From breakfast time the next morning until ten o'clock in the forenoon, at which hour the Midbranch carriage arrived, Junius Keswick had been vainly endeavoring to get an opportunity to speak with Miss March. That lady had remained in her own room nearly all the morning, where his cousin had been with her; and his aunt, who had her own peculiar ways of speeding the parting guest, had retired to some distant spot on the estate, either to plan out some farming operation for the ensuing season, or to prevent her pent-up passion from boiling over in her own house.
Thus Junius had the lower floor to himself, and he strode about in much disquietude, debating whether he ought to send a message to Roberta, or whether he should wait till she had finished her packing, or whatever it was, that was keeping her up-stairs. His last private interview with her had not been a pleasant one, and if he had intended to speak to her for himself, he would not have felt much encouraged by her manner of the preceding evening; but he was now engaged on the affairs of another, and he believed that a failure to attend to them would be regarded as a breach of faith.
When Mr Brandon's carriage drove into the yard he began to despair, but now Roberta came running down stairs to speak to Sam, the driver, and ask him how long it would be necessary to rest his horses. Sam thought an hour would be long enough, as they would have a good rest when they got home; and this matter having been settled, Junius came forward, and requested Roberta to step in the parlor, as he had something to say to her. Without reply, she followed him into the room, and he closed the door. They sat down, one on one side of the round centre table, and one on the other, and Junius began his statement.
He was by profession a lawyer, and he had given a great deal of attention to the art of putting things plainly, and with a view to a just effect. He had carefully prepared in his mind what he should say to Roberta. He wished to present this man's message without the slightest exhibition of desire for its success, and yet without any tendency to that cold-blooded way of stating it, to which Croft had objected. He had, indeed, picked up his adversary's sword, and while he did not wish, in handing it to him, to prick him with it, or do him some such underhand injury, he did not think it at all necessary to sharpen the weapon before giving it back.
What Junius had to say occupied a good deal of time. He expressed himself carefully and deliberately; and as nearly as a skilfully stuffed and prepared animal in a museum resembles its wild original of the forest, so did his remarks resemble those that Lawrence would have made had he been there. Roberta listened to him in silence until he had finished, and then she rose to her feet, and her manner was such that Junius rose also. "Junius Keswick," she said, "you have deliberately come to me, and offered me the hand of another man in marriage."
"Not that," said Junius, "I merely came to explain——."
"Do not split hairs," she interrupted, "you did exactly that. You came to me because he could not come himself, and offered him to me. Now go to him from me, and tell him that I accept him." And, with that, she swept out of the room, and came down stairs no more until bonneted, and accompanied by Miss Annie, she hurried to the front door, and entered the carriage which was there waiting for her, with Peggy by the driver. With some quick good-byes and kisses to Annie, but never a word to Junius, or anybody else, she drove away.
If Junius Keswick had been nervous and anxious that morning, as he strode about the house, waiting for an opportunity to speak to Miss March, it may well be supposed that Lawrence Croft, shut up in his little room at the end of the yard, would be more so. He had sat at his window, waiting, and waiting. He had occasionally seen Mr Keswick come out on the porch, and with long strides pace backward and forward, and he knew by that sign that he had yet no message to bring him. He had seen the Midbranch carriage drive into the yard; he had seen Miss March come out on the porch, and speak to the driver, and then go in again; he had seen the carriage driven under a large tree, where the horses were taken out and led away to be refreshed; in an hour or more, he saw them brought back and harnessed to the vehicle, which was turned and driven up again to the door, when some baggage was brought down and strapped on a little platform behind. Shortly afterwards Peggy came round the end of the house, with a hat on, and a little bundle under her arm, and approached the carriage, making, however, a wide turn toward the office, at which, and a mile or two beyond, her far-off gaze was steadily directed.
Lawrence threw up the sash and called to her, and his guardian imp approached the window. "Are you Miss March's maid? I think I have seen you at Midbranch."
"Yaas, sah, you's done seen me, offen," said Peggy.
"Does Miss March intend to start immediately?" he asked.
"Yaas, sah," said the good Peggy, "she'll be out in a minute, soon as she done kissin' Mah's Junius good-bye in de parlor." And then, noticing a look of astonishment on the gentleman's face, she added: "Dey's gwine to be mar'ed, Chris'mus."
"What!" exclaimed Lawrence.
"Good-bye, Mister Crof,'" said Peggy, "I's got to hurry up."
Lawrence made no answer, but mechanically tossed her a coin, which, picking up, she gave him a farewell grin, and hastened to take her seat by the driver.
Very soon afterward Lawrence saw Roberta come out, accompanied only by Mrs Null, and hurry down the steps. Forgetting his injured ankle, he sprang to his feet, and stepping quickly to the door, opened it, and stood on the threshold. But Miss March did not even look his way. He gazed at her with wide-open eyes as she hastily kissed Mrs Null, and sprang into the carriage, which was immediately driven off. As Mrs Null turned to go into the house, she looked toward the office and nodded to him. He believed that she would have come to him if he had called her, but he did not call. His mind was in such a condition that he would not have been capable of framing a question, had she come. He felt that he could speak to no one until he had seen Keswick. Closing the door he went back to his chair; and as he did so, his ankle pained him sadly, but of this he scarcely thought.
He did not have to wait long for Junius Keswick, for in about ten minutes that individual entered. Lawrence turned, as his visitor opened the door; and he saw a countenance which had undergone a very noticeable change. It was not dark or lowering; it was not pale; but it was gray and hard; and the eyes looked larger than Lawrence had remembered them.
Without preface or greeting Junius approached him, and said: "I have taken your message to Miss March, and have brought you one in return. You are accepted."
Lawrence pushed back his chair, and stared blankly at the other. "What do you mean?" he presently asked.
"I mean what I say," said Keswick. "Miss March has accepted you."
A crowd of emotions rushed through the brain of Lawrence Croft; joy was among them, but it was a joy that was jostled and shaken and pushed, this way and that. "I do not understand," he said. "I did not expect such a decisive message. I supposed she might send me some encouragement, some—. Why didn't she see me before she left?"
"I am not here to explain her actions if I could," said Junius, who had not sat down. "She said: 'Tell him I accept him.' That is all. Good morning."
"But, stop!" cried Lawrence, on his feet again. "You must tell me more than that. Did you say to her only what I said to you? How did it affect her?"
"Oh," said Junius, turning suddenly at the door, "I forgot that you asked me to observe her mood. Well, she was very angry."
"With me?" cried Lawrence.
"With me," said Junius. And closing the door behind him, he strode away.
The accepted lover sat down. He had never spoken more truly than when he said he did not understand it. "Is she really mine?" he exclaimed. And with his eyes fixed on the blank wall over the mantel-piece, he repeated over and over again: "Is she mine? Is she really mine?" He had well developed mental powers, but the work of setting this matter straight and plain was too difficult for him.
If she had sent him some such message as this: "I am very angry with you, but some day you can come and explain yourself to me;" his heart would have leaped for joy. He would have believed that his peace had been made, and that he had only to go to her to call her his own. Now his heart desired to leap with joy, but it did not seem to know how to do it. The situation was such an anomalous one. After such a message as this, why had she not let him see her? Why had she been angry with Keswick? Was that pique? And then a dark thought crossed his mind. Had he been accepted to punish the other? No, he could not believe that; no woman such as Roberta March would give herself away from such a motive. Had Keswick been joking with him? No, he could not believe that; no man could joke with such a face.
Even the fact that Mrs Keswick had not bid Miss March farewell, troubled the mind of Lawrence. It was true that she might not yet know that the match, which she had so much encouraged, had been finally made, but something must be very wrong, or she would not have been absent at the moment of her guest's departure. And what did that beastly little negro mean by telling him that Keswick and Miss March were to be married at Christmas, and that the two were kissing each other good-bye in the parlor? Why, the man had not even come out to put her in the carriage, and the omission of this courtesy was very remarkable. These questions were entirely too difficult for him to resolve by himself. It was absolutely necessary that more should be told to him, and explained to him. Seeing the negro boy Plez crossing the yard, he called him and asked him to tell Mr Keswick that Mr Croft wished to see him immediately.
"Mahs' Junius," said the boy, "he done gone to de railroad to take de kyars. He done took he knapsack on he back, an' walk 'cross de fiel's."
When, about an hour or two afterwards, Uncle Isham brought Mr Croft his dinner, the old negro appeared to have lost that air of attentive geniality which he usually put on while waiting on the gentleman. Lawrence, however, took no notice of this, but before the man reached the table, on which he was to place the tray he carried, he asked: "Is it true that Mr Keswick has gone away by train?"
"Yaas, sah," answered Isham.
"And where is Mrs Keswick?" asked Lawrence. "Isn't she in the house?"
"No, sah, done gwine vis'tin, I 'spec."
"When will she return?"
"Dunno," said Isham. "She nebber comes to me an' tells me whar she gwine, an' when she comin' back."
And then, after satisfying himself that nothing more was needed of him for the present, Isham left the room; and when he reached the kitchen, he addressed himself to its plump mistress: "Letty," said he, "when dat ar Mister Crof has got froo wid his dinner, you go an' fotch back de plates an' dishes. He axes too many questions to suit me, dis day."
"You is poh'ly to-day, Uncle Isham," said Letty.
"Yaas," said the old man, "I's right much on the careen."
Uncle Isham, perhaps, was not more loyal to the widow Keswick than many old servants were and are to their former mistresses, but his loyalty was peculiar in that it related principally to his regard for her character. This regard he wished to be very high, and it always troubled and unsettled his mind, when the old lady herself or anybody else interfered with his efforts to keep it high. For years he had been hoping that the time would come when she would cease to "rar and chawge," but she had continued, at intervals, to indulge in that most unsuitable exercise; and now that it appeared that she had reared and charged again, her old servant was much depressed. She had gone away from the house, and, for all he knew, she might stay away for days or weeks, as she had done before, and Uncle Isham was never so much "on the careen" as when he found himself forced to believe that his old mistress was still a woman who could do a thing like that.
Letty had no objections to answering questions, but much to her disappointment, Lawrence asked her none. He had had enough of catechising negroes. But he requested her to ask Mrs Null if she would be kind enough to step out, for a few minutes, and speak to him. When, very shortly thereafter, that lady appeared, Lawrence was seated at his open door ready to receive her.
"How are you?" she said. "And how is your ankle to-day? You have had nobody to attend to it."
"It has hurt me a good deal," he answered. "I think I must have given it a wrench this morning, but I put on it some of the lotion Mrs Keswick left with me, and it feels better."
"It is too bad," said Mrs Null, "that you have to attend to it yourself."
"Not at all," said Lawrence. "Now that I know how, I can do it, perfectly well, and I don't care a snap about my ankle, except that it interferes with more important affairs. Why do you suppose Miss March went away without speaking to me, or taking leave of me in any way?"
"I thought that would trouble you," said she, "and, to speak honestly, I don't think it was right. But Roberta was in a very agitated condition, when she left here, and I don't believe she ever thought of taking leave of you, or any one, except me. She and I are very good friends, but she don't confide much in me. But one thing I am pretty sure of, and that is that she is dreadfully angry with my cousin Junius, and I am very sorry for that."
"How did he anger her?" asked Lawrence, wishing to find out how much this young woman knew. "I haven't the least idea," said Miss Annie. "All I know is, she had quite a long talk with him, in the parlor, and after that she came flying up-stairs, just as indignant as she could be. She didn't say much, but I could see how her soul raged within her." And now the young lady stopped speaking, and looked straight into Lawrence's face. "It isn't possible," she said, "that you have been sending my cousin to propose to her for you?"
This was not a pleasant question to answer, and, besides, Lawrence had made up his mind that the period had passed for making confidants of other persons, in regard to his love affairs. "Do you suppose I would do that?" he said.
"No, I don't," Miss Annie answered. "Cousin Junius would never have undertaken such a thing, and I don't believe you would be cruel enough to ask him."
"Thank you for your good opinion," said Lawrence. "And now can you tell me when Mr Keswick is expected to return?"
"He has gone back to Washington, and he told me he should stay there some time."
"And why has not Mrs Keswick been out to see me?" asked Lawrence.
"You are dreadfully inquisitive," said Miss Annie, "but to tell you the simple truth, Mr Croft, I don't believe Aunt Keswick takes any further interest in you, now that Roberta has gone. She had set her heart on making a match between you two, and doing it here without delay; and I think that everything going wrong about this has put her into the state of mind she is in now."
"Has she really gone away?" asked Lawrence.
"Oh, that don't amount to anything," said Miss Annie. "She went over the fields to Howlett's, to see the postmistress, who is an old friend, to whom she often goes for comfort, when things are not right at home. But I am going after her this afternoon in the spring wagon. I'll take Plez along with me to open the gates. I am sure I shall bring her back."
"I must admit, Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "that I am very inquisitive, but you can easily understand how much I am troubled and perplexed."
"I expect Miss March's going away troubled you more than anything else," said she.
"That is true," he answered, "but then there are other things which give me a great deal of anxiety. I came here to be, for a day or two, the guest of a lady on whom I have no manner of claim for prolonged hospitality. And now here I am, compelled to stay in this room and depend on her kindness or forbearance for everything I have. I would go away, immediately, but I know it would injure me to travel. The few steps I took yesterday have probably set me back for several days."
"Oh, it would never do for you to travel," said she, "with such a sprained ankle as you have. It would certainly injure you very much to be driven all the way to the Green Sulphur Springs. I am told the road is very rough, between here and there, but perhaps you didn't notice it, having come over on horseback."
"Yes, I did notice it, and I could not stand that drive. And, even if I could be got to the train, to go North, I should have to walk a good deal at the stations."
"You simply must not think of it," said Miss Annie. "And now let me give you a piece of advice. I am a practical person, as you may know, and I like to do things in a practical way. The very best thing that you can do, is to arrange with Aunt Keswick to stay here as a boarder, until your ankle is well. She has taken boarders, and in this case I don't think she would refuse. As I told you before, you must not expect her to take the same interest in you, that she did when you first came, but she is really a kind woman, though she has such dreadfully funny ways, and she wouldn't have neglected you to-day, if it hadn't been that her mind is entirely wrapped up in other things. If you like, I'll propose such an arrangement to her, this afternoon."
"You are very kind, indeed," said Lawrence, "but is there not danger of offending her by such a proposition?"
"Yes, I think there is," answered Miss Annie, "and I have no doubt she will fly out into a passion when she hears that the gentleman, whom she invited here as a guest, proposes to stay as a boarder, but I think I can pacify her, and make her look at the matter in the proper way." "But why mention it at all, and put yourself to all that trouble about it?" said Lawrence.
"Why, of course, because I think you will be so much better satisfied, and content to keep quiet and get well, if you feel that you have a right to stay here. If Aunt Keswick wasn't so very different from other people, I wouldn't have mentioned this matter for, really, there is no necessity for it; but I know very well that if you were to drop out of her mind for two or three days, and shouldn't see anything of her, that you would become dreadfully nervous about staying here."
"You are certainly very practical, Mrs Null, and very sensible, and very, very kind; and nothing could suit me better under the circumstances than the plan you propose. But I am extremely anxious not to give offence to your aunt. She has treated me with the utmost kindness and hospitality."
"Oh, don't trouble yourself about that," said Miss Annie, with a little laugh. "I am getting to know her so well that I think I can manage an affair like this, very easily. And now I must be off, or it will be too late for me to go to Howlett's, this afternoon, and I am a very slow driver. Are you sure there is nothing you want? I shall go directly past the store, and can stop as well as not."
"Thank you very much," said Lawrence, "but I do not believe that Howlett's possesses an article that I need. One thing I will ask you to do for me before you go. I want to write a letter, and I find that I am out of paper; therefore I shall be very much obliged to you, if you will let me have some, and some envelopes."
"Why, certainly," said Miss Annie, and she went into the house.
She looked over the stock of paper which her aunt kept in a desk in the dining-room, but she did not like it. "I don't believe he will want to write on such ordinary paper as this," she said to herself. Whereupon she went up-stairs and got some of her own paper and envelopes, which were much finer in material and more correct in style. "I don't like it a bit," she thought, "to give this to him to write that letter on, but I suppose it's bound to be written, anyway, so he might as well have the satisfaction of good paper."
"You must excuse these little sheets," she said, when she took it to him, "but you couldn't expect anything else, in an Amazonian household like ours. Cousin Junius has manly stationery, of course, but I suppose it is all locked up in that secretary in your room."
"Oh, this will do very well indeed," said Lawrence; "and I wish I could come out and help you into your vehicle," regarding the spring wagon which now stood at the door, with Plez at the head of the solemn sorrel.
"Thank you," said Miss Annie, "that is not at all necessary." And she tripped over to the spring wagon, and mounting into its altitudes without the least trouble in the world, she took up the reins. With these firmly grasped in her little hands, which were stretched very far out, and held very wide apart, she gave the horse a great jerk and told him to "Get up!" As she moved off, Lawrence from his open door called out: "Bon voyage" and in a full, clear voice she thanked him, but did not dare to look around, so intent was she upon her charioteering.
Slowly turning the horse toward the yard gate, which Plez stood holding open, her whole soul was absorbed in the act of guiding the equipage through the gateway. Quickly glancing from side to side, and then at the horse's back, which ought to occupy a medium position between the two gateposts, she safely steered the front wheels through the dangerous pass, although a grin of delight covered the face of Plez as he noticed that the hub of one of the hind wheels almost grazed a post. Then the observant boy ran on to open the other gate, and with many jerks and clucks, Miss Annie induced the sorrel to break into a gentle trot.
As Lawrence looked after her, a little pang made itself noticeable in his conscience. This girl was certainly very kind to him, and most remarkably considerate of him in the plan she had proposed. And yet he felt that he had prevaricated to her, and, in fact, deceived her, in the answer he had made when she asked him if he had sent her cousin to speak for him to Miss March. Would she have such friendly feelings toward him, and be so willing to oblige him, if she knew that he had in effect done the thing which she considered so wrong and so cruel? But it could not be helped; the time had passed for confidences. He must now work out this affair for himself, without regard to persons who really had nothing whatever to do with it.
Closing his door, he hopped back to his table, and, seating himself at it, he opened his travelling inkstand and prepared to write to Miss March. It was absolutely necessary that he should write this letter, immediately, for, after the message he had received from the lady of his love, no time should be lost in putting himself in communication with her. But, before beginning to write, he must decide upon the spirit of his letter.
Under the very peculiar circumstances of his acceptance, he did not feel that he ought to indulge in those rapturous expressions of ecstacy in which he most certainly would have indulged, if the lady had personally delivered her decision to him. He did not doubt her, for what woman would play a joke like that on a man—upon two men, in fact? Even if there were no other reason she would not dare to do it. Nor did he doubt Keswick. It would have been impossible for him to come with such a message, if it had not been delivered to him. And yet Lawrence could not bring himself to be rapturous. If he had been accepted in cold blood, and a hand, and not a heart, had been given to him, he would gladly take that hand and trust to himself to so warm the heart that it, also, would soon be his. But he did not know what Roberta March had given him.
On the other hand, he knew very well if, in his first letter as an accepted lover, he should exhibit any of that caution and prudence which, in the course of his courtship, had proved to be shoals on which he had very nearly run aground, that Roberta's resentment, which had shown itself very marked in this regard, would probably be roused to such an extent that the affair would be brought to a very speedy and abrupt termination. If she had been obliged to forgive him, once, for this line of conduct, he could not expect her to do it again. To write a letter, which should err in neither of these respects, was a very difficult thing to do, and required so much preparatory thought, that when, toward the close of the afternoon, Miss Annie drove in at the yard gate, with Mrs Keswick on the seat beside her, not a line had been written.
Mrs Keswick descended from the spring wagon and went into the house, but Miss Annie remained at the bottom of the steps, for the apparent purpose of speaking to Plez; perhaps to give him some instructions in regard to the leading of a horse to its stable, or to instil into his mind some moral principle or other; but the moment the vehicle moved away, she ran over to the office and tapped at the window, which was quickly opened by Lawrence.
"I have spoken to her about it," she said, "and although she blazed up at first, so that I thought I should be burned alive, I made her understand just how matters really are, and she has agreed to let you stay here as a boarder."
"You are extremely good," said Lawrence, "and must be a most admirable manager. This arrangement makes me feel much better satisfied than I could have been, otherwise." Then leaning a little further out of the window, he asked: "But what am I to do for company, while I am shut up here?"
"Oh, you will have Uncle Isham, and Aunt Keswick, and sometimes me. But I hope that you will soon be able to come into the house, and take your meals, and spend your evenings with us."
"You have nothing but good wishes for me," he said, "and I believe, if you could manage it, you would have me cured by magic, and sent off, well and whole, to-morrow."
"Of course," said Miss Annie, very promptly. "Good night."
Just before supper, Mrs Keswick came in to see Lawrence. She was very grave, almost severe, and her conversation was confined to inquiries as to the state of his ankle, and his general comfort. But Lawrence took no offence at her manner, and was very gracious, saying some exceedingly neat things about the way he had been treated; and, after a little, her manner slightly mollified, and she remarked: "And so you let Miss March go away, without settling anything."
Now Lawrence considered this a very incorrect statement, but he had no wish to set the old lady right. He knew it would joy her heart, and make her more his friend than, ever if he should tell her that Miss March had accepted him, but this would be a very dangerous piece of information to put in her hands. He did not know what use she would make of it, or what damage she might unwittingly do to his prospects. And so he merely answered: "I had no idea she would leave so soon."
"Well," said the old lady, "I suppose, after all, that you needn't give it up yet. I understand that she is not going to New York before the end of the month, and you may be well enough before that to ride over to Midbranch."
"I hope so, most assuredly," said he.
Lawrence devoted that evening to his letter. It was a long one, and was written with a most earnest desire to embrace all the merits of each of the two kinds of letters, which have before been alluded to, and to avoid all their faults. When it was finished, he read it, tore it up, and threw it in the fire.
The next day opened bright and clear, and before ten o'clock, the thermometer had risen to seventy degrees. Instead of sitting in front of the fireplace, Lawrence had his chair and table brought close to his open doorway, where he could look out on the same beautiful scene which had greeted his eyes a few days before. "But what is the good," he thought, "of this green grass, this sunny air, that blue sky, those white clouds, and the distant tinted foliage, without that figure, which a few days ago stood in the foreground of the picture?" But, as the woman to whom, in his soul's sight, the whole world was but a background, was not there, he turned his eyes from the warm autumnal scene, and prepared again to write to her. He had scarcely taken up his pen, however, when he was interrupted by the arrival of Miss Annie, who came to bring him a book she had just finished reading, a late English novel which she thought might be more interesting than those she had sent him. The book was one which Lawrence had not seen and wanted to see, but in talking about it, to the young lady, he discovered that she had not read all of it.
"Don't let me deprive you of the book," said Lawrence. "If you have begun it, you ought to go on with it."
"Oh, don't trouble your mind about that," she said, with a laugh. "I have finished it, but I have not read a word of the beginning. I only looked at the end of it, to see how the story turned out. I always do that, before I read a novel."
This remark much amused Lawrence. "Do you know," said he, "that I would rather not read novels at all, than to read them in that way. I must begin at the beginning, and go regularly through, as the author wishes his readers to do."
"And perhaps, when you get to the end," said Miss Annie, "you'll find that the wrong man got her, and then you'll wish you had not read the story."
"As you appear to be satisfied with this novel," said Lawrence, "I wish you would read it to me, and then I would feel that I was not taking an uncourteous precedence of you."
"I'll read it to you," said she, "or, at least, as much as you want me to, for I feel quite sure that after you get interested in it, you will want to take it, yourself, and read straight on till it is finished, instead of waiting for some one to come and give you a chapter or two at a time. That would be the way with me, I know."
"I shall be delighted to have you read to me," said Lawrence. "When can you begin?"
"Now," she said, "if you choose. But perhaps you wish to write."
"Not at this moment," said Lawrence, turning from the table. "Unfortunately I have plenty of leisure. Where will you sit?" And he reached out his hand for a chair.
"Oh, I don't want a chair," said Annie, taking her seat on the broad door-step. "This is exactly what I like. I am devoted to sitting on steps. Don't you think there is something dreadfully stiff about always being perched up in a chair?"
"Yes," said Lawrence, "on some occasions."
And, forthwith, she began upon the first chapter; and having read five lines of this, she went back and read the title page, suddenly remembering that Mr Croft liked to begin a book at the very beginning. Miss Annie had been accustomed to read to her father, and she read aloud very well, and liked it. As she sat there, shaded by a great locust tree, which had dropped so many yellow leaves upon the grass, that, now and then, it could not help letting a little fleck of sunshine come down upon her, sometimes gilding for a moment her light-brown hair, sometimes touching the end of a crimson ribbon she wore, and again resting for a brief space on the toe of a very small boot just visible at the edge of her dress, Lawrence looked at her, and said to himself: "Is it possible that this is the rather pale young girl in black, who gave me change from behind the desk of Mr Candy's Information Shop? I don't believe it. That young person sprang up, temporarily, and is defunct. This is some one else."
She read three chapters before she considered it time to go into the house to see if it was necessary for her to do anything about dinner. When she left him, Lawrence turned again to his writing.
That afternoon, he sent Mrs Null a little note on the back of a card, asking her if she could let him have a few more sheets of paper. Lawrence found this request necessary, as he had used up that day all the paper she had sent him, and the small torn pieces of it now littered the fireplace.
"He must be writing a diary letter," said Miss Annie to herself when, she received this message, "such as we girls used to write when we were at school." And, bringing down a little the corners of her mouth, she took from her stationery box what she thought would be quite paper enough to send to a man for such a purpose.
But, although the means were thus made abundant, the letter to Miss March was not then written. Lawrence finally determined that it was simply impossible for him to write to the lady, until he knew more. What Keswick had told him had been absurdly little, and he had hurried away before there had been time to ask further questions. Instead of sending a letter to Miss March, he would write to Keswick, and would put to him a series of interrogations, the answers to which would make him understand better the position in which he stood. Then he would write to Miss March.
The next day Miss Annie could not read to him in the morning, because, as she came and told him, she was going to Howlett's, on an errand for her aunt. But there would be time to give him a chapter or two before dinner, when she came back.
"Would it be any trouble," said Lawrence, "for you to mail a letter for me?"
"Oh, no," said Miss Annie, but not precisely in the same tone in which she would have told him that it would be no trouble to read to him two or three chapters of a novel. And yet she would pass directly by the residence of Miss Harriet Corvey, the post-mistress.
As Miss Annie walked along the narrow path which ran by the roadside to Howlett's, with the blue sky above her, and the pleasant October sunshine all about her, and followed at a little distance by the boy Plez, carrying a basket, she did not seem to be taking that enjoyment in her walk which was her wont. Her brows were slightly contracted and she looked straight in front of her, without seeing anything in particular, after the manner of persons whose attention is entirely occupied in looking into their own minds, at something they do not like. "It is too much!" she said, almost loud, her brows contracting a little more as she spoke. "It was bad enough to have to furnish the paper, but for me to have to carry the letter, is entirely too much!" And, at this, she involuntarily glanced at the thick and double stamped missive, which, having no pocket, she carried in her hand. She had not looked at it before, and as her eyes fell upon the address, she stopped so suddenly that Plez, who was dozing as he walked, nearly ran into her. "What!" she exclaimed, "'Junius Keswick, five Q street, Washington, District of Columbia!' Is it possible that Mr Croft has been writing to him, all this time?" She now walked on; and although she still seemed to notice not the material objects around her, the frown disappeared from her brow, and her mental vision seemed to be fixed upon something more pleasant than that which had occupied it before. As it will be remembered, she had refused positively to have anything to do with Lawrence's suit to Miss March, and it was a relief to her to know that the letter she was carrying was not for that lady. "But why," thought she, "should he be writing, for two whole evenings, to Junius. I expected that he would write to her, to find out why she went off and left him in that way, but I did not suppose he would want to write to Junius. It seems to me they had time enough, that night they were together, to talk over everything they had to say."
And then she began to wonder what they had to say, and, gradually, the conviction grew upon her that Mr Croft was a very, very honorable man. Of course it was wrong that he should have come here to try to win a lady who, if one looked at it in the proper light, really belonged to another. But it now came into her mind that Mr Croft must, by degrees, have seen this, for himself, and that it was the subject of his long conference with Junius, and also, most probably, of this letter. The conference certainly ended amicably, and, in that case, it was scarcely possible that Junius had given up his claim. He was not that kind of a man.
If Mr Croft had become convinced that he ought to retire from this contest, and had done so, and Roberta had been informed of it, that would explain everything that had happened. Roberta's state of mind, after she had had the talk in the parlor with Junius, and her hurried departure, without taking the slightest notice of either of the gentlemen, was quite natural. What woman would like to know that she had been bargained about, and that her two lovers had agreed which of them should have her? It was quite to be expected that she would be very angry, at first, though there was no doubt she would get over it, so far as Junius was concerned.
Having thus decided, entirely to her own satisfaction, that this was the state of affairs, she thought it was a grand thing that there were two such young men in the world, as her cousin and Mr Croft, who could arrange such an affair in so kindly and honorable a manner, without feeling that they were obliged to fight—that horribly stupid way in which such things used to be settled.
This vision of masculine high-mindedness, which Miss Annie had called up, seemed very pleasant to her, and her mental satisfaction was denoted by a pretty little glow which came into her face, and by a certain increase of sprightliness in her walk. "Now then,—" she said to herself; and although she did not finish the sentence, even in her own mind, the sky increased the intensity of its beautiful blue; the sun began to shine with a more golden radiance; the little birds who had not yet gone South, chirped to each other as merrily as if it had been early summer; the yellow and purple wild flowers of autumn threw into their blossoms a richer coloring; and even the blades of grass seemed to stretch themselves upward, green, tender, and promising; and when the young lady skipped up the step of the post-office, she dropped the letter into Miss Harriet Corvey's little box, with the air of a mother-bird feeding a young one with the first ripe cherry of the year.
A day or two after this, Lawrence found himself able, by the aid of a cane and a rude crutch, which Uncle Isham had made for him and the top of which Mrs Keswick had carefully padded, to make his way from the office to the house; and, after that, he took his meals, and passed the greater part of his time in the larger edifice. Sometimes, he ransacked the old library; sometimes, Miss Annie read to him; and sometimes, he read to her. In the evening, there were games of cards, in which the old lady would occasionally take a hand, although more frequently Miss Annie and Mr Croft were obliged to content themselves with some game at which two could play. But the pleasantest hours, perhaps, were those which were spent in talking, for Lawrence had travelled a good deal, and had seen so many of the things in foreign lands which Miss Annie had always wished, that she could see. Lawrence was waiting until he should hear from Mr Keswick; so that, with some confidence in his position, he could write to Miss March. His trunk had been sent over from the Green Sulphur Springs, and he was much better satisfied to wait here than at that deserted watering-place. It was, indeed, a very agreeable spot in which to wait, and quite near enough to Midbranch for him to carry on his desired operations, when the time should arrive. He was a little annoyed that Keswick's answer should be so long in coming, but he resolved not to worry himself about it. The answer was, probably, a difficult letter to write, and one which Keswick would not be likely to dash off in a hurry. He remembered, too, that the mail was sent and received only twice a week at Howlett's.
Old Mrs Keswick was kind to him, but grave, and rather silent. Once she passed the open door of the parlor, by the window of which sat Miss Annie and Lawrence, deeply engaged, their heads together, in studying out something on a map, and as she went up-stairs she grimly grinned, and said to herself: "If that Null could look in and see them now, I reckon our young man would wish he had the use of all his arms and legs."
But if Mr Null should disapprove of his wife and that gentleman from New York spending so much of their time together, old Mrs Keswick had not the least objection in the world. She was well satisfied that Mr Croft should find it interesting enough to stay here until the time came when he should be able to go to Midbranch. When that period arrived she would not be slow to urge him to his duty, in spite of any obstacles Mr Brandon might put in his way. So, for the present, she possessed her soul in as much peace as the soul of a headstrong and very wilful old lady is capable of being possessed.
The letter which Lawrence Croft had written to Junius Keswick was not answered for more than a week, and when the answer arrived, it did not come through the Howlett's post-office, but was brought from a mail station on the railway by a special messenger. In this epistle Mr Keswick stated that he would have written much sooner but for the fact that he had been away from Washington, and having just returned, had found Mr Croft's letter waiting for him. The answer was written in a tone which Lawrence did not at all expect. It breathed the spirit of a man who was determined, and almost defiant. It told Mr Croft that the writer did not now believe that Miss March's acceptance of the said Mr Croft, should be considered of any value, whatever. It was the result of a very peculiar condition of things, in which he regretted having taken a part, and it was given in a moment of pique and indignation, which gave Miss March a right to reconsider her hasty decision, if she chose to do so. It would not be fair for either of them to accept, as conclusive, words said under the extraordinary circumstances which surrounded Miss March when she said those words. "You asked me to do you a favor," wrote Junius Keswick, "and, very much against my inclination, and against what is now my judgment, I did it. I now ask you to do me a favor, and I do not think you should refuse it. I ask you not to communicate with Miss March until I have seen her, and have obtained from her an explanation of the acceptance in question. I have a right to this explanation, and I feel confident that it will be given to me. You ask me what I truly believe Miss March meant by her message to you. I answer that I do not know, but I intend to find out what she meant, and as soon as I do so, I will write to you. I think, therefore, considering what you have asked me to do, and what you have written to me, about what I have done, that you cannot refuse to abstain from any further action in the matter, until I am enabled to answer you. I cannot leave Washington immediately, but I shall go to Midbranch in a very few days."
This letter was very far from being a categorical answer to Lawrence's questions, and it disappointed and somewhat annoyed that gentleman; but after he had read it for the second time, and carefully considered it, he put it in his pocket and said to himself, "This ends all discussion of this subject. Mr Keswick may be right in the position he takes, or he may be wrong. He may go to Midbranch; he may get his explanation; and he may send it to me. But, without any regard to what he does, or says, or writes, I shall go to Miss March as soon as I am able to use my ankle, and, whether she be at her uncle's house, or whether she has gone to New York, or to any other place, I shall see her, and, myself, obtain from her an explanation of this acceptance. This is due to me as well as to Mr Keswick, and if he thinks he ought to get it, for himself, I also think I ought to get it, for myself."
The good results of Lawrence's great care in regard to his injured ankle soon began to show themselves. The joint had slowly but steadily regained its strength and usual healthy condition; and Lawrence now found that he could walk about without the assistance of his rude crutch. He was still prudent, however, and took but very short walks, and in these he leaned upon his trusty cane. The charming autumn days, which often come to Virginia in late October and early November, were now at their best. Day after day, the sun shone brightly, but there was in the air an invigorating coolness, which made its radiance something to be sought for and not avoided.
It was just after dinner, and it was Saturday afternoon, when Miss Annie announced that she was going to see old Aunt Patsy, whom she had somewhat neglected of late.
"May I go with you?" said Lawrence.
Miss Annie shook her head doubtfully. "I should be very glad to have your company," she said, "but I am afraid it will be entirely too much of a walk for you. The days are so short that the sun will be low before we could get back, and if you should be tired, it would not do for you to sit down and rest, at that time of day."
"I believe," said Lawrence, "that my ankle is quite strong enough for me to walk to Aunt Patsy's and back, without sitting down to rest. I would be very glad to go with you, and I would like, too, to see that venerable colored woman again."
"Well," said Miss Annie, "if you really think you can walk so far, it will be very nice indeed to have you go, but you ought to feel very sure that it will not hurt you."
"Come along," said Lawrence, taking up his hat and cane.
After a man has been shut up, as Lawrence had been, a pleasant ramble like this is a most delightful change, and he did not hesitate to manifest his pleasure. This touched the very sensitive soul of his companion, and with such a sparkle of talk did she evince her gratification, that almost any one would have been able to see that she was a young lady who had an earnest sympathy with those who had undergone afflictions, but were now freed from them.
Aunt Patsy was glad to see her visitors, particularly glad, it seemed, to see Mr Croft. She was quite loquacious, considering the great length of her days, and the proverbial shortness of her tongue.
"Why, Aunt Patsy," said Miss Annie, "you seem to have grown younger since I last saw you! I do believe you are getting old backwards! What are you going to do with that dress-body?" "I's lookin' at dis h'yar," said Aunt Patsy, turning over the well-worn body of a black woollen dress which lay in her lap, instead of the crazy quilt on which she was usually occupied, "to see if it's done gib way in any ob de seams, or de elbers. 'Twas a right smart good frock once, an' I's gwine to wear it ter-morrer."
"To-morrow!" exclaimed Annie. "You don't mean to say you are going to church!"
"Dat's jus' wot I's gwine to do, Miss Annie. I's gwine to chu'ch ter-morrer mawnin'. Dar's gwine to be a big preachin'. Brudder Enick Hines is to be dar, an' dey tell me dey allus has pow'ful wakenin's when Brudder Enick preaches. I ain't ever heered Brudder Enick yit, coz he was a little boy when I use to go to chu'ch."
"Will it be in the old church, in the woods just beyond Howlett's?" asked Annie.
"Right dar," replied Aunt Patsy, with an approving glance towards the young lady. "You 'members dem ar places fus' rate, Miss Annie. Why you didn't tole me, when you fus' come h'yar, dat you was dat little Miss Annie dat I use to tote roun' afore I gin up walkin'?"
"Oh, that's too long a story," said Miss Annie, with a laugh. "You know I hadn't seen Aunt Keswick, then. I couldn't go about introducing myself to other people before I had seen her."
Aunt Patsy gave a sagacious nod of her head. "I reckon you thought she'd be right much disgruntled when she heered you was mar'ed, an' you wanted to tell her youse'f. But I's pow'ful glad dat it's all right now. You all don' know how pow'ful glad I is." And she looked at Mr Croft and Miss Annie with a glance as benignant as her time-set countenance was capable of.
"But Aunt Patsy," said Annie, quite willing to change the conversation, although she did not know the import of the old woman's last remark, "I thought you were not able to go out."
The old woman gave a little chuckle. "Dat's wot eberybody thought, an' to tell you de truf, Miss Annie, I thought so too. But ef I was strong 'nuf to go to de pos' offis,—an' I did dat, Miss Annie, an' not long ago nuther,—I reckon I's strong 'nuf to go to chu'ch, an' Uncle Isham is a comin' wid de oxcart to take me ter-morrer mawnin'. Dar'll be pow'ful wakenin's, an' I ain't seen de Jerus'lum Jump in a mighty long time."
"Are they going to have the Jerusalem Jump?" asked Miss Annie.
"Oh, yaas, Miss Annie," said the old woman, "dey's sartin shuh to hab dat, when dey gits waken'd."
"I should so like to see the Jerusalem Jump again," said Miss Annie. "I saw it once, when I was a little girl. Did you ever see it?" she said, turning to Mr Croft.
"I have not," he answered. "I never even heard of it."
"Suppose we go to-morrow, and hear Brother Enoch," she said. "I should like it very much," answered Lawrence.
"Aunt Patsy," said Miss Annie, "would there be any objection to our going to your church to-morrow?"
The old woman gave her head a little shake. "Dunno," she said. "As a gin'ral rule we don't like white folks at our preachin's. Dey's got dar chu'ches, an' dar ways, an' we's got our chu'ches, an' our ways. But den it's dif'rent wid you all. An' you all's not like white folks in gin'ral, an' 'specially strawngers. You all isn't strawngers now. I don't reckon dar'll be no 'jections to your comin', ef you set sollum, an' I know you'll do dat, Miss Annie, coz you did it when you was a little gal. An' I reckon it'll be de same wid him?" looking at Mr Croft.
Miss Annie assured her that she and her companion would be certain to "sit solemn," and that they would not think of such a thing as going to church and behaving indecorously.
"Dar is white folks," said Aunt Patsy, "wot comes to a culled chu'ch fur nothin' else but to larf. De debbil gits dem folks, but dat don' do us no good, Miss Annie, an' we'd rudder dey stay away. But you all's not dat kine. I knows dat, sartin shuh."
When the two had taken leave of the old woman, and Miss Annie had gone out of the door, Aunt Patsy leaned very far forward, and stretching out her long arm, seized Mr Croft by the skirt of his coat. He stepped back, quite surprised, and then she said to him, in a low but very earnest voice: "I reckon dat dat ar sprain ankle was nuffin but a acciden'; but you look out, sah, you look out! Hab you got dem little shoes handy?"
"Oh, yes," said Lawrence. "I have them in my trunk."
"Keep 'em whar you kin put your han' on 'em," said Aunt Patsy, impressively. "You may want 'em yit. You min' my wuds."
"I shall be sure to remember," said Lawrence, as he hastened out to rejoin Annie.
"What in the world had Aunt Patsy to say to you?" asked that somewhat surprised young lady.
Then Lawrence told her how some time before Aunt Patsy had given him a pair of blue shoes, which she said would act as a preventive charm, in case Mrs Keswick should ever wish to do him harm, and that she had now called him back to remind him not to neglect this means of personal protection. "I can't imagine," said Lawrence, "that your aunt would ever think of such a thing as doing me a harm, or how those little shoes would prevent her, if she wanted to, but I suppose Aunt Patsy is crack-brained on some subjects, and so I thought it best to humor her, and took the shoes."
"Do you know," said Miss Annie, after walking a little distance in silence, "that I am afraid Aunt Patsy has done a dreadful thing, and one I never should have suspected her of. Aunt Keswick had a little baby once, and it died very young. She keeps its clothes in a box, and I remember when I was a little girl that she once showed them to me, and told me I was to take the place of that little girl, and that frightened me dreadfully, because I thought that I would have to die, and have my clothes put in a box. I recollect perfectly that there was a pair of little blue shoes among these clothes, and Aunt Patsy must have stolen them."
"That surprises me," said Lawrence. "I supposed, from what I had heard of the old woman, that she was perfectly honest."
"So she is," said Annie. "She has been a trusted servant in our family nearly all her life. But some negroes have very queer ideas about taking certain things, and I suppose Aunt Patsy had some particular reason for taking those shoes, for, of course, they could be of no value to her."
"I am very sorry," said Lawrence, "that such sacred relics should have come into my possession, but I must admit that I would not like to give them back to your aunt."
"Oh, no," said Annie, "that would never do; and I wouldn't dare to try to find her box, and put them in it. It would seem like a desecration for any hand but her own to touch those things."
"That is true," said Lawrence, "and you might get yourself into a lot of trouble by endeavoring to repair the mischief. Before I leave here, we may think of some plan of disposing of the little trotters. It might be well to give them back to Aunt Patsy and tell her to restore them."
"I don't know," said Miss Annie, with a slowness of reply, and an irrelevance of demeanor, which indicated she was not thinking of the words she was speaking.
The sun was now very near the horizon, and that evening coolness which, in the autumn, comes on so quickly after the sunshine fades out of the air, made Lawrence give a little shrug with his shoulders. He proposed that they should quicken their pace, and as his companion made no objection, they soon reached the house.
The next day being Sunday, breakfast was rather later than usual, and as Lawrence looked out on the bright morning, with the mists just disengaging themselves from the many-hued foliage which crowned the tops of the surrounding hills; and on the recently risen sun, hanging in an atmosphere of grey and lilac, with the smile of Indian summer on its face; he thought he would like to take a stroll, before that meal; but either the length of his walk on the previous day, or the rapidity of the latter portion of it, had been rather too much for the newly-recovered strength of his ankle, which now felt somewhat stiff and sore. When he mentioned this at the breakfast table, he received a good deal of condolence from the two ladies, especially Mrs Keswick. And, at first, it was thought that it might be well for him to give up his proposed attendance at the negro church. But to this Lawrence strongly objected, for he very much desired to see some of the peculiar religious services of the negroes. He had been talking on the subject the evening before with Mrs Keswick, who had told him that in this part of the country, which lay in the "black belt" of Virginia, where the negro population had always been thickest, these ceremonies were more characteristic of the religious disposition of the African, than in those sections of the State where the white race exerted a greater influence upon the manners and customs of the colored people.
"But it will not be necessary to walk much," said Miss Annie. "We can take the spring-wagon, and you can go with us, aunt."
The old lady permitted herself a little grin. "When I go to church," she said, "I go to a white folks' church, and try to see what I can of white folks' Christianity, though I must say that Christianity of the other color is often just as good, as far as works go. But it is natural that a stranger should want to see what kind of services the colored people have, so you two might as well get into the spring-wagon and go along."
"But shall we not deprive you of the vehicle?" said Lawrence.
"I never go to church in the spring-wagon," said the old lady, "so long as I am able to walk. And, besides, this is not our Sunday for preaching."
It seemed to Lawrence that an elderly person who went about in a purple calico sun-bonnet, and with an umbrella of the same material, might go to church in a wheelbarrow, so far as appearances were concerned, but he had long ceased to wonder at Mrs Keswick's idiosyncrasies. "I remember very well," said Miss Annie, after the old lady had left the table, which she always did as soon as she had finished a meal, "when Aunt Keswick used to go to church in a big family carriage, which is now sleeping itself to pieces out there in the barn. But then she had a pair of big gray horses, one of them named Doctor and the other Colonel. But now she has only one horse, and I am going to tell Uncle Isham to harness that one up before he goes to church himself. You know he is to take Aunt Patsy in the ox-cart, so he will have to go early."
They went to the negro church in the spring-wagon, Lawrence driving the jogging sorrel, and Miss Annie on the seat beside him. When they reached the old frame edifice in the woods beyond Howlett's, they found gathered there quite a large assemblage, for this was one of those very attractive occasions called a "big preaching." Horses and mules, and wagons of various kinds, many of the latter containing baskets of refreshments, were standing about under the trees; and Mrs Keswick's cart and oxen, tethered to a little pine tree, gave proof that Aunt Patsy had arrived. The inside of the church was nearly full, and outside, around the door, stood a large number of men and boys. The white visitors were looked upon with some surprise, but way was made for them to approach the door, and as soon as they entered the building two of the officers of the church came forward to show them to one of the uppermost seats; but this honor Miss Annie strenuously declined. She preferred a seat near the open door, and therefore she and Mr Croft were given a bench in that vicinity, of which they had sole possession.
To Lawrence, who had never seen anything of the sort, the services which now began were exceedingly interesting; and as Annie had not been to a negro church since she was a little girl, and very seldom then, she gave very earnest and animated attention to what was going on. The singing, as it always is among the negroes, was powerful and melodious, and the long prayer of Brother Enoch Hines was one of those spirited and emotional statements of personal condition, and wild and ardent supplication, which generally pave the way for a most powerful awakening in an assemblage of this kind. Another hymn, sung in more vigorous tones than the first one, warmed up the congregation to such a degree that when Brother Hines opened the Bible, and made preparations for his discourse, he looked out upon an audience as anxious to be moved and stirred as he was to move and stir it. The sermon was intended to be a long one, for, had it been otherwise, Brother Hines had lost his reputation; and, therefore, the preacher, after a few prefatory statements, delivered in a grave and solemn manner, plunged boldly into the midst of his exhortations, knowing that he could go either backward or forward, presenting, with equal acceptance, fresh subject matter, or that already used, so long as his strength held out. He had not preached half an hour before his hearers were so stirred and moved, that a majority of them found it utterly impossible to merely sit still and listen. In different ways their awakening was manifested; some began to sing in a low voice; others gently rocked their bodies; while fervent ejaculations of various kinds were heard from all parts of the church. From this beginning, arose gradually a scene of religious activity, such as Lawrence had never imagined. Each individual allowed his or her fervor to express itself according to the method which best pleased the worshipper. Some kept to their seats, and listened to the words of the preacher, interrupting him occasionally by fervent ejaculations; others sang and shouted, sometimes standing up, clapping their hands and stamping their feet; while a large proportion of the able-bodied members left their seats, and pushed their way forward to the wide, open space which surrounded the preacher's desk, and prepared to engage in the exhilarating ceremony of the "Jerusalem Jump."
Two concentric rings were formed around the preacher, the inner one composed of women, the outer one of men, the faces of those forming the inner ring being turned towards those in the outer. As soon as all were in place, each brother reached forth his hand, and took the hand of the sister opposite to him, and then each couple began to jump up and down violently, shaking hands and singing at the top of their voices. After about a minute of this, the two circles moved, one, one way and one another, so that each brother found himself opposite a different sister. Hands were again immediately seized, and the jumping, hand-shaking, and singing went on. Minute by minute the excitement increased; faster the worshippers jumped, and louder they sang. Through it all Brother Enoch Hines kept on with his sermon. It was very difficult now to make himself heard, and the time for explanation or elucidation had long since passed; all he could do was to shout forth certain important and moving facts, and this he did over and over again, holding his hand at the side of his mouth, as if he were hailing a vessel in the wind. Much of what he said was lost in the din of the jumpers, but ever and anon could be heard ringing through the church the announcement: "De wheel ob time is a turnin' roun'!"
In a group by themselves, in an upper corner of the congregation, were four or five very old women, who were able to manifest their pious enthusiasm in no other way than by rocking their bodies backwards and forwards, and singing with their cracked voices a gruesome and monotonous chant. This rude song had something of a wild and uncivilized nature, as if it had come down to these old people from the savage rites of their African ancestors. They did not sing in unison, but each squeaked or piped out her, "Yi, wiho, yi, hoo!" according to the strength of her lungs, and the degree of her exaltation. Prominent among these was old Aunt Patsy; her little black eyes sparkling through her great iron-bound spectacles; her head and body moving in unison with the wild air of the unintelligible chant she sang; her long, skinny hands clapping up and down upon her knees; while her feet, encased in their great green baize slippers, unceasingly beat time upon the floor.
So many persons being absent from their seats, the group of old women was clearly visible to Annie and Lawrence, and Aunt Patsy also could easily see them. Whenever her head, in its ceaseless moving from side to side, allowed her eyes to fall upon the two white visitors, her ardor and fervency increased, and she seemed to be expressing a pious gratitude that Miss Annie and he, whom she supposed to be her husband, were still together in peace and safety.
Annie was much affected by all she saw and heard. Her face was slightly pale, and occasionally she was moved by a little nervous tremor. Mr Croft, too, was very attentive. His soul was not moved to enthusiasm, and he did not feel, as his companion did, now and then, that he would like to jump up and join in the dancing and the shouting; but the scene made a very strong impression upon him.
Around and around went the two rings of men and women, jumping, singing, and hand-shaking. Out from the centre of them came the stentorian shout: "De wheel ob time is a turnin' roun'!" From all parts of the church rose snatches of hymns, exultant shouts, groans, and prayers; and, in the corner, the shrill chants of the old women were fitfully heard through the storm of discordant worship.
In the midst of all the wild din and hubbub, the soul of Aunt Patsy looked out from the habitation where it had dwelt so long, and, without giving the slightest notice to any one, or attracting the least attention by its movements, it silently slipped away.
The old habitation of the soul still sat in its chair, but no one noticed that it no longer sang, or beat time with its hands and feet.
Not long after this, Lawrence looked round at his companion, and noticed that she was slightly trembling. "Don't you think we have had enough of this?" he whispered.
"Yes," she answered. And they rose and went out. They thought they were the first who had left.