia, leave off your play, and talk to me.”“Certainly, that is an inducement. I have had so little of your tongue of late, that I ought to feel gratified by your proposal. Why don’t you bring your friend, and let him try a little in that line too. You have been playing double dummy long enough to get tired of it, I should think. But go on with the game, if it please you; it don’t trouble me, I assure you.“A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew,Tally high ho, you know!Won’t strike to the foe while the sky it is blue,And a tar’s aloft or alow.“Come now, little Fan! Fan! don’t go too near the bank, or you may get a ducking, do you hear?”“Pray, sister Virginia, give over this badinage: I have something of importance to say to you.”“Importance! What! are you going to get married? No, that can’t be it—your face is too portentous and lugubrious; you look more like one on the road to be hanged—ha, ha, ha!”“I tell you, sister, I am in earnest.”“Who said you wasn’t? In earnest? I believe you, my boy.”“Listen to me, Virginia. I have something important—very important to talk about. I have been desirous of breaking the subject to you ever since my return.”“Well, why did you not? you have had opportunities enough. Have I been hid from you?”“No—but—the fact is—”“Go on, brother; you have an opportunity now. If it be a petition, as your looks appear to say, present it; I am ready to receive it.”“Nay, Virginia; it is not that. The subject upon which I wish to speak—”“What subject, man? Out with it!”I was weary with so much circumlocution, and a little piqued as well; I resolved to bring it to an end. A word, thought I, will tame down her tone, and render her as serious as myself, I answered:“Osceola.”I looked to see her start, to see her cheek turn alternately red and pale; but to my astonishment no such symptoms displayed themselves; not the slightest indication of any extraordinary emotion betrayed itself either in her look or manner.She replied almost directly and without hesitation:“What! the young chief of the Seminoles? our old playfellow, Powell? He is to be the subject of our discourse? You could not have chosen one more interesting tome. I could talk all day long about this brave fellow!”I was struck dumb by her reply, and scarcely knew in what way to proceed.“But what of him, brother George?” continued my sister, looking me more soberly in the face. “I hope no harm has befallen him?”“None that I know of: the harm has fallen upon those nearer and dearer.”“I do not understand you, my mysterious brother.”“But you shall. I am about to put a question to you—answer me, and answer me truly, as you value my love and friendship.”“Your question, sir, without these insinuations. I can speak the truth, I fancy, without being scared by threats.”“Then speak it, Virginia. Tell me, is Powell—is Osceola—your lover?”“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”“Nay, Virginia, this is no laughing matter.”“By my faith, I think it is—a very capital joke—ha, ha, ha!”“I want no trifling, Virginia; an answer.”“You shall get no answer to such an absurd question.”“It is not absurd. I have good reasons for putting it.”“Reasons—state them, pray!”“You cannot deny that something has passed between you? You cannot deny that you have given him a meeting, and in the forest too? Beware how you make answer, for I have the proofs. We encountered the chief on his return. We saw him at a distance. He shunned us—no wonder. We followed his trail—we saw the tracks of the pony—oh! you met: it was all clear enough.”“Ha, ha, ha! What a pair of keen trackers—you and your friend—astute fellows! You will be invaluable on the warpath. You will be promoted to be chief spies to the army. Ha, ha, ha! And so, this is the grand secret, is it? this accounts for the demure looks, and the odd-fashioned airs that have been puzzling me. My honour, eh? that was the care that was cankering you. By Diana! I have reason to be thankful for being blessed with such a chivalric brace of guardians.“In England, the garden of beauty is keptBy the dragon of prudery, placed within call;But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,That the garden was carelessly watched after all.“And so if, I have not the dragon prudery to guard me, I am to find a brace of dragons in my brother and his friend. Ha, ha, ha!”“Virginia, you madden me—this is no answer. Did you meet Osceola?”“I’ll answer that directly: after such sharp espionage, denial would not avail me. Ididmeet him.”“And for what purpose? Did you meet as lovers?”“That question is impertinent; I won’t answerit.”“Virginia! I implore you—”“And cannot two people encounter each other in the woods, without being charged with love-making? Might we not have come together by chance? or might I not have had other business with the Seminole chief? You do not know all my secrets, nor do I intend you shall either.”“Oh, it was no chance encounter—it was an appointment—a love-meeting: you could have had no other affair withhim.”“It is natural for you to think so—very natural, since I hear you practise suchduettosyourself. How long, may I ask, since you held your lasttête-à-têtewith your own fair charmer—the lovely Maümee? Eh! brother?”I started as if stung. How could my sister have gained intelligence of this? Was she only guessing? and had chanced upon the truth?For some moments I could not make reply, nor did I make any to her last interrogatory. I paid no heed to it, but, becoming excited, pressed my former inquiries with vehemence.“Sister! I must have an explanation; I insist upon it—I demand it!”“Demand! Ho! that is your tone, is it? That will scarcely serve you. A moment ago, when you put yourself in the imploring attitude, I had well-nigh taken pity on you, and told you all. But,demand, indeed! I answer no demands; and to show you that I do not, I shall now go and shut myself in my room. So, my good fellow, you shall see no more of me for this day, nor to-morrow either, unless you come to your senses. Good-by, Geordy—andau revoir, only on condition you behave yourself like a gentleman.“A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew, Tally high ho, you know! Won’t strike to the foe, etc, etc.”And with this catch pealing from her lips, she passed across the parterre, entered the verandah, and disappeared within the doorway.Disappointed, mortified, sad, I stood riveted to the spot, scarcely knowing in what direction to turn myself.

Suspense was preying upon me; I could endure it no longer. I at length resolved upon demanding an explanation from my sister, as soon as I should find her alone.

The opportunity soon offered. I chanced to see her in the lawn, down near the edge of the lake. I saw that she was in a mood unusually cheerful.

“Alas!” thought I, as I approached full of my resolutions—“these smiles! I shall soon change them to tears. Sister.”

She was talking to her pets, and did not hear me, or pretended she did not.

“Sister!” I repeated, in a louder voice.

“Well, what is it?” she inquired, drily, without looking up.

“Pray, Virginia, leave off your play, and talk to me.”

“Certainly, that is an inducement. I have had so little of your tongue of late, that I ought to feel gratified by your proposal. Why don’t you bring your friend, and let him try a little in that line too. You have been playing double dummy long enough to get tired of it, I should think. But go on with the game, if it please you; it don’t trouble me, I assure you.

“A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew,Tally high ho, you know!Won’t strike to the foe while the sky it is blue,And a tar’s aloft or alow.

“A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew,Tally high ho, you know!Won’t strike to the foe while the sky it is blue,And a tar’s aloft or alow.

“Come now, little Fan! Fan! don’t go too near the bank, or you may get a ducking, do you hear?”

“Pray, sister Virginia, give over this badinage: I have something of importance to say to you.”

“Importance! What! are you going to get married? No, that can’t be it—your face is too portentous and lugubrious; you look more like one on the road to be hanged—ha, ha, ha!”

“I tell you, sister, I am in earnest.”

“Who said you wasn’t? In earnest? I believe you, my boy.”

“Listen to me, Virginia. I have something important—very important to talk about. I have been desirous of breaking the subject to you ever since my return.”

“Well, why did you not? you have had opportunities enough. Have I been hid from you?”

“No—but—the fact is—”

“Go on, brother; you have an opportunity now. If it be a petition, as your looks appear to say, present it; I am ready to receive it.”

“Nay, Virginia; it is not that. The subject upon which I wish to speak—”

“What subject, man? Out with it!”

I was weary with so much circumlocution, and a little piqued as well; I resolved to bring it to an end. A word, thought I, will tame down her tone, and render her as serious as myself, I answered:

“Osceola.”

I looked to see her start, to see her cheek turn alternately red and pale; but to my astonishment no such symptoms displayed themselves; not the slightest indication of any extraordinary emotion betrayed itself either in her look or manner.

She replied almost directly and without hesitation:

“What! the young chief of the Seminoles? our old playfellow, Powell? He is to be the subject of our discourse? You could not have chosen one more interesting tome. I could talk all day long about this brave fellow!”

I was struck dumb by her reply, and scarcely knew in what way to proceed.

“But what of him, brother George?” continued my sister, looking me more soberly in the face. “I hope no harm has befallen him?”

“None that I know of: the harm has fallen upon those nearer and dearer.”

“I do not understand you, my mysterious brother.”

“But you shall. I am about to put a question to you—answer me, and answer me truly, as you value my love and friendship.”

“Your question, sir, without these insinuations. I can speak the truth, I fancy, without being scared by threats.”

“Then speak it, Virginia. Tell me, is Powell—is Osceola—your lover?”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”

“Nay, Virginia, this is no laughing matter.”

“By my faith, I think it is—a very capital joke—ha, ha, ha!”

“I want no trifling, Virginia; an answer.”

“You shall get no answer to such an absurd question.”

“It is not absurd. I have good reasons for putting it.”

“Reasons—state them, pray!”

“You cannot deny that something has passed between you? You cannot deny that you have given him a meeting, and in the forest too? Beware how you make answer, for I have the proofs. We encountered the chief on his return. We saw him at a distance. He shunned us—no wonder. We followed his trail—we saw the tracks of the pony—oh! you met: it was all clear enough.”

“Ha, ha, ha! What a pair of keen trackers—you and your friend—astute fellows! You will be invaluable on the warpath. You will be promoted to be chief spies to the army. Ha, ha, ha! And so, this is the grand secret, is it? this accounts for the demure looks, and the odd-fashioned airs that have been puzzling me. My honour, eh? that was the care that was cankering you. By Diana! I have reason to be thankful for being blessed with such a chivalric brace of guardians.

“In England, the garden of beauty is keptBy the dragon of prudery, placed within call;But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,That the garden was carelessly watched after all.

“In England, the garden of beauty is keptBy the dragon of prudery, placed within call;But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,That the garden was carelessly watched after all.

“And so if, I have not the dragon prudery to guard me, I am to find a brace of dragons in my brother and his friend. Ha, ha, ha!”

“Virginia, you madden me—this is no answer. Did you meet Osceola?”

“I’ll answer that directly: after such sharp espionage, denial would not avail me. Ididmeet him.”

“And for what purpose? Did you meet as lovers?”

“That question is impertinent; I won’t answerit.”

“Virginia! I implore you—”

“And cannot two people encounter each other in the woods, without being charged with love-making? Might we not have come together by chance? or might I not have had other business with the Seminole chief? You do not know all my secrets, nor do I intend you shall either.”

“Oh, it was no chance encounter—it was an appointment—a love-meeting: you could have had no other affair withhim.”

“It is natural for you to think so—very natural, since I hear you practise suchduettosyourself. How long, may I ask, since you held your lasttête-à-têtewith your own fair charmer—the lovely Maümee? Eh! brother?”

I started as if stung. How could my sister have gained intelligence of this? Was she only guessing? and had chanced upon the truth?

For some moments I could not make reply, nor did I make any to her last interrogatory. I paid no heed to it, but, becoming excited, pressed my former inquiries with vehemence.

“Sister! I must have an explanation; I insist upon it—I demand it!”

“Demand! Ho! that is your tone, is it? That will scarcely serve you. A moment ago, when you put yourself in the imploring attitude, I had well-nigh taken pity on you, and told you all. But,demand, indeed! I answer no demands; and to show you that I do not, I shall now go and shut myself in my room. So, my good fellow, you shall see no more of me for this day, nor to-morrow either, unless you come to your senses. Good-by, Geordy—andau revoir, only on condition you behave yourself like a gentleman.

“A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew, Tally high ho, you know! Won’t strike to the foe, etc, etc.”

And with this catch pealing from her lips, she passed across the parterre, entered the verandah, and disappeared within the doorway.

Disappointed, mortified, sad, I stood riveted to the spot, scarcely knowing in what direction to turn myself.

Chapter Fifty Five.The Volunteers.My sister kept her word. I saw no more of her for that day, nor until noon of the next. Then she came forth from her chamber in full riding costume, ordered White Fox to be saddled, and mounting, rode off alone.I felt that I had no power over this capricious spirit. It was idle to attempt controlling it. She was beyond the dictation of fraternal authority—her own mistress—and evidently determined upon having her will and her way.After the conversation of yesterday, I felt no inclination to interfere again. She was acquainted with my secret; and knowing this, any counsel from me would come with an ill grace, and be as ill received. I resolved, therefore, to withhold it, till some crisis should arrive that would render it more impressive.For several days this coolness continued between us—at which my mother often wondered, but of which she received no explanation. Indeed, I fancied that evenheraffection towards me was not so tender as it used to be. Perhaps I was wronging her. She was a little angry with me about the duel with Ringgold, the first intelligence of which had gravely affected her. On my return I had received her reproaches, for it was believed that I alone was to blame in bringing the affair about. “Why had I acted so rudely towards Arens Ringgold? And all about nothing? A trumpery Indian belle? What mattered it to me what may have been said about the girl? Likely what was said was nothing more than the truth. I should have behaved with more prudence.”I perceived that my mother had been informed upon most of the material points connected with the affair. Of one, however, she was ignorant: she knew not who the “trumpery Indian belle” was—she had not heard the name of Maümee. Knowing her to be ignorant of this, I listened with more calmness to the aspersive remarks.For all that, I was somewhat excited by her reproaches, and several times upon the point of declaring to her the true cause why I had called Ringgold to an account. For certain reasons I forbore. My mother would not have believed me.As for Ringgold himself, I ascertained that a great change in his fortunes had lately taken place. His father was dead—had died in a fit of passion, whilst in the act of chastising one of his slaves. A blood-vessel had burst, and he had fallen, as if by a judgment of God.Arens, the only son, was now master of his vast, ill-gotten wealth—a plantation with some three hundred slaves upon it; and it was said that this had only made him more avaricious than ever.His aim was—as it had been that of the older Ringgold—to become owner of everybody and everything around him—a grand money-despot. The son was a fit successor to the father.He had played the invalid for a while—carrying his arm in a sling—and, as people said, not a little vain of having been engaged in a duel. Those who understood how that affair had terminated, thought he had little reason to be proud of it.It seemed the hostility between him and myself had brought about no change in his relations with our family. I learned that he had been a constant visitor at the house; and the world still believed him the accepted suitor of Virginia. Moreover, since his late accession to wealth and power, he had grown more than ever a favourite with my ambitious mother. I learned all this with regret.The old home appeared to have undergone a change. There was not the same warmth of affection as of yore. I missed my kind, noble father. My mother at times appeared cold and distant, as if she believed me undutiful. My uncle was her brother, and like her in everything; even my fond sister seemed for the moment estranged.I began to feel as a stranger in my own house, and, feeling so, stayed but little at home. Most of the day was I abroad, with Gallagher as my companion. Of course, my friend remained our guest during our stay on the Suwanee.Our time was occupied partly with the duties upon which we had been commanded, and partly in following the amusement of the chase. Of deer-hunting and fox running we had an abundance; but I did not enjoy it as formerly; neither did my companion—ardent sportsman though he was—seem to take the delight in it which he had anticipated.Our military duties were by no means of an arduous nature, and were usually over before noon. Our orders had been, not so much to recruit volunteers as to superintend the organisation of those already raised; and “muster them into service.” A corps had already advanced some length towards formation, having elected its own officers and enrolled most of its rank and file. Our part was to inspect, instruct, and govern them.The little church, near the centre of the settlement, was the head-quarters of the corps; and there the drill was daily carried on.The men were mostly of the poorer class of white settlers—small renting planters—and squatters who dwelt along the swamp-edges, and who managed to eke out a precarious subsistence partly by the use of their axes, and partly from the product of their rifles. The old hunter Hickman was among the number; and what did not much surprise me, I found the worthies Spence and Williams enrolled in the corps. Upon these scamps I was determined to keep a watchful eye, and hold them at a wary distance.Many of the privates were men of a higher class—for the common danger had called all kinds into the field.The officers were usually planters of wealth and influence; though there were some who, from the democratic influence of elections, were but ill qualified to wear epaulettes.Many of these gentlemen bore far higher official titles than either Gallagher or myself. Colonels and majors appeared to be almost as numerous as privates. But for all this, they did not demur to our exercising authority over them. In actual war-time, it is not uncommon for a lieutenant of the “line,” or the lowest subaltern of the regular army, to be placed in command of a full colonel of militia or volunteers!Here and there was an odd character, who, perhaps, in earlier life had “broken down” at West Point, or had gone through a month of campaigning service in the Greek wars, under “Old Hickory.” These, fancying themselvesau faitin the military art, were not so pleasant to deal with; and at times it required all Gallagher’s determined firmness to convince them thathewas commander-in-chief upon the Suwanee.My friend’s reputation as a “fire eater,” which had preceded him, had as much weight in confirming his authority as the commission which he brought with him from “head-quarters.”Upon the whole, we got along smoothly enough with these gentlemen—most of whom seemed desirous of learning their duty, and submitted to our instructions with cheerfulness.There was no lack of champagne, brandy, and cigars. The neighbouring planters were hospitable; and had my friend or myself been inclined towards dissipation, we could not have been established in better quarters for indulging the propensity.To this, however, neither of us gave way; and our moderation no doubt caused us to be held in higher esteem, even among the hard drinkers by whom we were surrounded.Our new life was by no means disagreeable; and but for the unpleasantness that had arisen at home, I could have felt for the time contented and happy.At home—at home—there was the canker: it appeared no longer a home.

My sister kept her word. I saw no more of her for that day, nor until noon of the next. Then she came forth from her chamber in full riding costume, ordered White Fox to be saddled, and mounting, rode off alone.

I felt that I had no power over this capricious spirit. It was idle to attempt controlling it. She was beyond the dictation of fraternal authority—her own mistress—and evidently determined upon having her will and her way.

After the conversation of yesterday, I felt no inclination to interfere again. She was acquainted with my secret; and knowing this, any counsel from me would come with an ill grace, and be as ill received. I resolved, therefore, to withhold it, till some crisis should arrive that would render it more impressive.

For several days this coolness continued between us—at which my mother often wondered, but of which she received no explanation. Indeed, I fancied that evenheraffection towards me was not so tender as it used to be. Perhaps I was wronging her. She was a little angry with me about the duel with Ringgold, the first intelligence of which had gravely affected her. On my return I had received her reproaches, for it was believed that I alone was to blame in bringing the affair about. “Why had I acted so rudely towards Arens Ringgold? And all about nothing? A trumpery Indian belle? What mattered it to me what may have been said about the girl? Likely what was said was nothing more than the truth. I should have behaved with more prudence.”

I perceived that my mother had been informed upon most of the material points connected with the affair. Of one, however, she was ignorant: she knew not who the “trumpery Indian belle” was—she had not heard the name of Maümee. Knowing her to be ignorant of this, I listened with more calmness to the aspersive remarks.

For all that, I was somewhat excited by her reproaches, and several times upon the point of declaring to her the true cause why I had called Ringgold to an account. For certain reasons I forbore. My mother would not have believed me.

As for Ringgold himself, I ascertained that a great change in his fortunes had lately taken place. His father was dead—had died in a fit of passion, whilst in the act of chastising one of his slaves. A blood-vessel had burst, and he had fallen, as if by a judgment of God.

Arens, the only son, was now master of his vast, ill-gotten wealth—a plantation with some three hundred slaves upon it; and it was said that this had only made him more avaricious than ever.

His aim was—as it had been that of the older Ringgold—to become owner of everybody and everything around him—a grand money-despot. The son was a fit successor to the father.

He had played the invalid for a while—carrying his arm in a sling—and, as people said, not a little vain of having been engaged in a duel. Those who understood how that affair had terminated, thought he had little reason to be proud of it.

It seemed the hostility between him and myself had brought about no change in his relations with our family. I learned that he had been a constant visitor at the house; and the world still believed him the accepted suitor of Virginia. Moreover, since his late accession to wealth and power, he had grown more than ever a favourite with my ambitious mother. I learned all this with regret.

The old home appeared to have undergone a change. There was not the same warmth of affection as of yore. I missed my kind, noble father. My mother at times appeared cold and distant, as if she believed me undutiful. My uncle was her brother, and like her in everything; even my fond sister seemed for the moment estranged.

I began to feel as a stranger in my own house, and, feeling so, stayed but little at home. Most of the day was I abroad, with Gallagher as my companion. Of course, my friend remained our guest during our stay on the Suwanee.

Our time was occupied partly with the duties upon which we had been commanded, and partly in following the amusement of the chase. Of deer-hunting and fox running we had an abundance; but I did not enjoy it as formerly; neither did my companion—ardent sportsman though he was—seem to take the delight in it which he had anticipated.

Our military duties were by no means of an arduous nature, and were usually over before noon. Our orders had been, not so much to recruit volunteers as to superintend the organisation of those already raised; and “muster them into service.” A corps had already advanced some length towards formation, having elected its own officers and enrolled most of its rank and file. Our part was to inspect, instruct, and govern them.

The little church, near the centre of the settlement, was the head-quarters of the corps; and there the drill was daily carried on.

The men were mostly of the poorer class of white settlers—small renting planters—and squatters who dwelt along the swamp-edges, and who managed to eke out a precarious subsistence partly by the use of their axes, and partly from the product of their rifles. The old hunter Hickman was among the number; and what did not much surprise me, I found the worthies Spence and Williams enrolled in the corps. Upon these scamps I was determined to keep a watchful eye, and hold them at a wary distance.

Many of the privates were men of a higher class—for the common danger had called all kinds into the field.

The officers were usually planters of wealth and influence; though there were some who, from the democratic influence of elections, were but ill qualified to wear epaulettes.

Many of these gentlemen bore far higher official titles than either Gallagher or myself. Colonels and majors appeared to be almost as numerous as privates. But for all this, they did not demur to our exercising authority over them. In actual war-time, it is not uncommon for a lieutenant of the “line,” or the lowest subaltern of the regular army, to be placed in command of a full colonel of militia or volunteers!

Here and there was an odd character, who, perhaps, in earlier life had “broken down” at West Point, or had gone through a month of campaigning service in the Greek wars, under “Old Hickory.” These, fancying themselvesau faitin the military art, were not so pleasant to deal with; and at times it required all Gallagher’s determined firmness to convince them thathewas commander-in-chief upon the Suwanee.

My friend’s reputation as a “fire eater,” which had preceded him, had as much weight in confirming his authority as the commission which he brought with him from “head-quarters.”

Upon the whole, we got along smoothly enough with these gentlemen—most of whom seemed desirous of learning their duty, and submitted to our instructions with cheerfulness.

There was no lack of champagne, brandy, and cigars. The neighbouring planters were hospitable; and had my friend or myself been inclined towards dissipation, we could not have been established in better quarters for indulging the propensity.

To this, however, neither of us gave way; and our moderation no doubt caused us to be held in higher esteem, even among the hard drinkers by whom we were surrounded.

Our new life was by no means disagreeable; and but for the unpleasantness that had arisen at home, I could have felt for the time contented and happy.

At home—at home—there was the canker: it appeared no longer a home.

Chapter Fifty Six.Mysterious Changes.Not many days had elapsed before I observed a sudden change in the conduct of Gallagher; not towards myself or my mother, but in his manner towards Virginia.It was the day after I had held the conversation with her, that I first noticed this. I noticed at the same time that her manner towards him was equally altered.The somewhat frosty politeness that had hitherto been observed between them, appeared to have suddenly thawed, and their old genial friendship to become reestablished on its former footing.They now played, and sang, and laughed together, and read, and chattered nonsense, as they had been used to do in times past.“Ah!” thought I, “it is easy for him to forget; he is but a friend, and, of course, cannot have the feelings of a brother. Little matters it to him what may be her secret relations, or with whom. What need he care about her improprieties? She is good company, and her winning way has beguiled him from dwelling upon that suspicion, which he must have entertained as well as myself. He has either forgotten, forgiven, or else found some explanation of her conduct that seems to satisfy him. At all events,Iappear to have lost his sympathy, whileshehas regained his confidence and friendship.”I was at first astonished at this new phase in the relations of our family circle—afterwards puzzled by it.I was too proud and piqued to ask Gallagher for an explanation; and, as he did not volunteer to give one, I was compelled to abide in ignorance.I perceived that my mother also regarded this altered behaviour with surprise, and also with a feeling of a somewhat different kind—suspicion.I could guess the reason of this. She fancied that they were growing too fond of each other—that, notwithstanding he had no fortune but his pay-roll, Virginia might fancy the dashing soldier for a husband.Of course my mother, having already formed designs as to the disposal of her daughter, could not calmly contemplate such a destiny as this. It was natural enough, then, she should look with a jealous eye upon the gay confidence that had been established between them.I should have been glad if I could have shared my mother’s suspicions; happy if my sister had but fixed her affections there. My friend would have been welcome to call me brother. Fortuneless though he might be, I should have made no opposition to that alliance.But it never entered my thoughts that there was aught between the two but the old rollicking friendship; and love acts not in that style. So far as Captain Gallagher was concerned, I could have given my mother assurance that would have quieted her fears.And yet to a stranger they might have appeared as lovers—almost to any one except myself. They were together half the day and half the night: they rode together into the woods, and were sometimes absent for hours at a time. I perceived that my comrade began to care little formycompany, and daily less. Stranger still, the chase no longer delighted him! As for duty, this he sadly neglected, and had not the “lieutenant” been on the ground, I fear the “corps” would have stood little chance of instruction.As days passed on, I fancied that Gallagher began to relapse into a more sober method. He certainly seemed more thoughtful. This was when my sister was out of sight. It was not the air he had worn after our arrival—but very different.It certainly resembled the bearing of a man in love. He would start on hearing my sister’s voice from without—his ear was quick to catch every word from her, and his eyes expressed delight whenever she came into the room. Once or twice, I saw him gazing at her with an expression upon his countenance that betokened more than friendship.My old suspicions began to return to me. After all, hemightbe in love with Virginia?Certainly, she was fair enough to impress the heart even of this adamantine soldier. Gallagher was no lady’s man—had never been known to seek conquests over the sex—in fact, felt some awkwardness in their company. My sister seemed the only one before whom he could converse with fluency or freedom.Notwithstanding, and after all, hemightbe in love!I should have been pleased to know it, could I only have insured him a reciprocity of his passion; but alas! that was not in my power.I wondered whethersheever thought of him as a lover; but no—she could not—not if she was thinking of—And yet her behaviour towards him was at times of such a character, that a stranger to her eccentricities would have fancied she loved him. Even I was mystified by her actions. She either had some feeling for him, beyond that of mere friendship, or made show of it. If he loved her, and she knew it, then her conduct was cruel in the extreme.I indulged in such speculations, though, only when I could not restrain myself from dwelling upon them. They were unpleasant; at times, even painful.I lived in a maze of doubt, puzzled and perplexed at what was passing around me; but at this time there turned up a new chapter in our family history, that, in point of mystery, eclipsed all others. A piece of information reached me, that, if true, must sweep all these new-sprung theories out my mind.I learned that my sister wasin love with Arens Ringgold—in other words, that she was “listening to his addresses!”

Not many days had elapsed before I observed a sudden change in the conduct of Gallagher; not towards myself or my mother, but in his manner towards Virginia.

It was the day after I had held the conversation with her, that I first noticed this. I noticed at the same time that her manner towards him was equally altered.

The somewhat frosty politeness that had hitherto been observed between them, appeared to have suddenly thawed, and their old genial friendship to become reestablished on its former footing.

They now played, and sang, and laughed together, and read, and chattered nonsense, as they had been used to do in times past.

“Ah!” thought I, “it is easy for him to forget; he is but a friend, and, of course, cannot have the feelings of a brother. Little matters it to him what may be her secret relations, or with whom. What need he care about her improprieties? She is good company, and her winning way has beguiled him from dwelling upon that suspicion, which he must have entertained as well as myself. He has either forgotten, forgiven, or else found some explanation of her conduct that seems to satisfy him. At all events,Iappear to have lost his sympathy, whileshehas regained his confidence and friendship.”

I was at first astonished at this new phase in the relations of our family circle—afterwards puzzled by it.

I was too proud and piqued to ask Gallagher for an explanation; and, as he did not volunteer to give one, I was compelled to abide in ignorance.

I perceived that my mother also regarded this altered behaviour with surprise, and also with a feeling of a somewhat different kind—suspicion.

I could guess the reason of this. She fancied that they were growing too fond of each other—that, notwithstanding he had no fortune but his pay-roll, Virginia might fancy the dashing soldier for a husband.

Of course my mother, having already formed designs as to the disposal of her daughter, could not calmly contemplate such a destiny as this. It was natural enough, then, she should look with a jealous eye upon the gay confidence that had been established between them.

I should have been glad if I could have shared my mother’s suspicions; happy if my sister had but fixed her affections there. My friend would have been welcome to call me brother. Fortuneless though he might be, I should have made no opposition to that alliance.

But it never entered my thoughts that there was aught between the two but the old rollicking friendship; and love acts not in that style. So far as Captain Gallagher was concerned, I could have given my mother assurance that would have quieted her fears.

And yet to a stranger they might have appeared as lovers—almost to any one except myself. They were together half the day and half the night: they rode together into the woods, and were sometimes absent for hours at a time. I perceived that my comrade began to care little formycompany, and daily less. Stranger still, the chase no longer delighted him! As for duty, this he sadly neglected, and had not the “lieutenant” been on the ground, I fear the “corps” would have stood little chance of instruction.

As days passed on, I fancied that Gallagher began to relapse into a more sober method. He certainly seemed more thoughtful. This was when my sister was out of sight. It was not the air he had worn after our arrival—but very different.

It certainly resembled the bearing of a man in love. He would start on hearing my sister’s voice from without—his ear was quick to catch every word from her, and his eyes expressed delight whenever she came into the room. Once or twice, I saw him gazing at her with an expression upon his countenance that betokened more than friendship.

My old suspicions began to return to me. After all, hemightbe in love with Virginia?

Certainly, she was fair enough to impress the heart even of this adamantine soldier. Gallagher was no lady’s man—had never been known to seek conquests over the sex—in fact, felt some awkwardness in their company. My sister seemed the only one before whom he could converse with fluency or freedom.

Notwithstanding, and after all, hemightbe in love!

I should have been pleased to know it, could I only have insured him a reciprocity of his passion; but alas! that was not in my power.

I wondered whethersheever thought of him as a lover; but no—she could not—not if she was thinking of—

And yet her behaviour towards him was at times of such a character, that a stranger to her eccentricities would have fancied she loved him. Even I was mystified by her actions. She either had some feeling for him, beyond that of mere friendship, or made show of it. If he loved her, and she knew it, then her conduct was cruel in the extreme.

I indulged in such speculations, though, only when I could not restrain myself from dwelling upon them. They were unpleasant; at times, even painful.

I lived in a maze of doubt, puzzled and perplexed at what was passing around me; but at this time there turned up a new chapter in our family history, that, in point of mystery, eclipsed all others. A piece of information reached me, that, if true, must sweep all these new-sprung theories out my mind.

I learned that my sister wasin love with Arens Ringgold—in other words, that she was “listening to his addresses!”

Chapter Fifty Seven.My Informant.This I had upon the authority of my faithful servant, Black Jake. Upon almost any other testimony, I should have been incredulous; but his was unimpeachable. Negro as he was, his perceptions were keen enough; while his earnestness proved that he believed what he said. He had reasons, and he gave them.I received the strange intelligence in this wise:I was seated by the bathing-pond, alone, busied with a book, when I heard Jake’s familiar voice pronouncing my name: “Massr George.”“Well, Jake?” I responded, without withdrawing my eyes from the page.“Ise wanted all da mornin to git you ’lone by yarself; Ise want to hab a leetle bit ob a convasayshun, Massr George.”The solemn tone, so unusual in the voice of Jake, awoke my attention. Mechanically closing the book, I looked up in his face: it was solemn as his speech.“A conversation with me, Jake?”“Ye, massr—dat am if you isn’t ingage?”“Oh, by no means, Jake. Go on: let me hear what you have to say.”“Poor fellow!” thought I—“he has his sorrows too. Some complaint about Viola. The wicked coquette is torturing him with jealousy; but what can I do? I cannotmakeher love him—no. ‘One man may lead a horse to the water, but forty can’t make him drink.’ No; the little jade will act as she pleases in spite of any remonstrance on my part. Well, Jake?”“Wa, Massr George, I doant meself like to intafere in tha ’fairs ob da family—daat I doant; but ye see, massr, things am a gwine all wrong—all wrong, by golly!”“In what respect?”“Ah, massr, dat young lady—dat young lady.”Polite of Jake to call Viola a young lady.“You think she is deceiving you?”“More dan me, Massr George—more dan me.”“What a wicked girl! But perhaps, Jake, you only fancy these things? Have you had any proofs of her being unfaithful? Is there any one in particular who is now paying her attentions?”“Yes, massr; berry partickler—nebber so partickler before—nebber.”“A white man?”“Gorramighty, Massr George!” exclaimed Jake in a tone of surprise; “you do talk kewrious: ob coorse it am a white man. No odder dan a white man dar shew ’tention to tha young lady.”I could not help smiling. Considering Jake’s own complexion, he appeared to hold very exalted views of the unapproachableness of his charmer by those of her own race. I had once heard him boast that he was the “only man ob colour dat could shinethar.” It was a white man, then, who was making his misery.“Who is he, Jake?” I inquired.“Ah, massr, he am dat ar villain debbil, Arens Ringgol!”“What! Arens Ringgold?—he making love to Viola!”“Viola! Gorramighty, Massr George!” exclaimed the black, staring till his eyes shewed only the whites—“Viola! Gorramighty, I nebber say Viola!—nebber!”“Of whom, then, are you speaking?”“O massr, did I not say da young lady? dat am tha young Missa—Missa Vaginny.”“Oh! my sister you mean. Poh, poh! Jake. That is an old story. Arens Ringgold has been paying his addresses to my sister for many years; but with no chance of success. You needn’t trouble yourself about that, my faithful friend; there is no danger of their getting married. She doesn’t like him, Jake—I wonder who does or could—and even if she did, I would not permit it. But there’s no fear, so you may make your mind easy on that score.”My harangue seemed not to satisfy the black. He stood scratching his head, as if he had something more to communicate. I waited for him to speak.“’Scoose me, Massr George, for da freedom, but dar you make mighty big mistake. It am true dar war a time when Missa Vaginny she no care for dat ar snake in da grass. But de times am change: him father—da ole thief—he am gone to tha udda world? tha young un he now rich—he big planter—tha biggest on da ribber: ole missa she ’courage him come see Missa Vaginny—’cause he rich, he good spec.”“I know all that, Jake: my mother always wished it; but that signifies nothing—my sister is a little self-willed, and will be certain to have her own way. There is no fear of her giving her consent to marry, Arens Ringgold.”“’Scoose me, Massr George, scoose me ’gain—I tell you, massr, you make mistake: she a’most consent now.”“Why, what has put this notion into your head, my good fellow?”“Viola, massr. Dat ere quadroon tell me all.”“So, you are friends with Viola again?”“Ye, Massr George, we good friend as ebber. ’Twar only my s’picion—I wor wrong. She good gal—she true as de rifle. No more s’picion o’ her, on de part ob Jake—no.”“I am glad of that. But pray, what has she told you about Arens Ringgold and my sister?”“She tell me all: she see somethin’ ebbery day.”“Every day! Why, it is many days since Arens Ringgold has visited here?”“No, massr; dar you am mistake ’gain: Mass Arens he come to da house ebbery day—a’most ebbery day.”“Nonsense; I never saw him here. I never heard of his having been, since my return from the fort.”“But him hab been, for all dat, massr; I see him meseff. He come when you gone out. He be here when we goes a huntin’. I see um come yest’day, when you any Mass Garger wor away to tha volunteers—dat he war sat’n.”“You astonish me.”“Dat’s not all, massr. Viola she say dat Missa Vaginny she ’have different from what she used to: he talk love; she not angry no more; she listen to him talk. Oh, Massr George, Viola think she give her consent to marry him: dat would be dreadful thing—berry, berry dreadful.”“Jake,” said I, “listen to me. You will stay by the house when I am absent. You will take note of every one who comes and goes; and whenever Arens Ringgold makes his appearance on a visit to the family, you will come for me as fast as horse can carry you.”“Gollys! dat I will, Massr George: you nebber fear, I come fass enuff—like a streak ob de greased lightnin’.”And with this promise the black left me.With all my disposition to be incredulous, I could not disregard the information thus imparted to me. Beyond doubt, there was truth in it. The black was too faithful to think of deceiving me, and too astute to be himself deceived. Viola had rare opportunities for observing all that passed within our family circle; and what motive could she have for inventing a tale like this?Besides Jake had himself seen Ringgold on visits—of whichIhad never been informed. This confirmed the other—confirmed all.What was I to make of it? Three who appear as lovers—the chief, Gallagher, Arens Ringgold! Has she grown wicked, abandoned, and is coquetting with all the world?Can she have a thought of Ringgold? No—it is not possible. I could understand her having an affection for the soldier—a romantic passion for the brave and certainly handsome chief; but for Arens Ringgold—a squeaking conceited snob, with nought but riches to recommend him—this appeared utterly improbable.Of course, the influence was my mother’s; but never before had I entertained a thought that Virginia would yield. If Viola spoke the truth, she had yielded, or was yielding.“Ah, mother, mother! little knowest thou the fiend you would introduce to your home, and cherish as your child.”

This I had upon the authority of my faithful servant, Black Jake. Upon almost any other testimony, I should have been incredulous; but his was unimpeachable. Negro as he was, his perceptions were keen enough; while his earnestness proved that he believed what he said. He had reasons, and he gave them.

I received the strange intelligence in this wise:

I was seated by the bathing-pond, alone, busied with a book, when I heard Jake’s familiar voice pronouncing my name: “Massr George.”

“Well, Jake?” I responded, without withdrawing my eyes from the page.

“Ise wanted all da mornin to git you ’lone by yarself; Ise want to hab a leetle bit ob a convasayshun, Massr George.”

The solemn tone, so unusual in the voice of Jake, awoke my attention. Mechanically closing the book, I looked up in his face: it was solemn as his speech.

“A conversation with me, Jake?”

“Ye, massr—dat am if you isn’t ingage?”

“Oh, by no means, Jake. Go on: let me hear what you have to say.”

“Poor fellow!” thought I—“he has his sorrows too. Some complaint about Viola. The wicked coquette is torturing him with jealousy; but what can I do? I cannotmakeher love him—no. ‘One man may lead a horse to the water, but forty can’t make him drink.’ No; the little jade will act as she pleases in spite of any remonstrance on my part. Well, Jake?”

“Wa, Massr George, I doant meself like to intafere in tha ’fairs ob da family—daat I doant; but ye see, massr, things am a gwine all wrong—all wrong, by golly!”

“In what respect?”

“Ah, massr, dat young lady—dat young lady.”

Polite of Jake to call Viola a young lady.

“You think she is deceiving you?”

“More dan me, Massr George—more dan me.”

“What a wicked girl! But perhaps, Jake, you only fancy these things? Have you had any proofs of her being unfaithful? Is there any one in particular who is now paying her attentions?”

“Yes, massr; berry partickler—nebber so partickler before—nebber.”

“A white man?”

“Gorramighty, Massr George!” exclaimed Jake in a tone of surprise; “you do talk kewrious: ob coorse it am a white man. No odder dan a white man dar shew ’tention to tha young lady.”

I could not help smiling. Considering Jake’s own complexion, he appeared to hold very exalted views of the unapproachableness of his charmer by those of her own race. I had once heard him boast that he was the “only man ob colour dat could shinethar.” It was a white man, then, who was making his misery.

“Who is he, Jake?” I inquired.

“Ah, massr, he am dat ar villain debbil, Arens Ringgol!”

“What! Arens Ringgold?—he making love to Viola!”

“Viola! Gorramighty, Massr George!” exclaimed the black, staring till his eyes shewed only the whites—“Viola! Gorramighty, I nebber say Viola!—nebber!”

“Of whom, then, are you speaking?”

“O massr, did I not say da young lady? dat am tha young Missa—Missa Vaginny.”

“Oh! my sister you mean. Poh, poh! Jake. That is an old story. Arens Ringgold has been paying his addresses to my sister for many years; but with no chance of success. You needn’t trouble yourself about that, my faithful friend; there is no danger of their getting married. She doesn’t like him, Jake—I wonder who does or could—and even if she did, I would not permit it. But there’s no fear, so you may make your mind easy on that score.”

My harangue seemed not to satisfy the black. He stood scratching his head, as if he had something more to communicate. I waited for him to speak.

“’Scoose me, Massr George, for da freedom, but dar you make mighty big mistake. It am true dar war a time when Missa Vaginny she no care for dat ar snake in da grass. But de times am change: him father—da ole thief—he am gone to tha udda world? tha young un he now rich—he big planter—tha biggest on da ribber: ole missa she ’courage him come see Missa Vaginny—’cause he rich, he good spec.”

“I know all that, Jake: my mother always wished it; but that signifies nothing—my sister is a little self-willed, and will be certain to have her own way. There is no fear of her giving her consent to marry, Arens Ringgold.”

“’Scoose me, Massr George, scoose me ’gain—I tell you, massr, you make mistake: she a’most consent now.”

“Why, what has put this notion into your head, my good fellow?”

“Viola, massr. Dat ere quadroon tell me all.”

“So, you are friends with Viola again?”

“Ye, Massr George, we good friend as ebber. ’Twar only my s’picion—I wor wrong. She good gal—she true as de rifle. No more s’picion o’ her, on de part ob Jake—no.”

“I am glad of that. But pray, what has she told you about Arens Ringgold and my sister?”

“She tell me all: she see somethin’ ebbery day.”

“Every day! Why, it is many days since Arens Ringgold has visited here?”

“No, massr; dar you am mistake ’gain: Mass Arens he come to da house ebbery day—a’most ebbery day.”

“Nonsense; I never saw him here. I never heard of his having been, since my return from the fort.”

“But him hab been, for all dat, massr; I see him meseff. He come when you gone out. He be here when we goes a huntin’. I see um come yest’day, when you any Mass Garger wor away to tha volunteers—dat he war sat’n.”

“You astonish me.”

“Dat’s not all, massr. Viola she say dat Missa Vaginny she ’have different from what she used to: he talk love; she not angry no more; she listen to him talk. Oh, Massr George, Viola think she give her consent to marry him: dat would be dreadful thing—berry, berry dreadful.”

“Jake,” said I, “listen to me. You will stay by the house when I am absent. You will take note of every one who comes and goes; and whenever Arens Ringgold makes his appearance on a visit to the family, you will come for me as fast as horse can carry you.”

“Gollys! dat I will, Massr George: you nebber fear, I come fass enuff—like a streak ob de greased lightnin’.”

And with this promise the black left me.

With all my disposition to be incredulous, I could not disregard the information thus imparted to me. Beyond doubt, there was truth in it. The black was too faithful to think of deceiving me, and too astute to be himself deceived. Viola had rare opportunities for observing all that passed within our family circle; and what motive could she have for inventing a tale like this?

Besides Jake had himself seen Ringgold on visits—of whichIhad never been informed. This confirmed the other—confirmed all.

What was I to make of it? Three who appear as lovers—the chief, Gallagher, Arens Ringgold! Has she grown wicked, abandoned, and is coquetting with all the world?

Can she have a thought of Ringgold? No—it is not possible. I could understand her having an affection for the soldier—a romantic passion for the brave and certainly handsome chief; but for Arens Ringgold—a squeaking conceited snob, with nought but riches to recommend him—this appeared utterly improbable.

Of course, the influence was my mother’s; but never before had I entertained a thought that Virginia would yield. If Viola spoke the truth, she had yielded, or was yielding.

“Ah, mother, mother! little knowest thou the fiend you would introduce to your home, and cherish as your child.”

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