Evilena was singing this stirring ditty at the top of her voice, a very sweet voice when not overtaxed, but Dilsey, the cook, put both hands to her ears and vowed cooking school would close at once if that “yapping” was not stopped; she could not for the life of her see why Miss Lena would sing that special song so powerful loud.

“Why, Dilsey, it is my shout of defiance,” explained the girl, stirring vigorously at a mass in a wooden bowl which she fondly hoped would develop into cookies for that evening’s tea, when the party from Loringwood were expected. “It does not reach very far, but I comfort myself by saying it good and loud, anyway. That Yankee general who has marched his followers into Orleans fines everybody––even if its a lady––who sings that song. I can’t make him hear me that far off, but I do my best.”

“Good Lawd knows you does,” agreed Dilsey. “But when you want to sing in this heah cookhouse I be ’bleeged if yo’ fine some song what ain’t got no battles in it. Praise the Lawd, we fur ’nough away so that Yankee can’t trouble we all.”

“Madam Caron saw him once,” said the amateur cook, tasting a bit of the sweetened dough with apparent pleasure, 210 “but she left Orleans quick, after the Yankees came. Of course it wouldn’t be a place for a lady, then. She shut her house up and went straight to Mobile, and I just love her for it.”

“Seems to me like she jest ’bout witched yo’ all,” remarked Dilsey; “every blessed nigger in the house go fallen’ ovah theyselves when her bell rings, fo’ feah they won’t git thah fust; an’ Pluto, he like to be no use to any one till aftah her maid, Miss Louise, get away, he jest waited on her, han’ an’ foot.”

Dilsey had heretofore been the very head and front of importance in the servants’ quarters on that plantation, and it was apparent that she resented the comparative grandeur of the Marquise’s maid, and especially resented it because her fellow servants bowed down and paid enthusiastic tribute to the new divinity.

“Well, Dilsey, I’m sure she needed waiting on hand and foot while she was so crippled. I know mama was mighty well pleased he was so attentive; reckon maybe that’s why she let him go riding with Madame Caron this morning.”

“Pluto, he think plenty o’ hisself ’thout so much pamperen,” grumbled Dilsey. “Seem like he counted the whole ’pendence o’ the family since Mahs Ken gone.”

Evilena prudently refrained from expressing an opinion on the subject, though she clearly perceived that Dilsey was possessed of a fit of jealousy; so she proceeded to flatter the old soul into a more sunny humor lest dinner should go awry in some way, more particularly as regarded the special dishes to which her own little hands had added interest.

She was yet in the cookhouse when the guests arrived, and doffing the huge apron in which she was enveloped, skurried into the house, carrying with her the fragrance 211 of cinnamon and sweet spices, while a dust of flower on curls and chin gave her a novel appearance, and the confession that she had been cooking was not received with the acclamation she had expected, though there was considerable laughter about it. No one appeared to take the statement seriously except Matthew Loring, who took it seriously enough to warn Margeret he would expect her to supervise all dishes he was to partake of. His meals were affairs not to be trifled with.

Margeret and Ben had accompanied the party. Others of the more reliable house servants of Loringwood, were to commence at once work at the Pines, and Gertrude was almost enthusiastic over the change.

“You folks really live over here,” she declared to Mrs. McVeigh, “while at Loringwood––well, they tell me life used to be very gay there––but I can’t remember the time. It seems to me that since the day they carried papa in from his last hunting field the place has been under a cloud. Nothing prospers there, nobody laughs or sings; I can’t be fond of it, and I am so glad to get away from it again.”

“Still, it is a magnificent estate,” said Mrs. McVeigh, thoughtfully; “the associations of the past––the history of your family––is so intimately connected with it, I should think you would be sorry to part with it.”

“I should not!” said Gertrude, promptly, “the money just now would do me a great deal more good than family records of extravagance which all the Lorings but Uncle Matthew seem to have been addicted to; and he is the exact opposite, you know.”

Mrs. McVeigh did know. She remembered hearing of him as a one-time gamester long ago in New Orleans, a man without the conviviality of his father or his brother Tom; a man who spent money in dissipations purely selfish, 212 carrying the spirit of a speculator even into his pursuit of social enjoyment. Then, all at once, he came back to Loringwood, settled down and became a model in deportment and plantation management, so close a calculator of dimes as well as dollars that it was difficult to believe he ever had squandered a penny, and a great many people refused to credit those ancient Orleans stories at all. Kenneth’s father was one of them.

“I don’t believe I am very much of a Loring, anyway,” continued Gertrude with a little sigh. “They were a wild, reckless lot so far back as I can learn, and I––well, you couldn’t call me wild and reckless, could you?”

Mrs. McVeigh smiled at the query and shook her head. “Not the least little bit, and we are glad of it.” She walked over to the window looking across the far fields where the road showed a glimpse of itself as it wound by the river. “I thought I saw some one on horseback over there, and every horseman coming our way is of special interest just now. I look for word from Kenneth daily––if not from the boy himself; he has had time to be home now. His stay has already been longer than he expected.”

Gertrude joined her and gave her attention to the head of the road.

“It may be your visitor from France, Evilena said she had gone riding. Of course you know we are all eager to meet her. Dr. Delaven sings her praises to us until it has become tantalizing.”

“We should have driven over to see you but for that accident to her maid––the poor thing, except a few words, could only speak her own language, and we could not leave her entirely to the servants. Madame Caron seemed quite impressed with the brief glance she got of Loringwood, and when she heard it was likely to be sold she asked a great 213 many interested questions concerning it. She is wealthy enough to humor her fancies, and her latest one is a Carolina plantation near enough to water for her yacht, which Mobile folks say is the most beautiful thing––and the Combahee would always be navigable for so small a craft, and the Salkahatchie for most of the year.”

“She certainly must be able to humor any sort of fancy if she keeps a yacht of her own; that will be a new departure for a woman in Carolina. It sounds very magnificent.”

“It is; and it suits her. That is one reason why I thought she might be the very best possible purchaser for Loringwood. She would resurrect all its former glories, and establish new ones.”

Matthew Loring entered the sitting room, moving somewhat haltingly with the help of a cane. Gertrude arranged a chair near the window, in which he seated himself slowly.

“Do you feel tired after the ride, Uncle?”

“No,” he said, fidgetting with the cushion back of his head, and failing to adjust it to suit him, either let it fall or threw it on the floor. Gertrude replaced it without a word, and Mrs. McVeigh smiled quietly, and pretended not to see.

“I think I can promise you a pleasant visitor, Mr. Loring,” she remarked, turning from the window. “A gentleman just turned in at our gate, and he does look like Judge Clarkson.”

Gertrude left the room to join the others who were talking and laughing in the arbor, a few steps across the lawn. Mrs. McVeigh busied herself cutting some yellowing leaves from the plants on the stand by the window. Loring watched her with a peculiar peering gaze. His failing sight caused him to pucker his brows in a frown when he desired to inspect anything intently, and it was that regard he was now directing 214 toward Mrs. McVeigh, who certainly was worth looking at by any man.

The dainty lace cap she wore had tiny bows of violet showing among the lace, and it someway had the effect of making her appear more youthful instead of adding matronliness. The lawn she wore had violet lines through it, and the flowing sleeves had undersleeves of sheer white gathered at the wrist. The wide lace collar circled a throat scarcely less white, and altogether made a picture worth study, though Matthew Loring’s view of it was rather blurred because of the failure of vision which he denied whenever opportunity offered; next to paralysis there was nothing he dreaded so much as blindness, and even to Delaven he denied––uselessly––any tendency in that direction.

“Hum!” he grunted, at last, with a cynical smile; “if Gid Clarkson keeps up his habit of visiting you regularly, as he has done for the past ten years, you ought to know him a mile away by this time.”

“Oh!”––Mrs. McVeigh was refastening her brooch before the mirror, “not ten years, quite.”

“Well, long enough to be refused three times to my certain knowledge; why, he doesn’t deny it––proud to let the country know his devotion to the most charming of her sex,” and he gave an ironical little nod for which she exchanged one of her sweetest smiles.

“Glad you looked at me when you said that,” she remarked, lightly; “and we do depend on Judge Clarkson so much these days I don’t know what I ever would do if his devotion dwindled in the least. But I fancy his visit this morning is on your account instead of mine.”

At that moment the white hat of Clarkson could be seen above the veranda railing, and Mrs. McVeigh threw open the glass doors as he appeared at the top of the steps with an 215 immense boquet held with especial care––the Judge’s one hobby in the realm of earth-grown things was flowers.

He bowed when he caught sight of the mistress of the Terrace, who bestowed on him a quaint courtesy such as the good nuns of Orleans taught their pupils thirty years before, she also extended her hand, which he kissed––an addition to fine manners the nuns had omitted––probably they knew how superfluous such training would be, all Southern girls being possessed of that knowledge by right of birth.

“Good morning, Judge.”

“Mistress McVeigh!” Loring uttered an inarticulate exclamation which was first cousin to a grunt, as the Judge’s tone reached his ear, and the profound bow was robbed of its full value by the Judge straightening, and glancing sideways.

“My delight, Madame, at being invited over this morning is only to be expressed in the silent language of the blossoms I bring. You will honor me by accepting them?”

“With very great pleasure, Judge; here is Mr. Loring.”

“Heartily pleased to see you have arrived,” and the Judge moved over and shook hands. “I came within bowing distance of Miss Gertrude as I entered, so I presume she has induced you to come over to the Pines for good. Your position, Mr. Loring, is one to be envied in that respect. Your hours are never lonely for lack of womanly grace and beauty in your household;” he glanced at Mrs. McVeigh, who was arranging the flowers in a vase, “I envy you, sir, I envy you.”

“Oh, Gertrude is well enough, though we don’t unite to spoil each other with flattering demonstrations,” and he smiled cynically at the other two, and peered quizzically at Mrs. McVeigh, who presented him with a crimson beauty of a rose, for which he returned a very gracious, “Thank 216 you,” and continued: “Yes, Gertrude’s a very good girl, though it’s a pity it wasn’t a boy, instead, who came into the Loring family that day to keep up the old name. And what about that boy of yours, Mistress McVeigh? When do you expect him home?”

“Very soon, now. His last message said they hoped to reach Charleston by the twentieth––so you see the time is short. I am naturally intensely anxious––the dread of that blockade oppresses me.”

“No need, no need,” and Loring’s tone was decided and reassuring. “We got out through it, and back through it, and never a Yankee in sight; and those men on a special commission will be given double care, you may be sure.”

“Certainly; the run from Nassau has kept the mail service open almost without a break,” assented Clarkson, “and we have little reason for anxiety now that the more doubtful part of the undertaking has been successfully arranged.”

“Most successfully; he writes that the English treat our people with extreme consideration, and heartily approve our seceding.”

“Of course they do, and why shouldn’t they?” demanded Loring. “I tell you, they would do much more than give silent sympathy to our cause if it were not that Russia has chosen to send her warships into Yankee harbors just now on guard against the interference of any of our friends, especially against Great Britain’s interference, which would be most certain and most valuable.”

“Quite true, quite true,” assented the Judge, with a soothing tone, calculated to allay any combative or excited mood concerning that or any other subject; “but even their moral support has been a wonderful help, my dear sir, and the securing of an important addition to our navy from them just now means a very great deal I assure you; once let us 217 gain a foothold in the North––get into Washington––and she will be the first to acknowledge us as a power––a sovereign power, sir!”

“I don’t understand the political reasons of things,” confessed their hostess, “but I fear Kenneth has imbibed the skepticism of the age since these years of military associations; he suggests that England’s motive is really not for our advantage so much as her own. I dislike to have my illusions dispelled in that respect; yet I wonder if it is all commercialism on their part.”

“Most assuredly,” said the Judge. “England’s policy has always been one of selfishness where our country was concerned. We must not forget she was the bitterest foe of our fathers. She has been sent home from our shores badly whipped too often to feel much of the brotherly love she effects just now for her own purposes. We must not expect anything else. She is of help to us now for purposes of revenue, only, and we will have to pay heavy interest for all favors. The only thought of comfort to us in the matter is that our cause is worth paying that interest for.”

Loring acknowledged the truth of the statements, and Mrs. McVeigh sighed to think of the duplicity of the nation she had fancied single-hearted. And to a woman of her trustful nature it was a shock to learn that the British policy contained really none of the sweetly domestic and fraternal spirit so persistently advertised.

To change the conversation the Judge produced a letter just received––a proposal for Loringwood at Mr. Loring’s own price.

“Already?” asked Mrs. McVeigh; and Loring, who realized that his own price was a remarkably high one, showed surprise at the ready acceptance of it.

“The offer is made by a law firm in New Orleans, Hart & Logan,” continued Clarkson. “But the real purchaser is evidently some client of theirs.”

“Well, I certainly hope the client will prove a pleasant personage if he is to locate at Loringwood,” remarked Mrs. McVeigh. “Some one in New Orleans? Possibly we know them.”

“I am led to believe that the property is desired for some educational institution,” said Clarkson, handing the letter to Loring, who could not decipher two lines of the fine script, but refrained from acknowledging it.

“I must say the offer pleases me greatly.” He nodded his head and uttered a sigh of satisfaction; “a school or seminary, no doubt, I like that; so will Gertrude. Speak to her, and then write or telegraph the acceptance, as they prefer. This is remarkably quick work; I feared it would be a long while before a purchaser could be found. This is most fortunate.”

“Then I congratulate you, Mr. Loring,” said Mrs. McVeigh, who was grateful to the Judge for bringing news likely to make the entertainment of the invalid an easier affair. “But your fortunate offer from New Orleans dispels a hope I had that my friend, Madame Caron, might buy it. She seemed quite impressed with it. I was just saying so to Gertrude.”

“Yes, we’ve all been hearing considerable about this charming foreigner of yours, who is daring enough to cross to a war-ridden country to pay visits.”

“She owns a fine property in New Orleans, but left there in disgust when the Yankees took possession. I was delighted to find her in Mobile, and persuaded her to come along and see plantation life in our country. We met her 219 first in Paris––Kenneth and I. He will be delightfully surprised to find her here.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” but Loring’s assent was not very hearty; he remembered those first comments on her at Loringwood. “Dr. Delaven, also, was among her Parisian acquaintances, so you will have quite a foreign colony at the Terrace.”

“I was much pleased with that fine young fellow, Dr. Delaven,” remarked the Judge, “and really consider you most fortunate to secure his services––a very superior young man, and possessed, I should say, of very remarkable talent, and of too gay a heart to be weighed down with the importance of such special knowledge, as is too often the case in young professional men––yes, sir; a very bright young man.”

Mrs. McVeigh, hearing laughter, had stepped out on the veranda, and smiled in sympathy with the couple who appeared on the step. The very talented young man just mentioned was wreathed in blossoms and wild vines; he carried Aunt Sajane’s parasol, and was guided by reins formed of slender vines held in Miss Evilena’s hands; the hat he wore was literally heaped with flowers, and he certainly did not appear to be weighed by the importance of any special knowledge at that moment. At sight of the Judge, Evilena dropped her improvised lines and ran to him.

“Oh, Judge, it is right kind of you to come over early today. Aunt Sajane is coming, she was down to the river with us; she laughed too much to walk fast. We were getting wild flowers for decorating––and here is Dr. Delaven.”

“Yes, I’m one of the things she’s been decorating,” and he entered from the veranda, shook hands with Clarkson, and stood for inspection. “Don’t I look like a lamb decked 220 for the sacrifice? But faith it was the heart of a lion I needed to go into the moccasin dens where she sent me this day. The blossoms desired by your daughter were sure to grow in the wildest swamps.”

“I didn’t suppose a bog-trotter would object to that,” remarked the girl, to Loring’s decided amusement.

“Lena!” and at the look of horror on her mother’s face she fled to the veranda.

“Ah––Mrs. McVeigh, I’m not hurt at all, but if she had murthered me entirely your smile would give me new life again; it’s a guardian angel you are to me.”

“You do need assistance,” she replied, endeavoring to untwine the vines twisted about his shoulders, “now turn around.”

He did, spinning in top fashion, with extended arms, while Evilena smiled at the Judge from the window. His answering smile grew somewhat constrained as his hostess deliberately put her pretty arm half way around the young man’s shoulder in her efforts to untangle him.

“I say, Judge, isn’t it in fine luck I am?––the undoing of Delaven!”

But the Judge did not respond. He grew a trifle more ceremonious as he turned from the window.

“Mistress McVeigh, I shall step out on the lawn to meet my sister and Miss Loring, and when you have concluded your present task, would you permit me to see the autumn roses you were cultivating? As a lover of flowers I certainly have an interest in their progress.”

“Autumn roses––humph!” and Loring smiled in a grim way only discernible to Delaven, who had grown so accustomed to his sardonic comments on things in general that they no longer caused surprise.

“Of course, Judge; I’ll show them to you myself,” and Mrs. McVeigh let fall the last of the vines and joined him at the window––“so charming of you to remember them at all.”

“Don’t you want to go along and study the progress of autumn roses?” asked Evilena, peering around the window at Delaven, who laughed at the pretended demureness and timidity with which she invested the question.

“Not at this moment, my lady. Autumn roses, indeed!––while there’s a wild flower in sight––not for the O’Delavens!”

And the O’Delaven’s bright Irish eyes had so quizzical a smile in them the girl blushed and was covered with confusion as with a mantle, and gathering the blossoms in her arms seated herself ostentatiously close to Mr. Loring’s chair while she arranged them, and Delaven might content himself with a view of one pink ear and a delicious dimple in one cheek, which he contemplated from the lounging chair back of her, and added to his occupation by humming, very softly, a bit of the old song:

“For ever and ever! I say, Miss Evilena, how do you suppose the fellow in the song could be so dead sure of himself, for ever and ever?”

“Probably he wasn’t an Irishman,” suggested the girl, bending lower over the blossoms that he might not see her smiling.

“Arrah, now, I had conjured up a finer reason than that entirely; it had something to do with the charms of your 222 namesake, but I’ll not be telling you of it while you carry a nettle on your tongue to sting poor harmless wanderers with.”

His pondrous sigh was broken in on by her laughter, and the beat of hoofs on the drive. While they looked at each other questioningly the voice of Judithe was heard speaking to Pluto, and then humming the refrain of Evilena’s favorite, “Bonnie Blue Flag,” she ran up to the veranda where Mrs. McVeigh met her.

“Oh, what a glorious gallop I had. Good morning, Judge Clarkson. How glad I am that you came right over soon as you got home. You are to us a recruit from the world whom we depend on to tell us all about doings there, and it is so good of you.”

“It argues no virtue in a man, Madame, that he comes where beauty greets him,” and the Judge’s bow was a compliment in itself.

“Charming––is it not, Madame McVeigh? Truly your Southern men are the most delightful in the world.”

“Ah, Madame,” and Delaven arose from his chair with a lugubrious countenance, “for how am I to forgive you for adopting the fancy that Ireland is out of the world entirely?”

Judithe laughed frankly and put out her hand; she was exceedingly gay and gracious that morning; there was a delightful exhilaration in her manner, and it was contagious. Matthew Loring half turned in his chair and peered out at the speaker as she turned to Delaven.

“Not out of the world of our hearts, Dr. Delaven, and for yourself, you really should not have been born up where the snow falls. You really belong to the South––we need you here.”

“Faith, it was only a little encouragement I was needing, Marquise. I’ll ask the Judge to prepare my naturalization papers in the morning.”

“Other friends have arrived during your ride, Judithe,” and her hostess led her into the sitting room. “Allow me to present our neighbor, Mr. Loring, of the Loringwood you admired so greatly.”

“And with such good reason,” said Judithe, with gracious bend of her head, and a charming smile. “I have looked forward to meeting you for some time, Mr. Loring, and your estate really appealed to me––it is magnificent. After riding past it I was conscious of coveting my neighbor’s goods.”

“It is our loss, Madame, that you did ride past,” and Loring really made an effort to be cordial and succeeded better than might have been expected. He was peering at her from under the heavy brows very intently, but she was outlined against the flood of light from the window, and it blurred his vision, leaving distinct only the graceful, erect form in its dark riding habit. “Had you entered the gates my niece would have been delighted to entertain you.”

“What a generous return for my envy,” exclaimed Judithe. “The spirit of hospitality seems ever abroad in your land, Mr. Loring.”

He smiled, well pleased, for his pride in his own country, his own state, was very decided. He lifted the forgotten rose from the arm of his chair.

“I will have to depend on our friend, the Judge, to present you fine phrases in return for that pretty speech, Madame; I can only offer a substitute,” and to Evilena’s wide-eyed astonishment he actually presented the rose to the Marquise.

“She simply has bewitched him,” protested the girl to Delaven, later. “I never knew him to do so gallant a thing before. I could not have been more surprised if he had proposed marriage to her before us all.”

Delaven confessed he, too, was unprepared for so much amiability, but then he admitted he had known men to do more astonishing things than that, on short notice, for a smile from Madame Judithe.

She accepted the rose with a slight exclamation of pleasure.

“You good people will smother me with sweets and perfumes,” she protested, touching her cheek with the beautiful flower; then, as she was about to smell it, they were astonished to see it flung from her with a faint cry, followed by a little laugh at the consternation of the party.

“How unpardonable that I discover a worm at the heart of your first friendly offering to me, Mr. Loring;” and her tones were almost caressing as she smiled at him; “the poor, pretty blossom, so lovely, and so helpless in the grasp of its enemy, the worm.”

Pluto had entered with a pitcher of water which he placed on the stand. He had witnessed the episode of the rose, and picked it up from where it had been tossed.

“Margeret told me to see if you wanted anything, Mr. Loring,” he said, gently, and Mr. Loring’s answer was decided, brusque and natural.

“Yes, I do; I want to go to my room; get my stick. Mistress McVeigh, if you have no objection to me breaking up your party, I would like to have Judge Clarkson go along; we must settle these business matters while I am able.”

“At your service, sir, with your permission, Madame,” and the Judge glanced at Mrs. McVeigh, who telegraphed a most willing consent as she passed out on the veranda after 225 Evilena and Delaven. Judithe stood by the little side table, slowly pulling off her gauntlets, when she was aware that the colored man Pluto was regarding her curiously, and she perceived the reason. He had looked into the heart of the rose, and on the floor where it had fallen, and had found no living thing to cause her dread of the blossom.

He dropped his eyes when she looked at him, and just then a bit of conversation came to him as the Judge offered his arm to Loring and assisted him to rise.

“I certainly am pleased that you feel like looking into the business matters,” Clarkson was saying, “and the Rhoda Larue settlement cannot be postponed any longer; Colonel McVeigh may be back any time now, and we must be ready to settle with him.”

Loring made some grumbling remark in which “five thousand dollars” was the only distinguishable thing, and then they passed out, and Pluto followed, leaving the Marquise alone, staring out of the window with a curious smile; she drew a deep breath of relief as the door closed.