"That, madam," said Lawrence, stepping a little back, "is a very
impertinent man who has no business here, and whom I've ordered off the
place, and, as he has refused to go, I propose--"

"Stop!" cried the old lady. And turning, she rushed into the house.
Before either of the men could recover from their surprise at her sudden
action, she reappeared upon the porch, carrying a double-barreled gun.
Taking her position on the top of the flight of steps, with a quick
movement of her thumb she cocked both barrels. Then, drawing herself up
and resting firmly on her right leg, with the left advanced, she raised
the gun; her right elbow well against her side, and with her extended
left arm as steady as one of the beams of the roof above her. She hooked
her forefinger around one of the triggers, her eagle eye glanced along
the barrels straight at the head of the anti-detective, and, in a
clarion voice she sang out "Go!"

The man stared at her. He saw the open muzzles of the gun barrels;
beyond them, he saw the bright tops of the two percussion caps; and
still beyond them, he saw the bright and determined eye that was taking
sight along the barrels. All this he took in at a glance, and, without
word or comment, he made a quick dodge of his head, jumped to one side,
made a dash for his horse, and, untying the bridle with a jerk, he
mounted and galloped out of the open gate, turning as he did so to find
himself still covered by the muzzles of that gun. When he had nearly
reached the outer gate and felt himself out of range, he turned in his
saddle, and looking back at Lawrence, who was still standing where he
had left him, he violently shook his fist in the air.

"Which means," said Lawrence to himself, "that he intends to make
trouble with Keswick."

"That settled him," said the old lady, with a grim smile, as she lowered
the muzzle of the gun, and gently let down the hammers. "Madam," said
Lawrence, advancing toward her, "may I ask if that gun is loaded?"

"I should say so," replied the old lady. "In each barrel are two
thimblefuls of powder, and half-a-box of Windfall's Teaberry Tonic
Pills, each one of them as big and as hard as a buckshot. They were
brought here by a travelling agent, who sold some of them to my people;
and I tell you, sir, that those pills made them so sick that one man
wasn't able to work for two days, and another for three. I vowed if that
agent ever came back, I'd shoot his abominable pills into him, and I've
kept the gun loaded for the purpose. Was this a pill man? I scarcely
think he was a fertilizer, because it is rather late in the season for
those bandits."

"He is a man," said Lawrence, coming up the steps, "who belongs to a
class much worse than those you have mentioned. He is what is called a
blackmailer."

"Is that so?" cried the old lady, her eyes flashing as she brought the
butt of the gun heavily upon the porch floor. "I'm very glad I did not
know it; very glad, indeed; for I might have been tempted to give him
what belonged to another, without waiting for him to disobey my order to
go. I am very much troubled, sir, that this annoyance should have
happened to you in my house. Pray do not allow it to interfere with the
enjoyment of your visit here, which I hope may continue as long as you
can make it convenient." The words and manner convinced Lawrence that
that they did not merely indicate a conventional hospitality. The old
lady meant what she said. She wanted him to stay.

That morning he had become convinced that he had been invited there
because Mrs Keswick wished him to marry Miss March; and she had done
this, not out of any kind feeling toward him, because that would be
impossible, considering the shortness of their acquaintance, but because
she was opposed to her nephew's marriage with Miss March, and because
he, Lawrence, was the only available person who could be brought forward
to supplant him. "But whatever her motive is," thought Lawrence, "her
invitation comes in admirably for me, and I hope I shall get the proper
advantage from it."

Shortly after this, Lawrence sat in the parlor, by himself, writing a
letter. It was to Junius Keswick; and in it he related the facts of his
search for him in New York, and the reason why he desired to make his
acquaintance. He concealed nothing but the fact that Keswick's cousin
had had anything to do with the affair. "If she wants him to know that,"
he thought, "she can tell him herself. It is not my business to make any
revelations in that quarter." He concluded the letter by informing Mr
Keswick of the visit of the anti-detective, and warning him against any
attempts which that individual might make upon his pocket, assuring him
that the man could tell him nothing in regard to the affair that he now
did not know.

After dinner, during which meal Miss March appeared in a very good
humor, and talked rather more than she had yet done in the bosom of that
family, Lawrence had his horse saddled, and rode to the railroad
station, about six miles distant, where he posted his letter; and also
sent a telegram to Mr Junius Keswick, warning him to pay no attention to
any man who might call upon him on business connected with Croft and
Keswick, and stating that an explanatory letter had been sent.

The anti-detective had left on a train an hour before, but Lawrence felt
certain that the telegram would reach Keswick before the man could
possibly get to him, especially as the latter had probably not yet found
out his intended victim's address.




CHAPTER XVIII.


As Lawrence Croft rode back to Mrs Keswick's house, after having posted
to his rival the facts in the case of Croft after Keswick, he did not
feel in a very happy or triumphant mood. The visit of the anti-detective
had compelled him to write to Keswick at a time when it was not at all
desirable that he should make any disclosures whatever in regard to his
love affair with Miss March, except that very important disclosure which
he had made to the lady herself that morning. Of course there was no
great danger that any intimation would reach Miss March of Mr Croft's
rather eccentric search for his predecessor in the position which he
wished to occupy in her affections. But the matter was particularly
unpleasant just now, and Lawrence wished to occupy his time here in
business very different from that of sending explanations to rivals and
warding off unfriendly entanglements threatened by a blackmailer.

It was absolutely necessary for him to find out what he had done to
offend Miss March. Offended that lady certainly was, and he even felt
that she was glad of the opportunity his declaration gave her to inflict
punishment upon him. But still he did not despair. When she had made him
pay the penalty she thought proper for whatever error he had committed,
she might be willing to listen to him. He had not said anything to her
in regard to his failure to make her the promised visit at Midbranch,
for, during the only time he had been alone with her here, the subject
of an immediate statement of his feelings toward her had wholly occupied
his mind. But it now occurred to him that she had reason to feel
aggrieved at his failure to keep his promise to her, and she must have
shown that feeling, for, otherwise, her most devoted friend, Mr Junius
Keswick, would never have made that rather remarkable visit to him at
the Green Sulphur Springs. Of course he would not allude to that visit,
nor to her wish to see him, for she had sent him no message, nor did he
know what object she had in desiring an interview. But it was quite
possible that she might have taken umbrage at his failure to come to her
when expected, and that this was the reason for her present treatment of
him. To this treatment Lawrence might have taken exception, but now he
did not wish to judge her in any way. His only desire in regard to her
was to possess her, and therefore, instead of condemning her for her
unjust method of showing her resentment, he merely considered how he
should set himself right with her. Cruel or kind, just or unjust, he
wanted her.

And then, as he slowly trotted along the lonely and uneven road, it
suddenly flashed upon him, as if in mounting a hill, a far-reaching
landscape, hitherto unseen, had in a moment, spread itself out before
him, that, perhaps, Miss March had divined the reason of his extremely
discreet behavior toward her. Was it possible that she had seen his
motives, and knew the truth, and that she resented the prudence and
caution he had shown in his intercourse with her?

If she had read the truth, he felt that she had good reason for her
resentment, and Lawrence did not trouble himself to consider if she had
shown too much of it or not. He remembered the story of the defeated
general, and, feeling that so far he had been thoroughly defeated, he
determined to admit the fact, and to sound a retreat from all the
positions he had held; but, at the same time, to make a bold dash into
the enemy's camp, and, if possible, capture the commander-in-chief and
the Minister of War.

He would go to Roberta, tell her all that he had thought, and explain
all that he had done. There should be no bit of truth which she could
have reasoned out, which he would not plainly avow and set before her.
Then he would declare to her that his love for her had become so great,
that, rushing over every barrier, whether of prudence, doubt, or
indecision, it had carried him with it and laid him at her feet. When he
had come to this bold conclusion, he cheered up his horse with a thump
of his heel and cantered rapidly over the rest of the road.

Peggy, having nothing else to do, was standing by the yard gate when he
came in sight, and she watched his approach with feelings of surprise
and disgust. She had seen him ride away, and not considering the fact
that he did not carry his valise with him, she supposed he had taken his
final departure. She had conceived a violent dislike to Mr Croft,
looking upon him in the light of an interloper and a robber, who had
come to break up that expected marriage between Master Junius and Miss
Rob, which the servants at Midbranch looked forward to as necessary for
the prosperity of the family; and the preliminary stages of which she
had taken upon herself the responsibility of describing with so much
minuteness of detail. With the politeness natural to the Southern negro,
she opened the gate for the gentleman, but as she closed it behind him,
she cast after him a look of earnest malevolence. "Ef dot ole Miss
Keswick don' kunjer you, sah," she said in an undertone, "I's gwine to
do it myse'f. So, dar!" And she gave her foot a stamp on the ground.

Lawrence, all ignorant of the malignant feeling he had excited in this,
to him, very unimportant and uninteresting black girl, tied his horse
and went into the house. As he passed the open door of the parlor he
saw a lady reading by a window in the farthest corner. Hanging up his
hat, he entered, hoping that the reader, whose form was partially
concealed by the back of the large rocking chair in which she was
sitting, was Miss March. But it was not; it was Mrs Keswick's niece,
deeply engrossed by a large-paged novel. She turned her head as he
entered, and said: "Good evening."

"Good evening, Miss Annie," said Lawrence, seating himself in a chair
opposite her on the other side of the window.

"Mr Croft," said she, laying her book on her lap, and inclining herself
slightly toward him, "you have no right to call me Miss Annie, and I
wish you would not do it. The servants in the South call ladies by their
first names, whether they are married or not, but people would think it
very strange if you should imitate them. My name in this house is Mrs
Null, and I wish you would not forget it."

"The trouble with me is," said Lawrence, with a smile, "that I cannot
forget it is not Mrs Null, but, of course, if you desire it, I will give
you that name."

"I told you before how much I desired it," said she, "and why. When my
aunt finds out the exact state of this affair, I shall wish to stay no
longer in this house; and I don't want my stay to come to an end at
present. I am very happy here with the only relatives I have in the
world, who are ever so much nicer people than I supposed they were, and
you have no right to come here and drive me away."

"My dear young lady," said Croft, "I wouldn't do such a thing for the
world. I admit that I am very sorry that it is necessary, or appears to
you to be so, that you should be here under false colors, but--"

"_Appears_ to be," said she, with much emphasis on the first word. "Why,
can't you see that it would be impossible for me, as a young unmarried
woman, to come to the house of a man, whose proprietor, as Aunt Keswick
considers herself to be, has been trying to marry to me, even before I
was grown up; for the letters that used to make my father most angry
were about this. I hate to talk of these family affairs, and I only do
it so that you can be made understand things."

"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "do not think I wish to blame you. You have
had a hard time of it, and I can see the peculiarities of your residence
here. Don't be afraid of me; I will not betray your secret. While I am
here, I will address you, and will try to think of you as a very grave
young matron. But I wish very much that you were not quite so grave and
severe when you address me. When I was here last week your manner was
very different. We were quite friendly then."

"I see no particular reason," said Annie, "why we should be friendly."

"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, after a little pause, during which he
looked at her attentively, "I don't believe you approve of me."

"No," said she, "I don't."

He could not help smiling at the earnest directness of her answer,
though he did not like it. "I am sorry," he said, "that you should have
so poor an opinion of me. And, now, let me tell you what I was going to
say this morning, that my only object in finding your cousin was to know
the man who had been engaged to Miss March."

"So that you could find out what she probably objected to in him, and
could then try and not let her see anything of that sort in you."

"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "you are unjust. There is no reason why you
should speak to me in this way."

"I would like to know," she said, "what cause there could possibly be
for your wanting to become acquainted with a man who had been engaged to
the lady you wished to marry, if you didn't intend to study him up, and
try to do better yourself."

"My motive in desiring to become acquainted with Mr Keswick," said
Lawrence, "is one you could scarcely understand, and all I can say about
it is, that I believed that if I knew the gentleman who had formerly
been the accepted lover of a lady, I should better know the lady."

"You must be awfully suspicious," said she.

"No, I am not," he answered, "and I knew you would not understand me. My
only desire in speaking to you upon this subject is that you may not
unreasonably judge me."

"But I am not unreasonable," said Annie. "You are trying to get Miss
March away from my cousin; and I don't think it is fair, and I don't
want you to do it. When you were here before, I thought you two were
good friends, but now I don't believe it."

How friendly might be the relations between himself and Keswick, when
the latter should read his letter about the Candy affair, and should
know that he was in this house with Miss March, Lawrence could not say;
but he did not allude to this point in his companion's remarks. "I do
not think," he said, "that you have any reason to object to my
endeavoring to win Miss March. Even if she accepts me, it will be to the
advantage of your cousin, because if he still hopes to obtain her, the
sooner he knows he cannot do so, the better it will be for him. My
course is perfectly fair. I am aware that the lady is not at present
engaged to any one, and I am endeavoring to induce her to engage herself
to me. If I fail, then I step aside."

"Entirely aside, and out of the way?" asked Mrs Null.

"Entirely," answered Lawrence.

"Well," said Annie, leaning back in her chair, in which before she had
been sitting very upright, "you have, at last, given me a good deal of
your confidence; almost as much as I gave you. Some of the things you
say I believe, others I don't."

Lawrence was annoyed, but he would not allow himself to get angry. "I am
not accustomed to being disbelieved," he said, gravely. "It is a very
unusual experience, I assure you. Which of my statements do you doubt?"

"I don't believe," said Annie, "that you will give her up if she rejects
you while you are here. You are too wilful. You will follow her, and try
again."

"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "I do not feel justified in speaking to a
third person of these things, but this is a peculiar case, and,
therefore, I assure you, and request you to believe me, that if Miss
March shall now positively refuse me, I shall feel convinced that her
affections are already occupied, and that I have no right to press my
suit any longer."

"Would you like to begin now?" said Annie. "She is coming down stairs."

"You are entirely too matter-of-fact," said Lawrence, smiling in spite
of himself, and, in a moment, Roberta entered the room.

If the young lady in the high-backed rocking-chair had any idea of
giving Mr Croft and Miss March an opportunity of expressing their
sentiments toward each other, she took no immediate steps to do so; for
she gently rocked herself; she talked about the novel she had been
reading; she blamed Miss March for staying so long in her room on such a
beautiful afternoon; and she was the primary cause of a conversation
among the three upon the differences between New York weather and that
of Virginia; and this continued until old Mrs Keswick joined the party,
and changed the conversation to the consideration of the fact that a
fertilizer agent, a pill man, or a blackmailer would find out a person's
whereabouts, even if he were attending the funeral of his grandmother on
a desert island.

The next morning, about an hour after breakfast, Lawrence was walking up
and down on the grass in front of the house, smoking a cigar, and
troubling his mind. He had had no opportunity on the previous evening to
be alone with Miss March, for the little party sat together in the
parlor until they separated for bed; and so, of course, nothing was yet
settled. He was overstaying the time he had expected to spend here, and
he felt nervous about it. He had hoped to see Miss March after
breakfast, but she seemed to have withdrawn herself entirely from
observation. Perhaps she considered that she had sufficiently rejected
him on the previous morning, and that she now intended, except when she
was sure of the company of the others, to remain in her room until he
should go away. But he had no such opinion in regard to their interview
on Pine Top Hill. He believed that he had been punished, not rejected,
and that when he should be able to explain everything to her, he would
be forgiven. That, at least, was his earnest hope, and hope makes us
believe almost anything.

But, although there were so many difficulties in his way, Lawrence had a
friend in that household who still remained true to him. Mrs Keswick,
with sun-bonnet and umbrella, came out upon the porch, and said
cheerily: "I should think a gentleman like you would prefer to be with
the ladies than to be walking about here by yourself. They have gone to
take a walk in the woods. I should have said that Miss March has gone on
ahead, with her little maid Peggy. My niece was going with her, but I
called her back to attend to some housekeeping matters for me, and I
think she will be kept longer than she expected, for I have just sent
Letty to her to be shown how to cut out a frock. But you needn't wait;
you can go right through the flower-garden, and take the path over the
fields into the woods." And, having concluded this bit of conscienceless
and transparent management, the old lady remarked that she, herself, was
going for a walk, and left him.

Lawrence lost no time in following her suggestions. Throwing away his
cigar, he hurried through the house and the little flower-garden, a gate
at the back of which opened into a wide pasture-field. This field sloped
down gently to a branch, or little stream, which ran through the middle
of it, and then the ground ascended until it reached the edge of the
woods. Following the well-defined path, he looked across the little
valley before him, and could see, just inside the edge of the woods--the
trees and bushes being much more thinly attired than in the summer
time--the form of a lady in a light-colored dress with a red scarf upon
her shoulders, sometimes moving slowly, sometimes stopping. This was
Roberta, and those woods were a far better place than the exposed summit
of Pine Top Hill, in which to plight his troth, if it should be so that
he should be able to do it, and there were doubtless paths in those
woods through which they might afterwards wander, if things should turn
out propitiously. At all events, in those woods would he settle this
affair.

His intention was still strong to make a very clean breast of it to
Roberta. If she had blamed him for his prudent reserve, she should have
full opportunity to forgive him. All that he had been she should know,
but far more important than that, he would try to make her know, better
than he had done before, what he was now. Abandoning all his previous
positions, and mounted on these strong resolutions, thus would he dash
into her camp, and hope to capture her.

Reaching the little ravine, at the bottom of which flowed the branch,
now but two or three feet wide, he ran down the rather steep slope and
stepped upon the stout plank which bridged the stream. The instant he
did so, the plank turned beneath him as if it had been hung on pivots,
and he fell into the stony bed of the branch. It was an awkward fall,
for the leg which was undermost came down at an angle, and his foot,
striking a slippery stone, turned under him. In a moment he was on his
feet, and scrambled up the side of the ravine, down which he had just
come. When he reached the top he sat down and put both his hands on his
right ankle, in which he felt considerable pain. In a few minutes he
arose, and began to walk toward the house, but he had not taken a dozen
steps before he sat down again. The pain in his ankle was very severe,
and he felt quite sure that he had sprained it. He knew enough about
such things to understand that if he walked upon this injured joint, he
would not only make the pain worse, but the consequences might be
serious. He was very much annoyed, not only that this thing had happened
to him, but that it had happened at such an inauspicious moment. Of
course, he could not now go on to the woods, and he must get somebody to
help him to the house. Looking about, he saw, at a distance, Uncle
Isham, and he called loudly to him. As soon as Lawrence was well away
from the edge of the ravine, there emerged from some thick bushes on the
other side of it, and at a short distance from the crossing-place, a
negro girl, who slipped noiselessly down to the branch; moved with quick
steps and crouching body to the plank; removed the two round stones on
which it had been skilfully poised, and replaced it in its usual firm
position. This done, she slipped back into the bushes, and by the time
Isham had heard the call of Mr Croft, she was slowly walking down the
opposite hill, as if she were coming from the woods to see why the
gentleman was shouting.

Miss March also heard the call, and came out of the woods, and when she
saw Lawrence sitting on the grass on the other side of the branch, with
one hand upon his ankle, she knew that something had happened, and came
down toward him. Lawrence saw her approaching, and before she was even
near enough to hear him, he began to shout to her to be careful about
crossing the branch, as the board was unsafe. Peggy joined her, and
walked on in front of her; and when Miss March understood what Lawrence
was saying, she called back that she would be careful. When they reached
the ravine, Peggy ran down, stepped upon the plank, jumped on the middle
of it, walked over it, and then back again, and assured her mistress
that it was just as good as ever it was, and that she reckoned the city
gentleman didn't know how to walk on planks, and that "he jes' done fall
off."

Miss March crossed, stepping a little cautiously, and reached Lawrence
just as Uncle Isham, with strong arms and many words of sympathy, had
assisted him to his feet. "What has happened to you, Mr Croft?" she
exclaimed.

"I was coming to you," he said; "and in crossing the stream the plank
turned under me, and I am afraid I have sprained my ankle. I can't walk
on it."

"I am very sorry," she said.

"Because I was coming to you," he said, grimly, "or because I hurt
myself?"

"You ought to be ashamed to speak in that way," she answered, "but I
won't find fault with you, now that you are in such pain. Is there
anything I can do for you?"

"No, thank you," said Lawrence. "I will lean on this good man, and I
think I can hop to the house."

"Peggy," said Miss Roberta, "walk on the other side of the gentleman,
and let him lean upon your shoulder. I will go on and have something
prepared to put on his ankle."

With one side supported by the stout Isham, and his other hand resting
on the shoulder of the good little Peggy, who bore up as strongly under
it as if she had been a big walking-stick, Lawrence slowly made his way
to the house. Miss March got there sometime before he did, and was very
glad to find that Mrs Keswick had not yet gone out on the walk for which
she was prepared. That circumspect old lady had found this and that to
occupy her, while she so managed her household matters, that one thing
should follow another, to detain her niece. But when she heard what had
happened, all other impulses gave way to those which belonged to a head
nurse and a mistress of emergencies. She set down her umbrella; shouted
an order to Letty to put a kettle of water on the fire; brought from her
own room some flannel and two bottles of embrocation; and then stopping
a moment to reflect, ordered that the office should be prepared for Mr
Croft, for it would be a shame to make a gentleman, with a sprained
ankle, clamber up stairs.

The office was a small building in the wide front yard, not very far
from the house, and opposite to the arbor, which has been before
mentioned. It was one story high, and contained one large and
comfortable room. Such buildings are quite common on Virginian farms,
and although called offices are seldom used in an official way, being
generally appropriated to the bachelors of the family or their gentleman
visitors. This one was occupied by Junius Keswick, when he was at home,
and a good many of his belongings were now in it; but as it was at
present unoccupied, nothing could be more proper than that Mr Croft
should have it.




CHAPTER XIX.


About noon of the day of Mr Croft's accident, Uncle Isham had occasion
to go to the cabin of the venerable Aunt Patsy, and, of course he told
her what had happened to the gentleman whom he and Aunt Patsy still
supposed to be Miss Annie's husband. The news produced a very marked
effect upon the old woman. She put down the crazy quilt, upon the
unfinished corner of which she was making a few feeble stitches, and
looked at Uncle Isham with a troubled frown. She was certain that this
was the work of old Mrs Keswick, who had succeeded, at last, in
conjuring the young husband; and the charm she had given him, and upon
which she had relied to avert the ill will of "ole miss," had proved
unavailing. The conjuring had been accomplished so craftily and slyly,
the bewitched plank in one place, and Mrs Keswick far off in another,
that there had been no chance to use the counteracting charm. And yet
Aunt Patsy had thought it a good charm, a very good one indeed.

Early in her married life Mrs Keswick had been the mother of a little
girl. It had died when it was very small, and it was the only child she
ever had. Of this infant she preserved, as a memento, a complete suit of
its clothes, which she regarded with a feeling almost religious. Years
ago, however, Aunt Patsy, in order to protect herself against the
conjuring powers of the mistress of the house, in which she then served
as a sort of supervising cook, had possessed herself of the shoes
belonging to the cherished suit of clothes. She knew the sacred light in
which they were regarded by their owner, and she felt quite sure that if
"ole miss" ever attempted, in one of her fits of anger, to exercise her
power of limb twisting or back contortion upon her, that the sight of
those little blue shoes would create a revulsion of feeling, and, as she
put it to herself, "stop her mighty short." The shoes had never been
missed, for the box containing the suit was only opened on one day of
the year, and then all the old lady could endure was a peep at the
little white frock which covered the rest of the contents; and Aunt
Patsy well knew that the sight of those little blue shoes would be to
her mistress like two little feet coming back from the grave.

Patsy had been much too old to act as nurse to the infant, Annie Peyton,
then regarded as the daughter of the house, but she had always felt for
the child the deepest affection; and now that she herself was so near
the end of her career that she had little fear of being bewitched, she
was willing to give up the safeguards she had so long possessed, in
order that they might protect the man whom Miss Annie had loved and
married. But they had failed, or rather it had been impossible to use
them, and Miss Annie's husband had been stricken down. "It's pow'ful
hard to git roun' ole miss," she groaned. "She too much fur ole folks
like I is."

At this remark Uncle Isham fired up. Although the conduct of his
mistress troubled him at times very much he was intensely loyal to her,
and he instantly caught the meaning of this aspersion against her. "Now,
look h'yar, Aun' Patsy," he exclaimed, "wot you talkin' 'bout? Wot ole
miss got to do wid Mister Crof' sprainin' he ankle? Ole miss warn't dar;
an' when I done fotch him up to de house, she cut roun' an' do more fur
him dan anybody else. She got de hot water, an' she dipped de flannels
in it, an' she wrop up de ankle all herse'f, an' when she got him all
fixed comfable in de offis, she says to me, says she, 'Now, Isham, you
wait on Mister Crof', an' you gib him eberything he want, an' when de
cool ob de ebenin' comes on you make a fire in dat fireplace, an' stay
whar he kin call you wheneber he wants you to wait on him.' I didn't
eben come down h'yar till I axed him would he want me fur half an hour."

"Well," said Aunt Patsy, her eyes softening a little, "p'raps she didn't
do it dis time. It mout a been his own orkardness. I hopes to mussiful
goodness dat dat was so. But wot fur you call him Mister Crof'? Is dat
he fus' name?"

"I reckon so," said Isham. "He one ob de fam'ly now, an' I reckon dey
calls him by he fus' name. An' now, look h'yar, Aun' Patsy, I wants you
not to disremember dis h'yar. Don' you go imaginin' ebery time anything
happens to folks, that ole miss done been kunjerin' 'em. Dat ain't
pious, an' 'taint suitable fur a ole pusson like you, Aun' Patsy, wot's
jus' settin' on de poach steps ob heaben, a waitin' till somebody finds
out you's dar, an' let's you in."

Aunt Patsy turned her great spectacles full upon him, and then she said:
"You, Isham, ef eber you gits a call to preach to folks, you jus' sing
out: 'Oh, Lor', I aint fit!' And den you go crack your head wid a
mill-stone, fur fear you git called agin, fru mistake."

Uncle Isham made no answer to this piece of advice, but taking up some
clothes which Aunt Patsy's great granddaughter had washed and ironed for
him, he left the cabin. He was a man much given to attending to his own
business, and paying very little attention to those affairs of his
mistress's household, with which he had no personal concern. When Mr
Croft first came to the house he, as well as Aunt Patsy, had been told
that it was Mr Null, the husband of Miss Annie; and although not
thinking much about it, he had always supposed this to be the case. But
now it struck him as a very strange thing that Miss Annie did not attend
to her husband, but allowed his mistress and himself to do everything
that was done for him. It was a question which his mind was totally
incapable of solving, but when he reached the house, he spoke to Letty
on the subject. "Bress your soul!" exclaimed that well-nourished
person, "dat's not Mister Null, wot married Miss Annie. Dat's Mister
Crof', an' he aint married to nobody. Mister Null he aint come yet, but
I reckon he'll be along soon."

"Well den," exclaimed Isham, much surprised, "how come Aun' Patsy to
take he for Miss Annie's husband?"

"Oh, git out!" contemptuously exclaimed Letty, "don' you go put no
'count on dem fool notions wot Aun' Patsy got in she old head. Nobody
knows how dey come dar, no more'n how dey eber manage to git out. 'Taint
no use splainin nothin' to Aun' Patsy, an' if she b'lieves dat's Miss
Annie's husband, you can't make her b'lieve it's anybody else. Jes' you
lef her alone. Nuffin she b'lieves aint gwine to hurt her."

And Isham, remembering his frequent ill success in endeavoring to make
Aunt Patsy think as she ought to think, concluded that this was good
advice.

At the time of the conversation just mentioned, Lawrence was sitting in
a large easy chair in front of the open door of the room of which he had
been put in possession. His injured foot was resting upon a cushioned
stool, a small table stood by him, on which were his cigar and match
cases; a pitcher of iced water and a glass, and a late copy of a
semi-weekly paper. Through the doorway, which was but two steps higher
than the grass sward before it, his eyes fell upon a very pleasing
scene. To the right was the house, with its vine-covered porch and
several great oak trees overhanging it, which still retained their heavy
foliage, although it was beginning to lose something of its summer
green. In front of him, at the opposite end of the grassy yard, was the
pretty little arbor in which he had told Mr Junius Keswick of the
difficulties in the way of his speaking his mind to Miss March. Beyond
the large garden, at the back of this arbor, stretched a wide field with
a fringe of woods at its distant edge, gay with the colors of autumn.
The sky was bright and blue, and fair white clouds moved slowly over its
surface; the air was sunny and warm, with bumble-bees humming about some
late-flowering shrubs; and, high in the air, floated two great
turkey-buzzards, with a beauty of motion surpassed by no other flying
thing, with never a movement of their wide-spread wings, except to give
them the necessary inclination as they rose with the wind, and then
turned and descended in a long sweep, only to rise again and complete
the circle; sailing thus for hours, around and around, their shadows
moving over the fields below them.

Fearing that he had sustained some injury more than a mere sprain,
Lawrence had had the Howlett's doctor summoned, and that general
practitioner had come and gone, after having assured Mr Croft that no
bones had been broken; that Mrs Keswick's treatment was exactly what it
should be, and that all that was necessary for him was to remain quiet
for a few days, and be very careful not to use the injured ankle. Thus
he had the prospect of but a short confinement; he felt no present pain;
and there was nothing of the sick-room atmosphere in his surroundings,
for his position close to the door almost gave him the advantage of
sitting in the open air of this bright autumnal day.

But Lawrence's mind dwelt not at all on these ameliorating
circumstances; it dwelt only upon the fact that he was in one house and
Miss March was in another. It was impossible for him to go to her, and
he had no reason to believe that she would come to him. Under ordinary
circumstances it would be natural enough for her to look in upon him and
inquire into his condition, but now the case was very different. She
knew that he desired to see her, that he had been coming to her when he
met with his accident, and she knew, too, exactly what he wanted to say;
and it was not to be supposed that a lady would come to a man to be
wooed, especially this lady, who had been in such an unfavorable humor
when he had wooed her the day before.

But it was quite impossible for Lawrence, at this most important crisis
of his life, to sit without action for three or four days, during which
time it was not unlikely that Miss March might go home. But what was he
to do? It would be rediculous to think of sending for her, she knowing
for what purpose she was wanted; and as for writing a letter, that did
not suit him at all. There was too much to be explained, too much to be
urged, too much to be avowed, and, probably, too many contingencies to
be met, for him to even consider the subject of writing a letter. A
proposal on paper would most certainly bring a rejection on paper. He
could think of no plan; he must trust to chance. If his lucky star, and
it had shone a good deal in his life, should give him an opportunity of
speaking to her, he would lose not an instant in broaching the important
subject. He was happy to think he had a friend in the old lady. Perhaps
she might bring about the desired interview. But although this thought
was encouraging, he could not but tremble when he remembered the very
plain and unvarnished way she had of doing such things.

While these thoughts were passing through his mind, a lady came out upon
the porch, and descended the steps. At the first sight of her through
the vines, Lawrence had thought it might be Miss March, and his heart
had given a jump. But it was not; it was Mrs Null, and she came over the
grass toward him, and stopped in front of his door. "How are you feeling
now?" she asked. "Does your foot still hurt you?"

"Oh, no," said Lawrence, "I am in no pain. The only thing that troubles
me is that I have to stay just here."

"It might have been better on some accounts," said she, "if you had been
taken into the house; but it would have hurt you dreadfully to go up
stairs, unless Uncle Isham carried you on his back, which I don't
believe he could do."

"Of course it's a great deal better out here," said Lawrence. "In fact
this is a perfectly charming place to be laid up in, but I want to get
about. I want to see people." "Many people?" asked she, with a
significant little smile.

Lawrence smiled in return. "You must know, Mrs Null, from what I have
told you," he said, "that there is one person I want to see very much,
and that is why I am so annoyed at being kept here in this chair."

"You must be of an uncommonly impatient turn of mind," she said, "for
you haven't been here three hours, altogether, and hundreds of persons
sit still that long, just because they want to."

"I don't want to sit still a minute," said Lawrence. "I very much wish
to speak to Miss March. Couldn't you contrive an opportunity for me to
do so?"

"It is possible that I might," she said, "but I won't. Haven't I told
you that I don't approve of this affair of yours? My cousin is in love
with Miss March, and all I should do for you would be directly against
him. Aunt so managed things this morning that I was actually obliged to
give you an opportunity to be with her, but I had intended going with
Roberta to the woods, as she had asked me to do."

"You are very cruel," said Lawrence.

"No, I am not," said she, "I am only just." "I explained to you
yesterday," said he, "that your course of thinking and acting is not
just, and is of no possible advantage to anybody. How can it injure your
cousin if Miss March refuses me and I go away and never see her again?
And, if she accepts me, then you should be glad that I had put an end to
your cousin's pursuit of a woman who does not love him."

"That is nonsense," said she. "I shouldn't be glad at all to see him
disappointed. I should feel like a traitor if I helped you. But I did
not come to talk about these things. I came to ask you what you would
have for dinner."

"I had an idea," said Lawrence, not regarding this remark, "that you
were a young lady of a kindly disposition."

"And you don't think so, now?" she said.

"No," answered Lawrence, "I cannot. I cannot think a woman kind who will
refuse to assist a man, situated as I am, to settle the most important
question of his life, especially as I have told you, before, that it is
really to the interest of the one you are acting for, that it should be
settled."

Miss Annie, still standing in front of the door, now regarded Lawrence
with a certain degree of thoughtfullness on her countenance, which
presently changed to a half smile. "If I were perfectly sure," she said,
"that she would reject you, I would try to get her here, and have the
matter settled, but I don't know her very well yet, and can't feel at
all certain as to what she might do."

"I like your frankness," said Lawrence, "but, as I said before, you are
very cruel."

"Not at all," said she, "I am very kind, only--"

"You don't show it," interrupted Lawrence.

At this Miss Annie laughed. "Kindness isn't of much use, if it is shut
up, is it?" she said. "I suppose you think it is one of those virtues
that we ought to act out, as well as feel, if we want any credit. And
now, isn't there something I can do for you besides bringing another
man's sweetheart to you?"

Lawrence smiled. "I don't believe she is his sweetheart," he said, "and
I want to find out if I am right."

"It is my opinion," said Miss Annie, "that you ought to think more about
your sprained ankle and your general health, than about having your mind
settled by Miss March. I should think that keeping your blood boiling,
in this way, would inflame your joints."

"The doctor didn't tell me what to think about," said Lawrence. "He only
said I must not walk."

"I haven't heard yet," said Miss Annie, "what you would like to have to
eat." "I don't wish to give the slightest trouble," answered Lawrence.
"What do you generally give people in such scrapes as this? Tea and
toast?"

Annie laughed. "Nonsense," said she. "What you want is the best meal you
can get. Aunt said if there was anything you particularly liked she
would have it made for you."

"Do not think of such a thing," said Lawrence. "Give me just what the
family has."

"Would you like Miss March to bring it out to you?" she asked.

"The word cruel cannot express your disposition," said Lawrence. "I pity
Mr Null." "Poor man," said she; "but it would be a good thing for you if
you could keep your mind as quiet as his is." And with that she went
into the house.

After dinner, Miss March did come out to inquire into Mr Croft's
condition, but she was accompanied by Mrs Keswick. Lawrence invited the
ladies to come in and be seated, but Roberta stood on the grass in front
of the door, as Miss Annie had done, while Mrs Keswick entered the room,
looked into the ice-water pitcher, and examined things generally, to see
if Uncle Isham had been guilty of any sins of omission.

"Do you feel quite at ease now?" said Miss March.

"My ankle don't trouble me," said Lawrence, "but I never felt so
uncomfortable and dissatisfied in my life." And with these latter words
he gave the lady a look which was intended to be, and which probably
was, full of meaning to her.

"Wouldn't you like some books?" said Mrs Keswick, now appearing from the
back of the room. "You haven't anything to read. There are plenty of
books in the house, but they are all old."

"I think those are the most delightful of books," said Miss March. "I
have been looking over the volumes on your shelves, Mrs Keswick. I am
sure there are a good many of them Mr Croft would like to read, even if
he has read them before. There are lots of queer old-time histories and
biographies, and sets of bound magazines, some of them over a hundred
years old. Would you like me to select some for you, Mr Croft? Or shall
I write some of the titles on a slip of paper, and let you select for
yourself?"

"I shall be delighted," said Lawrence, "to have you make a choice for
me; and I think the list would be the better plan, because books would
be so heavy to carry about."

"I will do it immediately," said Miss March, and she walked rapidly to
the house.

"Now then," said Mrs Keswick, "I'll put a chair out here on the grass,
close to the door. It's shady there, and I should think it would be
pleasant for both of you, if she would sit there and read to you out of
those books. She is a fine woman, that Miss March--a much finer woman
than I thought she could be, before I knew her."

"She is, indeed," said Lawrence.

"I suppose you think she is the finest woman in the world?" said the old
lady, with a genial grin.

"What makes you suppose so?" asked Lawrence.

"Haven't I eyes?" said Mrs Keswick. "But you needn't make any excuses.
You have made an excellent choice, and I hope you may succeed in getting
her. Perhaps you have succeeded?" she added, giving Lawrence an earnest
look, with a question in it.

Lawrence did not immediately reply. It was not in his nature to confide
his affairs to other people, and yet he had done so much of it, of late,
that he did not see why he should make an exception against Mrs Keswick,
who was, indeed, the only person who seemed inclined to be friendly to
his suit. He might as well let her know how matters stood. "No," he
said, "I have not yet succeeded, and I am very sorry that this accident
has interfered with my efforts to do so."

"Don't let it interfere," said the old lady, her eyes sparkling, while
her purple sun-bonnet was suddenly and severely bobbed. "You have just
as good a chance now as you ever had, and all you have to do is to make
the most of it. When she comes out here to read to you, you can talk to
her just as well as if you were in the woods, or on top of a hill.
Nobody'll come here to disturb you; I'll take care of that."

"You are very kind," said Lawrence, somewhat wondering at her
enthusiasm.

"I intended to go away and leave her here with you," continued Mrs
Keswick, "if I could find a good opportunity to do so, but she hit on
the best plan herself. And now I'll be off and leave the coast clear. I
will come again before dark and put some more of that stuff on your
ankle. If you want anything, ring this bell, and if Isham doesn't hear
you, somebody will call him. He has orders to keep about the house."

"You are putting me under very great obligations to you, madam," said
Lawrence.

But the old lady did not stop to hear any thanks, and hastened to clear
the coast.

Lawrence had to wait a long time for his list of books, but at last it
came; and, much to his surprise and chagrin, Mrs Null brought it. "Miss
March asked me to give you this," she said, "so that you can pick out
just what books you want."

Lawrence took the paper, but did not look at it. He was deeply
disappointed and hurt. His whole appearance showed it.

"You don't seem glad to get it," said Miss Annie. Lawrence looked at
her, his face darkening. "Did you persuade Miss March," he said, "to
stay in the house and let you bring this?"

"Now, Mr Croft," said the young lady, a very decided flush coming into
her face, "that is going too far. You have no right to accuse me of such
a thing. I am not going to help in your love affairs, but I don't intend
to be mean about it, either. Miss March asked me to bring that list, and
at first I wouldn't do it, for I knew, just as well as I know anything,
that you expected her to come to you with it, and I was very sure you
wanted to see her more than the paper. I refused two or three times, but
she said, at last, that if I didn't take it, she'd send it by some one
in the house; so I just picked it up and brought it right along. I don't
like her as much as I did."

"Why not?" asked Lawrence.

"You needn't accept a man if you don't want him," said Miss Annie, "but
there is no need of being cruel to him, especially when he is laid up.
If she didn't intend to come out to you again, she ought not to have
made you believe so. You did expect her to come, didn't you?"

"Most certainly," said Lawrence, in rather a doleful tone. "Yes, and
there is the chair she was to sit in," said Miss Annie, "while you said
seven words about the books and ten thousand about the way your heart
was throbbing. I see Aunt Keswick's hand in that, as plain as can be. I
don't say I'd put her in that chair if I could do it, but I certainly
am sorry she disappointed you so. Would you like to have any of those
books? If you would, I'll get them for you."

"I am much obliged, Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "but I don't think I care
for any books. And let me say that I am very sorry for the way I spoke
to you, just now."

"Oh, don't mention that," said she. "If I'd been in your place, I should
have been mad enough to say anything. But it's no use to sit here and be
grumpy. You'd better let me go and get you a book. The "Critical
Magazine" for 1767 and 1768, is on that list, and I know there are lots
of queer, interesting things in it, but it takes a good while to hunt
them out from the other things for which you would not care at all. And
then there are all the "Spectators," and "Ramblers," and "The World
Displayed" in eight volumes, which, from what I saw when I looked
through it, seems to be a different kind of world from the one I live
in; and there are others that you will see on your list. But there is
one book which I have been reading lately which I think you will find
odder and funnier than any of the rest. It is the "Geographical Grammar"
by Mr Salmon. Suppose I bring you that. It is a description of the whole
world, written more than a hundred years ago, by an Irish gentleman who,
I think, never went anywhere."