Chapter VII: Book III: The Lover (7)

"Den mah time cum," she resumed, her voice lowered, and long pauses between the sentences. "De trader-man read out a whole lot ob things she done writ bout me, sayin' I wuz er fust class cook an' could sew and a whole lot ob things I could do--I done seen em sell slabes befo' dis, but I nebber 'spected ter be one ob dem dat wuz sole--nebber! Nebber! I wouldn' look up when dey read all 'bout me 'til I heerd somebody say five hundred dollars fer me. Seem lak ter me I knowed de voice--hit wuz Jedge Houston. Den anudder one bid seben hundred dollars an' anudder one say er thousan'.... Sumthin' tell me ter look up when dey call out er thousan', an' I see Marse Everett a-standin' under er tree 'cross de street, an' I look at him so ha'd dat he finerlly see me and start ter runnin' whar I wuz. 'Dicey, what do dis mean?' says he ter me. 'Yer cyant be sole. Yer belongs ter Miss Natalia.' 'I knows I does,' says I, and begin ter cry out loud. I couldn' he'p it when he done look at me so kin' and gentle-lak.... Den I heerd him tell de trader-man dar wuz some mistake, but de man said Missus Brandon owned me and wuz sellin' me. I cried all de mo' when I seen him turn away hopeless lak, 'cause I think he wuz goin' away an' leabe me ter dem people. Den de trader-man begin callin' out louder and louder--'One thousan' dollars--one thousan' dollars' tell I feel like hollerin' myself, fer I wuz nigh crazy, an' den when he wuz 'bout ter turn me ober ter er stranger man Marse Everett come up an' says sumthin' ter him and he yell out 'Twelve hundred.' Den de udder man say 'Thirteen hundred!' Den Marse Everett fourteen hundred, den fourteen hundred fifty an' den dar wuz er long silence.... Den I heerd Marse Everett say in er easy low voice--'Fifteen hundred' jes' easy and quiet, lak he kin, and den, Bless de Lawd! I seen de udder man go away.... De trader-man and Marse Everett talk er long time after dat and den Marse Everett cum ter me and say, 'Cum with me, Dicey, everything's all right now. Hit's done took de las' cent I had ter buy yer, Dicey, but she lubbed yer, and I'm goin' ter keep yer fer her tell she cum back.' Den I jes' went down on mah knees and kiss his hands and say, 'Yer won't hab no regrets, Marse Sargent, I'll serbe yer tell I die, and she'll make it up ter yer--one ob dese days.'"

The hall was filling with shadows. The sunshine through the fan light had died away, yet the two did not move.

"And then, Mammy," Natalia whispered.

"Den he tuk me ter Jedge Houston's house and lef me dar wid dem an' I done stay dar two years tell he begin ter look up in de worl'. Yer know him and de Jedge done win er suit for er heap ob property an' dat's whar he fust got his money. After dat he built dis house and he been libin' heah eber sence. I keeps de house fer him and does de cookin'--an' all de time we's both been bidin' our time an' waitin' fer yer ter cum back."

"Waiting for me!" Natalia exclaimed, drawing away quickly.

Dicey bowed her head in answer.

"He done tole me once dat when yer tole him good-bye dat night, yer tole him he mus'n' lub no oder woman tell yer cum back--all grown up. So yer sees, he's been keepin' his wo'd all de time, an' once, he showed me de picture you sent him. De same lil picture de artis'-man tuk so long ter paint ob yer, fo' yer pa died. An' when I seen hit, I jes' cry and cry and cry, cause hit set me a thinkin' 'bout ole times when yer ma and me wuz lil gals togedder--cause de picture's jes' lak her."

"But, Mammy, he doesn't still think I meant what I said then, does he? I was only a child when I said that. Surely he has forgotten by this time."

"Fergit! Lawd bless yer, honey, he don' fergit nuthin' 'bout yer. He used ter talk ebery day 'bout yer tell lately--"

Natalia waited silently for the old woman to continue, her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap.

"Tell lately when we heerd yer wuz a-comm' home ter git married. Sence den he hain't sed nothin' much. I tole him hit wuzn't so, dat yer sho' wouldn' marry nobody but him."

Natalia winced under the last words; then broke abruptly into a laugh.

"But I am going to be married, Mammy. I'm going to be married next week, and then I'm going away again for good, and you are going with me. I'm going to buy you back from Mr. Everett, and take you with me."

Dicey looked at her hard, moving her head from side to side.

"No, honey-chile." she said slowly. "I cyant leabe him now--even fer yer."

"Yes, you can, Mammy, dear," and Natalia leaned her head on the old woman's bosom. "That is one of the principal things I came back for--to get you. I want to be a little girl again and get you to tell me stories about mamma, and go to sleep at night holding your hand--just like I used to do, Mammy. Oh, if we could only stay _little_ always," she sighed wistfully. "If the world would only stop moving and let us stay just the same all the time--we could be so--_so_ happy. But here I am--a woman now, and you, Mammy, you are an old woman, with your white hair and your wrinkles--but I love you, all the same--more than any one in the world except--"

"'Cept who?"

"Except my sweetheart."

Dicey's eyes flashed.

"Dat curly-headed, pretty man in de green coat, dat was settin' in frunt ob yer in de ca'iage?"

"Yes, that was he. But 'pretty' is not the word that describes him, Mammy. 'Handsome' suits him better."

For a second Dicey deigned no answer.

"Wait tell yer sees Marse Sargent--den yer'll see whut er han'some gemman is, sho' 'nough."

"You are entirely too faithful to him, Mammy Dicey," Natalia laughed. "He has stolen your love from me."

"An' wait tell yer hears him speak in public. De people goes wild ober him. Las' week dey fired off cannons when he cum home frum Jackson, and dat night dey built bon-fires all ober de town ter do him honour, an' when he begin ter speak in de Co't-house squar' and eberybody went ter heah him, yer could er heerd er pin drap, eberything wuz so quiet. An' when de words cum dey soun' so beautiful an' sweet dey set me ter stedyin' 'bout mos' ebery thing in jineral."

"I heard him speak once, don't you remember?" Natalia's eyes narrowed as if she were again reviewing that time. "It was wonderful, too. I can remember it now just as if it were yesterday."

"Dat wuzn't nothin'. He done been all ober de State now and he's cellibrated ebery whar he goes. Honey-chile, yer jes' wait tell yer heah him agin."

"It's no use, Mammy." Natalia sighed leniently. "You see I'm interested in only one man now, and as I'm going to be married next week, I don't believe it's proper for me to listen to the praises of another as you are singing them."

Rising, with her arm still about Dicey, she walked slowly to the door.

"You see how dark it is getting. You have almost made me forget that Morgan will be waiting for me and wondering where I am. Tell him, though, Mammy--your Marse Sargent--that he must come out to see me to-morrow, and be sure to make him promise to let me have you. I am not going away without you."

"He's away on er speakin' trip now. He won't be back fer er week."

"So he will not be here for my wedding!" Natalia frowned with evident disappointment. "Then I must write him about you at once."

Dicey stared at Natalia a moment, and then drawing her face down until it rested on her bosom, she kissed her as she used to do, on the top of her head, in the wide part.

"Listen, honey-chile," she whispered, halting at the door, with the old strange look of visions in her eyes. "Does yer 'member de night yer axed Mammy to fin' picters in de fire fer yer?"

"Of course I remember, Mammy," Natalia answered from the steps. "You always were finding them for me. Do you do it still?"

"I'se speakin' 'bout one time in perticula'," Dicey answered gravely.

Natalia halted, drawing her brows together thoughtfully.

"No, I don't remember particularly, Mammy," she cried gaily, blowing a kiss back to the old woman. "Come out to-morrow and tell me about it. Good-bye!"

Dicey turned back into the hall and locked the door after her. It was almost dark now, and as she stood alone among the grey shadows of the twilight the old look of visions burned wildly in her eyes.

Suddenly she went to the back door and out into the yard. Stopping at last before the wood house, she called to a negro man inside.

"Jonas! Jonas! Does yer know whar Marser is?"

"He mighty nigh two days' good ridin' way from heah. Whut yer wants ter know fer?"

"Nebber yer min', nigger. Yer go ter Jedge Houston's ter-night an' fin' out fer certin whar Marse Sargent am ter be found. We'se goin' ter be needin' him in er mighty few days."

*CHAPTER IV*

*SLAVES FOR STAKES*

The Mansion House was still the gathering place of all the prominent citizens, as it had been when Sargent Everett had landed there; only now the little tavern had grown into a famous hostelry. Its facade had been dignified with the addition of a third story; its front pavement had been widened into a spacious terrace, where tables and chairs were placed invitingly beneath the trees; and along its front was an extensive row of large rocking chairs, gay and hospitable with bright red paint, and always occupied at the hours the coaches were expected. But the real glory of the tavern was its bar and so-called club room, decorated with trophies brought there by its wealthy patrons--Indian relics, muskets from some pioneer campaign, skins and furs belonging to celebrated hunters, and most prominent of all, a huge pair of antlers, silver tipped and engraved with the name of Captain Mentdrop, which he had won in a boat race from St. Louis to New Orleans.

Almost any hour of the day and late into the night, wealthy planters of the surrounding country and prominent men of the town were to be found there, discussing politics, consummating large land deals, gambling, with bales of cotton, slaves, and some times whole plantations as stakes. "We call it 'flush' times," Jervais said, as he drove into the town with Morgan and Joel Talbot. "With State banks issuing bills by the sheet, and no showing of credit asked except for a fellow to prove that he needs money, there is no better name for it. Why, man, there don't seem to be anybody about here that isn't flush; property has gone beyond reach, and the whole Southwest is wide open. Only last month I was talking to a fellow that used to be my overseer. He had just been to New York, and with a letter avouching his citizenship, and a clean shirt, he had gotten all the money he wanted. No wonder everybody's flocking this way."

"It can't last. It's fictitious. Wait until the Specie Circular begins to take effect," Morgan replied.

"Ah, there you have it. But while all this fun is going on, I say a fellow's a fool not to enjoy it and make all he can out of it. I, for one," and Jervais blew a cloud of cigar smoke luxuriously about him, "I, for one, am not asleep. It's the time in a century for a lawyer!"

"So it seems. See how my old friend is rising on the wave," Talbot commented.

"Your old friend?"

"Yes--Sargent Everett. You know he came down here through me."

Jervais leaned back in his seat with assumed indifference. "Why d'ye know, that surprises me," he said, viewing Talbot with the lazy hauteur of his younger days. "What can you possibly find to interest you in a fellow like Everett?"

Morgan did not answer at once. Sitting beside Jervais, he had been observing him closely during the drive. He had already felt a growing dislike for the man, seeing beneath the suave manners a certain cold insolence; but thinking that this was perhaps a reflection of Natalia's attitude towards him, Morgan had attempted to overcome it. Now, with the sneering words about his old friend, he felt this dislike deepening.

"He is going to Congress, I hear," Joel put in during the moment of silence.

"That's not certain, by a long shot. Wait until you see the ballot, and then, from what I know, Sargent Everett will realize that he never did stand a show. But here's the tavern." Jervais spoke with evident relief. "Now, I'll have a chance to introduce you to some of my friends. This fellow coming toward us," he continued, as they stepped from the carriage, "is a good example of what the flush times are doing. A few years ago he was a poor, down-in-the-mouth land agent; now kindly observe him--he has ambitions towards the Governor's mansion if you please! Come over, Mr. Suggs, and shake hands with Mr. Talbot and his brother--from Boston."

Mr. Suggs advanced with his usual appreciation of an important occasion. A chimney pot hat and a tight frock coat, closely buttoned across his narrow chest, accentuated his gaunt figure, and increased the air of prosperity which his recent admission to the bar demanded.

"Mighty glad to meet you, gentlemen. From Boston--did I understand?"

"Of course, Suggs, the original members of the Tea Party," Jervais put in with a wink towards Morgan. "Mr. Suggs wants to give you the impression that he never heard of you before, Talbot. And I'll bet you the juleps he knows more about you now than you do about yourself. But come, let's sit down. What's your last case, Suggs?"

In a moment Jervais had drawn a crowd about them, every one coming up to extend a cordial welcome to the Northerners. There was Colonel Andrews, a gentleman of flowing beard and manners, who told of his exploits in the Battle of New Orleans, with all the enthusiasm of the original moment; there was another just back from the Florida campaign; another on his way to New Orleans to purchase half a hundred slaves for his plantations--and many men of the town, young and old, each evidently glad of an opportunity to meet and converse with men from the far distant North.

Jervais was at his best as host of the occasion, doing the honours with the elegance of manner which had made him so successful with a certain class. Reports of Talbot's wealth and position had preceded him, and nothing was more to Jervais' pleasure than to introduce such a personage to the town.

"It's certainly a great pleasure to meet you gentlemen," Mr. Suggs was saying to Joel, having placed his chair confidentially near him. "I was only wishing to-day that I could have had some one from a distance to hear me argue a case. Now, you would have appreciated it, I know. A long toddy," to the waiter. "I was defending a boy who had stolen his neighbour's calf. It was a mighty ticklish case, too, I'd let you know--because all the neighbourhood was against the poor devil." Suggs stopped a moment impressively.

"Of course you cleared him," some one called out, who had been listening.

"But tell me how," Joel laughed. "It seems an impossible feat."

"Well, sir, you would think so," Mr. Suggs continued seriously, "though when I looked into the matter, I found the poor fellow was starving, and you know yourself, Mr. Talbot, a man that's starving ain't responsible for his acts--ain't I right?"

"And if he's dying of thirst, Suggs--what then?" some one broke in.

"Of course the jury saw it that way. I made it so plain to them they _had_ to. Now, I've a theory--"

"Joel, I want you to meet Mr. Morancy. He's our national hero in this part of the world. D'you ever hear of him in Boston--the fellow who won fifty thousand dollars in one poker game!"

Joel found himself shaking hands with a florid faced man with iron grey hair. Beneath the shade of a broad brimmed felt hat, the calm features gave no clue to such an extravagant reputation.

"But it occurred on a Mississippi River steamboat, Mr. Talbot." Mr. Morancy laughed, as he shook hands.

"He wants to give you the impression that it was an accident," Colonel Andrews put in, "but it was as premeditated as the fellow who had waited for a Royal Flush."

"Tell us, Colonel! Sh'h! The Colonel's on for a story!" came from the crowd.

The old fellow threw back his shoulders and swelled portentously.

"Gentlemen," he said, in his rolling, grandiloquent style, "I never tell that story except when there is a chance for me to hold what that fellow had waited for."

It was a signal for the crowd to move to the club room just back of the bar. There, three cloth-covered tables were placed in the centre of the room. About one, several men were already hard at it, the sound of the chips, the boisterous laughter and oaths telling that the game was at its height.

Jervais was the first to sit down, his eyes surveying the crowd with the glitter of a devotee of the game. "Sit down, Talbot," he cried to Morgan. "I want you to have a little taste of how we play poker down here. Come on, Colonel Andrews, and you, Morancy, although I don't want you to look forward to fifty thousand on this game. We'll go it easy in consideration for the strangers," he ended, with a glance towards Morgan that brought a rush of blood to his face.

"I beg you gentlemen will not let my presence dampen your game in the least," Morgan said quietly taking his seat next Colonel Andrews. "I shall be delighted to play your game as you play it, and I shall not object even to a table stake, if that is your custom." He looked at Jervais with this last thrust, and smiled broadly.

"We usually start," Colonel Andrews hastened to explain, clearing his throat and glancing about the crowd, "on a modest limit, and sometimes end up on table stakes. But we might begin there to-day, if you gentlemen are agreeable. I think it will be swift enough for any of you if we make it all jacks with a dollar ante. Shall we each buy a thousand for Stakes? ... Very well, then."

The Colonel, acting as banker, dealt out to each player a thousand dollars' worth of chips, and each gave him his I.O.U. for the amount. "Let's see who deals." he continued, dealing a card to each player. "Ah! a king: I deal. Well," the deck of cards falling together between his long fingers, "well, gentlemen, everybody come in and look pleasant!" Another moment and each chipped in his ante, and the cards began flying around.

"Now I can continue my story," Colonel Andrews went on, draining a tall tumbler of champagne, and looking at Morgan with a glance of approbation. He was keen enough to have caught the stranger's refutation of Jervais' remark, and liked his bold stroke.

"Yes--I'm anxious to hear it. You said it was a Royal Flush?"

"That is what it is about. Ever hold one?"

"No, I've never been so lucky as that," Morgan answered, picking up his cards. "It's worth living for, though, I expect."

"Well--I reckon. Yes, sir, he believed it would come to him some day, and..." The Colonel became silent suddenly, as he looked at his cards. All hands passed, and the deal went to Jervais.

"Yes, as I was saying, he knew it would come to him one of these days. He got it at last, too, and as luck would have it, the game was the biggest he had ever got mixed up in." The Colonel paused again when the cards had been dealt, and when Morancy opened with but Jervais staying, he continued: "And, bless your soul, when he actually did see that Royal family staring up at him, he had to tie his handkerchief around his neck to keep from yelling."

Jervais opened the next pot for twenty-five dollars, saying to the Colonel, "Go on, I'm listening. You said the fellow got at last what he was looking for."

But the Colonel was too much occupied then to notice. In the pause Morgan glanced about the room. The third table had been taken now, and the room was gradually filling with a crowd of onlookers. In those days it was not a crime to stand behind a man and watch his game, for such was the common feeling of good-fellowship, that each man trusted the one behind him and accepted him as a gentleman of honour. Besides, the Mansion House was only open to gentlemen.

The sound of clinking chips, the dense clouds of smoke, and the endless hubbub of voices in many keys, were steadily making the room stifling. Waiters were rushing around to supply every want at the same time.

With the rapid succession of pots and the unusually brisk plays, the Colonel had evidently forgot to proceed with his story--or at least had deferred concluding until the present absorbing interest of the game had subsided. Jervais was losing steadily; his hands were just large enough to keep him in nearly every play--and almost invariably small enough to lose the pots. In the meantime he had bought another thousand chips, and that now was nearly gone. Morgan's luck was unprecedented; it seemed he could draw to anything and win.

The last pot--opened by Jervais--had gone to Morgan, and the deal was now his. Jervais had ordered a bowl of punch for the crowd, and was just testing the first glass. Measuring the pile of chips before Morgan, he suddenly asked the Colonel for four thousand more, with the apparent purpose of matching Morgan's money in anticipation of an opportunity for favourable encounter.

"Here's to bridegroom's luck," he called to Morgan. Talbot smiled and drained his glass.

"As I was saying," the Colonel began again, "he was in a big game and they'd gotten the pot up to ten thousand dollars--yes, sir,--there was ten thousand in the pot and that fellow bet ten thousand, naturally. The crowd wouldn't stand for it though: wanted to give him only a show down; they said the fellow didn't have ten thousand dollars to his name. Did he? Well, to tell the truth--no, he didn't."

The cards had been dealt again, and the table went silent. Morancy opened, the Colonel raised, Jervais doubled, and Morgan stayed. Morancy, too raised, and the Colonel, Jervais, and Morgan called.

After the draw the betting became lively once more,--confined, though, to Jervais and Talbot. Morancy and the Colonel having but relatively small amounts before them, came in for a show down. Finally Morgan "tapped" Jervais, the former laying down four Aces, the latter four Queens. Both had drawn the fourth card.

"There's something in bridegroom's luck, after all," commented Morancy, smiling good-humouredly at Jervais, who had not won a hand, and was begin to show it.

"Pretty good for you," commented the Colonel, as the deal flew again from his fingers. "Take my advice, and don't keep your host in this game much longer," he added in an aside to Morgan. "He's always hard up, the darned fool, and never was known to have sense enough to quit. You see, he's getting pretty far gone, already." Then aloud, "but you couldn't bluff that fellow, even if he didn't have the ten thousand. He wrote out a check on the best bank in the town and threw it on the table. What did the others do? Why, they gave him the laugh. They didn't want checks--they wanted hard cash."

"Five cards," called Jervais irritably.

Morancy's caught the Colonel's eye and his own closed eloquently. "Give me two," he said.

Morgan took two. As the hands went down, Morgan got the pile again.

"Well--I suppose your man was bluffing with his ten thousand?

"When they wouldn't take his check, he called for paper and ink, and wrote to the President of the bank. I've got what I've been looking for all my life. Am I good for ten thousand dollars?"

"For God's sake shut up, Colonel," cried Jervais. "We're playing poker."

The next deal was Morgan's. Candles were being brought in as the room gradually darkened, and with the soft light the surroundings took on a new aspect. lire newcomers were growing numerous with the approaching evening, until a double circle of men was around the tables. A general interest was being displayed in the Northerner's luck, accounts of which had reached to the outside of the tavern.

Morgan stopped before dealing and looked at his watch. Then he looked at Jervais. "They expect us back at seven o'clock," he said. "Shall we stop now?"

"No," Jervais cried, his voice shaking slightly, his face flushing from the effects of too much liquor. "Your luck's too good for me to quit."

Morgan looked up quickly, then glanced at the others. "Well, one more hand around then--but the last," he said deliberately. "We are expected at home at seven," he continued in explanation to the others. "Possibly Mr. Jervais does not understand my impatience."

"Nor your luck." suggested the Colonel.

"Go on--go on," Jervais muttered. "If you're in a hurry, let's get through. I'll show you something this time."

"Better walk around your chair," Morancy laughed.

Jervais wheeled towards him. "Is it your money I'm losing?"

Jervais now replaced his depleted pile by a further purchase of chips, and announced that, as it was the last hand around, he would not limit his stake to the money in front of him, but would, so far as he was concerned, allow or make any bet.

The cards were dealt in silence.

"Three for me," cried Jervais, his hand falling heavily upon the table.

The Colonel looked around the table, his face elaborately expressionless.

"I stand pat," said Morgan. After the others had drawn he bet fifty dollars.

"I raise you two hundred," added Jervais, who had filled.

"That let's me out," came from Morancy, with the resignation of an old fighter. He was followed by the three other men.

"One thousand more," said Morgan, facing Jervais squarely.

"Gentlemen, you will have to excuse me," and the Colonel laid down his hand.

"Fifteen hundred more."

"Two thousand better," from Morgan.

"Twenty-five hundred better than you."

Morgan studied his hand intently for a few seconds. "Well, we'll make it three thousand more. Colonel, I'm very anxious to hear the end of that story."

Jervais' face was livid now.

"Four thousand--d'you hear? I say four! You can't bluff _me_!"

Morgan met his look with a sudden realization that the affair had gone too far, although a glance around the room told him that he could not afford to end the game; that must be done by Jervais.

"I make it five thousand." Morgan's voice trembled a little.

"By God, I'll call you!" Jervais answered. "And pay you in slaves if I lose."

Morgan was on his feet in a moment. "I'm not gambling for slaves," he cried angrily, throwing four deuces on the table. "You know, Mr. Jervais, how I feel on that subject."

Jervais had risen also, steadying himself against the back of his chair.

"Easy, gentlemen, easy," cried the Colonel, leaning across the table between the two men. "Call the game off for this evening. You're both a little excited now."

"Jervais can call the game off or not as he chooses," Morgan said sharply, turning away. "But he can't pay me in slaves."

Jervais steadied himself with an effort. "Well, I won't then, since you're so particular. You and I can settle this affair ourselves. Let's go home now--only--you've got to come back here again and show these gentlemen how long that luck of yours can keep up." As he turned sullenly toward the door Morancy and several others quietly surrounded him, without saying a word.

"Oh, I'll come back," Morgan smiled easily at the prospect of getting away with so little trouble. "I'm here for two weeks, gentlemen," and bowing to the crowd, he left the club-room, followed by Joel.

"It's a great failing of his," the Colonel explained, as he walked with Morgan to the carriage. "Getting worse and worse all the time. Sorry it happened this evening, but you forget all about it--Lem won't remember a thing by morning."

They were nearly at the carriage now, where Jervais had been safely landed on the back seat.

"Oh, I almost forgot to finish that story," said the Colonel, his hand holding Morgan's in a tight clasp. "The fellow had talked so much about that hand he was living for that the banker knew what he meant. So he said it was all right, and on the strength of that the crowd accepted the fellow's ten-thousand-dollar bet, and every one dropped out. But if it had come to a show-down, by jingo, there wasn't a damn thing in his hand but a pair of deuces. Good night, my boy,--see you to-morrow." And he went off laughing.

*CHAPTER V*

*CANDLELIGHT*

After supper that evening, when they were leaving the dining-room, Natalia slipped her arm through Judge Houston's, and drew him towards the big salon across the hall.

"Let's you and I run away from the others for a while," she whispered as they entered the room. "I haven't had any talk at all with you, and if we slip in here and sit over on that old davenport in the corner, they'll never find us, and we can talk, and talk, and talk--like we used to. There is so much that I want you to tell me; so much that I want to tell you."

She led him across the highly polished floor, the old gentleman playfully assuming that he might slip.

"Suppose I should fall, Natalia," he complained; "I never did like these slippery floors. I won't let Maria have them at home."

"Lean on me, Uncle Felix," she answered, smiling. "I know it will be difficult for you to do, though--you never leaned on any one in your life, did you? Put your arm through mine and take a step--so. Any one would think we were dancing a minuet or a Virginia reel! But you will dance the quadrille with me at my own wedding, won't you, Uncle Felix? Now!" she ended, landing him safely on the deep sofa.

"The time is coming, Natalia, when I must lean on some one all the time," the old gentleman sighed. "It isn't very far off, either. Do you know, I find myself deferring to Maria for the smallest things, and when not Maria--it is Sargent."

"Sargent Everett," Natalia repeated after him, piling some cushions on the horse-hair upholstery so that the old gentleman would lean back comfortably. Then she pushed a small stool before the sofa, and sat down upon it, resting her chin in her hand while the other one lay across his knee. "Sargent Everett," she said again thoughtfully. "That is one of the things I want you to tell me, Uncle Felix--all about him."

The late twilight of the warm June day still glowed through the windows. The whispering of the birds as they sought shelter for the night in the magnolia grove floated in to them, lending a potent charm to the quiet surroundings. Judge Houston did not answer at once, and in the long silence that widened between them, he felt for a while that almost any words would jar the contentment of the moment. Occasionally his hand moved across Natalia's hair--a touch so gentle and loving that she wondered if her father would have meant more to her than this dear old man.

"There is so much to tell," he began at last, "and I would gain so much pleasure in the telling that you would fall asleep long before I was half through. Indeed, Natalia, Sargent is making these last days of my life very happy, for in his success I seem to get a pleasure so deep that at times I imagine his triumphs are my own."

Natalia moved restlessly, as if to rise, then sank back on the stool again.

"Why is it that every one I meet seems to worship him?" she murmured, half complaining. "You have always loved him more than me--yes, you have, dear Uncle Felix, and now, when I come back home, I find Dicey is his slave--and willingly, too. He has stolen the love of you both from me. I am growing very, very jealous of him. Do you know, Uncle Felix, Dicey says she will not leave him, but I believe she will, don't you?"

"I did not know you had seen her. Was she here to-day?"

"No. I went to her."

"At Sargent's house--to-day?"

"Yes, that is where I was all the afternoon. He was not there. Dicey said he was out of town on some political tour. Tell me about him, Uncle Felix--it has been years and years since I heard from him or about him. Occasionally I have seen articles in the papers about his speeches. Are they so wonderful? Have you some of them that I could read?"

Judge Houston's eyes glowed with the enthusiasm that was always in them when he spoke of Sargent, nor did Natalia miss the sudden quickening of interest and kindling of energies that so obviously manifested his devotion.

"His speeches are remarkable works of beauty and construction, but they are nothing in comparison with his delivery. It always saddens me when I think of his future reputation--when he goes down in history--as he surely will--for people will not realize half his power in reading his speeches; his magnetism, his charm, his force that holds one spellbound in listening--all that will be lost to the next generation, and it is that, more than anything else, that has made him remarkable. I took out my watch one day to see how long he would take for a certain speech, and I found myself at the end of the speech still holding the watch in my hand, entirely forgotten."

"Then the years have brought him success," Natalia reflected. "I remember his great ambition, and a phrase of his--'I want to show the world that because a man is a cripple he can still be a great man.'"

The Judge bowed his head, enthusiastically "My one great hope is that I shall live to hear his voice sounding in the walls of the Capitol at Washington. It will, too, one of these days."

"Tell me about his success," Natalia said leaning back comfortably against his knees.

"It is a long, long story, Natalia, and would weary you in the telling. It began when you were here. Don't you remember the trial of Phelps? That started him on the upward path, and it also had a much deeper significance than the world ever supposed. When he had convicted Phelps it troubled him so that he went to the jail with the object of releasing the fellow. Fortunately for Sargent Phelps never knew his intention, and killed himself and ever since then Sargent has defended any and every criminal that comes to him. He calls it his life-work--saving men so as to give them another chance. After that case, he was sent to the Legislature and now we are going to send him to Congress--the election takes place this week. After that he says he is coming back here and settle down in his home and be content to practise criminal law, which he has made his special work. Some day, when you meet him, get him to tell you about his theory in regard to it; it is beautiful."

"When I meet him," Natalia reflected softly. "It seems that I shall not see him again, Uncle Felix; and yet, do you know, this place is not the same to me as it used to be, and I believe that it is because he is not here. In some way he seems to be very closely woven into all the impressions of my childhood--he and Dicey." Suddenly she turned and looked up into the old man's face. "Uncle Felix, Dicey told me that he always talked of the time when I should come back to him. Is it really so? Did he think that?"

Judge Houston leaned back, so that the protecting shadows would betray no expression on his face. It was too late now for her to know. He would tell her nothing that would in any way tinge her happiness with a shade of sadness or regret. When he answered her, his voice was steady, almost gay, in an attempt at carelessness.

"That was a dream of mine, Natalia. You and he were dearer to me than any others in the world. It was only natural that I should have hoped that you two might have loved each other. But you see," he sighed in mock despair, "I am carrying out the words of the prophet--'your old men shall dream dreams'--and I am a very old man, Natalia. I shall be seventy-six my next birthday."

"Seventy-six years," Natalia repeated, absently, wondering over the reason for his not replying to her question. Could it be that what Dicey said was true? She hurriedly drove the doubt from her thoughts, for a strange fear had suddenly crept into her consciousness--the fear that her great happiness might come to her through the suffering of another. With the intuitive perception she rose from her stool with a start. The room had become totally dark; only the light from the hall threw a faint shaft into the room.

She groped her way to the tall black marble mantel, over which hung the portrait of her mother, and lit the two seven-branched candlesticks. Going back to the stool, she sat down as before, resting her face in her hands and gazing at the portrait.

In the soft glow of candlelight the room looked enormous. The vista made by the two mirrors at each end and directly opposite to each other created a perspective that was without limit in its repeated reflection. The portrait gained a semblance of life from the deep shadows and high lights, and looked down from its gorgeous gilt frame on the crimson damask upholstery and rosewood carvings, with the affection that years of association had created. The gleaming mahogany floor gathered into its embrace the reflection, and in the subdued light and the strange fragrance of passed years breathing life into the speechless objects, Natalia felt that she was growing nearer to what it all represented to her than she had ever been before.

"Seventy-six years," she said again thoughtfully. "How beautiful to grow old as you have done, Uncle Felix. Nay, is it growing old? It seems to me that with you and Aunt Maria it has been a gradual growing nearer to a beautiful future life--a gentle approach towards God. I wonder if I shall grow old that way, or die in the heyday of my youth and happiness--as my mother did. To think that I never knew her," she sighed, when she had looked a long time at the portrait. "And now when I seem to think of her most, when I feel that I need her--she is gone. Can there be a greater loss to a girl than not to know a mother? And I shall never know what it is! Sometimes it makes me very sad when I realize there is no one from whom I can claim anything--no one to whom I can go and demand things because of the ties of blood. Even you and Aunt Maria are really no kin--are not tied except by love."

The old man leaned forward and turned her face towards him.

"Could any ties be stronger than those of love?" he smiled into her eyes.

"I know, dear Uncle Felix," she pressed his hands as she answered, "but the tie of blood is a very wonderful thing. It makes me feel so dreadfully lonely at times, to know that you, that Morgan, that every one is doing for me not because they ought to, but because they love me--perhaps pity me. Probably I express myself badly, and yet--you must know what I mean. It is lack of that _right_ to lean on some one for help and protection, and feel that you are only demanding of him what it is his duty to give. That is what I expect my marriage to bring me."

Judge Houston leaned nearer to her, intently watching the changing expressions that played across her face, and which seemed to gather brilliancy from the portrait towards which she looked. His eye wandered from the painted face to the living reproduction, then back again--and between them there rose before him his old bridge of dreams--dreams which the last month had shattered. Again he felt an almost overwhelming desire to tell her of that dream which was but the reflection of the dream of another; if it were only possible to let her know of the plans and talks and hopes that he and the other one had made their guiding star for years! But he could not--his duty to her kept him silent, and in her love he realized the hopelessness of his own desires.

Then in the more than three-score years of calm restraint and self-denial, his deep affection for the man who had become his son rushed over him and made him speak.

"Natalia," he hurried over the words, "there is something I want to know--from your own lips."

"You can ask me anything, Uncle Felix." She turned her face towards him with the frankness of a child. "I have no secrets that I would not tell you."

His hand rested on her shoulder while he searched her eyes.

"How great is your love for Morgan Talbot?"

Natalia met his eyes seriously for a few moments; and then she laughed softly.

"What a question, Uncle Felix, and particularly when it comes from you! How great is my love for the man I am going to marry? Do you know me so little that you deem such a question necessary?"

"No. But I know you so well that I know that you will tell me the truth--that is, if you answer me seriously."

Gradually the smile faded into a pensive expression, and Natalia turned slowly back to where the gleaming portrait held her attention again.

"How great is my love," she murmured as if in self-questioning. "How great is my love? Why, Uncle Felix, how do I know how great it is? What is there for me to compare it to?"

The old man leaned towards her, and though her face was turned from him when he spoke, she felt that there was something left unsaid behind his words.

"Is this the first time you have loved? Is there nothing that went before, by which you can judge?"

"No, nothing." Natalia turned and searched his eyes for the hidden meaning. "I have never been in love before, unless--" her face flushed slightly as she found his meaning, "unless it were my old admiration for Sargent Everett. But then I was too young to know."

Judge Houston leaned back once more into the protecting shadows of the wall, it had come at last he sighed to himself, and she had been the first to mention it.

"And is this love that you now feel, like the first?"

"No." She shook her head, her face saddening sweetly. "No. I adored Sargent Everett. It was worship. A girl only has that experience once in life; fortunately it came to me early and I outgrew it. But I remember it painfully well. It is the sort of feeling that one must have who bows down and worships a god, and sees that god returning his affection--can there be any sensation more wonderful! And all the incidents of our association naturally added a picturesqueness that impressed my childish imagination, coloured it, and made his image sink very deep upon mv mind. This morning when I went out to the old bench under the magnolias where he and I used to sit, I actually felt a return of my old love for him. I actually forgot Morgan for the moment!" She ended with a happy laugh.

"Tell me then," Judge Houston asked after a pause. "How does this other love differ from the first?"

She clasped her hands in her lap and leaned back against the sofa, her eyes half closed in meditation. Finally, with a graceful movement, she put out her hand and drew the old man's into hers.

"My love for Morgan," she began slowly. "How can I ever describe it! It did not come to me suddenly--it was more the outgrowth of association--a drifting into it without realization. Is it not always that way?" She lifted her face towards the old man intently, and found him looking down at her with a sad expression that she did not understand.

"You say you found it that way?"

"Yes, Uncle Felix," Natalia answered gayly. "Now please don't upbraid me for not falling in love at first sight. You know such things don't happen nowadays. I first met Morgan at the boarding school where Mamma Brandon sent me. Millicent was there with me at the time, and through our friendship I began to hear stories of her beautiful brother whom she described as the acme of all that was handsome and brave and wonderful. You must remember we were only twelve then. It is rather a strange thing, now, as things have eventuated, that I used to answer all her descriptions of Morgan with effusions about Sargent Everett. Then I met him. You can see the impression he would be likely to make upon a lonely little school-girl away from the few people who had ever loved her. Naturally the absent scene faded as the years passed, and I found myself living only in the world about me--a world filled with all the interests of the school and my broadening education, and made a place of enchantment to me by the kindness and affection of Morgan's family. They made me one of them. And when the day of real freedom came, when I left school to enter the world, with the enormous accretions from my plantations which you and Mamma Brandon had so skilfully managed for me--everything was perfect. Ah, it was beautiful! That first year of my real life. I can remember exactly my sensations the night I made my debut. We went to the opera first to hear Jenny Lind sing, and afterwards there was a big ball. I carried a beautiful bouquet of lilies of the valley--oh, Uncle Felix, it was gorgeous! That was two years ago. Since then, you know how I have travelled, how I spent a year in Europe, losing myself in the shadows of all that historic past, all that overpowering procession of events that has left its monuments for us to wonder over.... Those were carefree days, happy and thoughtless, with no suspicion of a to-morrow, and in them, with me--for long periods of travel--was Morgan--always faithful, always attentive, always an ideal lover. I never thought of marrying him then--at least never seriously, until I came back from Europe, and found that the same things that filled my life before amused me no longer. I was tired of playing, Uncle Felix, I had played too much. Something within called me to the great problems of life--I felt that I wanted to be in touch with people whose lives were amounting to something, who were doing good in the world and helping others. I seemed to realize then, for the first time, that I was drifting along in a happiness that would bring me nothing in the future, and I saw myself in my old age, when my youth and freshness and beauty were all gone, as a little child, without any one dependent upon me for their happiness. I think it was that, Uncle Felix," and she drew his hand gently to her cheek, "that opened my eyes to Morgan's love. He was there, waiting to give me a protection and haven from that awful lonely future. And I thought of you and Aunt Maria growing old together so beautifully, and I know now, Uncle Felix, that Morgan and I shall do the same.... When I have a child, Uncle Felix, think how everything that has gone before will be as nothing! When I have one that is mine, a part of me--that is what will make my life divine!" Suddenly she put her hands up to his face and kissed him. "Forgive me! Forgive me! I did not mean to wound you. I did not mean to thrust my happiness at you--so."

There were tears in the old man's eyes as she talked on, lost in her own narration, and when she looked up at him again, they were streaming down his cheeks, she rose from the stool and slipped on to the sofa beside him, pulling his arm around her waist, so that her face lay close against his, with the silence deepening between them.

"Uncle Felix," she began again, after having risen and carefully snuffed the candles on the mantel. "I have never told any one what I have told you to-night; indeed, there was no one to tell--not even Morgan. It was my thought of you and this dear old place that made me wish to solemnize my marriage here. It may be the last time I shall ever be here, at least for many, many years; yet now that I have come back, and all the past has rushed over me with all its old charm and fascination--I feel that I should like to remain here always. There is something so protected and safe here--an aloofness from the world that would save one from almost every suffering. But of course it is impossible." She stirred restlessly. "Already Morgan is growing impatient, and wants to get back to the rush and stir of a city." She rose and with both hands pulled the old gentleman up after her. "Let's go back to the others now. But first--I may never have the chance to speak to you of it again--tell Sargent Everett of my deep affection for him still--tell him that I shall always be grateful for his having made me a very happy little girl, and that the only thing that marred my happiness on my wedding day was his absence. Now, let's go back to Morgan."

*CHAPTER VI*

*HIS WEDDING PRESENT*

The wedding day came--a beautiful day, filled with the glory of June sunshine, warm, sweet, brilliant--bringing in its perfection omens of great happiness.

The old home gained in beauty as the grove about it grew heavily laden with the honeyed fragrance of the magnolia blossoms, and the deep green leaves became even more varnished and glistening. The cool shadows and the topaz patches of sunlight mingled upon the tall columns; the red-tiled roof glowed as if with an understanding of its responsibility that day.

Natalia rose in the early morning and passing through the hall, where already there were signs of much stirring and preparation, went out into the garden. It was still very early. The first smoke from the quarters was curling lazily upward, and from the barn came the tinkling sound of bells as the cows were led into the pens for milking; and all through the atmosphere, insistent and penetrating, was that indefinable, vibrating sound of nature awakening in the early morning.

The garden greeted her with a burst of bloom, veiled timidly in its protection of dew. She lifted her face to the soft air, and breathed the delicious fragrance of the honeysuckle. Everything was perfect to her at this moment. She looked through the eyes of one to whom the world has become a consummation of ideals.

She lingered beside the pomegranate bush, smiling as she vainly sought for the jay-bird's nest that she had found there when a child; then she strolled on into the depths of the grove. How fortunate she was, she reflected, as her eyes lingered on all her surroundings, to have this quiet, beautiful spot in which to solemnize the marriage that was to bring her completeness. How perfect that her honeymoon should be spent in the surroundings that her mother and father had known at such a time. In each detail she imagined she could discover some preference of theirs; in the quiet and aloofness of the early morning she felt intuitively that they were with her.