The second day after this meeting we were at breakfast, sitting somewhat stiffly at the table, when my boy Sam, whom Mary had just sent over to Harrison's to find out how he did, brought a note in answer, saying that he had almost entirely recovered and hoped to have the pleasure of meeting her that morning. Barron and Will were still staying at the Hall and we had all been somewhat reserved in manner in spite of the old Captain's jests. Although there had been no serious outcome to the affair, a meeting of that kind, no matter how common the occurrence, always makes women a little distant and cold in manner to the parties concerned. This is possibly because a woman is somewhat more civilized than man, and anything that savors of brutality or fierceness, always is more revolting to her than to the less artificial being.

I have said the occurrence of such affairs was common enough in the old days, before the practice of putting grooves in pistols and making them as accurate as rifles to a steady hand, became general. After that men became more careful about abusing the code and getting into scrapes, for the pistol has always been recognized as a weapon for gentlemen in Virginia. But I must confess, however, that meetings have always been numerous enough, and for the most trivial causes, on the soil of the grand old commonwealth.

After Mary had read the note from Harrison she became much more civil to Barron, and even my mother's stern dignity thawed a little under the prospect of a renewal of social intercourse with the master of the Harrison plantation.

Mary was only nineteen, and although southern girls are women of that age, she possessed a great deal of that childlike simplicity, which is, or is not, so acceptable to the majority of men. For my part, however, I have always been ungallant enough to believe that a woman affects much.

Will had been devotion itself for two years past at Judkins' Hall, for he lived only a few miles away near his family's old country seat at Westover, and consequently found it quite easy to see the inmates of the Hall several times a week even when living at home. He was my favorite cousin, and it was almost painful to see his spirits as much affected by my sister's as a barometer is by the weather.

"Why don't you say something," she said to him, after reading the note and watching the quiet, grave look on his face.

"What shall I say?" he answered, smiling with her, "I'm here to talk to you." And in truth he did appear to be always around for that purpose, but never able to raise his voice to the occasion.

"I don't know whether you are or not. I've been reading about a man who carried on an affair simply by whistling. But even that would hardly apply to you after taking part in that duel. You certainly would hardly care even to whistle to me, or you would not have gone with them. Perhaps you are here to eat and fight."

"You invited me to breakfast."

"Yes, but that does not presuppose you are too hungry to speak. Perhaps you think I asked you here to see you fight, and then satisfy your hunger. You don't know why I asked you here. If you are here to talk to me, do say something. Why did I ask you here to breakfast?"

"Words are sometimes used to convey ideas," I suggested, trying to help Will along, for I well knew how little women care for a man who can't say something light and foolish at the right time.

"Or to conceal them," said Barron, breaking in with his old saw.

"But where the ideas are vague and not quite well defined, what then?" asked Mary, with a knowing look at her mother.

"Then I don't see how they can be of any value, whatever, and I don't see how I'll ever find out the true reason for my being here, though I'd much like to know," said Will.

"Quite right, Will," said my mother smiling, "I don't care for vague ideas either—or to hear a man and woman in worthless gibble-gabble, gibble-gabble. If there is a dearth of ideas, one reason is as good as another."

"I admire silence, also," laughed Barron, "for there is an old saying in regard to its value. But at the same time, give me plenty of plans, schemes and feasibilities."

"I like the latter well enough myself," said Will, so dolefully that we all were forced to smile, and my charming sister laughed outright, saying—

"Certainly Captain Barrow's conversation is not lacking of ideas, but then he is a blunt man, and plain, so it is hardly to be expected that he should conceal such scintillating wit"—

"Blunt man,—and soldier, if you please," interrupted Barron, with intense gravity, seeing his chance to heal the rupture between himself and Mary.

"I may add, 'and soldier,' when I see some evidence to justify it," retorted my sister with a little energy. But Barron only laughed and we finally adjourned to the verandah in a more civil mood than when we sat down to breakfast.

The air is delightful on the river at this time of year of which I speak, and, as you probably well know, has a soothing effect on the nerves, for it is not at all cool, nor is it hot enough to excite the circulation.

We sat there in the delicious, fragrant breeze for some minutes before we were aware of the approach of Berkley Harrison, Phripps and Miss Rose Carter, a cousin of Harrison's.

Miss Carter had come over with her maid to nurse her cousin the moment she had heard that he was hurt, and as Harrison lived alone, except when some one like Phripps was with him, a woman would have been a good person to have had at hand, had he been injured badly, or had my mother and sister not spent most of their time attending to his wants.

I suppose I might as well say, before going further, that although I am only a poor Virginia gentleman who has nothing but his—well, estate and inheritance—I had some hope of raising myself to a position from which I might allow my gentler passions to have some sway.

You will understand what I mean when I tell you that for beauty of face and figure, coupled with a grace beyond description, Miss Carter was—well, I will not tire you with details that are so well known. And then, again, a woman's beauty depends entirely upon her attractiveness to a man, and some men will see beauty in one way and some in another; never all alike. Why, I have seen the niggers in the slave quarters let Harrison's house servant, Angeline,—a yellow girl of remarkable beauty,—pass by unnoticed and then, ten minutes later, be peeping and spying at the blackest moke wench that ever left the Guinea coast.

Harrison's greeting, this morning, was a trifle cool to Barron and myself, and his appearance was not improved by the sinister look of his shining black eyes. These were somewhat sunken in his pale cheeks and had dark crescents beneath them. His head was bandaged, but a skull cap covered all signs of his wound. To Will Byrd and my sister he was most gracious, and he even bent his wounded head to kiss the tips of my mother's thin fingers.

"You see," he said, after Miss Carter and Phripps had made their greeting, "I took the opportunity to come over to tell you that Lord Dunmore has sent word that he fears great trouble in the tide-water districts, and that all the gentlemen of the province were making ready to embark on his vessels and leave with their families until the insurrection is more in hand."

"And when will that be?" asked my mother in some alarm.

"Oh, only a few weeks, at the most," said Phripps, breaking into the conversation.

"Yes, about that time," continued Harrison, "but you know how fanatical such men as Bullet and Bullbeggor are. It's really absurd how much influence that beggar, Patrick Henry, has over such ignorant men. The man has about as much logic in his discourse as a nigger has in his, but he sways his followers any way he wishes, and is gaining recruits every day. I suppose you know how illiterate the fellow is?"

"And how rough and ill-bred," said Miss Carter.

"An ill-favored rogue and no mistake," said Phripps.

"Odious men—vulgar ruffians, all of them," said Miss Carter and Mary together.

"So you say!" murmured Barron, pleasantly.

"And their followers are a pack of unhung thieves," added Harrison fiercely. "No house is safe while they roam the outlying counties"——

"Mercy!" quietly interrupted my mother, who felt very kindly toward the revolutionists, "One would actually suppose, Mr. Harrison, that you were quite unfriendly with the whole party."

And when she finished speaking I could see Harrison's eyes fairly blaze with anger. He was very quiet, however, for some moments, and then adding that it would be well to be packed and ready to embark with Lord Dunmore when he arrived, he turned to my sister and talked of other matters.

Barron waxed flippant and jolly while talking to Phripps, so when everybody was in good humor I took the opportunity to ask Miss Carter to help me hunt thistles—for my mother.

We walked some distance through the fields, and found few thistles, but among other matters discussed were certain characteristics of Mr. Berkley Harrison.

"The most accomplished and perfect gentleman in the province," said Rose.

"But, my dear Rose, he is so uncommon vain"—

"By which, I suppose, you mean simply that he has a decent opinion of himself, owing to his birth and position," she interrupted. "A man who hasn't a proper opinion of himself, seldom has one of any of his friends or acquaintances."

"Quite true," I answered, "but"—

"Do you really object to him so much?" she broke in. And as she smiled and blushed slightly I followed the direction of her look and saw Mary and Harrison standing together at the corner of the box-hedge of the driveway.

"You could hardly expect a gentleman of cousin Berk's antecedents to agree with the absurd ideas of government you pretend to," she continued.

"The matter is possibly open to discussion," I answered a little stiffly.

"Oh, no offence, my dear Dick. You know the laws of human nature as well as I do. Those who are governed and have little are always antagonistic to those who govern and have much, no matter how perfect that government is."

"Yes, I know," I answered, "there is no such thing as justice in this world. Even the Bible, most holy of records, disclaims it, saying, that those who have little shall have that little taken from them and given to those who have much. At least that is what I make of it, but even if there should be a small minority to govern and grind a large majority, the majority should have its representatives to see that no unjust"—

"Nonsense!" she interrupted, "Those who represented it would soon acquire the same habits and tendency as the minority, without even the leavening of high birth and education the minority already have. There are some people born with high ideas who are intended by Providence to govern always. They are superior in feeling—but hush! What is cousin Berk doing?"

We were now close to where Harrison and Mary were standing, and I noticed that he peered cautiously over the hedge at some object that lay on the other side in the sunshine. We turned the angle of the drive way and as we did so I saw my boy, Sam, lying at full length upon the grass, looking quietly up into Harrison's face with an expression of curious interest showing upon his black features.

"Are you busy, Sam?" asked Harrison softly, not noticing my approach.

"Yessah," replied Sam without moving.

"Eh! What?" and I saw him grasp his cane firmly in his hand behind his back.

"Yessah," continued Sam, "I'se been lying here fo' quite a spell, sah, listenin' to my heart beatin'."

"So, so," said Harrison quietly, measuring his distance. Then he flashed out—"You infernal, impudent nigger!" And he smote Sam a crack over the head that brought him to his feet with a wicked look in his eyes.

"Superior feeling!" I muttered angrily, and I saw Miss Carter blush. Then stepping further out into view I caught Sam's eye in time to avert further trouble, for he had never been handled before by anyone—except, perhaps, myself.

"Go to the quarters, Sam," I cried, and as I did so I saw Harrison start at the sound of my voice and notice me.

I would have given something to have seen what Sam intended to do after that look,—for he was a big, black, powerful, hog-nosed nigger, capable of some little mischief—but the ladies being present, such intentions were, of course, impossible. Sam obeyed me instantly and went quickly toward the stables with his broad shoulders well squared and his head up, and Harrison continued on his way with my charming sister upon his arm.

"I suppose," I said, looking askance at Miss Carter, "this is the superior feeling of the governing class which we have just witnessed?"

"What would that black boy have done?" she said, in alarm. "I saw the look in his eyes that certainly meant more than disobedience."

"Oh, Sam is a true and trained Christian," I answered, somewhat nettled at the scene. "I taught him the doctrine of forbearance myself and I have seen him practice it to some advantage."

"And what was that?" asked Rose, sweetly, looking up at me with her lovely violet eyes that still showed traces of her alarm.

"Well, the last overseer I had was a man of superior feeling who belonged to the governing class—and he started to govern accordingly. He smote Sam savagely upon the side of his bullet head, one day, and knocked him down. Sam jumped up and rose to his full height, offering the other side of his head without so much as a word. The fellow, John Smith, struck him again, like a fool, and stretched Sam senseless for half an hour."

"And then?"

"Oh, then Sam came to, and as soon as he could stand, he drew his corn knife and it was all we could do to keep him from killing that overseer. As it was, he got so badly cut that he would never come back again to the Hall."

I saw Miss Carter pale slightly.

"Are many of your people so brutal and blood-thirsty?" she asked.

"Sam is neither one nor the other, but as good a boy as ever followed a gentleman"—

"For revenge, do you mean? If that is so, I think the sooner I tell Berk—Mr. Harrison, the better."

"Oh, Lord, no," I cried, "I mean as a servant. Even Major Bullbeggor allows him the privilege of serving him, and you know how particular he is. But why so anxious about Berk Harrison's welfare?"

"I am his cousin," answered Miss Carter, stiffly.

The tone of her voice was enough. But Heavens! A man must take his strokes, mental or physical, without too much wincing. As for me, I like the man who can meet them with a smile on his lips and talk in a steady, natural voice while his heart stops beating and the iron grip of sorrow holds his throat like a vice. The tone of Rose Carter's voice, that day, told me something in regard to cousinly feeling. But no matter. Our greatest sorrows are not nearly so heavy some years afterwards and—

As I said, I felt a sensation, similar I now believe, to that which a few others have felt before. But a man in love is never a philosopher—and he is generally hasty and selfish.

"I congratulate you, my dear Rose, on your relationship," I said coldly, and the blood rushed through her face and left it whiter than before.

"Do you know, my dear Dick, you sometimes bore me most stupidly?" she answered. And this commonplace incident ended.

Commonplace it was indeed, but what it meant to certain affairs which happened afterward, you may judge, if you care to listen. It is the little commonplace affairs that influence the lives of most people, as anyone may remember who cares to look at the past.