Gertrude promptly assured old Nelse that the plantation needed no extra caretakers just then, the work was progressing very well since their return. Nelse swept the jockey cap over his feet in a profound bow, and sauntered around the house. The mistress of Loringwood asked Evilena to see if he had gone to his canoe. She did so, and reported that he had gone direct to the stables, where he had looked carefully over all the horses, and found one threatened with some dangerous ailment requiring his personal ministrations. He had announced his intention of staying right there until that horse was “up an’ doin’ again.” At that minute he was seated on a half bushel measure as on a throne from which he was giving his orders, and all the young niggers were fairly flying to execute them.

“It is no use, Gertrude,” said Mrs. Nesbitt, with a sigh; “as soon as I saw that vest and your grandfather’s coat with the brass buttons, I knew Nelse had come to stay a spell, and stay he will in spite of us.”

Which statement gave the man from Dublin another sidelight on the race question!

One of the servants announced a canoe in sight, coming from up the river, and anticipating a probable addition to their visitors, Delaven escaped by a side door, until the greetings were over, and walking aimlessly along a little path back from the river, found it ended at a group of pines surrounded by an iron railing, enclosing, also, the high, 158 square granite and marble abodes of the dead. It was here Nelse had pointed when telling of Tom Loring’s sudden death and burial.

He opened the gate, and as he did so noticed a woman at the other side of the enclosure. Remembering how intensely superstitious the colored folks were said to be, he wondered at one of them coming alone into the grove so nearly darkened by the dense covering of pine, and with only the ghostly white of the tombs surrounding her.

He halted and stood silent beside a tree until she arose and turned towards the gate, then he could see plainly the clear, delicate profile of the silent Margeret. Of all the people he had met in this new country, this quiet, pale woman puzzled him most. She seemed to compel an atmosphere of silence, for no one spoke of her. She moved about like a shadow in the house, but she moved to some purpose, for she was a most efficient housekeeper, even the pickaninnies from the quarters––saucy and mischievous enough with any one else––were subdued when Margeret spoke.

After she had passed out of the gate he went over where he had seen her first. Two tombs were side by side, and of the same pattern; a freshly plucked flower lay on one. He read the name beneath the flower; it was, Thomas Loring, in the thirtieth year of his age; the other tomb was that of his wife, who had died seven years earlier.

But it was on Tom Loring’s tomb the blossom had been laid.

Was it merely an accident that it was the marble on which the fragrant bit of red had been let fall? or––

He walked slowly back to the house, feeling that he had touched on some story more strange than any Evilena had asked him to listen to of the old days, and this one was vital, human, fascinating.

He wondered who she was, yet felt a reluctance to ask. To him she appeared a white woman. Yet an intangible something in Miss Loring’s manner to her made him doubt. He remembered hearing Matthew Loring on the voyage complain many times that Margeret would have arranged things for his comfort with more foresight than was shown by his attendants, but when he had reached Loringwood, and Margeret gave silent, conscientious care to his wants, there was never a word of praise given her. He––Delaven––felt as if he was the only one there who appreciated her ministrations; the others took them as a matter of course.

He saw old Nelse hitching along, with his queer little walk, coming from the direction of the stables. He motioned to him, and seated himself on a circular bench, backed by a great, live oak, and facing the river. Nelse proved that his sight was good despite his years, for he hastened his irregular shuffle and drew near, cap in hand.

“Did the canoe from up the river bring visitors?” asked Delaven, producing one cigar which he lighted, and another which he presented to the old man, who received it with every evidence of delight.

“I can’t even so much as recollect when I done put my hands on one o’ these real Cubas; I thank yo’ kindly, sah. We all raise our own patches o’ tobacco, and smoke it in pipes dry, so! an’ in course by that-a-way we ’bleeged to ’spence with the julictious flavor o’ the Cubas. No, sah; ain’t no visitors; just Mrs. McVeigh’s man, Pluto, done fetched some letters and Chloe––Chloe’s cook, heah––she tell me she reckon Miss Gertrude try get Mahstah Matt to go up there fo’ good ’fore long, fo’ Mrs. McVeigh, she comen’ home from Mobile right away, now; done sent word. An’ Miss Lena, she jest in a jubilee ovah the letter, fo’ her ma gwine fotch home some great quality folks a visiten’. 160 Judge Clarkson, he plan to start in the mawnen’ for Savannah, he gwine meet ’em there.”

“And in the meantime we can enjoy our tobacco; sit down. I’ve been so much interested in your stories of long ago that I want to ask you about one of the present time.”

The smile of Nelse broadened. He felt he was appreciated by Miss Gertrude’s guests, even though Miss Gertrude herself was not particularly cordial. He squatted on the grass and waited while Delaven took two or three puffs at his cigar before speaking again.

“Now, in the first place, if there is any objection to answering my question, I expect you to tell me so; you understand?” Nelse nodded solemnly, and Delaven continued:

“I have one of the best nurses here that it has ever been my luck to meet. You spoke of her today as in someway deprived of her senses for a long time. I can’t quite understand that, for she appears very intelligent. I should like to know what you meant.”

“I reckon o’ course the pussen to who you pintedly make reference is Retta,” said the old man, after a pause.

“You are the only one I’ve heard call her that––the rest call her Margeret.”

“Humph––yes, sah; that Mahstah Matt’s doens, I reckon! not but what Marg’ret alles was her real sure-’nough name, but way back, when Mahstah Tom was a liven’, no one evah heard tell o’ her been’ called any name but Retta; an’ seem like it suit her them days, but don’t quite suit her now so well.”

Delaven made no reply, and after another thoughtful pause, the old man continued:

“No, sah; I’ve been thinken’ it ovah middlen’ careful, an’ I can’t see––considerin’ as yo’s a doctah, an’ a ’special friend o’ the family––why I ain’t free to tell you Retta’s story clean 161 through; an’ seen’ as yo’ have to put a lot o’ ’pendance on her ’bout carryen’ out you ordahs fo’ Mahstah Matt, seems to me like a bounden’ duty fo’ some one to tell yo’, fo’ theah was five yeahs––yes––six of ’em, when Retta wasn’t a ’nigh this plantation at all. She was stark, raven, crazy––dangerous crazy––an’ had to be took away to some ’sylum place; we all nevah knew where; but when she did come back she was jest what you see––jest the ghost of a woman, sensible ’nough, seem like, but I mind the time when she try to kill herself an’ her chile, an’ how we to know that fit nevah find her again?”

“She––killed her child?”

“Oh, no, sah; we all took the baby; she wan’t but five yeah ole, from her, an’ got the knife out o’ her hands; no, no one got hurt. But I reckon I better go ’way back an’ tell yo’ the reason.”

“Very well; I was wondering if she was really a colored person,” remarked Delaven.

“Retta’s an octoroon, mahstah,” said the old man, with a certain solemnity of tone. “I done heard old Mahstah Jean Larue swear that if folks are reckoned as horses are, Retta’d be counted a thoroughbred, ’cause far back as they can count theah wan’t no scrub stock in her pedigree.

“Long ’bout hundred yeahs ago folks come in colony fashion from some islands ’way on other side the sea. They got plantations in Florida, an’ Mahs Duke he knew some o’ them well. I only rec’lect hearen’ one o’ the names they was called––an’ mighty hard some o’ them was to say!––but the one I mind was Andros, or Ambrose Lacaris, an’ he was a Greek gentleman; an’––so it was said––Retta was his chile; his nat’ral daughter, as Mahs Larue call it, an’ she was raised in his home jest like as ef she gwine to be mistress some day.”

Delaven’s cigar was forgotten, and its light gone out. The pedigree was more interesting than he had expected. A Greek! All the beauty of the ancient world had come from those islands across the sea. The romances, the poems, the tragedies! and here was one living through a tragedy of today; that flower on the tomb under the pines––it suggested so much, now that he heard what she was.

“Mahs Lacaris, from what I could heah, was much the turn o’ my Mahs Duke, but ’thout Mahs Duke’s money to back him; an’ one day all his business ’rangements, they go smash! an’ sheriff come take all his lan’ and niggahs fo’ some ’surance he’d gone fo’ some one. Well, sah, they say he most went ’stracted on head o’ that smash up; an’ ’special when he found they took stock o’ Retta, just like any o’ the field hands. But theah wan’t no help fo’ it, ’cause Retta’s mammy was a quadroon gal; jest made a pet o’ the chile, an’ was so easy goen’ he nevah took a thought that anything would ever change his way o’ liven’.

“Mahs Tom, he jes’ got married to Miss Leo Masterson an’ took her down Florida fo’ wedden’ trip; that how he come to be theah when all Mahs Lacaris’ belongings was put up fo’ sale. Seem like Mahs Lacaris had hope he could get mo’ money back in his own country, an’ he was all planned to start, an’ he beg Mahs Tom to buy his little Retta an’ keep her safe till he come back.

“Now, Mahs Tom was powerful good-hearted––jest like his daddy. So he totes the chile home, an’ I know Hester (Miss Leo’s maid) was ragen’ mad about it, ’cause she had to wait on her the whole enduren’ trip home, fo’ seem like that chile nevah had been taught to wait on herself.

“Well, sah, Massa Lacaris, he nevah did come back; that ship he went in nevah was heard tell of again from that day to this, an’ theah wan’t nothin’ fo’ Mahs Tom to do but jest 163 keep her. He did talk about sendin’ her ’way to some school, fo’ she mighty peart with books, an’ then given’ her a chance to buy herself if so be she wanted to. But Miss Leo object to that, flat foot down; she hadn’t no sort o’ use fo’ ’ristocrat book-learned niggahs.

“Hester, she heard Miss Leo say them words, an’ was mighty glad to tattle ’em! Hester––she was Maryland stock, same as Cynthy. Well, sah, they worried along fo’ ’bout a yeah not deciden’ jest what to do with that young stray, then Miss Gertrude she come to town an’ it did’n take no time to fine out what to do with her, then!

“Miss Gertrude wan’t no ’special stout chile, an’ took a heap o’ care an’ pamperin’ an’ when none o’ the othahs could do a trick with her, Retta would jest walk in, take her in her arms, an’ the wah was ended fo’ that time! Fust time Mahs Tom see that performance he laugh hearty, an’ then he say, ‘Retta, we jest find out what we do need you fo’; yo’ gwine to be installed as governess at Lorinwood from this time on.’ An’ Retta she was powerful pleased an’ so happy, she alles a laughen’ an’ her eyes a shinen’.

“Long ’bout a yeah after that, it was, when Miss Leo die. Mahs Tom, he went way then fo’ a long spell, cause the place too lonesome, an’ when he come back, Retta, she ovah seventeen, an’ she jest manage the whole house fine as she manage that baby, an’ all the quality folks what come an’ go praise her mightily an’ talk ’bout how peart she was.

“Then Mahs Matt, he come up from Orleans, whah he been cutten’ a wide swath, if all folks told true, an’ fust thing his eyes caught was that gal Retta, an’ he up an’ tole Mahs Tom what a fool he was not to sell her down in Orleans whah she’d fetch mo’ money than would buy six nuss gals or housekeepers.

“Mahs Tom cussed at him powerful wicked when he say that! I heard that my own self––it was down at the stable an’ I was jest putten’ a saddle on fo’ Mahs Tom, an’ then right in the middle o’ his cussin’ an’ callen’ names he stopped short off an’ says––says he: ‘Don’t you evah open youah mouth to me ’bout that again so long as yo’ live. If Retta takes care o’ my Gertrude till she ten yeahs old, I made up my mine to give her freedom if she want it, that gal wan’t bought for no slave an’ she ain’t gwine to be one heah––yo’ un’stan’? You un’stan’ if you got any notion o’ stayen’ at Lorinwood!’ An’ then with some more mighty uncivil sayen’s he got in the saddle an’ rode like Jehu, an’ I don’ reckon Mahs Matt evah did make mention of it again, fo’ they got ’long all good ’nough so long as he stayed.

“Well, sah, haven’ to take her part a-way made him think mo’ ’bout the gal I reckon; anyway he say plain to more’n one that he sure gwine give Retta her freedom.

“He gwine do it jest aftah her chile was bawn, then theah was some law fusses raised ’bout that time consarnnen’ Mahstahs freen’ slaves, an’ Mahs Matt was theah then, an’ he not say a word again freen’ her, only he say, ‘wait a spell, Tom.’

“Retta, she wan’t caren’ then; she was young an’ happy all day long while her chile that was jest as white as Miss Gertrude dar be.

“Things went on that-a-way five yeahs, her chile was five yeahs ole when he start fo’ a business visit down to Charleston, an’ he say fo’ he start that Retta gwine have her freedom papers fo’ Christmas gift. Well, sah, he done been gone two weeks in Charleston when he start home, an’ then Mahs Larue persuade him to stay ovah night at his plantation fo’ a fox hunt in the mawnen’. Mahs Matt was theah, an’ some othah friends, so he staid ovah an’ next we heard Mahs Matt 165 sent word Mahs Tom killed, an’ we all was to be ready to see aftah the relations an’ othah quality folks who boun’ to come to the funeral.

“An’ now, sah, you un’stan’ what sort o’ shock it was made Retta lose her mind that time. She fainted dead away when she heard it, but then she kind o’ pulled herself togethah, as a horse will for a spurt, an’ she looked aftah the company an’ took Mahs Matt’s orders ’bout ’rangements, but we all most scared at the way she look––jest a watching Mahs Matt constant, beggen’ him with her eyes to tell her ’bout them freedom papers, but seems like he didn’t un’stan’, an’ when she ask him right out, right ’long side o’ dead Mahs Tom, he inform her he nevah heah tell ’bout them freedom papers, Mahs Tom not tole him ’bout them, so she b’long to the ’state o’ Loring jest same as she did afore, only now Miss Gertrude owned her ’stead o’ Mahs Tom.

“That when she tried to kill herself, an’ try to kill the chile; didn’t know anybody, she didn’t, I tell yo’ it make a terrible ’miration ’mongst the quality folks, an’ I b’lieve in my soul Mahs Matt would a killed her if he dared, fo’ it made all the folks un’stan’ jest what he would ’a tried to keep them from.

“An’ that, sah, is the whole ’count o’ the reason leaden’ up to the sickness whah she lost her mine. We all sutten sure Mahs Matt sell her quick if evah her senses done come back, but she really an’ truly b’long to Miss Gertrude, an’ Miss Gertrude, she couldn’t see no good reason to let go the best housekeeper on the plantation, an’ that how come she come to stay when she fetched back cured by them doctors. She ain’t nevah made a mite o’ trouble––jest alles same as yo’ see her, but o’ course yo’ the best judge o’ how far to trust her ’bout special medicine an’ sech.”

“Yes,” agreed Delaven, thoughtfully. He arose and walked back and forth several times. Until now he had only come in contact with the pleasant pastoral side of life, given added interest because, just now, all its peace was encircled by war; but it was peace for all that––peace in an eminently Christian land, a land of homes and churchly environment, and made picturesque by the grotesque features and humor of the dark exiles. He had only laughed with them until now and marveled at the gaiety of the troops singing in the rice fields, and suddenly another window had been opened and through it one caught glimpses of tragedies.

“And the poor woman’s child?” he asked, after a little.

“Mahs Matt done send her down to Mahs Larue’s Georgy plantation, an’ we all nevah seen her no mo’. Mahs Larue done sold that Georgy plantation ’bout five yeahs back an’ move up fo’ good on one his wife own up heah. An’ little while back I hear tell they gwine sell it, too, an’ flit way cross to Mexico somewhah. This heah war jest broke them up a’ready.”

“And the child was sold?––do you mean that?”

“Deed we all nevah got a sure story o’ what come o’ that baby; only when Retta come back Mahs Matt tell her little Rhoda dead long time ago––dead down in Georgy, an’ no one evah heah her ask a word from that day to this. But one Larue’s niggahs tole me”––and the voice and manner of Nelse took on a grotesquely impressive air––“they done raise a mighty handsome chile ’bout that time what was called Rhoda, an’ she went to ferren parts with Mahs Larue an’ his family an’ didn’t nevah come back, no mo’, an’ Mahs Matt raise some sort o’ big row with Mahs Jean Larue ovah that gal, an’ they nevah was friends no mo’. To be suah maybe that niggah lied––I don’t know. But he let on as how 167 Mars Larue say that gal gwine to fetch a fancy price some day, an’ I thought right off how Mahs Matt said Retta boun’ to fetch a fancy price in Orleans; an’ taken’ it all roun’ I reckoned it jest as well Retta keep on thinken’ that chile died.”

Delaven agreed. From the house he could hear the ladies talking, and Evilena’s laugh sang out clear as a bird’s song. He wondered if they also knew the story of the silent deft-handed bondwoman?––but concluded it was scarcely likely. Mrs. Nesbitt might know something of it, but who could tell Tom Loring’s daughter?––and Evilena, of course, was too much of a child.

“I should like to see the picture you spoke of,” he said at last, “the small one the painter left.”

“I reckon that picture done sent away with little Rhoda’s things. I ain’t nevah heard tell of it since that time. But it don’t look a mite like her now. All the red gone out o’ her cheeks an’ lips, all the shine out o’ her eyes, an’ her long brown hair has mo’ white than brown in it these days. This woman Marg’ret ain’t Retta; they jest as yo’ might say two different women;” then, after a pause, “any othah thing you want ask me, sah? I see Jedge Clarkson comen’ this way.”

“No, that is all; thank you, old fellow.”

He left Nelse ducking his head and fingering a new coin, while he sauntered to meet the Judge.

“How much he give you, Uncle Nelse?” asked a guarded voice back of the old man, and he nearly fell over backwards in his fright. A large, middle-aged colored man arose from the tall grass, where he has been hidden under the bank.

“Wha––what you mean––yo’ Pluto? What fo’ you hide theah an’ listen?”

“I wan’t hiden’,” replied the man, good naturedly. “I jest lay to go sleep in the shade. Yo’ come ’long an’ talk––talk 168 so I couldn’t help hear it all,” and he smiled shrewdly. “I alles was curious to know the true way ’bout that Marg’ret––I reckon there was a heap that wan’t told to neighbors. An’ reason why I ask you how much he give you fo’ the story is ’cause I got that picture you tole ’bout. I married Mahs Larue’s Rosa what come from Georgy with them. She been daid ovah a yeah now, but it’s some whar ’mongst her b’longings. Reckon that strange gentleman give me dollar for it?––the frame is mighty pretty––what you think?”