The next morning was a very busy one for Aunt Patsy's son Tom's yellow
boy Bob's child; and by afternoon it was necessary to send for two
colored women from a neighboring cabin to assist in the preparations
which Aunt Patsy was making for her projected visit. An old hair covered
trunk, which had not been opened for many years, was brought out, and
the contents exposed to the unaccustomed light of day; two coarse cotton
petticoats were exhumed and ordered to be bleached and ironed; a yellow
flannel garment of the same nature was put aside to be mended with some
red pieces which were rolled up in it; out of several yarn stockings of
various ages and lengths two were selected as being pretty much alike,
and laid by to be darned; an old black frock with full "bishop sleeves,"
a good deal mended and dreadfully wrinkled, was given to one of the
neighbors, expert in such matters, to be ironed; and the propriety of
making use of various other ancient duds was eagerly and earnestly
discussed. Aunt Patsy, whose vitality had been wonderfully aroused, now
that there was some opportunity for making use of it, spent nearly two
hours turning over, examining, and reflecting upon a pair of
old-fashioned corsets, which, although they had been long cherished, she
had never worn. She now hoped that the occasion for their use had at
last arrived but the utter impossibility of getting herself into them
was finally made apparent to her, and she mournfully returned them to
the trunk.

Washing, starching, ironing, darning, patching, and an immense deal of
talk and consultation, occupied that and a good deal of the following
day, the rest of which was given up to the repairing of an immense pair
of green baize shoes, without which Aunt Patsy could not be persuaded to
go into the outer air. It was Saturday morning when she began to dress
for the trip, and although Isham, wearing a high silk hat, and a long
black coat which had once belonged to a clergyman, arrived with the ox
cart about noon, the old woman was not ready to start till two or three
hours afterward. Her assistants, who had increased in number, were
active and assiduous. Aunt Patsy was very particular as to the manner of
her garbing, and gave them a great deal of trouble. It had been fifteen
years since she had set foot outside of her house, and ten more since
she had ridden in any kind of vehicle. This was a great occasion, and
nothing concerning it was to be considered lightly.

"'Tain't right," she said to Uncle Isham when he arrived, "fur a pow'ful
ole pusson like me to set out on a jarney ob dis kin' 'thout 'ligious
sarvices. 'Tain't 'spectable."

Uncle Isham rubbed his head a good deal at this remark. "Dunno wot we
gwine to do 'bout dat," he said. "Brudder Jeemes lib free miles off, an'
mos' like he's out ditchin'. Couldn't git him h'yar dis ebenin', nohow."

"Well den," said Aunt Patsy, "you conduc' sarvices yourse'f, Uncle
Isham, an' we kin have prar meetin', anyhow."

Uncle Isham having consented to this, he put his oxen under the care of
a small boy, and collecting in Aunt Patsy's room the five colored women
and girls who were in attendance upon her, he conducted "prars," making
an extemporaneous petition which comprehended all the probable
contingencies of the journey, even to the accident of the right wheel of
the cart coming off, which the old man very reverently asserted that he
would have lynched with a regular pin instead of a broken poker handle,
if he could have found one. After the prayer, with which Aunt Patsy
signified her entire satisfaction by frequent Amens, the company joined
in the vigorous singing of a hymn, in which they stated that they were
"gwine down to Jurdun, an' tho' the road is rough, when once we shuh we
git dar, we all be glad enough; de rocks an' de stones, an' de jolts to
de bones will be nuffin' to de glory an' de jiy."

The hymn over, Uncle Isham clapped on his hat, and hurried menacingly
after the small boy, who had let the oxen wander along the roadside
until one wheel of the cart was nearly in the ditch. Aunt Patsy now
partook of a collation, consisting of a piece of hoe-cake dipped in pork
fat, and a cup of coffee, which having finished, she declared herself
ready to start. A chair was put into the cart, and secured by ropes to
keep it from slipping; and then, with two women on one side and Uncle
Isham on the other, while another woman stood in the cart to receive and
adjust her, she was placed in position.

Once properly disposed she presented a figure which elicited the lively
admiration of her friends, whose number was now increased by the arrival
of a couple of negro boys on mules, who were going to the post-office,
it being Saturday, and mail day. Around Aunt Patsy's shoulders was a
bright blue worsted shawl, and upon her head a voluminous turban of
vivid red and yellow. Since their emancipation, the negroes in that part
of the country had discarded the positive and gaudy colors that were
their delight when they were slaves, and had transferred their fancy to
delicate pinks, pale blues, and similar shades. But Aunt Patsy's ideas
about dress were those of by-gone days, and she was too old now to
change them, and her brightest handkerchief had been selected for her
head on this important day. Above her she held a parasol, which had been
graciously loaned by her descendant of the fourth generation. It was
white, and lined with pink, and on the edges still lingered some
fragments of cotton lace.

Uncle Isham now took his position by the side of his oxen, and started
them; and slowly creaking, Aunt Patsy's vehicle moved off, followed by
the two boys on mules, three colored women and two girls on foot, and by
two little black urchins who were sometimes on foot, but invariably on
the tail of the cart when they could manage to evade the backward turn
of Uncle Isham's eye.

"Ef I should go to glory on de road, Uncle Isham," said Aunt Patsy, as
the right wheel of the cart emerged from a rather awkward rut, "I don'
want no fuss made 'bout me. You kin jes' bury me in de clothes. I got
on, 'cep'n de pararsol, ob course, which is Liza's. Jes' wrop de quilt
all roun' me, an' hab a extry size coffin. You needn't do nuffin' more'n
dat."

"Oh, you's not gwine to glory dis time, Aun' Patsy," replied Uncle
Isham, who did not want to encourage the idea of the old woman's
departure from life while in his ox cart. But after this remark of the
old woman he was extraordinarily careful in regard to jolts and bumps.

When the procession reached the domain of Miss Harriet Corvey, there was
gathered inside the yard quite a number of the usual attendants on mail
days, awaiting the arrival of Wesley Green with his waddling horse and
leather bag. But all interest in the coming of the mail was lost in the
surprise and admiration excited by the astounding apparition of old Aunt
Patsy in the ox cart, attended by her retinue. As the oxen, skilfully
guided by Uncle Isham's long prod, turned into the yard, everybody came
forward to find out the reason of this unlooked-for occurrence. Even old
Madison Chalkley, his stout legs swaddled in home-made overalls,
dismounted from his horse, and Colonel Iston raised his tall form from
the porch step where he had been sitting, and approached the cart.

"Upon my word," said a young fellow, with high boots, slouched hat, and
a riding whip, "if here ain't old Aunt Patsy come after a letter! Where
do you expect a letter from, Aunt Patsy?"

The old woman fixed her spectacles on him for an instant, and then said
in a clear voice which could be heard by all the little crowd: "'Tain't
from nobody dat I owes any money to, nohow, Mahs' Bill Trimble."

A general laugh followed this rejoinder, and Uncle Isham grinned with
gratified pride in the enduring powers of his charge. The old woman now
put down her parasol, and made as if she would descend from the cart.

"You needn't git out, Aun' Patsy," said several negro boys at once.
"We'll fotch your letters to you."

"Git 'long wid you!" said the old woman angrily. "I didn't come here fur
no letters. Ef I wanted letters I'd sen' 'Liza fur 'em. Git out de way."

A chair was now brought, and placed near the cart; a woman mounted into
the vehicle to assist her; Uncle Isham and another colored man stood
ready to receive her, and Aunt Patsy began her descent. This, to her
mind, was a much more difficult and dangerous proceeding than getting
into the cart, and she was very slow and cautious about it. First, one
of her great green baize feet was put over the tail of the cart, and
resting her weight upon the two men, Aunt Patsy allowed it to descend to
the chair, where it was gradually followed by the other foot. Having
safely accomplished this much, the old woman ejaculated: "Bress de
Lor'!" When, in the same prudent manner, she had reached the ground,
she heaved a sigh of relief, and fervently exclaimed: "De Lor' be
bressed!"

Supported by Uncle Isham, and the other man, Aunt Patsy now approached
the steps. She was so old, so little, so bowed, and so apparently
feeble, that several persons remonstrated with her for attempting to go
into the house when anything she wanted would be gladly done for her.
"Much 'bliged," said the old woman, "but I don' want no letters nor
nuffin'. I's come to make a call on de white folks, an' I's gwine in."

This announcement was received with a laugh, and she was allowed to
proceed without further hindrance. She got up the porch steps without
much difficulty, her supporters taking upon themselves most of the
necessary exertion; but when she reached the top, she dispensed with
their assistance. Shuffling to the front door, she there met Miss
Harriet Corvey, who greeted the old woman with much surprise, but shook
hands with her very cordially.

"Ebenin', Miss Har'et," said Aunt Patsy. And then, lowering her voice
she asked: "Is ole miss h'yar?"

Miss Harriet hesitated a moment, and then she answered: "Yes, she is,
but I don't believe she'll come down to see you."

"Oh, I'll go up-stars," said Aunt Patsy. "Whar she?"

"She's in the spare chamber," said Miss Harriet; and Aunt Patsy, with a
nod of the head signifying that she knew all about that room, crossed
the hall, and began, slowly but steadily, to ascend the stairs. Miss
Harriet gazed upon her with amazement, for Aunt Patsy had been considered
chair-ridden when the postmistress was a young woman. Arrived at the end
of her toilsome ascent, Aunt Patsy knocked at the door of the spare
chamber, and as the voice of her old mistress said, "Come in!" she went
in.




CHAPTER VII.


When Lawrence Croft reached the Green Sulphur Springs, after his
interview with Miss March, his soul was still bubbling and boiling with
emotion, and it continued in that condition all night, at least during
that great part of the night of which he was conscious. The sight of the
lady he loved, under the new circumstances in which he found her, had
determined him to throw prudence and precaution to the winds, and to ask
her at once to be his wife.

But the next morning Lawrence arose very late. His coffee had evidently
been warmed over, and his bacon had been cooked for a long, long time.
The world did not appear to him in a favorable light, and he was obliged
to smoke two cigars before he was at all satisfied with it. While he was
smoking he did a good deal of thinking, and it was then that he came to
the conclusion that he would not go over to Midbranch and propose to
Roberta March. Such precipitate action would be unjust to himself and
unjust to her. In her eyes it would probably appear to be the act of a
man who had been suddenly spurred to action by the sight of a rival, and
this, if Roberta was the woman he believed her to be, would prejudice
her against him. And yet he knew very well that these reasons would
avail nothing if he should see her as he intended. He had found that he
was much more in love with her than he had supposed, and he felt
positively certain that the next time he was alone with her he would
declare his passion.

Another thing that he felt he should consider was that the presence of
Keswick, if looked upon with a philosophic eye, was not a reason for
immediate action. If the old engagement had positively been broken off,
he was at the house merely as a family friend; while, on the other hand,
if the rupture had not been absolute, and if Roberta really loved this
tall Southerner and wished to marry him, there was a feeling of honor
about Lawrence which forbade him to interfere at this moment. When she
came to New York he would find out how matters really stood, and then he
would determine on his own action.

And yet he would have proposed to Roberta that moment if he had had the
opportunity. Her personal presence would have banished philosophy, and
even honor.

Lawrence was a long time in coming to these conclusions, and it was late
in the afternoon when he despatched his note. Having now given up his
North Carolina trip--one object of which had been still another visit to
Midbranch on his return--he was obliged to wait until the next day for a
train to the North; and, consequently, he had another evening to devote
to reflections. These, after a time, became unsatisfactory. He had told
the exact truth in his note to Roberta, for he felt that it was
necessary for him to leave that part of the country in order to make
impossible an interview for which he believed the proper time had not
arrived. He was consulting his best interests, and also, no doubt, those
of the lady. And yet, in spite of this reasoning, he was not satisfied
with himself. He felt that his note was not entirely honest and true.
There was subterfuge about it, and something of duplicity. This he
believed was foreign to his nature, and he did not like it.

Lawrence had scarcely finished his breakfast the next morning when Mr
Junius Keswick arrived at the door of his cottage. This gentleman had
walked over from Midbranch and was a little dusty about his boots and
the lower part of his trousers. Lawrence greeted him politely, but was
unable to restrain a slight indication of surprise. It being more
pleasant on the porch than in the house, Mr Croft invited his visitor to
take a seat there, and the latter very kindly accepted the cigar which
was offered him, although he would have preferred the pipe he had in his
pocket.

"I thought it possible," said Keswick, as soon as the two had fairly
begun to smoke, "that you might not yet have left here, and so came over
in the hope of seeing you."

"Very kind," said Lawrence.

Keswick smiled. "I must admit," said he, "that it was not solely for the
pleasure of meeting you again that I came, although I am very glad to
have an opportunity for renewing our acquaintance. I came because I am
quite convinced that Miss March wished very much to see you at the time
arranged between you, and that she was annoyed and discomposed by your
failure to keep your engagement. Considering that you did not, and
probably could not, know this, I deemed I would do you a service by
informing you of the fact."

"Did Miss March send you to tell me this?" exclaimed Lawrence.

"Miss March knows nothing whatever of my coming," was the answer.

"Then I must say, sir," exclaimed Lawrence, "that you have taken a great
deal upon yourself."

Keswick leaned forward, and after knocking off the ashes of his cigar on
the outside of the railing, he replied in a tone quite unmoved by the
reproach of his companion: "It may appear so on the face of it, but, in
fact I am actuated only by a desire to serve Miss March, for whom I
would do any service that I thought she desired. And, looking at it from
your side, I am sure that I would be very much obliged to any one who
would inform me, if I did not know it, that a lady greatly wished to see
me."

"Why does she want to see me?" asked Croft. "What has she to say to me?"

"I do not know," said Keswick. "I only know that she was very much
disappointed in not seeing you yesterday."

"If that is the case, she might have written to me," said Lawrence.

"I do not think you quite understand the situation," observed his
companion. "Miss March is not a lady who would even intimate to a
gentleman that she wished him to come to her when it was obvious that
such was not his desire. But it seemed to me that if the gentleman
should become aware of the lady's wishes through the medium of a third
party, the matter would arrange itself without difficulty."

"By the gentleman going to her, I suppose," remarked Croft.

"Of course," said Keswick.

"There is no 'of course' about it," was Lawrence's rather quick reply.

At that moment some letters were brought to him from a little
post-office near by, to which he had ordered his mail to be forwarded.
As the address on one of these letters caught his eye, the somewhat
stern expression on his face gave place to a smile, and begging his
visitor to excuse him, he put his other letters into his pocket, and
opened this one. It was very short, and was from Mr Candy's cashier. It
was written from Howlett's, Virginia, a place unknown to him, and stated
that the writer expected in a very short time to give him some accurate
information in regard to Mr Keswick, and expressed the hope that he
would allow the affair to remain entirely in her hands until she should
write again. It was quite natural that, under the circumstances,
Lawrence should smile broadly as he folded up this note. The man in
question was sitting beside him, and, in a measure, was turning the
tables upon him. Lawrence had been very anxious to find out what sort
of a man was Keswick, and the latter now seemed in the way of making
some discoveries in the same line in regard to Lawrence. One thing he
must certainly do; he must write as soon as possible to his enterprising
agent, and tell her that her services were no longer needed. She must
have pushed the matter with a great deal of energy to have brought her
down to Virginia, and he could not help hoping that her discretion was
equal to her investigative capacity.

When, after this little interruption, Lawrence again addressed Junius
Keswick his manner was so much more affable that the other could not
fail but notice it.

"Mr Keswick," he said, "as our conversation seems to be based upon
personalities, perhaps you will excuse me if I ask you if I am mistaken
in believing that you were once engaged to be married to Miss March?"

"You are entirely correct," said Junius. "I was engaged to her, and I
hope to be engaged to her again."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Croft, turning in his chair with a start.

"Yes," continued Keswick, "our engagement was dissolved in consequence
of a certain family complication, and as I said before, I hope in time
to be able to renew it."

Lawrence threw away his cigar, and sat for a few moments in thought. The
engagement, then, did not exist. Roberta was free. Recollections came
to him of his own intercourse with her during the past summer, and his
heart gave a bound. "Mr Keswick," said he, "upon consideration of the
matter I think I will call upon Miss March this morning."

If Keswick had expressed himself entirely satisfied with this decision
he would have done injustice to his feelings. The service he had taken
upon himself to perform for Miss March he had considered a duty, but if
his mission had failed he would have been better pleased than with its
success. He made, however, a courteous reply to Croft's remark, and rose
to depart. But this the other would not allow.

"You told me," said Croft, "that you walked over here; but it is much
warmer now, and you must not think of such a thing as walking back. The
man here has a horse and buggy. I will get him to harness up, and I will
drive you over to Midbranch."

As there was no good reason why he should decline this offer, Junius
accepted it, and in half an hour the two were on their way.




CHAPTER VIII.


Old Mr Brandon of Midbranch was not in a very happy frame of mind, and
he had good reasons for dissatisfaction. He was an ardent supporter of a
marriage between his niece and Junius Keswick; and when the engagement
had been broken off he had considered that both these young people had
acted in a manner very foolish and contrary to their best interests.
There was no opposition to the match except from old Mrs Keswick, who
was the aunt of Junius, but who considered herself as occupying the
position of a mother. Junius was the son of a sister who had also
married into the Keswick family, and his parents having died while he
was a boy, his aunt had taken him under her charge, and her house had
then became his home; although of late years some of his absences had
been long ones. Mrs Keswick had no personal objections to Roberta, never
having seen that lady, and knowing little of her; but an alliance
between her Junius and any member of that branch of the Brandons,
"which," to use the old lady's own words, "had for four generations
cheated, stripped, and scornfully used my people, scattering their atoms
over the face of three counties," was monstrous. Nothing could make her
consent to such an enormity, and she had informed Junius that if he
married that March girl three of them should live together--himself, his
wife, and her undying curse. In order that Miss March might not fail to
hear of this post-connubial arrangement, she had been informed of it by
letter. Of course this had broken off the engagement, for Roberta would
not live under a curse, nor would she tear a man from the only near
relative he had in the world. Keswick himself, like most men, would have
been willing to have this tearing take place for the sake of uniting
himself to such a charming creature as Roberta March. But the lady on
one side was as inflexible as the lady on the other, and the engagement
was definitely and absolutely ended.

Mr Brandon considered all this as stuff and nonsense. He could not deny
that his branch of the Brandons had certainly got a good deal out of Mrs
Keswick's family. But here was a chance to make everything all right
again, and he would be delighted to see Junius, a relative, although a
distant one, come into possession of Midbranch. As for the old lady's
opposition, that should not be considered at all, he thought. It was his
opinion that her mind had been twisted by her bad temper, and nothing
she could say could hurt anybody.

Of late Mr Brandon had been much encouraged by the fact that Junius had
begun to resume his position as a friend of the family. This was all
very well. If the young people, by occasional meetings, could keep alive
their sentiments toward each other, the time would come when all
opposition would cease, and the marriage would become an assured fact.
He did not believe either of the young people would care enough for a
post-mortem curse, if there should be one, to keep themselves separated
from each other on its account for the rest of their lives.

But the recent quite unexpected return of Lawrence Croft to Midbranch,
combined with the evident discomposure into which Roberta had been
thrown by his failure to come the next day, had given the old gentleman
some unpleasant ideas. His niece had mentioned that she expected Mr
Croft that day, and although she said nothing in regard to her
subsequent disappointment and vexation, his mind was quite acute enough
to perceive it. Exactly what it all meant he knew not, but it augured
danger. For the first time he began to look upon Mr Croft in the light
of a suitor for Roberta. If a jealous feeling at finding another person
on the ground was the cause of his not coming again, it showed that he
was in earnest, and this, added to the evident disturbance of mind of
both Roberta and Junius, was enough to give Mr Brandon most serious
fears that an obstacle to his cherished plan was arising. Roberta was
fond of city life, of society, of travel, and if she had really made up
her mind that her union with Junius was no longer to be thought of, the
advent of a man like Croft, who had been making her acquaintance all
summer, and who had now returned to Virginia, no doubt for the sole
purpose of seeing her again was, to say the least, exceedingly ominous.
One thing only could correct this deplorable state of affairs. The
absurd bar to the union of Junius and Roberta should be removed, and
they should be allowed to enter upon the happiness that was their right.

Above all, the estate of Midbranch should not be suffered to go into the
possession of an outsider, who might be good enough, but who was of no
earthly moment or interest to the Brandons. He would go himself, and see
the widow Keswick, and talk her out of her nonsense. It was a long time
since he had met the old wild cat, as he termed her, and his
recollection of the last interview was not pleasant, but he was not
afraid of her, and he hoped that the common sense of what he would say
would bring her to reason.

Mr Brandon made up his mind during the night; and when he came down to
breakfast he was very glad to find that Junius had already gone out for
a walk. The distance to the widow Keswick's house was about fifteen
miles, a pleasant day's ride for the old gentleman, and as he did not
expect to return until the next day, he felt obliged to inform Roberta
of his destination, although, of course, he said nothing about the
object of his visit. He told his niece that he was obliged to see the
widow Keswick on business, to which remark she listened without reply.

Soon after breakfast he mounted his good horse, Albemarle, and early in
the afternoon he arrived at the widow Keswick's gate. He had looked for
a stormy reception, in which the thunder-bolts of rage should burst
around him, and he was surprised, therefore, to be received with the
frigidity of the North Pole.

"I never expected," she said, without any previous courtesy, "to see one
of your people under my roof, and it is not very long ago since I would
have gone away from it the moment any one of you came near it."

"I am happy, madam," said Mr Brandon, in his most courteous manner,
"that that day is past."

"My staying won't do you any good," said the old lady, whose purple
sun-bonnet seemed to heave with the uprisal of her hair, "except,
perhaps, to get you a better meal than the servants would have given
you. But I want a lawyer, and I can't afford to pay for one either, and
when I saw you coming I just made up my mind to get something out of
you, and if I do it, it'll be the first red mark for my side of the
family."

Mr Brandon assured her that nothing would give him more pleasure than to
assist her in any way in his power.

"Very well, then," said Mrs Keswick, "just sit down on that bench, and,
when we have got through, your horse can be taken, and you can rest a
while, though it seems a very curious thing that you should want to stop
here to rest."

"Well, madam," said Mr Brandon, seating himself as comfortably as
possible on a wooden bench, "I shall be happy to hear anything you have
to say."

The old lady did not sit down, but stood up in front of him, leaning on
her umbrella, with which faithful companion she had been about to set
out on her walk. "When my son Junius came home a while ago--" she began.

"Do you still call him your son?" interrupted Mr Brandon.

"Indeed I do!" was the very prompt answer. "That's just what he is. And,
as I was going to say, when he wrote me a short time ago that he was
coming here, I believed, from his letter, that he had some scheme on
hand in regard to your niece, and I made up my mind I wouldn't stay in
the house to hear anything more said on that subject. I had told him
that I never wanted him to say another word about it; and it made my
blood boil, sir, to think that he had come again to try to cozen me into
the vile compact."

"Madam!" exclaimed Mr Brandon.

"The next day," continued Mrs Keswick, "a lady arrived; and as soon as I
saw her drive into the gate I felt sure it was Roberta March, and that
the two had hatched up a plot to come and work on my feelings, and so I
wouldn't come near the house."

"Madam!" exclaimed Mr Brandon, "how could you dream such a thing of my
niece? You don't know her, madam."

"No," said the old lady, "I don't know her, but I knew she belonged to
your family, and so I was not to be surprised at anything she did. But I
found out I was mistaken. An old negro woman recognized this young
person as the daughter of my younger sister you know there were three of
us. The child was born and raised here, but I have not seen and have
scarcely heard of her since she was eight years old."

"That's very extraordinary, madam," said Mr Brandon.

"No, it isn't, when you consider the stubbornness, the obstinacy, and
the wickedness of some people. My sister sickened when the child was
about six years old, and her husband, Harvey Peyton--"

"I have frequently heard of him, madam," said Mr Brandon.

"And I wish I never had," said she. "Well, he was travelling most of the
time, a thing my sister couldn't do; but he came here then and stayed,
off and on, till she died. And not long afterward, just because I told
him that I intended to consider the child as my child, and that she
should have the name of Keswick instead of his name, and should know me
as her mother, and live with me always, he got angry and flared up, and
actually took the child away. I gave it to him hot, I can tell you,
before he left, and I never saw him again. He was so eaten up with rage
because I wanted to take the little Annie for my own, that he filled her
mind with such prejudices against me that when he died a year or two
ago, she actually went to work to get her own living instead of applying
to me for help. But now she has come down here, and I was really filled
with joy to have her again and carry out the plan on which my heart had
long been set--that is to marry her to her cousin Junius, and let them
have this farm when I am gone,----?"

At this Mr Brandon raised his eyebrows, and lowered the corners of his
mouth.

"But I suddenly discover," continued the old, lady, "that the little
wretch is married--actually married."

At this Mr Brandon lowered his eyebrows and raised the corners of his
mouth. "Did her husband come with her?" he asked, pleasantly. And he
gave a few long, free breaths as if he had just passed in safety a very
dangerous and unsuspected rock.

"No, he didn't," replied the old lady. "I don't know where he is, and,
from what I can make out, he is an utterly good-for-nothing fellow,
allowing his wife to go where she pleases, and take care of herself. Now
this abominable marriage stands square in the way of the plan which
again rose up in my mind the moment I heard that the girl was in my
house. If Junius and she should marry, there would be no more dangers
for me to look out for."

"But the existence of a husband," said Mr Brandon blandly, "puts an end
to all thoughts of such an alliance."

"No it don't," said the old lady, bringing her umbrella down with force
on the porch. "Not a bit of it. Such an outrageous marriage should not
be suffered to exist. They should be divorced. He does nothing for her,
and neglects and deserts her absolutely. There's every ground for a
divorce, or enough grounds, at any rate. All that's necessary is for a
lawyer to take it up. I don't know any lawyers, and when I saw you
riding up from the road gate I said to myself: 'Here's the very man I
want,--and it's full time I should get something from people who have
taken nearly everything from me.'"

Mr Brandon bowed.

"And now," continued the old lady, "I am going to put the case into your
hands. The man is, evidently, a good-for-nothing scoundrel, and has
probably spent the little money that her miserable father left her. It's
a clear case of desertion, and there should be no trouble at all in
getting the divorce."

Mr Brandon looked down upon the floor of the porch, and smiled. This was
a pretty case, he thought, to put into his hands. Here was a marriage
which was the strongest protection in the promotion of his own plan, and
he was asked to annul it. "Very good," thought Mr Brandon, "very good."
And he smiled again. But he was an old-fashioned gentleman, and not used
to refuse requests made to him by ladies. "I will look into it, madam,"
said he. "I will look into it, and see what can be done."

"Something must be done," said the old lady; "and the right thing too.
How long do you intend to stay here?"

"I thought of spending the night, madam, as my horse and myself are
scarcely in condition to continue our journey to-day."

"Stay as long as you like," said Mrs Keswick. "I turn nobody from my
doors, even if they belong to the Brandon family. I want you to talk to
my niece, and get all you can out of her about this thing, and then you
can go to work and blot out this contemptible marriage as soon as
possible."

"The first thing," said Mr Brandon, "will be to talk to the lady."

This reply being satisfactory to Mrs Keswick, Uncle Isham was called to
take the horse and attend to him, while the master was invited into the
house.

Mr Brandon first met Mrs Null at supper time, and her appearance very
much pleased him. "It is not likely," he said to himself, "that the man
lives who would willingly give up such a charming young creature as
this." They were obliged to introduce themselves to each other, as the
lady of the house had not yet appeared. After a while Letty, who was in
attendance, advised them to sit down as "de light bread an' de
batter-bread was gittin' cole."

"We could not think of such a thing as sitting at table before Mrs
Keswick arrives," said Mr Brandon.

"Oh, dar's no knowin' when she'll come," said the blooming Letty. "She
may be h'yar by breakfus time, but dar ain't nobuddy in dis yere worl'
kin tell. She's down at de bahn now, blowin' up Plez fur gwine to sleep
when he was a shellin' de cohnfiel' peas. An' when she's got froo wid
him she's got a bone to pick wid Uncle Isham 'bout de gyardin'. 'Tain't
no use waitin' fur ole miss. She nebber do come when de bell rings. She
come when she git ready, an' not afore."

Mr Brandon now felt quite sure that it was the intention of his hostess
not to break bread with one of his family, and so he seated himself, Mrs
Null taking the head of the table and pouring out the tea and coffee.

"It has been a long time, madam, since you were in this part of the
country," said the old gentleman, as he drew the smoking batter-bread
toward him and began to cut it.

"Yes," said Mrs Null, "not since I was a little girl. I suppose you have
heard, sir, that Aunt Keswick and my father were on very bad terms, and
would not have anything to do with each other?"

"Oh, yes," said Mr Brandon, "I have heard that."

"But my father is not living now, and I am down here again."

"And your husband? He did not accompany you?" said Mr Brandon.

"No," replied Mrs Null, very quickly. "We were both very sorry that it
was not possible for him to come with me."

Mr Brandon's spirits began to rise. This did not look quite like
desertion. "I have no doubt you have a very good husband. I am sure you
deserve such a one," he said with the air of a father, and the purpose
of a lawyer.

"Good!" exclaimed Mrs Null, her eyes sparkling.

"He couldn't be better if he tried! Will you have sweet milk, or
buttermilk?"

"Buttermilk, if you please," said Mr Brandon. "Of course your aunt was
delighted to have you with her again."

"Oh," said Mrs Null, with a laugh, "she was not at home when I arrived,
but when she returned nothing could be too good for me. Why, she had
been here scarcely half an hour, and hadn't taken off her sun-bonnet,
before she told me I was to marry Junius and we two were to have this
farm."

"A very pleasant plan, truly," said Mr Brandon.

"But then, you see," continued the young girl, "Mr Null stood dreadfully
in the way of such an arrangement; and when Aunt Keswick heard about him
you can't imagine what a change came over her."

"Oh, yes I can; yes I can," exclaimed Mr Brandon--"I can imagine it
very well."

"But she didn't give up a bit," said Mrs Null. "I don't think she ever
does give up."

"You are right, there," said Mr Brandon, "quite right. But what does she
propose to do?"

"I don't know, I'm sure; but she said I had no right to marry without
the consent of my surviving relatives, and that she was going to look
into it. I can't think what she means by that."

Mr Brandon made no immediate answer. He gave Mrs Null some damson
preserves, and he took some himself, and then he helped himself to a
great hot roll, from a plate that Letty had just brought in, and
carefully opening it he buttered it on the inside, and covered one-half
of it with the damson preserves. This he began slowly to eat, drinking
at times from the foaming glass of buttermilk at the side of his plate,
from which the coffee-cup had been removed. When he had finished the
half roll he again spoke. "I think, my dear young lady, that your aunt
is desirous of having your marriage set aside."

"How can she do that?" exclaimed the girl, her face flushing. "Has she
been talking to you about it?"

"I cannot deny that she has spoken to me on the subject," he answered,
"I being a lawyer. But I will say to you, in strict confidence, please,
that if you and your husband are sincerely attached to each other there
is nothing on earth she can do to separate you."

"Attached!" exclaimed Mrs Null. "It would be impossible for us to be
more attached than we are. We never have had the slightest difference,
even of opinion, since our wedding day. Why, I believe that we are more
like one person than any married couple in the world."

"I am very glad to hear it," said Mr Brandon, finishing his
buttermilk--"very glad indeed. And, feeling as you do, I am certain
that nothing your aunt can say will make any impression on you in regard
to seeking a divorce."

"I should think not!" said Mrs Null, sitting up very straight. "Divorce
indeed!"

"I fully uphold you in the stand you have taken," said Mr Brandon. "But
I beg you will not mention this conversation to your aunt. It would only
annoy her. Is your cousin expected here shortly?"

"I believe so," she said. "To be sure, my aunt left the house the last
time he came, but she has his address, and has written for him. I think
she wants us to get acquainted as soon as possible, so that no time will
be lost in marrying us after poor Mr Null is disposed of."

"Very good, very good," said Mr Brandon with a laugh. "And now, my dear
young friend, I want to give you a piece of advice. Stay here as long as
you can. Your aunt will soon perceive the absurdity of her ideas in
regard to your husband, and will cease to annoy you. Make a friend of
your cousin Junius, whom I know and respect highly; and he certainly
will be of advantage to you. Above all things, endeavor to thoroughly
reconcile him and Mrs Keswick, so that she will cease to oppose his
wishes, and to interfere with his future fortune. If you can bring back
good feeling between these two, you will be the angel of the family."

"Thank you," said Mrs Null, as they rose from the table.

The next morning, after Mr Brandon and Mrs Null had breakfasted
together, the mistress of the house, having apparently finished the
performance of the duties which had kept her from the breakfast-table,
had some conversation with her visitor. In this he repeated very little
of what he had said to the younger lady the night before, but he
assured Mrs Keswick that he had discovered that it would be a very
delicate thing to propose to her niece a divorce from her husband, a
thing to which she was not at all inclined, as he had found.

"Of course not! of course not!" exclaimed Mrs Keswick. "She can't be
expected to see what a wretched plight she has got herself into by
marrying this straggler from nobody knows where."

"But, madam," said Mr Brandon, "if you worry her about it, she will
leave you, and then all will be at an end. Now, let me advise you as
your lawyer. Keep her here as long as you can. Do everything possible to
foster friendship and good feeling between her and Junius; and to do
this you must forget as far as possible all that has gone by, and be
friendly with both of them yourself."

"Humph!" said the widow Keswick. "I didn't ask you for advice of that
sort."

"It is all a part of the successful working of the case, madam," said Mr
Brandon. "A thorough good feeling must be established before anything
else can be done."

"I suppose so," said the old lady. "She must learn to like us before she
begins to hate him. And how about your niece? Are you going to send her
down here to help on in the good feeling?"

"I have not brought my niece into this affair," replied Mr Brandon, with
dignity.

"Well, then, see that you don't," was the widow Keswick's reply. And the
interview terminated.

When Mr Brandon rode away on his good horse Albemarle, he looked at the
post of the road gate from which he was lifting the latch by means of
the long wooden handle arranged for the convenience of riders, and said
to himself: "John Keswick was a good man, but I don't wonder he came out
here and shot himself. It is a great pity though that it wasn't his wife
who did it, instead of him. That would have been a blessing to all of
us. But," he added, contemplatively, as he closed the gate, "the people
in this world who ought to blow out their brains, never do."

Soon after he had gone, Mrs Null went up Pine Top Hill, and sat down on
the rock to have a "think." "Now, then, Freddy," she said, "everything
depends on you. If you don't stand by me I am lost--that is to say, I
must go away from here before Junius comes; and you know I don't want to
do that. I want to see him on my account, and on his account too; but I
don't want him crammed down my throat for a husband the moment he
arrives, and that is just what will happen if you don't do your duty, Mr
Null. Even if it wasn't for you, I don't want to look at him from the
husband point of view, because, of course, he is a very different person
from what he used to be, and is a total stranger to me.

"It is actually more than twelve years since I have seen him, and
besides that, he is just as good as engaged to that niece of Mr
Brandon's, who is a horrible mixture of a she-wolf and a female mule, if
I am to believe Aunt Keswick, but I expect she is, truly, a very nice
girl. Though, to be sure, she can't have much spirit if she consented to
break off her marriage just on account of the back-handed benediction
which Aunt Keswick told me she offered her as a wedding gift. If I had
wanted to marry a man I would have let the old lady curse the heels off
her boots before I would have paid any attention to her. Cursing don't
hurt anybody but the curser.

"What I want of Junius is to make a friend of him, if he turns out to be
the right kind of a person, and to tell him about this Mr Croft who is
so anxious to find him. The only person I have met yet who seems like an
ordinary Christian is old Mr Brandon, and he's a sly one, I'm afraid.
Aunt Keswick thinks he stopped here on his way somewhere, but I don't
believe a word of it. I believe he came for reasons of his own, and went
right straight back again. You are almost as much to him, Freddy, as you
are to me. It would have made you laugh if you could have seen how his
face lighted up when he heard we were happy together, and that I would
not listen to a divorce. And yet I am sure he has promised Aunt Keswick
to see what he can do about getting one. He wants me to stay here and
make friends of Aunt Keswick and Junius, but he wouldn't like that if it
were not for you, Mr Null. You make everything safe for him.

"And now, Freddy, I tell you again, that all depends upon you. If I'm to
stay here--and I want to do that, for a time any way, for although Aunt
Keswick is so awfully queer, she's my own aunt, and that's more than I
can say for anybody else in the world--you must stiffen up, and stand by
me. It won't do to give way for a minute. If necessary you must take
tonics, and have a steel rod down your back, if you can't keep yourself
erect without it. You must have your legs padded, and your chest thrown
out; and you must stand up very strong and sturdy, Freddy, and not let
them push you an inch this way or that. And now that we have made up our
minds on this subject, we'll go down, for it's getting a little cool on
the top of this hill."




CHAPTER IX.


On the morning of her uncle's departure from Midbranch, Roberta came out
on the porch, and took her seat in a large wooden arm-chair, putting
down her key basket on the floor beside her. The day was bright and
sunny, and the shadows of two or three turkey buzzards, who were
circling in the air, moved over the field in front of the house. In this
field also moved, not so fast, nor so gracefully as the shadows, two
ploughs, one near by, and the other at quite a distance. The woods which
shut out a great part of the horizon showed many a bit of color, but the
scene, although bright enough in some of its tones, was not a cheering
one to Roberta; and she needed cheering.

Had it not been for the delay of her father in making his winter visit
to New York, she would now be in that city, but if things had gone on as
she expected they would, she would have been perfectly satisfied to
remain several weeks longer at Midbranch. Junius Keswick, who had not
visited the house for a long time, had come to them again; and, now that
the subject of love and marriage had been set aside, it was charming to
have him there as a friend. They not only walked in the woods, but they
took long rides over the country, Mr Brandon having waived his
objections in regard to his niece riding about with gentlemen. She had
even been pleased with the unexpected return of Lawrence Croft, for, for
reasons of her own, she wished very much to have a talk with him. But he
had not fulfilled his promise to her, and had gone away in a very
unsatisfactory manner.

This morning she felt a little lonely, too, for Junius had left the
place before breakfast, and she did not know where he had gone; and her
uncle had actually ridden away to see that horrible widow Keswick,
merely stating that his errand was a business one, and that he would be
back the next day. Roberta knew that there had been a great deal of
business, particularly that of an unpleasant kind, between the two
families, but she did not believe that there was any ordinary affair
concerning dollars and cents which would require the presence of her
uncle at the house of his old enemy. She was very much afraid that he
had gone there to try to smooth up matters in regard to Junius and
herself. The thought of this made her indignant. She did not know what
her uncle would say, and she did not want him to say anything. He could
not make the horrible old creature change her mind in regard to the
marriage, and if this was not done, there was no use discussing the
matter at all, and she did not wish people to think she was anxious for
the match.

It was plain, however, that her uncle's desire for it had experienced a
strong revival; and the unexpected return of Lawrence Croft had probably
had a great effect on him. He had not objected to the visits of that
gentleman during the summer, but he had never shown any strong liking
for him, and Roberta said to herself that she could not see, for her
part, why this should be; Mr Croft was a thorough gentleman, an
exceedingly well educated and agreeable man.

As to Junius, she was afraid that he had not the spirit which she used
to think he possessed. There was something about him she could not
understand. In former days, when Junius was in New York, she compared
him with the young men there, very much to his advantage, but now Mr
Croft seemed to throw him somewhat in the background. When Croft wanted
to do anything he did it; even his failure to come to her when he said
he would do so showed strength of will. If Junius had promised to come
he would have come, even if he had not wanted to do so, and there would
have been something weak about that.

While she thus sat thinking, and gazing over the landscape, she saw afar
off, on a portion of the road which ran along-side the woods, a vehicle
slowly making its way to the house. Roberta had large and beautiful
eyes, but they were not of the kind which would enable her to discover
at so great a distance what sort of vehicle this was, and who was in it.
As the road led nowhere but to Midbranch she was naturally desirous to
know who was coming. She stepped into the hall, and, taking a small
bell, rang it vigorously, and in a moment her youthful handmaiden,
Peggy, appeared upon the scene. Peggy's habit of projecting her eyes
into the far away could often be turned to practical account for her
vision was, in a measure, telescopic.

"What is that coming here along the road?" asked Miss Roberta, stepping
upon the porch, and pointing out the distant vehicle.

Peggy stood up straight, let her arms hang close to her sides, and
looked steadfastly forth. "Wot's comin', Miss Rob," said she, "is the
buggy 'longin' to Mister Michaels, at de Springs, an' his ole
mud-colored hoss is haulin' it. Dem dat's in it is Mahs' Junius an'
Mister Crof'."

"Are you sure of that?" exclaimed Miss Roberta in astonishment. "Look
again."

"Yaas'm," replied Peggy. "I's sartin shuh. But dey jes gwine behin' de
trees now."

The road was not again visible for some distance, but when the buggy
reappeared Peggy gave a start, and exclaimed: "Dar's on'y one pusson in
it now, Miss Rob."

"Which is it?" exclaimed her mistress quickly, shading her eyes, and
endeavoring to see for herself.

"It's Mister Crof'," said Peggy. "Mahs' Junius mus' done gone back."

"It is too bad!" exclaimed Miss Roberta. "I will not see him. Peggy,"
she said, snatching up the key basket, and stepping toward the hall
door, "when that gentleman, Mr Croft, comes, you must tell him that I am
up-stairs lying down, that I am not well, and cannot see him, and that
your Master Robert is not at home."