Although October in Southern Virginia can generally be counted upon as a very charming month, it must not be expected that her face will wear one continuous smile. On the day after Lawrence Croft's misadventure the sky was gray with low-hanging clouds, there was a disagreeable wind from the north-east, and the air was filled with the slight drizzle of rain. The morning was so cool that Lawrence was obliged to keep his door shut, and Uncle Isham had made him a small wood fire on the hearth. As he sat before this fire, after breakfast, his foot still upon a stool, and vigorously puffed at a cigar, he said to himself that it mattered very little to him whether the sun shone, or all the rains of heaven descended, so long as Roberta March would not come out to him; and that she did not intend to come, rain or shine, was just as plain as the marks on the sides of the fireplace, probably made by the heels of Mr Junius Keswick during many a long, reflective smoke.

On second thoughts, however, Lawrence concluded that a rainy day was worse for his prospects than a bright one. If the sun shone, and everything was fair, Miss March might come across the grassy yard and might possibly stop before his open door to bid him good morning, and to tell him that she was sorry that a headache had prevented her from coming to play whist the evening before. But this last, he presently admitted, was rather too much to expect, for he did not think she was subject to headaches, or to making excuses. At any rate he might have caught sight of her, and if he had, he certainly would have called to her, and would have had his say with her, even had she persisted in standing six feet from the door-step. But now this dreary day had shut his door and put an interdict upon strolls across the grass. Therefore it was that he must resign any opportunity, for that day, at least, of soothing the harrowing perturbations of his passion by either the comforting warmth of hope, or by the deadening frigidity of a consummated despair. This last, in truth, he did not expect, but still, if it came, it would be better than perturbations; they must be soothed at any cost. But how to incur this cost was a difficult question altogether. So, puffing, gazing into the fire, and knitting his brows, he sat and thought.

As a good-looking young man, as a well-dressed young man, as an educated and cultured man, as a man of the clubs, and of society, and, when occasion required, as a very sensible man of business, Mr Croft might be looked upon as essentially a commonplace personage, and in our walks abroad we meet a great many like him. But there dwelt within him a certain disposition, which, at times, removed him to quite a distance from the arena in which commonplace people go through their prescribed performances. He would come to a determination, generally quite suddenly, to attain a desired end in his own way, without any reference to traditionary or conventional methods; and the more original and startling these plans the better he liked it.

This disposition it was which made Lawrence read with so much interest the account of the defeated general who made the cavalry charge into the camp of his victorious enemy. Defeat had been his, all through his short campaign, and it now seemed that the time had come to make another bold effort to get the better of his bad luck. As he could not woo Miss March himself, he must get some one else to do it for him, or, if not actually to woo the lady, to get her at least into such a frame of mind that she would allow him to woo her, even in spite of his present disadvantages. This would be a very bold stroke, but Lawrence put a good deal of faith in it.

If Miss March were properly talked to by one of her own sex, she might see, as perhaps she did not now see, how cruel was her line of conduct toward him, and might be persuaded to relent, at least enough to allow his voice to reach her; and that was all he asked for. He had not the slightest doubt that the widow Keswick would gladly consent to carry any message he chose to send to Miss March, and, more than that, to throw all the force of her peculiar style of persuasion into the support of his cause. But this, he knew very well, would finish the affair, and not at all in the way he desired. The person he wanted to act as his envoy was Mrs Null. To be sure, she had refused to act for him, but he thought he could persuade her. She was quiet, she was sensible, and could talk very gently and confidingly when she chose; she would say just what he told her to say, and if a contingency demanded that she should add anything, she would probably do it very prudently. But then it would be almost as difficult to communicate with her as with Miss March.

While he was thus thinking, in came the old lady, very cross. "You didn't get any rubber of whist last night, did you?" said she, without salutatory preface. "But I can tell you it wasn't my fault. I did all that I could, and more than I ought, to make her come, but she just put her foot down and wouldn't stir an inch, and at last I got mad and went to bed. I don't know whether she saw it or not, but I was as mad as hops; and I am that way yet. I had a plan that would have given you a chance to talk to her, but that ain't any good, now that it is raining. Let me look at your ankle; I hope that is getting along all right, any way."

While the old lady was engaged in ministering to his needs, he told her of his plan. He said he wished to send a message to Miss March by some one, and if he could get the message properly delivered, it would help him very much.

"I'll take it," said she, looking up suddenly from the piece of soft, old linen she was folding; "I'll go to her this very minute, and tell her just what you want me to."

"Mrs Keswick," said Lawrence, "you are as kind as you can possibly be, but I do not think it would be right for you to go on an errand like this. Miss March might not receive you well, and that would annoy me very much. And, besides, to speak frankly, you have taken up my cause so warmly, and have been such a good friend to me, that I am afraid your earnest desire to assist me might perhaps carry you a little too far. Please do not misunderstand me. I don't mean that you would say anything imprudent, but as you are kind enough to say that you really desire this match, it will be very natural for you to show your interest in it to a degree that would arouse Miss March's opposition."

"Yes, I see," said the old lady, reflectively, "she'd suspect what was at the bottom of my interest. She's a sharp one. I've found that out. I reckon it will be better for me not to meddle with her. I came very near quarreling with her last night, and that wouldn't do at all."

"You see, madam," said Lawrence, well satisfied that he had succeeded in warding off the old lady's offer without offending her, "that I do not want any one to go to Miss March and make a proposal for me. I could do that in a letter. But I very much object to a letter. In fact it wouldn't do at all. All I wish is, that some one, by the exercise of a little female diplomacy, should induce her to let me speak to her. Now, I think that Mrs Null might do this, very well."

"That is so," said the old lady, who, having now finished her bandaging, was seated on a chair by the fireplace. "My niece is smart and quick, and could do this thing for you just as well as not. But she has her quips and her cranks, like the rest of us. I called her out of the room last night to know why she didn't back me up better about the whist party, and she said she couldn't see why a gentleman, who hadn't been confined to the house for quite a whole day, should be so desperately lonely that people must go to his room to play whist with him. It seemed to me exactly as if she thought that Mr Null wouldn't like it. Mr Null indeed! As if his wishes and desires were to be considered in my house! I never mention that man now, and Annie does not speak of him either. What I want is that he shall stay away just as long as he will; and if he will only stay away long enough to make his absence what the law calls desertion, I'll have those two divorced before they know it. Can you tell me, sir, how long a man must stay away from his wife before he can be legally charged with desertion?"

"No, madam, I can not," said Lawrence. "The laws, I believe, differ in the various States."

"Well, I'm going to make it my business to find out all about it," said Mrs Keswick. "Mr Brandon has promised to attend to this matter for me, and I must write to him, to know what he has been doing. Well, Mrs Null and Miss March seem to be very good friends, and I dare say my niece could manage things so as to give you the chance you want. I'll go to the house now, and send her over to you, so that you can tell her what you want her to say or do."

"Do you think she will come, madam?" asked Lawrence.

The old lady rose to her feet, and knitted her brows until something like a perpendicular mouth appeared on her forehead. "No," said she, "now I come to think of it I don't believe she will. In fact I know she won't. Bother take it all, sir! What these young women want is a good whipping. Nothing else will ever bring them to their senses. What possible difference could it make to Mr Null whether she came to you and took a message for you, or whether she didn't come; especially in a case like this, when you can't walk, or go to anybody?"

"I don't think it ought to make any difference whatever," said Lawrence.
"In fact I don't believe it would."

"It's no use talking about it, Mr Croft," said the old lady, moving toward the door. "I can go to my niece and talk to her, but the first thing I'd know I'd blaze out at her, and then, as like as not, she'd blaze back again, and then the next thing would be that she'd pack up her things and go off to hunt up her fertilizer agent. And that mustn't be. I don't want to get myself in any snarls, just now. There is nothing for you to do, Mr Croft, but to wait till it clears off, so that dainty young woman can come out of doors, and then I think I can manage it so that you can get a chance to speak to her."

"I am very much obliged to you," said Lawrence. "I suppose I must wait."

"I'll see that Isham brings you a lot of dry hickory, so that you can have a cheerful fire, even if you can't have cheerful company," said Mrs Keswick, as she closed the door after her.

Lawrence looked through the window at the sky, which gave no promise of clearing. And then he gazed into the fire, and considered his case. He had spent a large portion of his life in considering his case, and, therefore, the operation was a familiar one to him. This time the case was not a satisfactory one. Everything in this love affair with Miss March had gone on in a manner in which he had not intended, and of which he greatly disapproved. No one in the world could have planned the affair more prudently than he had planned it. He had been so careful not to do anything rash, that he had, at first, concealed, even from the lady herself, the fact that he was in love with her, and nothing could be farther from his thoughts and desires than that any one else should know of it. And yet, how had it all turned out? He had taken into his confidence Mr Junius Keswick, Mr Brandon, old Mrs Keswick, Mrs Null, as she wished to be called, and almost lastly, the lady herself. "If I should lay bare my heart to the colored man, Isham," he said to himself, "and the old centenarian in the cabin down there, I believe there would be no one else to tell. Oh, yes, there is Candy, and the anti-detective. By rights, they ought to know." He did not include the good little Peggy in this category, because he was not aware that there was such a person.

After about an hour of these doleful cogitations, he again turned to look out of his front window, which commanded a view of the larger house, when he saw, coming down the steps of the porch, a not very tall figure, wrapped in a waterproof cloak, with the hood drawn over its head. He did not see the face of the figure, but he thought from the light way in which it moved that it was Mrs Null; and when it stepped upon the grass and turned its head, he saw that he was right.

"Can her aunt have induced her to come to me?" was Lawrence's first thought. But his second was very different, for she began to walk toward the large gate which led out of the yard. Instantly Lawrence rose, and hopped on one foot to the window, where he tapped loudly on the glass. The lady turned, and then he threw up the sash.

"Won't you step here, please?" he called out.

Without answering, she immediately came over the wet grass to the window.

"I have something to say to you," he said, "and I don't want to keep you standing in the rain. Won't you come inside for a few minutes?"

"No, thank you," said she. "I don't mind a slight rain like this. I have lived so long in the city that I can't imagine how country people can bear to shut themselves in, when it happens to be a little wet. I can't stand it, and I am going out for a walk." "It is a very sensible thing to do," said Lawrence, "and I wish I could go with you and have a good long talk."

"What about?" said she.

"About Miss March."

"Well, I am rather tired of that subject," she said, "and so I reckon it is just as well that you should stay here by your fire—I see you have one there—and that I should take my walk by myself."

"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "I want to implore you to do a favor for me. I don't see how it can be disagreeable to you, and I am sure it will confer the greatest possible obligation upon me."

"What is it?" she asked.

"I want you to go to Miss March, and endeavor, in some way—you will know how, better than I can tell you—to induce her to let me have a few words with her. If it is only here at this open window it will do."

Mrs Null laughed. "Imagine," she said, "a woman putting on a waterproof and overshoes, and coming out in the rain, to stand with an umbrella over her head, to be proposed to! That would be the funniest proceeding I ever heard of!"

Lawrence could not help smiling, though he was not in the mood for it. "It may seem amusing to you," he said, "but I am very much in earnest. I am in constant fear that she will go away while I am confined to this house. Do you know how long she intends to stay?"

"She has not told me," was the answer.

"If you will carry it," he said, "I will give you a message for her."

"Why don't you write it?" said Miss Annie.

"I don't want to write anything," he said. "I should not know how it had been received, nor would it be likely to get me any satisfaction. I want a live, sympathetic medium, such as you are. Won't you do this favor for me?"

"No, I won't," said Miss Annie, her very decided tone appearing to give a shade of paleness to her features. "How often must I tell you that I will not help you in this thing?"

"I would not ask you," said Lawrence, "if I could help myself."

"It is not right that you should ask me any more," she said. "I am not in favor of your coming here to court Miss March, while my cousin is away, and I should feel like a traitor if I helped you at all, especially if I were to carry messages to her. Of course, I am very sorry for you, shut up here, and I will do anything I can to make you more comfortable and contented; but what you ask is too hard for me." And, as she said this, a little air of trouble came into the large eyes with which she was steadfastly regarding him. "I don't want to seem unkind to you, and I wish you would ask me something that I can do for you. I'll walk down to Howlett's and get you anything you may like to have. I'll bring you a lot of novels which I found in the house, and which I expect, anyway, you will like better than those old-time books. And I'll cook you anything that is in the cook-book. But I really cannot go wooing for you, and if you ask me to do that, every time I come near you, I really must—"

"My dear Mrs Null," interrupted Lawrence, "I promise not to say any more to you on this subject. I see it is distasteful to you, and I beg your pardon for having mentioned it so often. You have been very kind to me, indeed, and I should be exceedingly sorry to do anything to offend you. It would be very bad for me to lose one of my friends, now that I am shut up in this box, and feel so very dependent."

"Oh, indeed," said Miss Annie. "But I suppose if you were able to step around, as you used to do, it wouldn't matter whether you offended me or not."

"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "you know I did not mean anything like that.
Do you intend to be angry with me, no matter what I say?"

"Not a bit of it," she answered, with a little smile that brought back to her face that warm brightness which had grown upon it since she had come down here. "I haven't the least wish in the world to be angry with you, and I promise you I won't be, provided you'll stop everlastingly asking me to go about helping you to make love to people."

Lawrence laughed. "Very good," said he. "I have promised to ask nothing more of that sort. Let us shake hands on it."

He stretched his hand from the window, and Miss Annie withdrew from the folds of her waterproof a very soft and white little hand, and put it into his. "And now I must be off," she said. "Are you certain you don't want anything from the store at Howlett's?"

"Surely, you are not going as far as that," he said.

"Not if you don't want anything," she answered. "Have you tobacco enough to last through your imprisonment? They keep it."

"Now, miss," said Lawrence; "do you want to make me angry by supposing I would smoke any tobacco that they sell in that country store?"

"It ought to be better than any other," said Miss Annie. "They grow it in the fields all about here, and the storekeepers can get it perfectly fresh and pure, and a great deal better for you, no doubt, than the stuff they manufacture in the cities."

"When you learn to smoke," said Lawrence, "your opinion concerning tobacco will be more valuable."

"Thank you," she said, "and I will wait till then before I give you any more of it. Good morning." And away she went.

Lawrence shut down the window, and hopped back to the fire. "There is my last chance gone," said he to himself. "I suppose I may as well take old Mrs Keswick's advice, and wait for fair weather. But, even then, who can say what sort of sky Roberta March will show?" And, not being able to answer this question, he put two fresh sticks on the fire, and then sedately sat and watched their gradual annihilation. As for Miss Annie, she took her walk, and stepped along the road as lightly and blithely as if the skies had been blue, and the sun shining; and almost before she knew it, she had reached the store at Howlett's. Ascending the high steps to the porch, quite deserted on this damp, unpleasant morning, she entered the store, the proprietor of which immediately jumped up from the mackerel kit at the extreme end of the room, where he had been sitting in converse with some of his neighbors, and hurried behind the counter.

"Have you any tea," said Miss Annie, "better than the kind which you usually sell to Mrs Keswick?"

"No, ma'am," said he. "We send her the very best tea we have."

"I am not finding fault with it," she said, "but I thought you might have some extra kind, more expensive than people usually buy for common use."

"No, ma'am," said he, "there is fancy teas of that kind, but you'd have to send to Philadelphia or New York for them."

"How long would that take?" she asked.

"I reckon it would be four or five days before you'd get it, ma'am," said the storekeeper.

"I am afraid," said Miss Annie, looking reflectively along the counter, "that that would be too long." And then she turned to go, but suddenly stopped. "Have you any guava jelly?" she asked.

The man smiled. "We don't have no call for anything as fancy as that, ma'am," he said. "Is there anything else?"

"Not to-day," answered Miss Annie, after throwing a despairing glance upon the rolls of calicoes, the coils of clothes-lines, the battered tin boxes of tea and sugar, the dusty and chimneyless kerosene lamps, and the long rows of canned goods with their gaudy labels; and then she departed.

When she had gone, the storekeeper returned to his seat on the mackerel kit, and was accosted by a pensive neighbor in high boots who sat upon the upturned end of a case of brogans. "You didn't make no sale that time, Peckett," said he.

"No," said the storekeeper, "her idees is a little too fancy for our stock of goods."

"Whar's her husband, anyway?" asked a stout, elderly man in linen trousers and faded alpaca coat, who was seated on two boxes of pearl starch, one on top of the other. "I've heard that he was a member of the legislatur'. Is that so?"

"He's not that, you can take my word for it," said Tom Peckett. "Old Miss Keswick give me to understand that he was in the fertilizing business."

"That ought to be a good thing for the old lady," said the man on the starch boxes. "She'll git a discount off her gwarner."

"I never did see," said the pensive neighbor on the brogan case, "how such things do git twisted. It was only yesterday that I met a man at Tyson's Mill, who'd just come over from the Valley, and he said he'd seen this Mr Noles over thar. He's a hoss doctor, and he's going up through all the farms along thar."

"I reckon when he gits up as fur as he wants to go," said the man on the starch boxes, "he'll come here and settle fur awhile."

"That won't be so much help to the old lady," said the storekeeper, "for it wouldn't pay to keep a neffy-in-law just to doctor one sorrel horse and a pa'r o' oxen."

"I reckon his wife must be 'spectin' him," said the man on the brogan case, "from her comin' after fancy vittles."

"If he do come," said the stout, elderly neighbor, "I wish you'd let me know, Tom Peckett, fur my black mar has got a hitch in her shoulder I can't understand, and I'd like him to look at her."

The storekeeper smiled at the pensive man, and the pensive man smiled back at the storekeeper. "You needn't trouble yourself about that young woman's husband," said Mr Peckett. "There'll be a horse doctor coming along afore you know it, and he'll attend to that old mar of yourn without chargin' you a cent."