What embraces, ejaculations and caresses, when Evilena, accompanied by Pluto and the delighted Raquel, arrived at the Terrace next morning! Judithe, who saw from the veranda the rapturous meeting of mother and daughter, sighed, a quick, impatient catching of the breath, and turned to enter the library through the open French windows. Reconsidering her intention, she halted, and waited at the head of the broad steps where Kenneth’s sister saw her for the first time and came to her with a pleased, half shy greeting, and where Kenneth’s mother slipped one arm around each as they entered the house, and between the two she felt welcomed into the very heart of the McVeigh family feminine.

“Oh, and mama!”––thus exclaimed Evilena as she was comfortably ensconced in the same chair with that lady––“there is so much news to tell you I don’t know where to begin. But Gertrude sends love––please don’t go, Madame Caron––I am only going to talk about the neighbors. And they are all coming over very soon, and the best of all is, Gertrude has at last coaxed Uncle Matthew (a roguish grimace at the title) to give up Loringwood entirely and come to the Pines. And Dr. Delaven––he’s delightful, mama, when he isn’t teasing folks––he strongly advises them to make the change soon; and, oh, won’t you ask them all over for a few weeks until the Pines is ready? And did you hear about two of their field hands running off? Well, they did. Scip and Aleck; isn’t it too bad? and Mr. Loring doesn’t know 200 it yet, no one dares tell him; and Masterson’s Cynthia had a boy run off, too, and went to the Yankees, they suppose. And old Nelse he got scared sick at a ghost last night while they were ’possum hunting. And, oh, mama, have you heard from Ken?––not a word has come here, and he never even saw Gertrude over there. He must be powerful busy if he could not stop long enough to hunt friends up and say ‘howdy.’”

“Lena, Lena, child!” and the mother sank back in her chair, laughing. “Have they enforced some silent system of existence on you since I have been down at Mobile? I declare, you fairly make my head swim with your torrent of news and questions. Judithe, does not this young lady fulfill the foreign idea of the American girl––a combination of the exclamation and interrogation point?”

Evilena stopped further criticism by kisses.

“I will be good as goodness rather than have Madame Caron make up her mind I am silly the very first day,” she promised, “but, oh, mama, it is so good to have you to talk to, and so delightful of Madame to come with you”––this with a swift, admiring side glance at their visitor––“and, altogether, I’m just in love with the world today.”

Later she informed them that Judge Clarkson would probably drive over that evening, as he was going to Columbia or Savannah––she had forgotten which––and had to go home first. He would have come with her but for a business talk he wanted to have, if Mr. Loring was able, this morning.

“Gertrude coaxed him to stop over and settle something about selling Loringwood. She’s just grieving over the wreck and ruin there, and Mr. Loring never will be able to manage it again. They’ve been offered a lot of money for it by some Orleans people, and Gertrude wants it settled. 201 Aunt Sajane is going to stay until they all come to the Pines.”

“If Judge Clarkson should be going to Savannah you could send your maid in his charge, since she is determined to leave us,” suggested Mrs. McVeigh.

“She would, no doubt, be delighted to go under such escort,” said Judithe, “but her arrangements are made to start early in the morning; it is not likely your friend would be leaving so soon. Then, mademoiselle has said she is not sure but that it is to some other place he goes.”

“Columbia?––yes; and more than likely it is Columbia,” assented Mrs. McVeigh. “He is there a great deal during these troublous times.”

A slight sigh accompanied the words, and Judithe noticed, as she had done often before, the lack of complaint or bewailings of the disasters so appalling to the South, for even the victories were so dearly bought. There was an intense eagerness for news from the front, and when it was read, the tears were silent ones. The women smiled bravely and were sure of victory in the end. Their faith in their men was adorable.

Evilena undertook to show the Marquise around the Terrace, eagerly anxious to become better acquainted with the stranger whose beauty had won her quite as quickly as it had won her brother. Looking at her, and listening to the soft tones with the delicious accent of France, she wondered if Ken had ever really dared to fall in love with this star from a foreign sky, or if Dr. Delaven had only been teasing her. Of course one could not help the loving; but brave as she believed Ken to be, she wondered if he had ever dared even whisper of it to Judithe, Marquise de Caron; for she refused to think of her as simply Madame Caron even though she did have to say it. The courtesy shown to her own democratic 202 country by the disclaiming of titles was altogether thrown away on Evilena, and she comforted herself by whispering softly the given name Zhu-dette––Zhudette, delighted to find that the French could make of the stately name a musical one as well.

Raquel came breathlessly to them on the lawn with the information that “Mistress McVeigh ast them to please come in de house right off case that maid lady, Miss Weesa, she done slip on stairs an’ hurt her foot powerful.”

“Thanks, yes; I will come at once,” said Miss Weesa’s mistress in so clear and even a tone that Evilena, who was startled at the news, was oppressed by a sudden fear that all the warmth in the nature of her fascinating Marquise was centered in the luminous golden brown eyes.

As Judithe followed the servant into the house there came a swift remembrance of those lamentable presentiments. Was there, after all, something in the blood akin to the prescience through which birds and wild things scent the coming storms?––some atavism outgrown by the people of intellectual advancement, but yet a power to the children of the near sun?

Miss Louisa’s foot certainly was hurt; it had been twisted by a fall on the stairs, and the ankle refused to bear the weight; the attempt to step on it caused her such agony that she had called for help, and the entire household had responded.

It was Pluto who reached her first, lifting her in his arms and carrying her to a bed. She had almost fainted from pain or fright, and when she opened her eyes again it was to meet those of her mistress in one wild appeal. Pluto had not moved after placing her on the bed, though the other darkies had retired into the hall, and Judithe’s first impression of the scene was the huge black eyes fairly devouring 203 the girl’s face with his curious gaze. He stepped back as Mrs. McVeigh entered with camphor and bandages, but he saw that pleading, frightened glance.

“Never mind, Louise, it will all be well,” said her mistress, soothingly; “this has happened before,” she added, turning to Mrs. McVeigh. “It needs stout bandages and perfect rest; in a week it will be forgotten.”

“A week!”––moaned the girl with pale lips, “but tomorrow––I must go tomorrow!”

“Patience, patience! You shall so soon as you are able, Louise, and the less you fret the sooner that may be.”

Judithe herself knelt by the bed and removed tenderly the coquettish shoe of soft kid, and, to the horror of the assembled maids at the door, deliberately cut off the silk stocking, over which their wonder had been aroused when the short skirts of Louise had made visible those superfine articles. The pieces of stocking, needless to say, were captured as souvenirs and for many a day shown to the scoffers of neighboring plantations, who doubted the wild tales of luxury ascribed to the foreign magnate whose servants were even dressed like sure enough ladies.

“We must bandage it to keep down the swelling,” said Judithe, working deftly as she spoke; “it happened once in New Orleans––this, and though painful, is not really serious, but she is so eager to commence the refurnishing of the yacht that she laments even a day’s delay.”

Louise did not speak again––only showed by a look her comprehension of the statement, and bore patiently the binding of the ankle.

It was three days before she could move about the room with help of a cane, and during those days of feverish anxiety her mistress had an opportunity to observe the very pointed and musical interest Pluto showed in the invalid 204 whose language he could not speak. He was seldom out of hearing or her call and was plainly disturbed when word came from Loringwood that the folks would all be over in a few days. He even ventured to ask Evilena if Mr. Loring’s eyesight hadn’t failed some since his long sickness, and was well satisfied, apparently, by an affirmative reply. He even went so far as to give Louise a slight warning, which she repeated to her mistress one day after the Judge and Delaven had called, and Louise had promptly gone to bed and to sleep, professing herself too well now for a doctor’s attention.

“Pluto is either trying to lay a trap for me to see if I do know English, or else he is better informed than we guess––which it is, I cannot say, Marquise,” she confided, nervously. “When he heard his mistress say I was to start Thursday, he watched his chance and whispered: ‘Go Wednesday––don’t wait till visitors come, go Wednesday.’”

“Visitors?––then he means the Lorings, they are to be here Thursday,” and Judithe closed the book she had been reading, and looked thoughtfully out of the window. Louise was moving about the room with the aid of a cane, glancing at her mistress now and then and waiting to hear her opinion.

“I believe I would take his advice, Louise,” she said at last. “I have not noticed the man much beyond the fact that he has been wonderfully attentive to your wants. What do you think of him––or of his motives?”

“I believe they are good,” said the girl, promptly. “He is dissatisfied; I can see that––one of the insurrection sort who are always restless. He’s entirely bound up in the issue of the war, as regards his own people. He suspects me and because he suspects me tries to warn me––to be my friend. When I am gone you may need some one here, and of all 205 I see he is the one to be most trusted, though, perhaps, Dr. Delaven––”

“Is out of the question,” and Judithe’s decision was emphatic. “These people are his friends.”

“They are yours, too, Marquise,” said the girl, smiling a little; but no smile answered her, a slight shade of annoyance––a tiny frown––bent the dark brows.

“Yes, I remember that sometimes, but I possess an antidote,” she replied, lightly. “You know––or perhaps you do not know––that it is counted a virtue in a Gypsy to deceive a Georgio––well, I am fancying myself a Gypsy. In the Mohammedan it is a virtue to deceive the Christian, and I am a Mohammedan for the moment. In the Christian it was counted for centuries a mark of special grace if he despoil the Jew, until generations of oppression showed the wanderer the real God held sacred by his foes––money, my child, which he proceeded to garner that he might purchase the privileges of other races. So, with my Jewish name as a foundation, I have created an imaginary Jewish ancestor whose wrongs I take up against the people of a Christian land; I add all this debt to the debt Africa owes this enlightened nation, and I shall help to pay it.”

The eyes of Louise widened at this fantastical reason. She was often puzzled to determine whether the Marquise was entirely serious, or only amusing herself with wild fancies when she touched on pondrous questions with gay mockery.

Just now she laughed as she read dismay in the maid’s face.

“Oh, it is quite true, Louise, it is a Christian land––and more, it is the most Christian portion of a Christian land, because the South is entirely orthodox; only in the North will you find a majority of skeptics, atheists, and agnostics. Though they may be scarcely conscious of it themselves, 206 it is because of their independent heterodox tendencies that they are marching today by thousands to war against a slavery not their own––the most righteous motive for a war in the world’s history; but it cannot be denied that they are making war against an eminently Christian institution.” And she smiled across at Louise, whose philosophy did not extend to the intricacies of such questions.

“I don’t understand even half the reasons back of the war,” she confessed, “but the thing I do understand is that the black man is likely to have a chance for freedom if the North wins, and that’s the one question to me. Miss Evilena said yesterday it was all a turmoil got up by Yankee politicians who will fill their pockets by it.”

“Oh, that was after Judge Clarkson’s call; she only quoted him in that, and he is right in a way,” she added; “there is a great deal of political jugglery there without a vestige of patriotism in it, but they do not in the least represent the great heart of the people of the North; they are essentially humanitarians. So you see I weigh all this, with my head, not my heart,” she added, quizzically, “and having done so––having chosen my part––I can’t turn back in the face of the enemy, even when met by smiles, though I confess they are hard weapons to face. It is a battle where the end to be gained justifies the methods used.”

“Ma belle, Marquise,” murmured the girl, in the untranslatable caress of voice and eyes. “Sometimes I grow afraid, and you scatter the fear by your own fearlessness. Sometimes I grow weak, and you strengthen me with reasons, reasons, reasons!”

“That is because the heart is not allowed to hamper the head.”

“Oh, you tease me. You speak to me like a guardian angel of my people; your voice is like a trumpet, it stirs 207 echoes in my heart, and the next minute you laugh as though it were all a play, and I were a child to be amused.”

“‘And each man in his time plays many parts,’” quoted Judithe, thoughtfully, then with a mocking glance she added: “But not so many as women do.”

“There––that is what I mean. One moment you are all seriousness and the next––”

“But, my child, it is criminal to be serious all the time; it kills the real life and leads to melancholia. You would grow morbid through your fears if I did not laugh at them sometimes, and it would never––never do for me to approve them.”

She touched the girl’s hand softly with her own and looked at her with a certain affectionate chiding.

“You are going away from me, Louise, and you must not go in dread or despondency. It may not be for long, perhaps, but even if it should be, you must remember that I love you––I trust you. I pity you for the childhood and youth whose fate was no choice of yours. Never forget my trust in you; when we are apart it may comfort you to remember it.”

The girl looked at her with wide black eyes, into which the tears crept.

“Marquise,” she whispered, “you talk as if you might be sending me away for always. Oh, Marquise––”

Judithe raised her hand warningly.

“Be a soldier, child,” she said, softly, “each time we separate for even a day––you and I––we do not know that we will ever meet again. These are war times, you know.”

“I know––but I never dreaded a separation so much; I wish you were not to remain. Perhaps that Pluto’s words made me more nervous––it is so hard to tell how much he guesses, and those people––the Lorings––”

“I think I shall be able to manage the Lorings,” said her mistress, with a reassuring smile, “even the redoubtable Matthew––the tyrannical terror of the county; so cheer up, Louise. Even the longest parting need only be a lifetime, and I should find you at the end of it.”

“And find me still your slave,” said the girl, looking at her affectionately. “That’s a sort of comfort to think, Marquise; I’m glad you said it. I’ll think of it until me meet again.”

She repeated it Wednesday morning when she entered the boat for the first stage of her journey to Savannah, and the Marquise nodded her comprehension, murmured kindly words of adieu, and watched the little vessel until a bend in the river hid it from view, when she walked slowly back to the house. Since her arrival in America this was the first time she had been separated from the devoted girl for more than a day, and she realized the great loss it would be to her, though she knew it to be an absolutely necessary one.

As for Louise, she watched to the last the slight elevation of the Terrace grounds rising like an island of green from the level lands by the river. When it finally disappeared––barred out by the nearer green of drooping branches, she wept silently, and with a heavy heart went downward to Pocotaligo, oppressed by the seemingly groundless fear that some unknown evil threatened herself or the Marquise––the dread lest they never meet again.