UNDER THE MAN-FIG 
 
 M. E. M. DAVIS 
 
 AUTHOR OF "IN WAR TIMES AT LA ROSE BLANCHE," "MINDING 
 THE GAP," ETC., ETC. 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 1895 
 
Copyright, 1895, 
 BY M. E. M. DAVIS. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A, 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Co. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PROLOGUE: THE TOWN AND THE RIVER 1 
 
 I. THE COURT IN SESSION ? 
 
 II. THE JOLIBOIS DANCING-ACADEMY . 38 
 
 III. THE HERRING RIFLES .... 
 
 IV. YOUNG VAN 71 
 
 V. STORMED AT BY SHOT AND SHELL 
 
 VI. A CONFESSION 103 
 VII. GOOD LUCK PLANTATION 
 
 VIII. Two CAMPAIGNS 14?T 
 
 IX. THE PALM-TREE GIRL .... 
 
 X. ELINOR THORNHAM 18>7 
 
 XI. DEATH IN LIFE 21 
 
 XII. ROSE 216 
 
 XIII. AN ARRIVAL 236 
 
 XIV. THE DRUM-MAJOR'S LEG . .251 
 XV. RELEASE 25 ^ 
 
 XVI. MARK KENNISON 
 XVII. A SUMMER AFTERNOON 
 
 M30798 
 
UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 THE TOWN AND THE RIVER. 
 
 THE name of the River is Los Brazos de 
 Dios, which is to say, The Arms of God. 
 
 The bed of it is very deep ; and the color 
 of the water when it creeps sluggishly 
 along between its banks, so shallow in places 
 that the blue heron may wade it without 
 wetting his knees is the color of tarnished 
 brass. But when it comes roaring down from 
 the far-away Kedlands, a solid foam-crested 
 wall, leaping upward a foot a minute, and 
 spreading death and destruction into the out- 
 lying lowlands, then it is as red as spilled 
 blood. 
 
 On its banks, more than a century and a 
 half ago, a handful of barefoot Franciscan 
 friars, who had prayed and fought their way 
 across the country from Mexico, founded 
 the Presidio of St. Jago, and corralled within 
 
2 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 the boundary walls a flock of Yndios redu- 
 cidos. 
 
 There were the stately church, cloistered 
 and towered and rose-windowed, a curious 
 flower of architecture abloom in the savage 
 wilderness, and the block-house with its 
 narrow loopholes, and the hut into which 
 the Indian women were thrust at night un- 
 der lock and key. 
 
 The mighty forest and open prairies around 
 teemed with Yndios bravos, who hated the 
 burly, cassocked, fighting monks, and their 
 own Christianized tribesmen. 
 
 These came, in number like the leaves of 
 the live-oak, to hurl themselves against the 
 Presidio. And, after many days of hard 
 fighting, the single friar who remained alive 
 turned his eyes away from the demolished 
 church, and, under cover of smoke from the 
 burning block-house, led the remnant of 
 Yndios reducidos (who because they had 
 learned to pray had not forgotten how to 
 fight) out of the inclosure by a little pos- 
 tern-gate, and down the steep bank to the 
 yellow thread of the River below. 
 
 Midway of the stream thridding the 
 ankle-deep water they were, before the red 
 devils above discovered their flight. The 
 
THE TOWN AND THE RIVER. 3 
 
 demoniac yell from a thousand throats pushed 
 them like a battering-ram up the opposite 
 bank, whence, looking back, they saw the 
 bed of the River Tockonhono swarming 
 with their foes. Then the Yndios reduci- 
 dos opened their lips and began to chant the 
 death-song of the Nainis; and the friar, 
 lifting his hand, commended their souls 
 and his own to the God who gives and who 
 takes away. 
 
 But, lo, a miracle. 
 
 Even as the waves of the Red Sea 
 opened by the rod of Moses for the passage 
 of his people closed upon Pharaoh and his 
 host, so, with the hoarse roar of a wild beast 
 springing upon his prey, the foam-crested 
 wall of water fell upon the Yndios bravos, 
 and not a warrior of them all came forth 
 from the river-bed but as a bruised and 
 beaten corpse. 
 
 So the friar, falling on his knees, gave 
 thanks. And the River, which was the 
 Tockonhono, became from that day Los 
 Brazos de Dios, which is to say, The Arms 
 of God. 
 
 Such is the legend of the River. 
 
 The town is on the River. It was built 
 
4 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 there nearly a hundred years after the for- 
 gotten Presidio of St. Jago. 
 
 It was reckoned once a centre of luxury 
 and refinement. But that was during the 
 epoch of the short-lived republic, and before 
 the time of June Badgett. 
 
 It has changed but little, however, since 
 the days when June and his cronies fore- 
 gathered, gossiping, under the Man-Fig. 
 
 The gray weather-beaten old stores front- 
 ing the River drowse in the mellow sunshine 
 like contented old folks who could, if they 
 would, wake up and babble of past glories 
 with the best. 
 
 The shadows of the great live-oaks lie 
 athwart the by-streets, and above them rise 
 the roofs of the same many-galleried aristo- 
 cratic old mansions that shelter later genera- 
 tions of the same aristocratic old families. 
 
 The ferryman it is always a Hopson, 
 the office is hereditary still shuffles down 
 the bank after he has been called a dozen or 
 so times, and pulls the shackly ferry-boat 
 across the river. You can hear the pulley 
 creaking its way along the rope half-way to 
 the railroad station, which is at the edge of 
 a cotton-patch on the other side of the river. 
 The train, as in the year of our Lord eigh- 
 
THE TOWN AND THE RIVER. 5 
 
 teen hundred and fifty-seven (when the story 
 begins), lumbers in and out at uncertain 
 hours. If you are intending to leave, and 
 should be delayed, it will wait for you a 
 reasonable length of time, say three quar- 
 ters of an hour ; though, unless you are ac- 
 quainted with its vagaries, you may be 
 startled into undue haste by the wild shrieks 
 with which the locomotive beguiles its tarry- 
 ing. 
 
 The warehouse has not sloughed a shingle 
 from its roof in all these years, nor lost a 
 brick of its sturdy old walls. 
 
 The boats sailing the River which goes 
 Gulf -ward, now hesitating and reluctant, now 
 thundering down in headlong haste, whip- 
 ping its red waves into spume may be new, 
 but they look, with their black hulls and 
 patched sails, like the boats which sailed the 
 River forty years ago. 
 
 The townsmen still sit about under the 
 store-sheds, standing up, hat in hand, every 
 mother's son of 'em, when a woman, young 
 or old, homely or beautiful, chances to pass, 
 comfortably minding each other's busi- 
 ness, and free, neighbor to neighbor, of 
 pocket as of tongue. 
 
 Girls, slim and supple in their white 
 
6 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 gowns, flit of summer afternoons through 
 the purpling shadows; and the sound of 
 their voices is like the cooing of young pi- 
 geons. 
 
 In short, the old town the lovablest, 
 old-timiest, easy-goingest old town that ever 
 was sits there by the River, hugging its 
 traditions, and hoarding its stories, of which 
 it has enough to make a new Thousand and 
 One Nights. 
 
 Under the Man-Fig is one of these. 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 
 
 " VAN HERRIN' ! Well, I reckon ! I 'd 
 know his hide ef I saw it in a tan-yard ! " 
 
 The speaker a short thick-set man, with 
 a broad face, red bristly beard and small 
 twinkling eyes slapped his hand against 
 his thigh, and looked somewhat defiantly 
 around upon his auditors. 
 
 " Oh, I did n't mean to doubt ye, June," 
 said one of these in an aggressively skep- 
 tical tone, " but ef it was night-time " 
 
 " It was betwix' nine an' ten o'clock at 
 night," interrupted the first speaker, with 
 emphasis. " I 'd been down to Sam Bil- 
 lups's after a load o' watermelons, an' I was 
 a-drivin' kinder slow (my team bein' bio wed), 
 an' jis' as I got to the turn o' the road beyan 
 Roseneath, I saw a man step out on the 
 side-gall'ry, through one of them long win- 
 ders. He stood a minit ag'ins' the light" 
 
 " You could n't o' reco'nized nobody's 
 face on Miss Thornham's side-gall'ry fum 
 
8 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 that turn o' the road, June Badgett," put in 
 his opponent doggedly. 
 
 " Hold your jaw, Rufe Drennon," replied 
 the man Badgett. "Gentlemen," he con- 
 tinued, turning his back on the doubter and 
 addressing the others, " I saw a man come 
 out'n one of them long winders an' stan' a 
 minit on the side-gall'ry. Then he jumped 
 down an' come acrost Miss Elinor's rose- 
 garden ; an' as I drove past, he opened the 
 gate an' come out. The moon was as bright 
 as day. I don't b'lieve he saw me at all. 
 He was lookin' straight ahead of him, an' 
 his eyes bugged out like a fire-beetle's. But 
 I saw him plain enough. He went down 
 the road todes his own house. An' I wish 
 my Maker may strike me stone dead ef that 
 man wa'n't Van Herri n' ! " 
 
 " You 've been a-tellin' o' that tale studdy 
 fer the las' three weeks," said Drennon, after 
 a short pause, during which they all rumina- 
 ted silently on the threadbare but still excit- 
 ing story. " 'N ef you 're so dead shore that 
 Van Heerin' took 'em, why 'nt you " 
 
 " I ain't shore," interrupted Badgett again, 
 thrusting his hands into his pockets and set- 
 tling back against the fence. " All I know 
 is, I saw Van Herri n' with my own eyes, 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 9 
 
 come out'n Miss Thornham's side-gate three 
 weeks ago to-night." 
 
 The men who composed the small group 
 were lounging in the shade of an enormous 
 fig-tree, whose gnarled and knobby branches 
 overhung one corner of an abandoned door- 
 yard. This landmark older, some said, 
 than the town of Thornham itself was 
 known as the Man-Fig. It had long ceased 
 to bear the luscious fruit which the oldest 
 inhabitant June Badgett's father re- 
 membered to have gathered, surreptitiously, 
 when a boy. But it continued to thrive in a 
 scraggy sort of way, leaning over the fence, 
 which served at once as a hitching-place 
 for horses and a support for the backs of 
 the village idlers, and sending its sprawly 
 roots out in every direction. The origin of 
 its name was unknown. A dim legend sur- 
 vived of the murdered Spaniard whose blood 
 had watered its infant roots, and passed into 
 its great reddish-purple fruit. But this half- 
 forgotten story was only recalled by the in- 
 quiry of some curious stranger, the familiar 
 appellation making no impression upon ac- 
 customed ears. During the short winter, 
 which brought a bleak look to the spot, nip- 
 ping the banana leaves and scorching the 
 
10 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 cannse that grew in uncultivated profusion 
 about the deserted house in the inclosure, 
 the open space beneath the Man-Fig was 
 left to stray cows, or to the colts whose 
 whinnying dams were tethered to the rot- 
 ting fence. But all through the semi-tropical 
 spring and the long hot summer, its scant 
 shade sheltered the male contingent of the 
 Thornham gossips. They stood about, lean- 
 ing against the fence, or squatted on the 
 ground, gravely discussing all manner of 
 questions from the President's last mes- 
 sage to the ear-marks of their own hogs. 
 More than one political campaign had been 
 planned under the Man-Fig; and, truth to 
 tell, more than one reputation laid on the 
 rack. 
 
 The stillness which succeeded June Bad- 
 gett's last remark was broken by the shrill 
 whistle of a locomotive. There was a per- 
 functory movement under the Man-Fig. 
 Dud Welsh stood up and looked across the 
 river at the crowd running toward the little 
 station, and at the ferryman descending, on 
 the hither side, the deep cut in the bank, to 
 where the ferry-boat was fastened. 
 
 " I might sell some o' them watermelons 
 over at the dee-po\ " remarked Badgett ten- 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 11 
 
 tatively, lifting a lazy elbow toward his 
 wagon, which stood a few yards away, its 
 deep bed loaded with green, glistening, round- 
 bellied melons, " but it 's too durned hot. I 
 ain't goin' acrost." 
 
 A sigh of relief passed through the squad. 
 The wide street which ran along the river- 
 bank lay hot and dusty in the quivering 
 noontide heat. The stores and offices facing 
 it were apparently deserted ; though from 
 time to time, when a plantation team crawled 
 in and stopped, a shirt-sleeved clerk came 
 languidly out to take an order ; or a booted 
 and spurred horseman, jingling up, passed 
 the time of day with the invisible proprietor 
 dozing on his chair within. At Addington's 
 warehouse, hunched against the bluff above 
 the ferry, there were signs of life. A heavy 
 bolt fell with a clang, the wooden doors 
 swung open, a man appeared on the thresh- 
 old, gesticulating, and shouting orders into 
 space, and a dozen stalwart half-naked ne- 
 groes swarmed suddenly down the bank and 
 leaped upon the ferry-boat as it drew away 
 from the shore. 
 
 " I reckon Jack Addington 's lookin' fer 
 some freight," said Tuke Chancellor, gazing 
 after them. " Well, boys, it 's too late to 
 
12 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 git over now. Anyhow, 't ain't wuth the 
 trouble. She 's gittin' plum rickety." 
 
 The houses composing the town of Thorn- 
 ham buried in vines and shrubbery, and 
 shaded by mighty and magnificent live-oaks 
 followed in single file the curves of the 
 river, now low and sullen-looking between 
 its high banks. The town in general had 
 an old and worn-out look, though not a half- 
 century had gone by since the underbrush 
 was cleared from its site, and barely a quar- 
 ter since Steven Thornham built the first 
 brick house a stately mansion a stone's- 
 throw or so from the Man-Fig and turned 
 his attention to ousting Mexican authority 
 from the vast region of country then begin- 
 ning to be known as Texas. But it had 
 had its day in the mean time, the placid lit- 
 tle town ! Epauleted officers had lounged 
 along its muddy sidewalks ; couriers had 
 galloped in and out with sealed dispatches ; 
 Santa Anna, a prisoner of war, had strutted 
 its single street. There, the first constitu- 
 tional government had been inaugurated ; 
 and the president of the young republic 
 had there taken his oath of office. The 
 after-glow of that gay and courtly time still 
 lingered about the aristocratic town houses 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 13 
 
 and the luxurious plantation homes that 
 lined the downward-sweeping river 011 either 
 side to within sound of the beating Gulf- 
 surge. Later stories there were, too, of 
 silent craft that had crept stealthily up 
 the stream to discharge human freight, 
 akin in color to the midnight shadows 
 that hung about the stoop-shouldered ware- 
 house, and slipped as stealthily back into 
 the Gulf and thence toward the coast of 
 Guinea. 
 
 Then came the puff of the first locomo- 
 tive-engine. The wonder of this had not 
 yet died away. " She " was due once a day, 
 and sometimes several moments earlier, 
 oftener an hour or more later, than the 
 schedule time the train came snorting 
 noisily in, jolting and jostling the infre- 
 quent passengers. The station, separated 
 from Thornham proper by the river, pre- 
 sented at such times a busy and animated 
 appearance. Rarely indeed did man or boy, 
 though the spectacle entailed a hurried 
 rush to the ferry and a run up the steep 
 bank on the opposite side, rarely did a 
 Thornhamer miss the sight of the incoming 
 or outgoing of the lumbering engine, and 
 its single dingy comfortless coach. 
 
14 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " I wonder ef she 's fetched any passen- 
 gers," said Jimmy Hopson, the youngest of 
 the Man-Fig conclave, secretly longing, yet 
 ashamed to bolt away at the last moment to 
 see " her " uncoupled and side-tracked for 
 the night. 
 
 " Who is that with Pete Newall ? " de- 
 manded Badgett abruptly, peering out from 
 under the brim of his straw hat. 
 
 A light buggy drawn by a gaunt gray 
 horse came up the river -bank from the 
 ferry and glanced by, throwing the dust in 
 their faces as it passed. It was driven by 
 a large clean-shaven man with keen gray 
 eyes and a kindly mouth; his somewhat 
 careless dress was in accord with the un- 
 kempt look of the vehicle and harness, and 
 the rough coat of the raw-boned but swift 
 horse. His companion a man near his 
 own age, thirty-five years or thereabout 
 offered a striking contrast in manner and ap- 
 pearance. His dark neat traveling-suit was 
 faultless in cut and fit. He sat erect, with 
 his gloved hands resting upon his knees. 
 Everything about his slender and elegant 
 person bespoke a high-bred and somewhat 
 haughty repose. His blue eyes were hard 
 and cold; a drooping mustache concealed 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 15 
 
 his mouth, but not the firm, somewhat pro- 
 jecting chin. He seemed to ignore the pre- 
 sence of his escort, and he looked neither to 
 right nor left as they whirled along the 
 dusty highway. 
 
 " I b'lieve in my soul it 's Johnny Thorn- 
 ham ! " exclaimed Badgett, jumping to his 
 feet and staring after the buggy. " I ain't 
 seen him sence he left here nigh twenty 
 years ago. But he 's got the same biggaty 
 look he was born with ; and yes ! they 've 
 turned into Miss Elinor's big gate." 
 
 " Will you come first to my office ? or 
 shall I drive you to the hotel, Jo Mr. 
 Thornham ? " Newall asked with his foot 
 on the step of the buggy. He had to re- 
 peat his question as he seated himself beside 
 the newcomer and picked up the reins ; for 
 the engine was shrieking and backing amid 
 the delighted clamor of the crowd about the 
 platform. 
 
 " Neither, thank you, Mr. Newall," re- 
 plied his guest courteously ; " I will go at 
 once to Roseneath, if you please." 
 
 Hardly a word further was exchanged be- 
 tween the two men until they turned in at 
 the large iron gate at Roseneath and drove 
 
16 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 slowly around the circular oak-shaded car- 
 riage-way to the house. 
 
 " The grounds seein much smaller than I 
 remember them," Thornham said, turning 
 upon the broad gallery and looking about 
 him with something like a contemptuous 
 sneer. 
 
 " It is a fine old place," retorted his com- 
 panion a little hotly ; then, as if ashamed of 
 his haste, he added quietly, " Miss Thorn- 
 ham was very fond of it." 
 
 " So was my mother." The stranger said 
 this almost under his breath, following the 
 lawyer down the wide hall and into the large 
 old-fashioned parlor. 
 
 Here Newall seated himself by an open 
 window, turning his head with innate deli- 
 cacy while Thornham walked about the well- 
 remembered room, pausing now and then 
 to touch, with a restless finger, a yellowed 
 book, or a dust -covered ornament. The 
 sunlight streaming in through the windows 
 fell full upon the two portraits over the 
 mantel. He glanced for a second at the 
 stern pictured face of his father ; his own 
 face hardened into a likeness of it, and a 
 bitter smile curved his thin lips. But his 
 eyes softened as he turned to the other por- 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 17 
 
 trait. He rested his arm on the mantel and 
 gazed long and musingly upon it. 
 
 It seemed but yesterday ! The cold, self- 
 ish, rich, prosperous man of the world felt 
 himself trembling once more under the harsh 
 denunciatory sentence of that Steven Thorn- 
 ham, of whom it was said that he broke, or 
 bent, everything that came to his hand ; he 
 felt again, warm upon his forehead, his 
 mother's tears. 
 
 "Let us come to business, Mr. Newall," he 
 said brusquely, straightening himself and 
 passing his gloved hand across his eyes. 
 
 He led the way himself, and as if in- 
 stinctively, into a small room which opened 
 upon a side - gallery. It overlooked the 
 rose-garden, and had been his mother's 
 morning - room. It was absolutely un- 
 changed in all these years ! There was the 
 low chintz-covered lounge with its high- 
 piled pillows ; the claw-footed table ; the 
 spider-legged secretary ; the brass-bound 
 work-stand with the silver sewing - bird 
 perched upon its edge, even the familiar 
 little dog-eared Thomas-a-Kempis, open and 
 face downward on the embroidered hassock ! 
 
 A large Newfoundland dog lying on a 
 rug alongside the couch looked up with a 
 
18 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 questioning growl as they entered, then 
 arose and walked over to where Thornham 
 stood, and laid a shaggy head against his 
 knee. He shrugged his shoulders as if 
 shaking off an importunate sentiment, and 
 seated himself, motioning the lawyer to a 
 chair. 
 
 " You will tell me the particulars of my 
 sister's death," he began, giving an impa- 
 tient push to the dog, which nevertheless 
 continued to nestle affectionately against 
 him. "You will remember, as I have al- 
 ready written you, that I have heard next 
 to nothing of her since my mother died, ten 
 years ago. In fact," he added, " I can 
 scarcely realize her at all. She was, you 
 know, some years younger than I; and I 
 was, myself, little more than a boy when 
 I went away." 
 
 "Yes," assented the lawyer, "I know. 
 Well, after your father's death, your 
 mother " 
 
 "It is not necessary to speak of my 
 mother," interrupted Thornham coldly. 
 "Confine yourself, if you please, to my 
 sister Elinor and her affairs." 
 
 " Just after your her mother died," 
 continued Newall, stammering a little, but 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 19 
 
 recovering himself, " Miss Elinor fell into 
 delicate health." 
 
 " There had been some sort of love-affair, 
 had there not ? " asked his listener, appa- 
 rently without much interest, for his eyes 
 were wandering abstractedly about his 
 mother's sitting-room. 
 
 "Yes," the lawyer flushed a little, 
 " there had been a love-affair. Miss Elinor 
 
 that is Miss Thornham was engaged 
 for a couple of years to her second cousin, 
 Vanborough Herring. Do you remember 
 him ? " 
 
 " No," returned Thornham listlessly. " I 
 never saw him. He came to Thornham 
 after I left. So he was the man. What 
 became of him? " 
 
 " The engagement was broken off no 
 one ever knew why just after your after 
 Mrs. Thornham died. Herring went away 
 
 to Kentucky, I think ; and a year later 
 he came back, bringing a wife with him." 
 
 Thornham looked up as if suddenly 
 aroused. A dark red spot showed for a 
 second on either cheek, and his eyes flashed. 
 But he did not speak. 
 
 " He has continued to live here in Thorn- 
 ham. He belongs to the poorer branch of 
 
20 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 the Vanborough - Thornham s. He has a 
 large family. He is a lawyer ; hardwork- 
 ing enough, but he has never seemed to 
 make any headway. She she was very 
 fond of him." 
 
 Newall uttered these sentences in a jerky 
 sort of way, singularly different from the 
 professional tone he had hitherto used. 
 
 Thornham looked at him a moment in 
 silence ; then, as if dismissing Vanborough 
 Herring from the conversation, he in- 
 quired : "Was my sister's illness a long 
 one?" 
 
 " Yes, and no," Newall returned. " Dur- 
 ing the ten years that she lived here alone 
 after your for ten years she was subject, 
 at intervals, to sudden and painful attacks, 
 some trouble with the heart, I believe ; 
 and in one of these paroxysms she finally 
 died. But much of the time she was well ; 
 and though leading a quiet and almost se- 
 cluded life, she took a vivid interest in 
 everything that went on here in Thornham, 
 as well as in the outside world. Hers was 
 a most lovely character. She was very 
 beautiful. And so young to die ! She was 
 barely thirty, you know." 
 
 There was a tremor in his voice which did 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 21 
 
 not escape his hearer, and his own tone was 
 less hard when he spoke, after a short 
 pause : 
 
 w She must have been very like my 
 mother! Who was with her when she 
 died?" 
 
 "No one. She died, in this room, on 
 yonder couch, three weeks ago to-night, 
 alone. Not neglected, oh, no ! " seeing 
 the wrathful frown on the face before 
 him, " not uncared for ! She had been 
 slightly ailing for some days, and unable to 
 take her accustomed drive. She seemed 
 depressed, too, and unusually restless. She 
 came to this room she was, in fact, 
 carried, in the arms of one of her servants, 
 as I understand late that afternoon ; and 
 here Doctor Alsbury saw her soon after 
 nightfall. She was weak and nervous, but 
 quite free of pain. Mrs. Hopson you re- 
 member Aunt Patty Hopson? She was 
 your mo Mrs. Thornham's housekeeper 
 before you were born." Thornham nodded. 
 " Aunt Patty and her maid were with her. 
 But when the doctor had taken his leave, 
 she sent them both away, desiring, as she 
 often did, to be alone. She was lying upon 
 the lounge, with the small table beside her, 
 
22 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 the bell within reach of her hand. Mrs. 
 Hopson went into the dining-room, with the 
 maid, and remained there, superintending 
 some household matters. Nearly two hours 
 passed. The night was warm and still, the 
 house very quiet. Aunt Patty had just ob- 
 served to the maid that Miss Elinor had 
 probably dropped asleep, when Magnus, the 
 old Newfoundland there, who was lying at 
 her feet, got up, as if suddenly aroused, and 
 came down the hall in this direction. The 
 girl called to him softly, fearful lest he 
 should disturb her mistress, but he passed 
 on, and a moment later they were startled 
 by a piteous howl which rang through the 
 silent house. They ran, frightened, into the 
 room. The dog was leaping distractedly 
 against the couch, where his mistress was 
 lying, white and motionless, apparently in 
 a heavy swoon. The doctor, hastily sum- 
 moned, found life extinct. Death had come 
 to her painlessly, he said in one of 
 those spasms of the heart to which she 
 was subject. She had been dead perhaps 
 half an hour." 
 
 The speaker's voice died away in some- 
 thing like a smothered sob. The dog, at 
 mention of his name, had lifted his great 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 23 
 
 head and fixed his intelligent eyes upon 
 Thornham's face. He now walked over to 
 the couch and stood there whining softly. 
 There was a moment of pained silence. 
 
 Thornham half arose, but reseated him- 
 self, arrested by a fleeting expression which 
 crossed his companion's face. 
 
 " There is something more," he said 
 quietly ; " go on." 
 
 Newall looked up surprised ; he flushed a 
 little and moved uneasily in his chair. 
 
 " Yes," he admitted, dropping his eyes, 
 " there is something I ought to tell you, 
 but" 
 
 " Well ? " demanded Thornham, as he 
 hesitated. 
 
 The lawyer cleared his throat and pro- 
 ceeded. "About the time the lamps were 
 brought in that night, she asked Aunt Patty 
 to bring her a box from her jewel-case. It 
 contained, I am told, a diamond necklet of 
 great beauty and value " 
 
 " I have never heard of it," Thornham 
 said, answering a look in the speaker's eyes ; 
 " but, then, I know nothing whatever of my 
 sister's life, or her possessions." 
 
 " She held the box in her hand during 
 the doctor's visit. No one is known to have 
 
24 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 entered the room afterward ; but when the 
 alarm and excitement over her sudden death 
 had somewhat subsided, Mrs. Hopson re- 
 membered the box and desired to return it 
 to the casket. It had disappeared. It was 
 then noticed that one of the windows the 
 one next you there opening upon the side- 
 gallery, which was closed when Aunt Patty 
 and the maid left the room was standing 
 open. There were heavy footprints in the 
 rose-bed beneath the gallery, and leading 
 off into the rose-garden, showing that some 
 one had jumped down and passed across to 
 the gate." 
 
 " Who is suspected ? " demanded Thorn- 
 ham, with keen interest. 
 
 The lawyer's voice dropped to a shamed 
 whisper. " No one is known to have entered 
 the house, but Herring was seen coming out 
 of this window about three quarters of an 
 hour after Mrs. Hopson quitted the room." 
 
 " A Vanborough ! Impossible ! " cried 
 Thornham angrily. 
 
 A look of relief came into Newall's eyes. 
 
 "I felt bound to mention this circum- 
 stance," he said, " but I myself believe Van- 
 borough Herring incapable of " 
 
 Thornham was not listening. He got up 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 25 
 
 and made two or three turns about the small 
 room, the dog following at his heels. 
 
 " Investigate it," he said sharply at length, 
 pausing before his companion. " Investi- 
 gate it," he repeated, interrupting a hurried 
 protest. " If a Vanborough can rob a dead 
 woman, by God ! and a woman he has jilted, 
 he ought to suffer for it ! Look into it at 
 once and prosecute if necessary ; spare no 
 expense." He brought his fist down on the 
 small table as he spoke. The tray of glasses 
 there quivered, filling the room with their 
 crystalline tinkle. 
 
 " Very well, sir," said New all briefly. 
 
 They passed into the hall. " That rattle- 
 trap of a train leaves, I believe, at ten 
 o'clock to-morrow morning?" Thornham 
 asked. 
 
 " You surely do not think of returning 
 so soon," said the lawyer astonished. " I 
 thought " 
 
 " I have important business elsewhere," 
 interrupted Thornham again. " Or, rather," 
 he continued, with a short unmusical laugh, 
 "in God's name, what have I to do with 
 the town of Thornham or its people ! I 
 wish my mother's portrait forwarded as soon 
 as possible to my address in New Orleans. 
 
26 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 And my sister's," he added as an after- 
 thought. " I will advise you as to what 
 disposition to make of the family belong- 
 ings and my sister's private property. As 
 to the house arid grounds, sell at once. 
 I have no sentiment about the place. I 
 sometimes wish I had kept Fair View, the 
 plantation down the river, where my mother 
 used to go with me during my vacation days. 
 But I sold that when it came into my pos- 
 session after my father's death. Yes, sell 
 Eoseneath at once, if possible." 
 
 " And the negroes the house-servants ? 
 There are a good many of them. Elinor " 
 
 " Sell them ! At once ! I have no use 
 for such property. Sell it all; horses I 
 suppose my sister kept horses ? " 
 
 " As fine a pair as ever trotted in har- 
 ness," replied Newall, visibly nettled. 
 
 " Very well. Sell them all. Sell every- 
 thing." He tossed a defiant glance at his 
 father's portrait, for they were standing 
 again in the parlor. " I leave the whole busi- 
 ness in your hands. You will communicate 
 at need with my lawyers in New Orleans. 
 And now, have the goodness to drive me to 
 a hotel. I am a little tired after my long 
 journey." 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 27 
 
 The Newfoundland shambled down the 
 steps behind him ; and, after he was seated 
 in the buggy, reared up to place a huge 
 paw upon his knee. 
 
 They talked spasmodically of indif- 
 ferent subjects as they drove back through 
 the town, Newall secretly wondering at his 
 companion's utter want of curiosity or in- 
 terest concerning his birthplace and the peo- 
 ple among whom his boyhood had passed. 
 
 "I suppose you are married, Mr. New- 
 all ? " The question sounded perfunctory. 
 
 "No, I'm not married," returned Newall 
 curtly, as the buggy stopped before The 
 President's Eest tavern, so called because 
 Sam Houston had slept there the night pre- 
 ceding his inauguration. 
 
 The afternoon shadows had lengthened, 
 and a breeze blew up salt from the Gulf. 
 The town was slowly awaking from its pro- 
 longed nap. Old Mr. Lusk, standing in his 
 store door, was holding an animated conver- 
 sation with Uncle Billy Duncan, in his 
 spider-wheeled gig. Ned Cushington had 
 come out of the " Gazette " office with a 
 paper moist and smelling of printers' ink 
 in his hand, and was reading a bit of late 
 news to some men on a corner ; his fine dark 
 
28 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 eyes were flashing with excitement. Women 
 and girls, in groups of twos and threes, in 
 light summer gowns, flitted about the grassy 
 by-ways. A stentorian chorus arose from 
 Addington's warehouse, where the negroes 
 were piling freight. 
 
 The loafers under the Man-Fig com- 
 mented idly upon the actors in this familiar 
 panorama. 
 
 " I wish my Maker may strike me stone 
 dead ef it ain't Johnny Thornham shore 
 enough ! " declared Badgett, breaking in 
 upon Tuke Chancellor's description of one 
 of Major Billy Duncan's tantrums ; " an' 
 as m'-grous as old Steve his-se'f ! " 
 
 " Then it 's high time for Van Herrin' to 
 light out," suggested Welsh. 
 
 " Shucks ! " said Drennon, standing up 
 and stretching his long arms above his head 
 with a grunt, " he neenter be skeered. No 
 Thornham ain't goin' to prosecute no other 
 Thornham." 
 
 " Bet you that load o' watermelons 'g'ins' 
 a cob-pipe ! " cried Badgett. 
 
 " Unearth that d d hound of a Vanbor- 
 ough, Mr. Newall," Thornham reiterated, 
 the next morning, drawing on his gloves, 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 29 
 
 after glancing over and signing the few ne- 
 cessary papers drawn up the night before by 
 the lawyer. He stepped out of the dingy 
 and disordered little office after a formal 
 adieu, politely declining Newall's offer to 
 drive him to the station. He walked briskly 
 along the shaded side street, for the lawyer's 
 office was set well back from the river in the 
 rear of the business portion of the town. 
 He did not so much as turn his head in 
 the direction of the old Thornham mansion, 
 whose steep roof and red -brick chimneys 
 showed above the live-oaks away to the 
 right. His busy thoughts had already leaped 
 forward to his city life : his elegant bachelor 
 apartments, his club, the opera, the races, 
 the never-ending round of amusement and 
 distraction which had become so necessary to 
 his well-being. That his vast wealth was 
 augmented by a small fortune was hardly 
 compensation for the physical discomfort 
 and the troublesome sentiment of the past 
 twenty-four hours. In three or four days, 
 at the farthest 
 
 He stopped suddenly. Something warm 
 and soft, like a rose-leaf, had touched his 
 wrist. He looked down. A child a little 
 girl of seven or eight years had put out 
 
30 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 a hand to arrest him; with the other she 
 tugged at the latch of a large wooden gate 
 which abutted upon the uneven plank side- 
 walk. 
 
 "I can't get in by myself," she said, 
 looking gravely up at him. " Maum Betty 
 could n't come with me. Please open it." 
 
 He glanced beyond her at the house which 
 stood at the further end of a prim shelled 
 walk, and he laughed aloud at the mem- 
 ories evoked by the sight of its porches 
 and gables ; then he dropped his eyes again 
 upon the child, and his laugh softened to a 
 smile. The little maid, tall, perhaps, for 
 her years, had that look, delicate but not 
 unhealthy, common to growing children. 
 Her small, rather plain, oval face, with its soft 
 outlines, was lighted by a pair of large dark 
 eyes, whose serious expression seemed at 
 variance with the pretty laughing mouth. 
 The mass of reddish-brown hair which fell 
 over her shoulders was trained, after the 
 fashion of the time, into long loose ring- 
 lets. A certain daintiness about her person 
 and manner bespoke gentle blood and tender 
 care. 
 
 " What is your name, little one ? " Thorn- 
 ham asked, with his hand on the latch. 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 31 
 
 " Olive Vanborough Herring," she an- 
 swered promptly, with a proud uplifting of 
 her firm little chin. 
 
 "Are you the daughter of Mr. Vanbor- 
 ough Herring?" 
 
 She nodded her head with great satisfac- 
 tion. "Yes, sir. Olive Vanborough Her- 
 ring," she repeated. 
 
 He pushed open the heavy gate, stooping 
 a little as he did so. He had not dreamed 
 of offering to kiss the child. But she put 
 up her mouth frankly. A curious thrill 
 passed through him as he felt upon his own 
 the warm touch of her red lips. 
 
 She ran gayly along the flower-set walk 
 toward the house. He swung the gate to its 
 place, frowning. The engine over at the 
 station was already puffing and shrieking. 
 From where he stood he could see people 
 hastening toward the ferry, and he heard the 
 hurry and bustle about the warehouse, where 
 some belated barrels were being rolled down 
 the bank. He shook his head impatiently, 
 muttered something under his breath, then 
 turned and walked rapidly back toward the 
 lawyer's office. 
 
 Newall still sat in the worn leather chair 
 where his client had left him. His head 
 
32 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 had fallen forward on his breast, his usually 
 jovial face was downcast, his eyes weary and 
 troubled. " Poor Van ! " he sighed. " She 
 loved him to the last that I know. It 
 will be necessary for him to go away, at 
 least until the matter blows over. For " 
 He sprang to his feet as a shadow darkened 
 the door. "What is it, Mr. Thornham?" 
 he asked confusedly. " Have you forgotten 
 anything ? Can I " 
 
 " I cannot wait, Newall," interrupted 
 Thornham. " I have only come back to say 
 that I have decided not to have that robbery 
 investigated. There is not sufficient proof 
 to my mind. It certainly is not a matter of 
 importance to any one except myself. Van- 
 borough Herring is not to be disturbed. See 
 to it, please." 
 
 " Thank you, Johnny ! " cried Newall in- 
 voluntarily. " Elinor loved " 
 
 He turned aside, blushing crimson. Thorn- 
 ham, almost equally embarrassed, picked up 
 a fishing-rod which was lying upon a heap 
 of legal documents on the table, and pre- 
 tended to examine it. 
 
 " So you still fish, Pete ? " he said gayly, 
 after an imperceptible pause. " D6 you 
 remember the day we upset your father's 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 33 
 
 boat in the river, and how near you came to 
 drowning because you would n't let go the 
 string of catfish tied to the oar-lock?" 
 
 The parting hand-shake this time was 
 warm and cordial, and Thornharn hurried 
 away to catch his train. " Olive Van- 
 borough ! " he murmured, as he passed the 
 gate where he had met the clear-eyed child. 
 It had been the maiden name of his mother 
 that idolized mother from whose arms he 
 had been driven by a father's curse the 
 only human being he had ever loved the 
 sole living creature, he told himself passion- 
 ately, that had ever cared whether he him- 
 self lived or died ! 
 
 A succession of shrieks from the distant 
 locomotive caused him to quicken his steps. 
 An anxious frown lowered upon his brow. 
 "Am I to be left another night in this 
 beastly hole," he growled aloud. 
 
 " Neb-min', Mars Johnny," said a voice 
 at his elbow. " Don't you be skeered. 
 She 's gwine to wait ontell you git aboard 
 her. She ain' in no sech hurry ez she 's 
 mekin' out." 
 
 Thornham turned, and stared blankly at 
 the speaker. 
 
 "Lawd, Mars Johnny, you ain' f ergot 
 
34 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 Lib ! " the negro went on, catching the light 
 traveling-bag from his hand and falling a 
 pace or two behind him as he moved on. 
 
 " Why, Liberty ! " he cried, shaking his 
 old playfellow heartily by the hand. " Is 
 this you ? " His blue eyes lighted with 
 genuine pleasure. " What have you been 
 doing all these years, you rascal ? Digging 
 bait? and stealing red-injun peaches? and 
 riding the horses to water, eh?" 
 
 Liberty, a gigantic, well-made, neatly- 
 dressed griffe, a year or two younger than 
 his master, drew himself up. "No, sah," 
 he replied proudty. " I has been Miss 
 Elinor's butler for a matter o' ten year, 
 sah." 
 
 " Miss Elinor's butler, eh ? " said Thorn- 
 ham, amused. 
 
 ^Yes, sah. When ole Mis' died, Miss 
 Elinor she took me from de stable an' fotch 
 me inter de house. An' I been her butler 
 ever sence." 
 
 "What did you do?" demanded his 
 companion, still smiling. 
 
 " I mos'ly took keer o' Miss Elinor, sah. 
 You see, Mars Johnny, Miss Elinor wa'n't 
 overly strong a'ter ole Mis' died ; an' she 
 useter say nobody could'n tote her up an' 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 35 
 
 down stairs like Liberty. Lawd, she wa'n't 
 nothin' to tote, Miss Elinor wa'n't ! Light 
 ez a baby ! No mo' 'n de same day she died, 
 I fotch her into yo' ma's settin'-room an' 
 laid her on de longe. An' when she look' 
 up at me wi' dem big eyes o' hern, stidder 
 speakin', Mars Johnny, I know'd" 
 
 He shook his head, unable to go on. The 
 tears streamed unheeded down his cheeks. 
 
 "Liberty," said his master abruptly, 
 " you know everything is going to be sold, 
 and Roseneath broken up ? " 
 
 " Yes, sah," said Liberty anxiously. " I 
 was born on de place, Mars Johnny," he 
 added, in a wistful tone. 
 
 "I know," Thornham went on; "so was 
 I. But I shall sell it. How would you 
 like to come to New Orleans with me ? " 
 
 The anxiety on the negro's face deepened. 
 An appealing look came into his big dog- 
 like eyes. 
 
 " Very well," continued his master, with- 
 out disappointment. " Then you 'd rather I 
 gave you your freedom? " 
 
 " Mars Johnny," Liberty said, edging up 
 to him and speaking in a confidential tone, 
 "don't you do no sech foolishness ez dat. 
 I ain' made fer no free-nigger. I has lived 
 
36 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 all my life 'long o' white folks, an' I ain 5 
 fitten to live 'long o' free-niggers. Lawd, 
 Mars Johnny, I run away once in ole Mars's 
 lifetime ; an' I stayed down yander in de 
 Brazos bottom 'long o' some yether runaway 
 niggers 'bout fo' days. An' 'fo' Gawd, 
 Mars Johnny, I was glad when I was cotch, 
 an' fotch in! But what is de mos' conse- 
 quenche is Betty. Betty is my ole 'ooman. 
 An' Betty ain' got no use fer free-niggers ! " 
 He laughed softly. 
 
 " Who owns your wife ? " 
 
 " Mars Van Herrin', sah ; Betty 's a lakly 
 gal. Spry on her foot ez a sparrer. No, 
 Mars Johnny, thanky all de same. I don't 
 want no freedom 'dout Betty. An' Betty 
 would'n leave her white folks not ef she 
 was set free ter-morrer." 
 
 "Well, Lib," said his master carelessly, 
 setting foot on the ferry-boat which had 
 answered the negro's sonorous call, " if you 
 do not wish to come with me, and are not 
 willing to be set free, I suppose you will 
 have to go on the block." 
 
 " I reckin so, Mars Johnny," Liberty re- 
 turned dejectedly. " Gawd sen' dey don't 
 sell me fur away fum Betty." 
 
 The boat slipped across the yellow stream, 
 
THE COURT IN SESSION. 37 
 
 the wooden pulley creaking as it moved 
 along the heavy rope. They walked up the 
 farther bank in silence. The train was ap- 
 parently awaiting the belated passenger, for 
 at sight of him the brakemaii ran along the 
 platform and called out cheerfully, " All 
 right, Cap, here he comes ; " and the con- 
 ductor, appearing at the rear of the coach, 
 waved his hand in friendly greeting. 
 
 Liberty stood beneath the window, chat- 
 ting with his master until the train started. 
 
 " By the way," said Thornham, thrusting 
 his hand into his pocket, " there is an old 
 dog at Roseneath a Newfoundland " 
 
 "Magnus, sah! Miss Elinor's ole dog. 
 He 's been in ou' f am'ly a long time, Mag- 
 nus has." 
 
 " Well, I want you to take care of that 
 dog as long as he lives. Take him away 
 with you when you leave Roseneath." He 
 dropped a roll of money into the negro's 
 hand. " Good-by, Liberty." 
 
 " All right, Mars Johnny. Thanky, 
 Mars Johnny, thanky. Good-by, Mars 
 Johnny." 
 
 He gazed absently after the train as it 
 labored away. " Gawd sen' I ain' sold fur 
 away fum Betty ! " he muttered. 
 
II. 
 
 THE JOLIBOIS DANCING-ACADEMY. 
 
 MADAME ANATOLE DE JOLIBOIS and her 
 maiden sister, Miss Serena Dibbs, were the 
 joint owners of the odd-looking, many- 
 porched, weather-beaten house into which 
 little Olive Herring had disappeared under 
 the abstracted gaze of John Thornham. 
 Here they lived, alone, the only surviving 
 members of a hard-working respectable fam- 
 ily, whose head a master-carpenter with 
 ideas had built the house with his own 
 hands in the palmy presidential days of 
 Thornham. It rambled -about the large 
 space allotted to it in a fashion of its, or 
 rather of Mr. Dibbs's own, bulging here and 
 there into unexpected and wholly irrelevant 
 bows, and swells, and octagons, and bristling 
 at every angle with little windowless turrets 
 which served no apparent purpose. The hall 
 which divided it in half was relatively 
 baronial in size, and had been a sore vexa- 
 tion to the late Mrs. Dibbs by reason of the 
 
THE JOLIBOIS DANCING-ACADEMY. 39 
 
 bare floors and the daily waxing and polish- 
 ing thereof then in vogue. 
 
 This housewifely duty, however, after their 
 mother's death, had been less vigorously 
 exacted of themselves by the doubly or- 
 phaned Dibbs sisters until the inception 
 of the Dancing- Academy. 
 
 Madame Anatole* de Jolibois, or Miss 
 Kizzy, as she was familiarly and affection- 
 ately called by the townspeople, a tall, 
 angular, heavy-jawed woman, with curiously 
 deep-set, dark soft eyes and a bossy nose, 
 was the elder of the two sisters. As Miss 
 Dibbs some years earlier, she had possessed, 
 beside a half-interest in the Dibbs home- 
 stead, a tidy sum in bank. To this she 
 added from time to time continued savings 
 from her slender salary as assistant music- 
 teacher at the Thornham Female Seminary, 
 where her younger sister was in process of 
 being " finished." 
 
 Miss Keziah, despite her angularity, her 
 plebeian birth, her nose, and her deplorable 
 want of taste in matters of dress, had at- 
 tracted the attention of Monsieur Anatole 
 de Jolibois, Professor of Music and The 
 French Language at the Seminary; and 
 after a brief but ardent courtship, this ele- 
 
40 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 gant and dapper person, some years her 
 junior, had actually led her to the altar as 
 she herself expressed it. Thornham held up 
 its hands in amazement over this extraor- 
 dinary proceeding ; but it fell into spasms 
 of retrospective prophecy when, in less than 
 a week after the wedding ceremony, Mon- 
 sieur de Jolibois disappeared without the 
 formality of a leave-taking, carrying with 
 him the whole of Miss Kizzy's hard-earned 
 and carefully hoarded money, withdrawn 
 from the bank by herself the day before, and 
 affectionately confided to the better judg- 
 ment of her newly made spouse. 
 
 The faculty of Thornham Female Semi- 
 nary, which with flattering haste had ele- 
 vated Madame de Jolibois to a " full profes- 
 sorship " in the college, dismissed with equal 
 promptitude the abandoned bride from all 
 connection with that institution, as a person 
 unfit longer to initiate its high-bred pupils 
 into the mysteries of the scales. 
 
 For a short time thereafter, her gaunt 
 figure was seen passing about the winding 
 walks of her garden ; or lingering on one 
 of Mr. Dibbs's Grecian porticoes, as if ex- 
 pectant of her lord's return. The few old 
 friends who ventured to offer sympathy 
 
THE JOLIBOIS DANCING-ACADEMY. 41 
 
 were received with a quiet dignity, and a 
 grace quite new to a Dibbs ; but born, pre- 
 sumably, of an overwhelming sense of her 
 disgrace. 
 
 One morning, quite as suddenly as the 
 graceless Frenchman himself had vanished, 
 Madame de Jolibois also disappeared. Miss 
 Serena, even then showing symptoms of the 
 extraordinary obesity which in later years 
 won for her the sobriquet of Miss " Fatty " 
 Dibbs, remained alone in the house, red-eyed 
 and forlorn, but reticent. This, too, was 
 most unusual for a Dibbs ! It excited com- 
 ment. In fact, the Dibbs family, small as it 
 was, occupied, during the whole of that lazy 
 monotonous summer, more of the attention 
 of Thornham than it had done since Jed 
 Dibbs, alone and unaided, had planned and 
 reared his turreted mansion. 
 
 " Spiteful old thing ! " cried the fluttering 
 Seminary girls, when they learned of Miss 
 Kizzy's departure. " She is pursuing that 
 dear, handsome, unhappy Monsieur Ana- 
 tole ! " 
 
 " Jollyboys is catching it, shore," chuckled 
 the gossips under the Man-Fig; " an' serves 
 him right, durn him. Why 'n't he stay in 
 Asia or whatever island he come from." 
 
42 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " Poor Miss Kizzy ! " sighed the older 
 women. " She has no doubt crept off some- 
 where to hide her broken heart. And what- 
 ever will Serena Dibbs do, for a living ! " 
 
 Exactly six months later, Madame de 
 Jolibois returned; and a circular, written 
 in her own fine slanting hand, was carried 
 by Liberty, Miss Elinor Thornham's col- 
 ored butler, from house to house throughout 
 Thornham. 
 
 It announced that Madame Anatole de 
 Jolibois, having studied the Saltatory Art at 
 the Celebrated Institution of Madame Ze- 
 mire Soladelle, in New Orleans, would on 
 the 15th of October open in the Hall of her 
 Residence a Dancing-School for Children of 
 Both Sexes. 
 
 Especial attention paid to Deportment. 
 
 Hours from 3 to 4 on Tuesdays and Thurs- 
 days, 9 to 11 on Saturdays. 
 
 Under the Patronage of Miss Elinor 
 Thornham. 
 
 N. B. Music Supplied by Miss Serena 
 Dibbs. 
 
 The last clause explained and justified 
 Miss Serena's continued and vigorous 
 thumping of the Lancers, the Evergreen 
 Waltz, and the Lydia Sehottische on the 
 
THE JOLIBOIS DANCING-ACADEMY. 43 
 
 tinkling old piano during the lonely months 
 of her sister's absence. 
 
 Just why Miss Kizzy had chosen this par- 
 ticular profession, no one but herself ever 
 knew. But she carried into it the conscien- 
 tious painstaking and scrupulous integrity of 
 purpose which characterized all her actions ; 
 and though, as June Badgett allowed, it 
 was a " plum sight " to see her with lifted 
 skirts and out-turned elbows, setting her 
 large gaitered feet into the correct First Five 
 Positions for the edification of her pupils, 
 or leading them through the mazes of a Vir- 
 ginia reel, yet her patrons had just cause 
 for self -congratulation. The little girls, at 
 least, flocked eagerly to their lessons ; and 
 some contended that an improvement in the 
 deportment of the very young gentlemen of 
 Thornham was plainly perceptible. 
 
 Furthermore, it presently became apparent 
 that the reserve of Madame de Jolibois was 
 not, as had been conjectured, the result of 
 an acute sense of her position as a deserted 
 wife, but pride in the importance of her 
 married estate. 
 
 " You must understand Serena," she said 
 impressively, " that a married woman, and 
 especially the wife of a dee Jollyboys, should 
 
44 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 consider her honorific position, and conduct 
 herself accordingly. Monshur dee Jollyboys 
 indeed may return at any moment, from 
 from his important Mission Abroad." 
 
 And Miss Serena, who believed implicitly 
 whatever Miss Kizzy believed, held up her 
 head proudly, and spoke with calm confi- 
 dence of Brother Anatole's return. 
 
 The Jolibois Dancing- Academy had now 
 flourished for nearly ten years, and, although 
 Monsieur de Jolibois gave no sign of re- 
 pentance or return, before she died, Miss 
 Thornham had the satisfaction of knowing 
 that her old friend and protegee had opened 
 another bank account, and was in a fair way 
 to be under shelter should a rainy day over- 
 take her. 
 
 Miss Serena's heart gave a thump, for, 
 peering through a crack in the door, she 
 caught sight of a strange man. He had un- 
 fastened the front gate and was standing, 
 hat in hand, gazing at a little figure which 
 was running toward the house between the 
 double row of red hollyhocks and larkspur. 
 " Brother Anatole has returned," she mur- 
 mured, untying her apron hurriedly, and 
 thrusting her shuck-mop into a corner. But 
 
THE JOLIBOIS DANCING-ACADEMY. 45 
 
 another peep showed her the clear strong 
 profile of John Thornhaui as he turned and 
 walked away in the direction of Ne wall's 
 office. 
 
 " No," said Miss Kizzy at her elbow. 
 Her voice was slightly tremulous. " No, I 
 am not expecting Monshur dee Jollyboys 
 to-day. Still, Serena, you should be careful 
 to lock the front doors when we are waxing 
 and polishing. It would certainly vex Mon- 
 shur Anatole if he should discover his wife 
 and sister engaged in so menial an occupa- 
 tion. 'Why, Olive Herring!" she added, 
 looking down at the child who had slipped 
 noiselessly in, " you are full ten minutes 
 early. Run into the yard, child, and wait 
 for the others." 
 
 Olive obeyed. The sisters their skirts 
 pinned above their knees, and their sleeves 
 carefully protected by brown-paper bags 
 resumed their interrupted labor, pushing the 
 mops up and down the dark floor, which 
 already shone like a mirror, reflecting the 
 lank spare figure of the one, and the quiver- 
 ing shapeless mass of the other. 
 
 A sudden rush of feet without, and a 
 shrill chorus of angry young voices, dis- 
 turbed the steady swish-swash of their 
 
46 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 brooms. They disappeared, after a glance 
 at the clock, into the privacy of their own 
 apartment, whence half a minnte later 
 Madame de Jolibois emerged, her black silk 
 skirts shaken down, her sleeves released 
 from the paper bags, and a red rose (in 
 memory of the one which Monsieur Anatole 
 had gallantly fastened there on the day of 
 their betrothal) adorning her scant gray 
 locks. 
 
 She opened the front door. Her Satur- 
 day morning pupils twenty or more in 
 number had swarmed up the steps and 
 were clustered on the porch, buzzing like so 
 many angry hornets. In their midst, and 
 apparently the head and front of the un- 
 wonted disturbance, stood Olive Herring. 
 Her arms were thrown protectingly about 
 a bare-headed sobbing girl of her own age. 
 Her head was lifted defiantly, her lips were 
 compressed, her dark eyes flashing; she 
 looked comically like a small Fury. But 
 Miss Kizzy saw no humor in the situation. 
 
 "What is the matter, children?" she 
 demanded sternly. 
 
 For one moment the belligerents were 
 overawed. Then a clamor of cries and 
 ejaculations filled the air. 
 
THE JOLIBOIS DANCING-ACADEMY. 47 
 
 " Please 'm, it was Rose Drennon's fault." 
 
 " Jed Bates he jerked Rose's hair-ribbin." 
 
 " Kitty Wash'n'ton she up V said " 
 
 " Olive Herring " 
 
 " Dune Jeffrey he whacked Jed on the 
 head"- 
 
 " 'T wa'n't me, Miss Kizzy " - 
 
 "Ididn' say nothin'" - 
 
 "Jed he jerked Rose's hair-ribbin, V 
 Olive she " - 
 
 " What is it all about, Duncan ? " inter- 
 rupted the dancing-mistress, turning to one 
 of the older boys, a freckle-faced, blue- 
 eyed, frank-looking lad of fourteen, who 
 stood somewhat apart, endeavoring to hide 
 the purple scratch on his cheek with his 
 straw hat, and furtively brushing the dust 
 from his jacket. 
 
 " I 'd I 'd rather not tell, please 'm, Miss 
 Kizzy," he stammered, flushing scarlet. 
 
 " Hit 's thess this-a-way, Miss Kizzy," 
 piped one of the smaller boys, eager for 
 distinction. " We uz all out in th' yard, 
 by th' honeysuckle arbor, waitin' fer Miss 
 Fatty I mean Miss S'rena, please ? m to 
 open the do' ; 'n' Rose Drennon she had 
 on a new hair-ribbin, '11' Jed Bates he come 
 up behine her 'n' jerked her hair-ribbin, 'n' 
 
48 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 she thess slapped Jed in the face, V Kitty 
 Wash'n'ton she said Kose waVt nothin' but 
 po' white trash, no how, 'n' all the girls 
 laughed, 'cep'n' Olive Herring, V Eose 
 begun to cry, 9 n' Dune he whacked Jed ; 'n' 
 Jed 'n' Joe Hopson jumped Dune, 'n' 
 scratched his face 'n' tore his jacket, 'n' Van 
 Herring helped Dune, 'n' we heard the clock 
 a-strikin', 'n' we all run, 'n' Olive she put her 
 arms roun' Rose 'n' sassed ever'body, 'cep'n' 
 Dune ; 'n' ever'body sassed Olive back, 
 'cep'n' me 'n' Dune 'n' Van, 'n' " - 
 
 " This is scandalous ! " cried Madame de 
 Jolibois, throwing her hands up despair- 
 ingly. " Ten years, Serena," she continued, 
 with impressive slowness, " have I taught 
 grace and politeness to the young ladies, 
 and deportment to the young gentlemen of 
 Thornham, and never before has a ribald 
 altercation a contest a combat a - 
 a fight, I may say, taken place within these 
 precincts. If Monshur dee Jollyboys had 
 witnessed it, he would have been justly 
 shocked. I tremble lest he should return at 
 this moment ! " 
 
 She drove her flock before her into the 
 wide hall, and locked the door behind her. 
 There, standing the delinquents in a row 
 
THE JOLIBOIS DANCING-ACADEMY. 49 
 
 along the polished floor, she administered a 
 many-syllabled and scathing rebuke, which 
 many of them now middle-aged men and 
 women remember with awe to this day. 
 
 A shamefaced apology was tendered by 
 the whole school who repeated it after 
 Miss Kizzy, like the General Confession 
 to the pretty blonde little girl whose brilliant 
 green hair-ribbon had been the primary 
 cause of the disturbance ; and the scratched 
 and battered combatants reluctantly shook 
 hands. 
 
 " I think Duncan Jeffrey is as brave as a 
 lion" Olive Herring whispered audibly, 
 though to nobody in particular, as that 
 young gentleman backed away after this 
 disagreeable ordeal. Her eyes were fixed 
 demurely on the toes of her dancing-slip- 
 pers ; but the boy caught a shy sidelong 
 glance from beneath the long lashes. And 
 at that precise moment, the feeling was born 
 within him which was to grow with his 
 growth and strengthen with his strength, 
 even unto his life's end! 
 
 Rose Drennon, the motherless child of a 
 sluggish, uncouth laborer, who " jobbed " 
 about the gardens and door-yards of Thorn- 
 ham, dried her eyes, bridling in conscious 
 
50 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 triumph ; and, forgetting her crumpled hair- 
 ribbon, stood up with one of her late tor- 
 mentors for the Lancers. 
 
 Miss Serena settled herself upon the 
 piano-stool, which creaked under her weight, 
 and spread her pudgy hand over the yellow 
 keys. 
 
 Miss Kizzy unlocked the door, and threw 
 it open to the honeysuckle-laden air that 
 came floating in. "JVbt0, if Monshur dee 
 Jollyboys should chance to arrive by way 
 of the river, Serena for as I have fre- 
 quently observed to you, Monshur Anatole 
 prefers to travel by water he will find us 
 ready to receive him in a becoming manner. 
 Courtesy to your partners ! Swing corners ! 
 Simms Reeves, take your fingers out of your 
 mouth ! Hold up your shoulders, Olive. 
 Balance all! Not so fast, Serena. For- 
 ward first four ! One, two, three ! " 
 
 And the Jolibois Dancing-Academy fell 
 suddenly into its accustomed routine. 
 
III. 
 
 THE HERRING RIFLES. 
 
 ONE morning, some three weeks later, 
 June Badgett halted his wagon and, team 
 near the Man-Fig. He was too hurried to 
 join his cronies there, having, he explained, 
 contracted with Mis' Alsbury, the doctor's 
 wife, to fetch her a wagon-load of preserv- 
 ing-peaches from the other side of the river. 
 But he plainly had something on his mind, 
 something unpleasant, judging from the 
 expression on his red face. The suggestion 
 of a frown appeared between his small non- 
 descript-colored eyes. He dropped the 
 reins over one foot and extracted a plug of 
 tobacco and a buck-knife from his trousers- 
 pocket. " Johnny Thornham is biggaty to 
 the plum last," he finally remarked, stuffing 
 a generous cut of "Nigger-head" into his 
 mouth. 
 
 " Johnny Thornham ! " echoed Drennon, 
 who had slouched forward and stood with an 
 elbow on a front wheel. " He ain't here ! " 
 
 " I know he ain't," retorted June, " an' 
 
52 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 that 's the p'ison meanness of it, durn 
 him!" 
 
 " What has he done ? " demanded Tuke 
 Chancellor curiously. 
 
 "Done? Well, sir! What do you 
 s'p'ose is goin' on out yander at Miss Elinor 
 Thornham's at this durned hot minit? A 
 private sale, sir. Common folks ain't er- 
 lowed to buy Johnny Thornham's mules an' 
 niggers, much less 'n his ole chairs an' tables 
 an' sofys ! " 
 
 " Who says so ? " called Jimmy Hopson 
 from his perch on the broken fence. 
 
 " / say so, sir ! I saw Pete Newall settin' 
 on a bench in Miss Elinor's rose-garden jes' 
 now ; an' a passel o' men, the Lord knows 
 who, roun' the back gall'ry, an' I hitched 
 an' started to go in. Ding ef Pete Newall 
 did n't have the gall to tell me that it was 
 a private sale. ' By Mr. John Thornham's 
 orders, Mr. Badge tt,' he says mighty slick, 
 takin' off his hat. Ole Josh Cameron was 
 sellin' of the niggers off'n the back steps. 
 I heerd him a-hollerin' ez I drove away. 
 Johnny Thornham's orders an' he a thou- 
 san' miles off yander in New Orleens ! " 
 
 "I saw Van Her r in' go in there awhile 
 ago as I drove by," remarked Welsh. 
 
THE HERRING RIFLES. 53 
 
 " I thought he had gone off somewhere 
 out'n reach o' jedgment," Jimmy said, idly 
 swinging his legs and knocking his heels 
 against the fence. 
 
 " He come back yistiddy on the train, I 
 seen him over at the dee-po\ He ain't 
 afeard o' no jedgment. He knows no 
 Thornham ain't goin' to have the law on 
 no other Thornham ! " and Drennon laughed 
 triumphantly up in Badgett's face, his dull 
 eyes gleaming for a second with something 
 like satisfaction. 
 
 " There 's somp'n worse 'n the jedgment o' 
 the courts, or o' Johnny Thornham either," 
 said Badge tt sententiously, " an' that 's the 
 jedgment o' God. You wait tell you see 
 it strike Van Herrin'. Not that I 've got 
 anything ag'in' Van," he went on in a re- 
 flective tone, "but I wish my Maker may 
 strike me stone dead ef I did n't see him 
 with my own eyes come out'n Miss Elinor's 
 settin'-room the night she died, an' was 
 robbed." 
 
 " He ain't never said he wa'n't there, ez I 
 know of," declared Drennon. 
 
 " God-a-mighty ! I 'd like to see the man 
 that 'ud dare to ast him ef he was there," 
 cried Badgett. 
 
54 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 He gathered up the reins and clucked to 
 his mules. 
 
 " What's your hurry, June ? " demanded 
 Welsh lazily. 
 
 " Hurry ! Mis' Alsbury has had her 
 brass kittles on the fire ever sence sun-up 
 a-waitin'. Gimme the tobacco, Rufe. I 
 ain't got time to spit, much less 'n to set here 
 an' wait tell you saw off a chaw with that 
 ole Barlow-knife o' yourn." 
 
 Nevertheless he did not go. He looked 
 anxiously over his shoulder from time to 
 time, making a feint of examining the split- 
 baskets piled in the deep wagon-body. The 
 sleek mules moved their long ears back and 
 forth and whisked their stumpy tails, aware 
 that the clucking was only a pretense unless 
 accompanied by a flick of the rawhide whip. 
 Drennon slouched back to his place against 
 the Man-Fig. The conclave remained ex- 
 pectantly silent. 
 
 " Private sale" repeated Badgett to him- 
 self wrathfully. " D 11 Johnny Thorn- 
 ham ! Ez ef his mules an' niggers, an' ole 
 crock'ry-ware, was too good fer common 
 folks to look at, much less 'n buy." 
 
 A black object appeared in the middle of 
 the road toward Koseneath. It advanced 
 
THE HERRING RIFLES. 55 
 
 slowly under the broiling sun, raising such 
 a cloud of dust that even Jimmy Hopson's 
 keen eyes failed for some time to recognize 
 the man approaching them. He stood upon 
 the fence shading his eyes with his hand. 
 
 " It 's Lib Thornham," he announced at 
 length, " and Miss Elinor's old dog, Mag- 
 nus, gallopin' 'roun' in the dust. Hello, 
 Lib," he continued, as the negro drew near. 
 " Have you been on the block ? " 
 
 " Yes, sah," replied Liberty, touching 
 but not removing his hat. 
 
 " You did n't fetch much, I reckin," 
 Jimmy went on facetiously ; " not more 'n 
 a couple o' hundred." 
 
 " I fetched nine hundred dollars, cash," 
 returned Liberty, with dignity. " I ain' 
 carpenter, an' bricklayer, an' butler fer 
 nothin'." His tone, though not insolent, 
 had that undercurrent of familiarity which 
 betrays the invariable contempt of the negro 
 for the " poor-white." 
 
 "Who bought you, Lib?" asked Chan- 
 cellor. 
 
 " Mr. Vanborough Herring," replied Lib- 
 erty, his thick lips parting in a pleased 
 laugh which showed his strong white teeth. 
 
 " God-a-mighty ! " ejaculated Badgett, 
 
56 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 dropping his lines in his amazement, and 
 standing up in his seat. 
 
 The negro touched his hat again and 
 walked on, the Newfoundland, with red loll- 
 ing tongue and slobbering jaws, trotting 
 after him. 
 
 There was a moment of profound silence. 
 
 " Well," said June at last, with an air of 
 conviction, " well, gentleme/i, that settles it ! 
 Nine hundred dollars ! Van Herrin', to my 
 certain knowledge, ain't had a law-case fer 
 more 'n twelve months, ner a pair of new 
 boots fer six. Nine hundred dollars cash 
 fer Lib Thornham, an' the Lord knows 
 what else he ain't bought out yander at 
 Johnny Thornham 's private sale. That 
 settles it, don't it? He's been off som'ers 
 an' sold one of them di'mons he stole from 
 Miss Elinor, that 's what he 's done." 
 
 When Liberty reached the pretty vine- 
 clad cottage where the Vanborough Her- 
 rings lived, he paused in an angle of one of 
 the squat outside brick chimneys and gave 
 a low whistle. This brought his wife, 
 Betty, a comely young negress with sleek 
 black cheeks, a flat nose, and wide smiling 
 mouth, to the kitchen door. She looked 
 
THE HERRING RIFLES. 57 
 
 about, frowningly, turning a plate in her 
 shapely hands. 
 
 " Is dat you, Lib ? " she called in a cau- 
 tious tone. " Lawd, I wonder does dat 
 triflin' nigger think I ain' got nothin' to do 
 cepV to stan' in dis do' an' lis'n fer dat 
 whissle o' his'n ! " 
 
 She raised her voice, bridling coquet- 
 tishly. Then, as Liberty did not appear, 
 an anxious look came into her great yellow- 
 brown eyes. " Hit 's a bad sign," she mut- 
 tered uneasily, " a mon'sus bad sign to hear 
 a pusson's whissle, an' dat pusson ain' in de 
 presence. Oh Gawd! what's dat?" She 
 threw her apron over her head and sank 
 trembling into a chair, as Magnus, behind 
 the chimney with Lib, uttered a low whine. 
 " I know'd it ! " she moaned ; " f us a whis- 
 sle, an' den a dog-howl, an' nobody in de 
 presence. Somp'n turrible is comin' to me ! 
 Lib 's been put on de block an' sold out'n 
 de county ! Oh Lib, Lib ! " 
 
 " Name o' Gawd, Betty, what 's de mat- 
 ter ? " cried Liberty, springing into the 
 kitchen and dropping on the floor at her 
 feet. 
 
 Betty uncovered her head to look at him. 
 Her face on a level with his, as he knelt 
 before her, was working painfully. 
 
58 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " Lib," she whispered, " has you been put 
 on de block ? " 
 
 Liberty nodded. 
 
 " Den who who is yo' new marster ? " 
 
 "Mars VanHerrirf" shouted Lib, jump- 
 ing to his feet and lifting her in his power- 
 ful arms. " Me an' de dog has come home, 
 Betty ! Home, gal ! Fer de res' of ou' 
 lives, me an' Miss Elinor's ole dog ! De 
 patter-roller ain' gwine ter have a chance ter 
 ketch me no mo' ! I gwine ter cut wood an' 
 fetch water fer de laklies black woman in 
 Texas ! " 
 
 " Git along, you fool nigger," cried Betty. 
 And their joyous laughter rang in chorus 
 upon the still air. 
 
 All Thornham shared the wonder and ex- 
 citement of the Man-Fig council over Van- 
 borough Herring's unwonted journey, 
 whose object and destination remained a 
 mystery, and his purchase of the valuable 
 negro, Liberty. The excitement increased 
 almost to frenzy six months later when it 
 transpired that he had become the owner of 
 Eoseneath itself, which had been thrown 
 back by a dissatisfied buyer into Newall's 
 hands. 
 
TEE HERRING RIFLES. 59 
 
 June Badgett had struck the note ; he 
 had coined the phrase, " He has sold Miss 
 TJiornJiam's diamonds" There were those 
 who uttered this charge openly and with 
 confidence. Others affected not to believe 
 it, yet secretly accepted it as a possible solu- 
 tion of the sudden change in Vanborough 
 Herring's fortunes. Others, again, laughed 
 the whole story to scorn, affirming that the 
 necklace itself was a myth, no one in Thorn- 
 ham ever having seen the mistress of Rose- 
 neath wear such an ornament. A few were 
 stoutly indignant. Among these last were 
 Peter Newall and Madame Anatole de Joli- 
 bois. 
 
 " He is incapable of such a cowardly 
 crime," mused the lawyer to himself, laying 
 down his pen in the midst of a letter to 
 John Thornham, wherein he mentioned that 
 Roseneath had been resold, but refrained 
 from naming its latest purchaser; "yet he 
 was with her that night God forgive me 
 for never having told of it, if he is guilty ! 
 I saw him enter the door which she herself 
 opened for him. . . . He could not have 
 done anything so base. . . . Where can he 
 have obtained money for the purchase of 
 Roseneath! ... If he would only speak. 
 
60 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 ... If he would only be less reticent with 
 me. . . . But, then, he has never forgiven 
 me for loving her too." 
 
 "It is a monstrous lie, Serena," remarked 
 Miss Kizzy, with her mouth full of pins 
 for it was waxing and polishing day at the 
 Dancing- Academy. " A monstrous and in- 
 conceivable prevarication. Something must 
 be done about it. I will consult Monshur 
 dee Jollyboys when he returns from his For- 
 eign Mission. Get out the mops, child. 
 And be sure and give the Herring children 
 some of that fruit-cake when they come." 
 
 Amid this buzz of village gossip, the Van- 
 borough Herrings took possession of their 
 new home. Herring himself superintended 
 the replacing and arranging of the old 
 Thornham furniture, much of which he 
 had acquired at the sale, showing an al- 
 most feverish wish that each familiar object 
 should stand in its accustomed place. His 
 pretty young wife, delicate-looking, but 
 hitherto gay and light-hearted, moved some- 
 what thoughtfully about the stately many- 
 roomed mansion. Olive slipped into it as 
 if it had been her own by birthright. The 
 boy, Young Van, two years older, seemed, like 
 his mother, from the very first to fall under 
 
THE HERRING RIFLES. 61 
 
 some subtle spell beneath the new roof -tree : 
 his dark thin face became strangely melan- 
 choly ; his eyes at times followed his father 
 about with a questioning look which made 
 an uneasy silence among older people, and 
 hushed even the noisy glee of little Jack 
 and little Jeanie, the two younger children. 
 It was gay enough in other respects 
 Roseneath ! Its lavish hospitality kept pace 
 with Vanboro v ugh Herring's success. For 
 success the success in his profession for 
 which he had striven so long, so arduously, 
 and so abortively had come to him with 
 that . first mysterious turn in his fortunes. 
 It was suddenly discovered that he had a 
 profound knowledge of the law. His good 
 luck, as his fellow townsmen called it, be- 
 came proverbial. Even those who had most 
 industriously circulated the story of the 
 stolen jewels, hastened to employ him when 
 business of their own required a steady 
 hand, deep learning, and quiet tact. His 
 reputation extended, and his practice grew 
 far beyond the narrow limits of his own 
 county ; and when, some years after he be- 
 came the owner of Roseneath, he ran for the 
 Legislature of his State, he was elected by 
 an overwhelming majority. In the midst of 
 
62 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 his almost phenomenal career, the wealthy 
 and influential legislator retained the unap- 
 proachable, half -repellent attitude, which 
 had imperceptibly superseded the open, 
 frank, and joyous manner of the struggling 
 young lawyer. 
 
 " It 's his conscience that makes him so 
 hide-bound, that 's what it is ! " asserted 
 June Badgett. 
 
 " It 's his dollars, that 's .what it is ! " 
 grinned Tuke Chancellor in reply. 
 
 " I wonder how much of that abominable 
 gossip he has ever heard," thought Newall, 
 one evening as he sat at dinner at Roseneath. 
 Herring's clear-cut stern face was turned 
 toward the pretty woman on his right. She 
 was relating, with great vivacity and many 
 embellishments, the story of the Man-Fig to 
 the guest of honor, - a distinguished judge 
 from the capital. 
 
 " The blood of the murdered Don Manuel 
 Gayoso y Gonzalvo used to ooze from the 
 big purple figs," she was saying, and an af- 
 fected shiver shook her bare white shoulders, 
 " and they say his ghost continues to haunt 
 the spot. If it does," she continued gayly, 
 " it has company enough ! For the ghosts 
 
THE HERRING RIFLES. 63 
 
 of murdered reputations must be pretty 
 thick there ! And if any there be among 
 us who has lied or stolen, let him beware of 
 the Man-Fig Council." 
 
 At this unexpected and malapropos climax, 
 an uncomfortable thrill passed around the 
 table. The narrator flushed, biting her lips, 
 and dropped her eyes upon her plate, pre- 
 sumably praying the earth to open and swal- 
 low her. The distinguished guest, alone, 
 unaware of the inadvertent allusion, calmly 
 continued to eat his dinner. Newall thought 
 that Mrs. Herring's pale face changed its 
 expression. He glanced furtively at his 
 host. Herring's impassive face reassured 
 him. " She knows, perhaps," he sighed in- 
 wardly. " Poor little lady ! But I am sure 
 he has never heard it. Thank God. For 
 even in heaven where she is, Elinor Thorn- 
 ham would not be happy if he were suffering." 
 
 His head sunk between his shoulders, and, 
 oblivious of the renewed hum of conversa- 
 tion around him, his thoughts wandered 
 back into a past which included none but 
 himself and a 
 
 " Dear dead woman, yet unpossessed." 
 
 Newall had aged unaccountably during 
 
64 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 the past few years ; his hair was sprinkled 
 with gray ; the wrinkles about his eyes had 
 deepened; his broad shoulders drooped. 
 Herring on the contrary full a year older 
 retained all the spring and elasticity of 
 youth. His dark eyes were filled with fire ; 
 his lithe erect figure was instinct with life 
 and vigor. But for the rigid lines about his 
 mouth, and the heavy furrow between his 
 straight brows, he might have been that Van 
 Herring of a dozen years back, who had 
 wooed in this very house and jilted the 
 beautiful and high-spirited Elinor Thornham. 
 
 Newall came out of his reverie with a 
 start. There was a clatter of horse's hoofs 
 upon the shelled drive outside ; a spurred 
 heel rang on the gallery, and a man, reeling 
 with fatigue, came unceremoniously into the 
 dining-room, with an envelope in his hand. 
 
 It was a messenger bringing to Van- 
 borough Herring the news of the surrender 
 of Fort Sumter. 
 
 Within the month, the Herring Rifles, 
 uniformed and equipped at the expense of 
 their captain, Herring himself, were 
 mustered into the Confederate States Ser- 
 
THE HERRING RIFLES. 65 
 
 vice. Jimmy Hopson, with a long knife in 
 his belt, and a look of grim defiance on 
 his round boyish face, was among them ; and 
 Tuke Chancellor, mildly interested in " tic- 
 tacs " ; and young Duncan Jeffrey, his yel- 
 low curls and beardless cheeks in strange 
 contrast with the rugged visage and griz- 
 zled locks of his great-uncle, Major Billy 
 Duncan, a veteran of the Texan War for 
 Independence, and of the Mexican War 
 with the United States. 
 
 They went away one balmy May morning. 
 The entire population of Thornham men, 
 women, and children thronged about the 
 station, shouting themselves hoarse, throw- 
 ing up hats and caps, and waving tear-wet 
 handkerchiefs, as the train drew slowly up 
 the road. The " boys " in their brand-new 
 uniforms crowded the platforms, looking 
 back, laughing and singing, all filled with 
 a mad haste to know somewhat of that fair 
 game, in which they were to play a losing 
 part. The sleek black faces of their body- 
 servants grinned from the car windows. 
 
 Liberty had climbed to the top of the rear 
 coach and stood there, his huge form out- 
 lined against the sky. 
 
 " Good-by, Betty-gal," he shouted. " Tek 
 
66 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 keer o' de pickaninnies an' Miss Elinor's 
 dog! Good-by, Miss Jeanie. Good-by, 
 little Miss Olive ! I 'm gwine ter tek keer 
 o' little Mars Dune an' de Cap'n ! " 
 
 " Will you lend Liberty to me until the 
 war is over?" Herring had asked playfully 
 one day, looking down, with one of his rare 
 smiles, into his little daughter's face. 
 
 " Yes, papa," she had gravely returned. 
 She had " claimed " Lib, as young Van had 
 appropriated Magnus, from the moment 
 they appeared at the cottage. " He will 
 take care of you." 
 
 Duncan Jeffrey was standing near his 
 captain, who was completing the prepara- 
 tions for departure. The tall youth of 
 eighteen looked bashfully at the eleven-year- 
 old child. 
 
 "And of me, Ollie," he said, blushing, he 
 could not have told why ; " may Lib take 
 care of me too ? " 
 
 And so the Herring Rifles went up to 
 " the front," that vague border-land be- 
 tween friend and foe, kinsman and kinsman, 
 brother and brother, ignorant, gay, defi- 
 ant, hopeful. God in Heaven help you, lads, 
 and the lads across the border ! 
 
THE HERRING RIFLES. 67 
 
 " For a soldier is a gentleman, his honor is his life, 
 And he that won't fight at his post shall ne'er stay with 
 
 his wife, 
 
 Shall ne'er stay with his wife. 
 
 And he that won't fight at his post shall ne'er stay with 
 his wife." l 
 
 " Farewell, sweethearts, 'tis for awhile, oh dear sweet 
 
 girls, adieu, 
 
 And when the war is over, we '11 come and stay with you ! 
 Yes, when the war is over, hoys, we '11 then sit down at 
 
 ease, 
 And plough and mind, and press and grind, and do 
 
 just as we please, 
 Just as we please, 
 Just a-s w-e p-1-e-a-s-e ! " 
 
 The refrain came echoing back from the 
 rich and tangled bottom-lands into which the 
 train had plunged, and the answering cheer 
 that followed after was faint and feeble, 
 for it struggled through aching throats. 
 
 June Badgett and Rufe Drennon returned 
 to the Man-Fig whose straggling shade was 
 grateful in the noonday heat. There Dud- 
 ley Welsh presently joined them. He had a 
 shamefaced look, and his eyes were red. 
 " Dinged if I ain't goin' too," he declared, 
 dropping into his accustomed place at the 
 foot of the tree. 
 
 " I ain't," said June cheerfully. I ain't 
 
 1 A Confederate camp-song. 
 
68 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 got time to spit, much less 'n to go to the war. 
 Let Van Herrin' do the fightin', him an' 
 them yether fellers up yander at Austin that 
 drug Texas out'n the Union. He 's mighty 
 free of his money, Van is ; a-fittin' out the 
 Herrin' Rifles ! An' the las' thing, the 
 plum las' ! he done before he lef ' was to up 
 an' buy Fair View Plantation an' stock it 
 with niggers, an' mules, an' a overseer; an' 
 set it a-goin'. He 's powerful free of his 
 money. But I ain't fergot how he got it. 
 Jes you wait ontel the jedgment o' God falls 
 on him. I ain't got nothin' ag'in' Van, but 
 I wish my Mak Hello, there 's Mis' Her- 
 rin' an' the childern ! " 
 
 "She's got my Rosy in there," said 
 Drennon, shuffling to his feet and staring 
 after the carriage. There was a note of 
 exultation in his monotonous voice. 
 
 Mrs. Herring leaned back, pale and ex- 
 hausted, among the cushions. The little 
 girls on the front seat Olive, and Rose 
 Drennon were chattering gayly and sing- 
 ing snatches of the soldiers' farewell ditty. 
 But Young Van, the slim, sad-eyed boy, 
 pressed against his mother, flushing pain- 
 fully, and turning his head as they rolled 
 past the Man-Fig. 
 
THE HERRING RIFLES. 69 
 
 Betty had preceded them home, and 
 Madame de Jolibois awaited them 011 the 
 front steps. 
 
 " Don't you fret yo'se'f , Miss Jeanie, 
 honey," Betty exhorted, helping her mistress 
 to alight, and gathering little Jack and little 
 Jeanie in her arms. " D' ain' nothin' gwine 
 to happen to Mars Van. Gawd sen' dat 
 nigger Lib don' git his-se'f killed, foolin' 
 roun' dem Yankees," she added, under her 
 breath. 
 
 " I know what it is, dear Mrs. Herring," 
 said Miss Kizzy tenderly. " I am aware 
 of the poignancy of your feelings. I have 
 also an absent husband and spouse. But 
 they will return. Monshur dee Jollyboys 
 and Vanborough will return loaded with 
 honors. They may pass through the Tem- 
 pest of Battle where the loud thunders rat- 
 tle, but they will return. Together perhaps, 
 for I am firmly convinced that Monshur 
 Anatole has flown on the wings of patriotism 
 to the aid of his adopted country. And 
 and, my dear, I will come once or twice a 
 week to Roseneath to instruct Olive and 
 Young Van in their steps. But I have 
 been unable to consult Monshur dee Jolly- 
 boys, who has been absent on a delicate and 
 
70 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 dangerous Mission but Serena and I have 
 decided to close the Jollyboys Dancing- 
 Academy until the war is over. We do 
 not deem it proper that we should continue 
 to teach the Saltatory Art while our country 
 is in the midst of bloodshed and tribula- 
 tion." 
 
IV. 
 
 YOUNG VAN. 
 
 EVERYBODY knows how it all ended! 
 The Herring Rifles came limping home, by 
 twos and threes, ragged, forlorn, footsore, 
 hungry, with defeat, stamped on their 
 wan faces. There were not many of them 
 left, to be sure ! Jimmy Hopson, with a bul- 
 let through his brain, was sleeping yonder 
 on the bloody field of Gettysburg; Tuke 
 Chancellor had gone down foremost in a 
 gallant charge in the Battle of the Wil- 
 derness. You could have counted the dead 
 and missing by the number of black-robed 
 women who stole forth to gaze yearningly in 
 the faces of those who came, asked a few 
 low-voiced questions, and fled weeping back 
 to their lonely chambers. Some among 
 those who returned were maimed for life. 
 Dudley Welsh had lost an arm ; Uncle 
 Billy Duncan had a gash exactly across that 
 scar on his left cheek which he had fetched 
 home from Chapultepec ; Colonel Herring, 
 
72 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 promoted on the field for bravery, limped 
 heavily from an unhealed wound in his 
 knee ; even June Badgett, who had, after 
 all, found time to follow the Eifles with the 
 first batch of recruits, was minus a couple 
 of fingers. 
 
 " Hello, Eufe ! " the latter exclaimed the 
 day after his return, sauntering up to the 
 Man-Fig in company with Welsh. " Have 
 you been a-settin' here ever sence the war 
 begun, dura yo' hide?" 
 
 Drennon got up from the patch of grass 
 where he was lying. " No," he grinned, no- 
 wise abashed by the insinuation ; "I was 
 drafted inter the Home Gyard " 
 
 " Home Gyard," interrupted June con- 
 temptuously. " I wish my Maker may 
 strike me stone dead if He ever ketches me 
 
 associatin' with a d d white-livered 
 
 skunk-eatin' Home Gyard ! " 
 
 Nevertheless he remained, leaning his 
 tired back against a post, for the fence was 
 quite gone. He cast his eyes over the famil- 
 iar scene. Nothing was changed, in ap- 
 pearance at least, a little more dilapidation 
 here and there, perhaps, a broken fence, 
 a briar-grown front yard. But the same 
 gray old stores, the glimpses of dark gables 
 
YOUNG VAN. 73 
 
 through the trees, the yellow sunlight warm 
 on the one long street ; the river, low and 
 sullen between its bluffs ; Jack Addington in 
 the doorway of his warehouse (Thornham's 
 only warehouse), shouting orders into space; 
 the ferryman pulling at his rope ; the shaky 
 train across the river, rounding the bend 
 and rattling up to the station ! (" She " 
 brought no thrill to June's breast now, how- 
 ever ; he had seen locomotives enough and 
 to spare during his four years' service, had 
 June !) His gaze sought Roseiieath in the 
 midst of its great park-like lawn. 
 * " Well," he mused rather to himself than 
 to his companions, " some goes out privates 
 an' conies back privates, an', lo, an' behole, 
 their wagin-an'-team has been confiscated by 
 a busted gover'mint, their wife an' chile is 
 a-layin' out yander in the graveyard ; their 
 do' is off'n its hinges an' jimpson-weed 's 
 growin' in their co'n - patch ! Some goes 
 out an' don't come back at all, an' their 
 fam'lies mo'ns fer 'em. But Van Herrin's 
 luck shore sticks to him ! Stars on his coat- 
 collar, Lib a-totin' his cyarpet-bag, he comes 
 back to a standin' crop, nary mule gone 
 fum his stables, a likely wife, an' a passel 
 o' sassy child ern I " 
 
74 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 It was true. Some mysterious charm 
 seemed to brood over Herring's possessions. 
 His very fences forbore to rot. The tre- 
 mendous rise in the river which, one spring, 
 had desolated the plantations above and 
 below, had swirled around a bend somehow 
 and left Fair View uninjured. His negroes, 
 under a judicious and clear-headed overseer, 
 had remained at work when neighboring 
 fields were grass-grown for the lack of 
 labor. Everything had thriven and in- 
 creased, live stock, cane, corn, grain, 
 fruit. Even the rose-garden at Roseneath 
 had never borne such a wealth of dewy,* 
 sweet-scented, velvet-leaved roses as in that 
 dreary, despairing early summer of '65. 
 His wife, whose boundless charities and 
 sweet sympathy in a time of common suffer- 
 ing and common hope had endeared her 
 anew to the community, had lost that look 
 of anxiety and apprehension which had 
 made her care-worn and prematurely old. 
 She met her husband at the station, on his 
 return, robust, joyous, radiant. Young 
 Van, now a fine, manly lad, no longer shrank 
 from companionship; Olive, blooming into 
 exquisite girlhood; the two younger chil- 
 dren glowing with health and spirits, all 
 
YOUNG VAN. 75 
 
 this, as Badgett said, awaited the lucky man 
 on his return. 
 
 One may, perhaps, be too fortunate. 
 
 Who was it unchained and set loose again 
 that half -forgotten story ? It would have 
 been hard to say. A whisper, a look 
 askance, a shrug of the shoulders, and the 
 thing was done. Not even in the days 
 which followed Vanborough Herring's first 
 unaccountable gleam of prosperity did gossip 
 rage more fiercely than now. Startling ad- 
 ditions were made to the original text of the 
 tale : Herring had wrested the necklet by 
 force from the dying woman ; there was a 
 purple mark from brutal fingers on her 
 throat when they found her! Some one 
 during the war somewhere in New Or- 
 leans in Chattanooga in Richmond 
 had met the identical man to whom Herring 
 had sold one, or a part, or the whole, of 
 Elinor Thornham's diamonds. 
 
 "Wait till the Hand o' God strikes 
 him!" 
 
 Once more June Badgett had coined the 
 apposite phrase. It was in everybody's 
 mouth, The Hand of God ! 
 
 " He was a gallant soldier," urged the 
 unswerving minority. 
 
76 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " Of course ! " retorted the majority con- 
 temptuously. " He hoped to make the world 
 forget that he was a thief."' 
 
 " He led many a gallant charge." 
 
 " Certainly ; his conscience stung him so 
 that he courted death." 
 
 " He bore every brunt with his men, and 
 not the meanest ever appealed to him in 
 vain." 
 
 " No doubt ! A villain must ease his soul 
 somehow." 
 
 " They do not scruple to accept his hospi- 
 tality ; they eat his food and drink his wine, 
 and go their ways calling him a scoundrel 
 and a thief!" said Newall bitterly, after a 
 vain attempt to stem the tide of public 
 opinion. 
 
 The cloud for a time mercifully lifted 
 descended again upon the wife ; her laughter 
 died in her throat ; she became silent and 
 shrinking as before. Young Van gradually 
 lost his youthful buoyancy. 
 
 If Herring, always reticent and self-con- 
 tained, noted any of these things, or knew 
 what they betokened, he made no sign. 
 
 Olive alone, on the threshold of woman- 
 hood, remained radiantly unconscious. 
 
YOUNG VAN. 77 
 
 Meanwhile, Thornham slowly resumed its 
 old-time uneventful routine. Save for the 
 occasional presence of a uniformed officer 
 representing the military government, and 
 the groups of negroes loafing about the 
 streets by way of realizing their freedom, 
 there was little in the tranquil town to indi- 
 cate that a world had tumbled about its 
 ears. 
 
 Finally, and last of all, The Jolibois 
 Dancing- Academy was reopened. A circu- 
 lar, written by Madame de Jolibois, and 
 carried from house to house, as on a former 
 occasion, by Liberty, urged its patrons to 
 remember that the Growing Generation must 
 be Educated, so that our Foes in future 
 years may Respect them. Our Armies are 
 Defeated, but there Remains with us the 
 Consciousness of Right. Let us show the 
 Enemy that we can Rise above Misfortune. 
 
 N. B. If any of my Patrons are unable 
 to Pay, I will gladly Teach Their children 
 without Compensation for the sake of the 
 Lost Cause. 
 
 Miss Kizzy did not admit even to herself 
 that her joints were a little stiff from mis- 
 use and age. But she was secretly grate- 
 ful when Olive Herring dropped in, as she 
 
78 UNDER -THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 sometimes did, and offered gayly to put the 
 troublesome squad through its manual. 
 
 She leaned against the piano one March 
 afternoon watching the young girl -skim 
 down the long hall with Duncan Jeffrey, 
 who had come back from the war with a 
 bullet in his shoulder, and a captain's stripe 
 on his ragged gray sleeve. The children, 
 aligned in two rows for a reel, gaped admir- 
 ingly at their leaders. 
 
 Miss Kizzy's heart fluttered. She felt 
 suddenly faint. "I am almost sure, Se- 
 rena," she said in an undertone to her sister, 
 " I have a presentiment that Monshur dee 
 Jollyboys is about to return." 
 
 " Oh, yes," assented Miss "Fatty," playing 
 stolidly on, " I am sure Brother Anatole is 
 about to return." 
 
 "Do you know, Miss Kizzy," called Olive, 
 rosy and breathless from swinging half-round 
 and back with so many very young and 
 bashful gentlemen, " do you know that there 
 is going to be a ball at Koseneath next 
 week ? In honor of Van's nineteenth birth- 
 day. It happens to be my birthday, too. 
 But I don't count. I am only seventeen," 
 she added with a saucy glance at Duncan, 
 who tried to say that she counted very much 
 
YOUNG VAN. 79 
 
 to one person at least, but stammered in- 
 stead, and blushed, and held his tongue. 
 
 As for Miss Kizzy, Monshur Anatole for 
 once went clean out of her head. Her face 
 became stern. It was proper enough for 
 the Growing Generation to learn its steps in 
 order to insure respect of itself from the 
 Enemy in future years. But for the actual 
 generation to dance as it were on the ashes 
 of the Lost Cause ! That were sacrilege. 
 But her eyes softened once more as the 
 lithe young couple swayed forward again in 
 the dance, the blonde head of the young ex- 
 captain bent above Olive's brown curls, and 
 her eyes smiling frankly into his. 
 
 A vision of Monsieur Anatole walking 
 beside her in the Seminary grounds, that 
 long-gone summer day, and plucking a rose 
 for her hair, swam before her. " And, after 
 all," she reflected, " it has been nearly two 
 years since the surrender." 
 
 Even in the old days, when Steven Thorn- 
 ham haughty and imperious, but magnifi- 
 cently open-handed in his mode of living 
 was master there, Koseneath never wore an 
 aspect more royal than on the night of the 
 ball given in honor of the oldest son of its 
 
80 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 present owner. The countless glittering- 
 lights, the new and costly hangings, the 
 gay garlands festooned from pillar to pillar 
 of the large ballroom, the fairy-like nooks, 
 bowered in palms, contrived here and there 
 throughout the network of rooms and hall- 
 ways, the smooth-swept lawn with its lantern- 
 thridded trees all this seemed little 'less 
 than enchantment after the sombre, denuded 
 years since the last ball in Thornham, the 
 ball at which the Herring Rifles in their 
 trim new uniforms had danced the night 
 before they marched away to " the front." 
 Several of these scarred veterans looked on 
 somewhat wistfully while more youthful feet 
 beat the shining floors to the sound of joyous 
 music. Newall was one of these, for he too 
 had worn the gray. He sat unobserved in 
 a corner of the sitting-room with its familiar 
 furnishings, his eyes following the graceful 
 motion of the dancers through a curtained 
 doorway. 
 
 All Thornham was there. Madame de 
 Jolibois, sitting on a causeuse in a corner 
 of the ballroom with Miss " Fatty " (both 
 in wonderful toilettes created for the occa- 
 sion), regretted aloud that Monshur dee 
 Jollyboys could not have returned from his 
 
YOUNG VAN. 81 
 
 Foreign Mission in time to be present. 
 " Himself a brilliant luminary of the nobil- 
 ity of his native land, he would have be- 
 held," she said, " the glittering aristocracy 
 of this favored region." To her inmost 
 self she breathed with a sigh of relief, " At 
 last the slander is lived down ! Thank God 
 for Vanborough ! " 
 
 Newall's gaze dwelt lingeringly upon 
 Olive, whose dark luminous eyes filled him 
 with vague remembrances. She stood be- 
 side her father at the upper end of the 
 long ballroom. Herring's own eyes rested 
 tenderly for a moment upon her joyous 
 upturned face ; then they swept over the 
 assemblage. A flash of pride illuminated 
 them, and a flush mounted to his dark 
 cheek. He had indeed reason to be con- 
 tent. All Thornham was there ! The 
 struggling, ill -paid, well-nigh despairing 
 lawyer of a decade back to-day rich, pros- 
 perous, planter, legislator, judge held his 
 conquered world in the hollow of his hand ! 
 Newall, in his corner, felt an answering 
 thrill. At that moment it seemed as if the 
 sun blazing in the heaven of this man's life 
 had at last dissipated every cloud and left 
 the sky serene and smiling. 
 
82 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 The lawyer heaved, like the dancing- 
 mistress, a sigh of relief, and sank back into 
 his seat. As he did so, a warm breath 
 struck his cheek. He turned, startled. A 
 face was pressed against the blind outside, 
 and a pair of eyes peered eagerly into the 
 room. Newall followed the direction of 
 the absorbed gaze. Rose Drennon, pretty, 
 blonde, blue-eyed, was among the dancers ; 
 Jed Bates's arm encircled her slight waist, 
 her head drooped against his shoulder as 
 they circled slowly down the crowded ball- 
 room. The " poor- white " father was watch- 
 ing his child from the gallery ! The law- 
 yer shifted his position, affecting not to see 
 the uninvited guest outside the window. 
 It was then that a fragment of conversa- 
 tion reached him. A lady, full-blown and 
 voluptuous - looking, with sleek black hair 
 and narrow sensuous eyes, was sitting on 
 Elinor Thornham's couch over against 
 him. She was fanning herself coquettishly 
 and chatting with a man who sat beside 
 her, with his arm thrown along the back 
 of the lounge. Their voices had pro- 
 bably been subdued hitherto, or Newall 
 himself had been too absorbed to hear 
 what they were saying. Now it seemed 
 
YOUNG VAN. 83 
 
 to him as if a thunder-tone assailed his 
 ears. 
 
 " How many of the Thornham diamonds 
 have gone into this, do you suppose ? " the 
 man asked with a meaning sneer on his 
 long sallow face. 
 
 " Who can tell ? " the woman responded, 
 lifting her shoulders. " By. the way," she 
 added, looking around her, " I believe that 
 it was in this very room that he choked her 
 and stole her diamonds. Do you think 
 mine are safe from him?" And she made 
 a pretense of shielding with her gloved 
 hand the riviere of jewels adorning her own 
 white throat. 
 
 A look of ineffable horror and anguish 
 came into NewalFs face. For Young Van, 
 standing unnoticed in the embrasure of a 
 window beyond the speakers, already pale 
 and melancholy, grew absolutely livid. His 
 lips parted ; his limbs seemed to tremble 
 beneath him; he made an uncertain step 
 forward, then turned abruptly into the ball- 
 room, glided silently through the dancers, 
 and passed out upon the deserted veranda. 
 " Poor boy ! Poor lad ! " sighed Newall 
 aloud, for he was alone in the little room. 
 The face behind the blind had disappeared, 
 
84 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 and the thoughtless gossipers had joined the 
 tide which was beginning to flow toward the 
 supper-room. 
 
 The gayety of the stately mansion had its 
 grotesque counterpart out in the servants' 
 quarters, where unctuous black valets and 
 comely yellow maids aped the manners of 
 their masters and mistresses, sitting in 
 pompous and exaggerated decorum in 
 Betty's cabin, or mincing in couples up and 
 down the long kitchen-gallery. Crowds, of 
 humbler retainers from Fair View swarmed 
 about the back yard, pressing up the steps 
 and peeping through open windows ; and a 
 score or more of pickaninnies, including 
 Betty's five, patted juba and shuffled noisily 
 under the trees to the sound of the fiddles 
 in the " gret-house." 
 
 Liberty, whose gigantic frame seemed to 
 have been enlarged and strengthened by 
 the toil and hardship of camp-life, bustled 
 with an air of importance between kitchen 
 and supper-room ; now admonishing his own 
 satellites in the pantry, now dictating to 
 Betty and her corps of assistants about her 
 oven-ringed fireplace. 
 
 " Be keerf ul o' dem cut-glass goblers, Jack- 
 
YOUNG VAN. 85 
 
 son." " Pass in cle eZecanters, Sam ; don't 
 you see dey is fair dreened / " " Come 
 out'n dat do', Jess. Major Joe Burnham 
 ain' tellin' dem jokes fer de likes o' you to 
 laugh at ! " " Betty, 'pears like you spec 
 white folks kin wait tell mornin' fer dem 
 oyshters. Hop eroun', gal, hop eroun' ! " 
 
 " Git out'n my kitchen, Lib Thorn- 
 ham ! " cried Betty, flustered. " I been over 
 de fiah befo' ever I seed you. You ten' to 
 yo' business ez de butler an' I'll ten' to 
 mine ez de cook ! Gawd-a-mighty ! " 
 
 She dropped the spoon she was flourish- 
 ing, and turned an ashen face on her hus- 
 band. The old dog, Magnus, who had been 
 lying in a corner of the fireplace, had dragged 
 himself across the kitchen, and stood on the 
 door-sill, howling mournfully, his purblind 
 eyes strangely fixed, and his feeble body 
 quivering. 
 
 " Dat ain' no hallelujah-whine like he sot 
 up de day you an' him come into ou' fam'ly, 
 Lib," Betty whimpered fearfully. " Dat 's a 
 death-howl. O Gawd!" she shook from 
 head to foot, clutching at his shoulder. For 
 the steady long-drawn wail arose the third 
 time on the air. 
 
 " Shet yo' fool mouth, Betty," said Lib- 
 
86 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 erty roughly. His own eyeballs were roll- 
 ing and his teeth were hard upon chatter- 
 ing. " Ain't you see little Mars Van by de 
 summer-house out yander in de rose-garden ! 
 De dog can't see out'n his eyes, but he 's 
 got innard sight. He aw! altogether human, 
 nohow, dat dog ain' ! He p'intedly knows 
 dat his young Marster is settin' by his-se'f 
 out yander in de rose-garden, in de moon- 
 
 light." 
 
 The disordered house, the next morning, 
 had that dreary, almost sinister air which 
 follows a night of prolonged revelry. The 
 sun streaming in at the wide-open windows 
 shed a mocking light upon the wreckage of 
 that high tide which had surged there a few 
 hours agone, fragments of lace, spangles, 
 shreds of tulle and ribbon strewn upon the 
 soiled and trampled floors ; a fan tossed on 
 a sofa, a pair of gloves forgotten on a man- 
 tel ; here a filmy handkerchief breathing of 
 its dainty owner, there a faded bouquet. 
 Nothing so empty as a ballroom when the 
 light feet of the dancers have left it ! 
 
 The spurred heels of Young Van echoed 
 jarringly on the silence as he crossed the 
 ballroom to where his mother sat, alone 
 
YOUNG VAN. 87 
 
 and abstracted, on a divan with her hands 
 folded idly on her lap. She looked up with 
 a smile, but she avoided his searching gaze. 
 
 "I I was just waiting for the servants 
 to take it all down." She made a gesture 
 toward the dying garlands that wreathed 
 the walls. 
 
 " Mother," the boy said abruptly, " did 
 you hear were you last night ? " The 
 words died away in a sob. He stooped and 
 kissed her hastily, and strode away without 
 looking back. 
 
 She followed him slowly, and stood watch- 
 ing from the gallery while he mounted the 
 restive horse awaiting him, and galloped 
 away for his morning ride. The slender 
 young figure, erect and graceful in the 
 saddle, disappeared in that turn of the road 
 from which ten years before June Badgett 
 had stood his fatal watch, and the mother 
 went back into the deserted ballroom. 
 
 She had been a pretty woman, and a 
 happy one in those old days when Van- 
 borough Herring had not had a law-case for 
 more than twelve months, nor a pair of new 
 boots for six ; but beauty and happiness had 
 gone away together, suddenly she could 
 have named you the very day and hour ! 
 
88 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 They had come back for a brief space dur- 
 ing the time that the women of Thornham 
 had wept and prayed together for their 
 absent husbands and sons and lovers, and 
 made lint and cartridges, with their hearts 
 beating in unison, now with rejoicing, now 
 with dread, and packed boxes for the 
 " boys " away yonder at " the front," with 
 mutual hopes and mutual fears. Now, alas, 
 her thin face was again pinched and pitiful ; 
 her large blue eyes were dim with much se- 
 cret weeping. Newall was right in his con- 
 jecture. She did know ! She had heard ! 
 And, with a mother's intuition, she had long 
 ago divined that the boy, too, in some way, 
 had heard the shameful story which had 
 blasted his father's reputation in the midst 
 of worldly success. But neither by word 
 nor look had mother or son betrayed to any 
 living soul least of all to each other ! 
 their consciousness of the ever-blackening 
 cloud which hung above their lives ; nor did 
 the wife know whether or not her husband 
 was aware of the foul stain upon his own fair 
 fame. She had, indeed, seen a mask settle 
 and harden upon his face. Did he, too, suf- 
 fer ? Did he, too, writhe and groan in 
 secret? She could not tell. His tender- 
 
YOUNG VAN. 89 
 
 ness toward herself was unabated ; his love 
 and pride in his children were boundless. 
 But an invisible barrier stretched there, 
 where her soul would fain enter his and 
 share with it all it might be fated to endure 
 of pain or suffering, even of guilt and re- 
 morse. 
 
 She, too, had seen significant glances the 
 night before, and caught the echo of half- 
 uttered phrases. 
 
 She arose from the divan and began to 
 walk aimlessly about the house, which she 
 hated. Had its shadow not fallen across 
 her own life and his ? And was it not here 
 that the woman whom he had loved first 
 
 She put the rising thought aside as un- 
 worthy of herself and him, and continued 
 her lonely walk, avoiding instinctively the 
 little nook which had been Elinor Thorn- 
 ham's sitting-room. 
 
 The voices of her children little Jack 
 
 and little Jeanie, romping on the gallery, 
 
 and Olive in confidential talk with Liberty 
 
 at last penetrated to her troubled senses. 
 
 She stopped to listen, glad of the relief. 
 
 The younger children scampered down the 
 steps in hot pursuit of Betty's gang ; and 
 their boisterous shouts died away in the dis- 
 tance. 
 
90 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " Lawd, Miss Olive," Liberty was saying, 
 " did n't I been an' tole you dat tale yis- 
 tiddj ! " 
 
 " I don't care, Lib," said Olive, " I want 
 to hear it again." 
 
 They were in the butler's pantry. An oc- 
 casional clatter of dishes mingled with their 
 talk. Liberty was replacing the Thornham 
 china in the tall presses built into the wall. 
 Rose Drennon was with them. 
 
 " Shucks, chile," he returned. " Dat wa'n't 
 a succumstanche ! Mars Van was always 
 doin' somep'n brash. He was de braves' 
 man in ou' ridgment, Mars Van was ! 
 Lawd, I has seen him a-chargin' 'long, at 
 deheado' de Rifles" 
 
 " I know," interrupted Olive impatiently, 
 " but that day the Rebel pickets were lying 
 behind a low wall, when all at once the 
 Federals came in sight at the edge of the 
 woods, just beyond the old field. And a 
 Rebel soldier jumped over the wall with 
 a flag in his hand " 
 
 " He wa'n't nothin' but a boy," inter- 
 rupted Liberty in his turn, " a plum boy ! 
 An' his yaller hair a-flyin', an' his blue eyes 
 a-shinin' ! Lawd, Miss Olive, when dem 
 bluecoats come in sight he jerked up de 
 
YOUNG VAN. 91 
 
 flag, an' whooped over dat wall like a streak 
 o' lightnin', an' cut ercrost dat fiel' a-hol- 
 lerin' an' a-wavin' de flag. All at once dey 
 was a solingtary shot. It did seem like dem 
 bluecoats did n' had de heart to shoot dat 
 jailer-headed boy Reb ! But de solingtary 
 shot done struck him in de shoulder, an' 
 down he come on his face on de groun' wi' 
 de flag onder him. Den de bluecoats come 
 a-chargin' todes him to git de flag. I tell 
 you, Miss Olive, dey was like a swarm o' 
 bees ! De Rifle-boys jis lif ' up dey heads 
 an' drap 'em back, a-waitin'. But dreckly 
 dey bus' out a-yellin' ontell you mought a' 
 heard 'em down here in de Brazos bottom. 
 Fer de cap'n, yo' pa, he riz up an' jumped 
 dat wall like a stag-deer, an' whiz-z-z ercrost 
 dat fiel' ! And down he draps 'longside 
 de boy. An' f us' thing we knowed, here 
 he come bookety-book ! wi' dat boy flung 
 ercrost his shoulder, an' a-wavin' dat flag in 
 his han' ! An', Lawd, honey, by de time he 
 gin me de boy to tek keer of dey was a 
 scrimmage ! An' we did n't git whipped 
 not dat time" he concluded with a chuckle 
 of satisfaction. 
 
 " Ah," cried the girl, her clear voice ring- 
 ing proudly, " my father is a hero ! a hero, 
 Liberty!" 
 
92 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " I ain' never tole you who dat fool yaller- 
 headed boy was, has I, Miss Olive ? " pur- 
 sued Lib. 
 
 " Why no, who was it? " 
 
 " Well, hit was p'intedly little Mars Dune 
 Jeffrey, dat 's who." 
 
 " Was it ? " said Olive, with less enthusi- 
 asm. " No wonder they made my father a 
 Colonel for bravery," she added. " He ought 
 to have been made a General." 
 
 " A hero ! " echoed the wife, under her 
 breath. Her tear-wet eyes were sparkling 
 with pride. A girlish color had leaped into 
 her worn cheeks. " A hero ! " she repeated 
 softly, smiling. 
 
 And then, what was it ? A sudden and 
 confused murmur of voices, a trampling of 
 feet, a moan, as of some one or something 
 in pain 
 
 "Do not be alarmed, Mrs. Herring," 
 Newall said, meeting her as she rushed for- 
 ward with wildly beating heart, " Van " 
 
 " My husband " she gasped. 
 
 " No, Young Van. He has been thrown 
 from his horse. We hope he is not seriously 
 hurt. The doctor " - 
 
 She broke past him into the little morn- 
 ing-room whither they had carried the lad. 
 
YOUNG VAN. 93 
 
 He was lying on Elinor Thornham's coucli, 
 moaning, but quite unconscious, with the 
 blood oozing slowly from an ugly gash over 
 his temple. The doctor was bending over 
 him, busied already with bandages ; his head 
 rested upon his father's knee. 
 
 Toward nightfall, he seemed to recover 
 consciousness. His eyes slowly unclosed, 
 and, encountering his father's face, rested 
 there for a moment with an expression of 
 childlike love and confidence. Then a frown 
 contracted his forehead. " Mother," he 
 called out sharply, attempting to rise, " Mo- 
 ther, did you hear? . . . They said . . . 
 diamonds . . . last night. My father. My 
 father ! " His voice rose to a shriek. " Long 
 ago, when I was coming by the Man-Fig, 
 mother, do you remember ? They said he 
 stole the diamonds. Stole ! My father ! " 
 
 A visible spasm of terror and dismay 
 swept through the room. Liberty, standing 
 at the foot of the couch, dropped the basin 
 he held in his hands, and cowered to the 
 floor. The men held their breath. Even 
 the mother's agony for a second was in abey- 
 ance. She looked up at her husband with 
 wide frightened eyes. His gaze was fixed 
 
94 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 steadily upon the face on his knee ; not a 
 muscle flinched, not an eyelash quivered 
 in his own. Miss Kizzy drew back into the 
 shadow of a curtain, overawed and trem- 
 bling. Olive, with her head buried in her 
 mother's lap, did not look up ; she alone had 
 not heard. 
 
 A long silence succeeded this scene. The 
 sun sank lower, and the level rays, streaming 
 in at the open window, fell full upon the 
 couch. A sudden puff of wind brought in a 
 scent of damask-roses from the rose-garden. 
 The boy smiled, a rare smile that illumi- 
 nated his pinched features. " Why, father ! 
 . . . Mother ! " he cried joyously, " we are 
 going back to the other house! I am so 
 glad." 
 
 The eyes which had opened for an instant 
 closed; a fluttering sigh escaped from the 
 parted lips, and Vanborough Herring con- 
 tinued to gaze on the dead face of his first- 
 born. 
 
 "It's the jedgment o' God," said June 
 Badgett, in an awed tone, looking around 
 upon the Man-Fig Council. " The Hand o' 
 God struck him at las'." 
 
 " The judgment of God!" whispered 
 
YOUNG VAN. 95 
 
 some even among those who followed the 
 funeral cortege to the Thornham family bury- 
 iiig-ground at Fair View. And so current 
 was the expression that the Reverend James 
 Hall, the old Rector of St. John's, deemed 
 it needful, when he ascended the pulpit the 
 following Sunday, to take as his text that 
 stern admonition of our Lord, " Judge not 
 that ye be not judged." 
 
 Old Magnus, out in the kitchen, purblind, 
 feeble, gaunt, knew, by that " innard sight " 
 which was his, when his little master in the 
 great-house closed his eyes, to open them 
 in that other house whither he went. And 
 he also went his way, following the lad, 
 perhaps ! who knows ? 
 
 For, when Liberty and Betty came out of 
 the little room, that night, where they were 
 no longer needed, they found the dog in his 
 accustomed place in the corner of the fire- 
 place, dead, with his shaggy head between 
 his paws. 
 
Y. 
 STORMED AT BY SHOT AND SHELL. 
 
 YOUNG VAN had been sleeping in the 
 plantation cemetery at Fair View for half 
 a year ; it might indeed have been half a 
 century, so rank and matted were the roses 
 above his grave ; so stained and mildewed 
 the slender cross at its head ! 
 
 Mrs. Hopson came out upon the back gal- 
 lery at Roseneath. She had a shawl over 
 her head, though the late August afternoon 
 was warm and sultry ; for Aunt Patty was 
 getting on in years, and her blood had lost 
 its heat. It was not the first time that the 
 housekeeper had been left in charge of the 
 place and its belongings. In the old days 
 when Alcalde Steven Thornham made his 
 exciting and often dangerous horseback trips 
 about the sparsely settled country, or jour- 
 neyed to Saltillo to confer with the Govern- 
 ment of Coahuila and Texas, it was to Aunt 
 Patty then younger by many years, sturdy. 
 
STORMED AT BY SHOT AND SHELL. 97 
 
 clever, and masculine that lie confided the 
 care of his wife and children, and the man- 
 agement of the house. During the pro- 
 longed absences of the family abroad and 
 elsewhere, in later times, or of Elinor 
 Thornham when Eoseneath passed into her 
 possession, it was still Aunt Patty who kept 
 the shadowy rooms in order, and scolded 
 and managed, and cared for the troop of 
 idle house-servants. 
 
 After many years, she was once more 
 temporary mistress there, Colonel Herring 
 having taken his wife and the remaining 
 children to a neighboring town, in the vain 
 hope of finding some alleviation for the 
 mother's silent and despairing grief over the 
 death of her son. 
 
 "Hit's sholy a fine day, Miss Patty," 
 called Betty from her cabin door, where she 
 sat, fat and comfortable, with her brown and 
 yellow brood tumbling about on the ground 
 at her feet. 
 
 Mrs. Hopson traveled slowly down the 
 steps with her hand on the rail, and walked 
 across the kitchen - yard. Her eyes were 
 fixed upon the western sky. The sun had 
 set, but a band of coppery red stretched 
 along the horizon, whence tongues of flame- 
 
98 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 tipped cloud shot up toward the zenith. A 
 curious light filtered downward, suffusing 
 the still air; the treetops swam in it, as 
 in a sea of molten sulphur; the green of 
 the grassplots and tufts of shrubbery be- 
 neath was changed to a sickly and livid 
 yellow. 
 
 The old lady shook her head. " Don't 
 talk to me about fine days, Betty, with that 
 sky over us ! " she said impressively. " I 've 
 seen that sky twice before in my lifetime, 
 once on the Gulf coast and once inland. 
 Do you know what that sky means, Betty ? 
 It means yellow fever ! " 
 
 " Lawd, Miss Patty, you don't sesso ! " 
 cried Betty. " An' ou' white folks, an' Lib, 
 yander, plum under de eedge o' dat yaller 
 sky, I reckon! Gawd-a-mighty sen' dat 
 Miss Jeanie, ner Mars Van, ner Miss Olive, 
 ner dem two chillen don' ketch it. Ez fer 
 my ole man, I ain' nowise skeered 'bout 
 him. Gaze, you knows yo'se'f , Miss Patty, 
 de yaller fever don't tetch niggers." 
 
 A month later the yellow fever broke out 
 without warning on the Gulf coast ; almost 
 simultaneously it appeared in the town 
 where the Herrings were staying ; yet ten 
 days, and it was declared epidemic ; a rigid 
 
STORMED AT BY SHOT AND SHELL. 99 
 
 cordon of quarantine was drawn about the 
 infected places, and an agonized cry went out 
 for nurses. 
 
 The train that brought this news to 
 Thornham carried on its outward trip the 
 next day four passengers. The Reverend 
 James Hall, tall, spare, and erect, in spite of 
 his threescore and ten years, seated himself 
 in the empty coach and deposited his travel- 
 ing-bag beside him. He shook hands through 
 the window with two or three of his parish- 
 ioners who had come to see him off, and 
 gazed a little wistfully over their heads 
 his lips moving as if in silent benediction 
 at the slim spire of St. John's rising above 
 the treetops on the other side of the river. 
 He frowned as Dud Welsh slouched awk- 
 wardly into the car and took a seat on the 
 opposite side of the aisle. 
 
 " So you will not take my advice and stay 
 at home, Dudley," he said. " You are run- 
 ning a great risk." 
 
 " So are you, sir," grinned the one-armed 
 Dud, stretching out his long legs and thrust- 
 ing his remaining hand into his trousers' 
 pocket. 
 
 " I am doing my duty," said the Rever- 
 end Mr. Hall severely. 
 
100 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " So am I, sir," retorted Dud promptly, 
 his bashful grin broadening. 
 
 At this moment there was a bustle among 
 the slim crowd of idlers on the platform 
 outside, and Aunt Patty Hopson and Ma- 
 dame de Jolibois were hoisted one after an- 
 other up the steps, and ushered into the car. 
 Miss Serena, her face swollen with weeping, 
 handed up two well-worn carpet-bags, and 
 turned away, sobbing aloud. Amid an omi- 
 nous silence the train jerked forward and 
 crept around the bend. 
 
 " I 've had it," said Mrs. Hopson, cheer- 
 fully settling into her place, " and I ain't at 
 all afraid." 
 
 "I ain't had it," Dud said, "but I've 
 seen it. I 'm not afeared, nuther. 'T ain't 
 half as skeery as goin' into a fight." 
 
 " I have not had it," observed the Rever- 
 end Mr. Hall in his slow soft voice, " and I 
 have never seen it, but I am not afraid." 
 
 Miss Kizzy, looking out of the window, 
 said nothing. She had not had it ; she knew 
 nothing about it ; and she was horribly afraid. 
 " And yet, Serena," she had declared as they 
 toiled together up the steep bank from the 
 ferry and came in sight of the waiting train, 
 " and yet I could not properly respect my- 
 
STORMED AT BY SHOT AND SHELL. 101 
 
 self if I did not go. Monshur dee Jolly- 
 boys wears the ribbon of the Legion of 
 Honor in his buttonhole. I am sure, were 
 he here, he would counsel me to go." 
 
 They were on their way these four 
 to the fever-stricken town, into which any 
 one might enter, but whence no one, once 
 within that guarded heart of pestilence, 
 could come out. They had volunteered 
 their services as nurses, sorely needed ; 
 for already the living were hard bestead to 
 bury the dead, so swift and deadly had been 
 the spread of the plague. 
 
 When the late December frosts finally 
 came, the epidemic ceased for want of fur- 
 ther victims. The quarantine was lifted ; 
 the devastated towns began once more to 
 take breath and to count their losses. Then 
 those so long absent from Thornham came 
 home, some of them ! 
 
 Colonel Herring came, graver and more 
 unapproachable than ever ; Olive, pale and 
 fragile after a struggle for life, and Madame 
 de Jolibois, and Dudley Welsh, looking 
 older, each by a score of years, and Liberty. 
 These stepped from the train one day into 
 a group of waiting friends, who gazed upon 
 
102 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 them with a sort of hushed awe, as upon 
 those who had come up from the bosom of 
 the charnel-house. 
 
 Mrs. Herring, with little Jack and little 
 Jeanie, was left behind in the wide grave 
 which had received them all, the same day* 
 Aunt Patty Hopson, her long service to the 
 Thornhams ended, rested quite near. And 
 the narrow ridge over against them covered 
 the mortal remains of the Reverend James 
 Hall, who went calmly about ministering to 
 fever-stricken bodies and sin-sick souls, with 
 the plague racking his own old frame, and 
 passed over at length, even as Faithful did, 
 holding by the hand one who, like Christian, 
 was afraid. 
 
VI. 
 
 A CONFESSION. 
 
 THE children went out decorously, one by 
 one, turning at the door to make formal 
 little bows "with the hand on the heart, 
 and the hat gracefully lifted," or to drop 
 solemn and antiquated "curcheys." Miss 
 " Fatty " Dibbs waddled after them to see 
 that the front gate was properly fastened. 
 Madame de Jolibois sank red and panting 
 on the horsehair sofa ; drops of perspiration 
 coursed their way along the wrinkles in her 
 cheeks, and fell, dampening her muslin neck- 
 erchief ; the rose behind her ear drooped 
 on its stem. Olive Herring, flitting about 
 the dancing-hall, and humming under her 
 breath the last tune which Miss Serena had 
 drawn from the jangling piano, forbore to 
 look at her. Miss Kizzy's profession, in 
 truth, was beginning to be burdensome. Her 
 joints were stiff ; her step had grown heavy. 
 But no one dreamed of suggesting her re- 
 tirement. Thornham was, above all, conser- 
 
104 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 vative. It is quite likely that no one except 
 Olive ever remembered to think that Miss 
 Keziah was rising fifty, and might almost be 
 regarded as an old woman ; and quite likely, 
 too, that Miss Keziah herself would have 
 been aghast at the idea of intrusting the 
 very young ladies and gentlemen of Thorn- 
 ham into other hands than her own. 
 
 " But she certainly will have to have an 
 assistant," thought the young girl, glancing 
 at her furtively. 
 
 " Olive," said Madame de Jolibois after 
 a restful silence, " have you seen St. John's 
 new preacher ? " 
 
 St. John's, it will be remarked, was very 
 low-church indeed. Nobody, as yet, had 
 ever dreamed of calling its incumbent the 
 Kector, or of addressing him as Father. 
 Thornham referred to him as "the min- 
 ister," " the preacher," or even " the^parson," 
 as if he were a mere dissenter. St. John's, 
 indeed, differed from the other religious de- 
 nominations in Thornham only in a sort of 
 fictitious exclusiveness, which melted before 
 the first Methodist quarterly meeting, or 
 Baptist sociable. 
 
 The Reverend James Hall wise, liberal, 
 and saintly soul had been the first and 
 
A CONFESSION. 105 
 
 sole incumbent of St. John's. To the place 
 left vacant by his death had been called the 
 Reverend Mark Kennison, from one of the 
 older States, young, eager, and devout. 
 
 " No," returned Olive, interested, seating 
 herself beside her old friend ; " my father 
 and I have been at Fair View ever since he 
 came. Have you seen him, Miss Kizzy? 
 Have you heard him preach ? What is he 
 like?" 
 
 Madame de Jolibois got up and went to 
 the front door. " Serena ! " she called to 
 her sister, pottering about among the holly- 
 hocks, " go around into the back yard and 
 set Alexander H. Stephens on his feet. I 
 heard him crow some time ago. Alexander 
 H. Stephens, my dear," she explained over 
 her shoulder, " is our new Cochin China 
 rooster. Dr. Alsbury sent him to us last 
 week. He is a most magnificent fowl. But, 
 unfortunately, whenever he crows he topples 
 over, and he cannot rise without assistance. 
 Serena is obliged to set him on his feet sev- 
 eral times a day. I am not quite sure that 
 I did hear him crow this time," she added, 
 coming back to her place on the sofa, " but 
 Serena is very fond of him, and if she gets 
 into the back yard where he is, she will re- 
 
106 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 main until I remind her to return to the 
 house. The truth is, my child, I wanted to 
 get rid of Serena for a little while. I have 
 something on my mind,'' - her voice dropped 
 to a mysterious whisper. She grasped her 
 companion's shoulder and regarded her 
 searchingly. Olive clasped her hands. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Kizzy ! " she breathed, trem- 
 bling with delightful anticipation, " has Mon- 
 sieur Anatole returned?" Monsieur Ana- 
 tole, the radiant, romantic hero of her 
 childish dreams ! She had never seen him, 
 he had in fact departed on his " Foreign 
 Mission" before she was born, but she 
 knew him well, that generous, high-minded, 
 brave, beautiful Frenchman, of whom Miss 
 Kizzy had talked to her ever since she could 
 remember. 
 
 " No, child, Monshur Anatole has not yet 
 returned, though I am expecting him at any 
 moment." She paused to rearrange the 
 faded rose in her hair. " I do not dare con- 
 fide in Serena. Serena is too excitable, and 
 she is sometimes indiscreet. She admitted 
 to Mrs. Washington the other day that 
 Tommy Dor en has his lessons free. It is 
 true, Mrs. Washington wormed it out of 
 her! Well, young as you are, Olive, I 
 
A CONFESSION. 107 
 
 know I can trust you, and I cannot, I really 
 cannot bear the dreadful burden longer 
 alone." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Kizzy ! " exclaimed Olive again, 
 fairly beside herself with curiosity. 
 
 " It happened last fall," continued Ma- 
 dame de Jolibois solemnly, " the night after 
 your poor dear mother was laid in her grave, 
 with little Jack and little Jeanie ; and be- 
 fore you yourself were taken down. Aunt 
 Patty Hopson and I were nursing a family 
 of poor people, seven of them in the same 
 room, and all with raging fever ; two of the 
 children past help, one already with black 
 vomit. You know how it was, the doc- 
 tors exhausted, the nurses hardly able to 
 stand on their feet from fatigue, the dead 
 lying about waiting to be buried ; the sick 
 dying by scores, new cases reported every 
 hour." Olive shuddered and grew pale, but 
 the narrator, absorbed in her gruesome remi- 
 niscences, did not notice this. " It was after 
 midnight when one of the doctors a Dr. 
 Robinson, a most interesting person came 
 to beg one of us to take charge of a man, 
 a stranger, who was down with the fever, 
 and alone, in a house not far away. I went. 
 The patient was a young man ; he was de- 
 
108 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 lirious, and had, it appeared, but a slim 
 chance for recovery. The doctor gave me 
 some directions and went on his round, leav- 
 ing me in sole charge of the patient. Toward 
 morning, he seemed to sink rapidly; his feet 
 became icy cold. I looked about for an extra 
 covering, but could find nothing. Fortunately 
 I had donned my winter undergarments. I 
 stepped behind the tall headboard of the 
 bed, and it was an emergency, remember 
 that, Olive, an emergency! and divested 
 myself of my flannel petticoat. In this gar- 
 ment I enveloped the young man's feet, rub- 
 bing them at the same time with all my 
 strength. At this critical moment Dr. Rob- 
 inson returned and lent his assistance. The 
 young man recovered. He is at this mo- 
 ment in Thornham. He is the new minister 
 of St. John's." 
 
 Miss Kizzy paused, overcome with emo- 
 tion, and blew her bossy nose. 
 
 Olive continued to gaze at her, expect- 
 antly. 
 
 "Think of it!" Madame de Jolibois 
 went on, lifting her clasped hands. " Think 
 of it ! The pedal extremities of a strange 
 young man enfolded in my flannel gar- 
 ment ! " 
 
A CONFESSION. 109 
 
 " But dear Miss Kizzy ! " remonstrated 
 Olive, divided between a feeling of disap- 
 pointment and a desire to laugh, "if the 
 man was unconscious, he could know nothing 
 about it ; besides " 
 
 " What he thinks is of no consequence," 
 interrupted the dancing-mistress. " It is 
 the just resentment of Monshur dee Jolly- 
 boys that appalls me. The doctor may have 
 mentioned the fact to the interesting young 
 man, I admit that he is interesting. The 
 young man may speak of it to some im- 
 prudent member of his congregation. Mon- 
 shur dee Jollyboys may hear of it ! If 
 Monshur dee Jollyboys hears of it, I fear 
 there will be bloodshed. Monshur dee Jolly- 
 boys is a husband, and not even the sacred 
 calling of the Eeverend Mark Kennison 
 can save him from the marital wrath of an 
 injured consort. It is time you were going, 
 child," she added, with a sudden return to 
 her ordinary brisk tone of voice ; " Betty 
 will be getting anxious. Where is your 
 shawl? You wore none! What impru- 
 dence ! Wait, I will get Serena's nubia." 
 
 She bustled away, amid Olive's protests, 
 and presently reappeared with a scarlet 
 worsted, home-knitted scarf, which she wound 
 
110 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 about the girl's shoulders. " Now, then, run 
 along," she ordered authoritatively ; " I will 
 recall Serena." 
 
 They walked across the yard together. 
 Around a corner of the kitchen, they saw 
 Miss Dibbs. She was hovering over a 
 wheelbarrow, from which a tall, ungainly, 
 whity-brown fowl was pecking some grains 
 of corn. Her large flabby face expressed 
 delight, not un mingled with apprehension. 
 Alexander H. Stephens was plainly making 
 preparations to crow. He stretched his long 
 neck upward, and lifted his stumpy wings. 
 There was a flapping sound, followed by an 
 unearthly " yawp ! " and then a small whirl- 
 wind of dust, in the midst of which Mr. 
 Stephens's yellow legs beat the air help- 
 lessly, as he writhed on his back at Miss 
 Serena's feet. 
 
 "He is a most remarkable biped," ob- 
 served Madame de Jolibois absently, as she 
 moved on. " Yes, there will be bloodshed, 
 Olive, for Monshur dee Jollyboys is a hus- 
 band" 
 
 Olive unlatched the little side gate, and 
 stepped into the open common which 
 stretched between the Dibbs freehold and 
 Roseneath ; her restrained laughter, girlish, 
 
A CONFESSION. Ill 
 
 gay, and musical, broke forth as she flew 
 along the brown path like a swallow, her 
 bare head dipped forward, and the long 
 ends of the scarf floating behind her like a 
 pair of scarlet wings. 
 
 Vanborough Herring's daughter had far 
 outstripped her childhood's promise of 
 beauty. The reddish-brown ringlets had 
 given place to a crown of dusky braids, 
 with glints of gold in their curling ends ; 
 the level eyebrows and the long lashes shad- 
 ing the shining eyes, with their frank, vir- 
 ginal expression, had darkened ; the pale 
 oval of the cheeks was touched with a faint 
 and exquisite color ; there were adorable 
 dimples in the corners of the expressive 
 mouth ; the round white throat sloping 
 away from the chin softened its somewhat 
 too severe outlines; the slim, erect figure 
 had the supple grace of a wild-wood sapling. 
 The sorrows which had touched her young 
 life had left a certain questioning wistful- 
 ness at times in the girl's face ; but the 
 healthful joy of living pervaded her whole 
 being ; it radiated from her like an atmos- 
 phere, and wrought consciously upon those 
 about her. Even the stern set face of her 
 father relaxed at her approach. More sue- 
 
112 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 cessful than ever, more publicly honored, if 
 privately censured, his whole thought seemed 
 now to be centred in the welfare and happi- 
 ness of this last remaining scion of his house. 
 She was rarely out of his sight. Her fear- 
 lessness in his presence, her open admira- 
 tion of him, the gay camaraderie of her 
 attitude toward him, contrasted curiously 
 with the silent and shrinking devotion 
 offered him of late years by his wife and 
 oldest son. 
 
 Mrs. Hopson's place as housekeeper and 
 guardian had not been filled. Liberty and 
 Betty, relieved of all other duties, were 
 charged with the sole care of the young 
 mistress, whom they adored. The latter, 
 clumsy of speech but deft of finger, and 
 full of motherly wisdom, guarded her nurs- 
 ling with jealous solicitude. Liberty at- 
 tended her on her walks and drives, swell- 
 ing with pride in the importance of his 
 position. 
 
 It was her father's wish that the young 
 heiress should take her place as chatelaine 
 of Roseneath, at the expiration of the year 
 of mourning; and already workmen were 
 busy renovating the red-brick mansion, and 
 putting the half -neglected grounds in order. 
 
A CONFESSION. 113 
 
 "So soon?" breathed Olive, with her 
 head on her father's shoulder. " My 
 mother " 
 
 " Your mother would have wished it," her 
 father said, the muscles of his face twitching 
 painfully. 
 
 " Van Herrin' has plum fergot the tradegy 
 sent on him fer his sins less 'n a year ago," 
 said Badgett, wagging his head dismally. 
 " But jest you wait ! The jedgment o' God 
 ain't done a-strikin' him yit! " 
 
 Even June Badgett, however, forgot his 
 evil prognostications when Van Herring's 
 daughter smiled frankly at him. And when, 
 one day, in passing the Man-Fig, she paused 
 to shake his hand, and say in her clear low 
 voice, " That was a gallant charge at Mal- 
 vern Hill, where you were wounded, Mr. 
 Badgett! I wish I had been there," he 
 was so overcome that he wished his Maker 
 would strike him stone dead if he ever said 
 anything ag'in' Van Herrin' again, bless her 
 soft eyes ! 
 
 But habit in a man verging upon sixty 
 is too strong to be broken by the smile of a 
 girl! 
 
 " I ought not to have stayed so long. I 
 ought to have told Liberty to come and 
 
114 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 fetch me home," murmured Olive, glancing 
 at the sunset sky as she sped homeward. 
 " Papa will be uneasy ; and oh, how Maum 
 Betty will scold ! " She laughed gayly ; 
 then she stood suddenly still, paralyzed with 
 terror. The black mass thundering upon 
 her was Balder, the great vicious bull which 
 belonged to her father. He had escaped, 
 somehow, from the pasture, and his eyes, 
 as he rushed about the common, tearing up 
 the earth and shaking his tremendous horns 
 in the air, had caught the red gleam of the 
 scarf floating from her shoulders! He 
 lunged toward her, bellowing and snorting. 
 Her feet, heavy as lead in the path, refused 
 to obey her volition ; her arms dropped 
 helplessly ; she shuddered, closing her eyes. 
 A swift vision shot across her brain of her 
 father awaiting her in the dim library ; of 
 Van and herself at play under the orange- 
 trees at the " other house ; " of her mother's 
 white face on the coffin pillow ! She felt 
 upon her eyelids the dust thrown up by the 
 infuriated animal. 
 
 A startled cry resounded on the air ; and 
 she felt herself caught up and swept from 
 her feet. A confused noise and a volley of 
 shouts and imprecations filled her terrified 
 
A CONFESSION. 115 
 
 ears. She opened her eyes to find the face 
 of Duncan Jeffrey close to her own, as he 
 bore her, running, toward the park-gate of 
 Roseneath. A glance back over his shoul- 
 der showed her the towering form of Liberty 
 swaying from side to side in a titanic wres- 
 tle with the bellowing brute. 
 
 This is what had happened. Jeffrey, 
 lurking about the neighborhood of the 
 Dancing-Academy, for reasons best known 
 to himself, had seen Olive come out of the 
 side gate and start homeward. Following 
 her at a little distance with the intention of 
 joining her, yet strangely timorous at the 
 thought, he had seen her danger, and had 
 reached her barely in time to snatch her 
 from under the very horns of the mad- 
 dened beast. But it was Liberty sent 
 in quest of her by Betty rushing behind 
 him, who had thrown his own huge bulk in 
 front of them both and seized the bull 
 literally by the horns. 
 
 " Run, Mars Dune, run ! Fer Gawd-a- 
 mighty 9 s sake, run ! " shouted the negro, 
 jerked from his feet and tossed backward 
 and forward, but keeping his grip with grim 
 determination. 
 
 It seemed a long time, but it was the work 
 
116 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 of a moment for Jeffrey to dart with his light 
 burden across the intervening space and 
 reach the large gate. It swung open at his 
 approach, and he laid the half-unconscious 
 girl in the arms of the man who sprang for- 
 ward to receive her, and turned back, run- 
 ning at the top of his speed. As he ap- 
 proached the struggling dust-enveloped mass 
 from which hoarse roars, human and brute, 
 arose together, Liberty got a "purchase," 
 as he afterward expressed it, on the wide 
 horns, and gave them a powerful sidewise 
 wrench, which broke the creature's neck. 1 
 It plunged forward suddenly, and fell, a 
 mighty lifeless heap on the trodden turf. 
 
 " To' Gawd, Mars Dune," the black giant 
 said, wiping the perspiration from his fore- 
 head and drawing a deep breath, " I feels 
 like I been havin' a tussle wi' ole Satan 
 his-se'f ! He was a fine bull, Balder was, 
 an' he had de strenk o' de debble ! You 
 ain' come too soon ter save little Miss, Mars 
 Dune!" 
 
 The young man grasped the negro's dusty 
 hand in his. " Good God, Lib," he cried 
 hoarsely, " what would have become of her 
 if it had not been for you ! " 
 1 A fact. 
 
A CONFESSION. 117 
 
 Olive leaned, trembling, against the arm 
 which sustained her, watching with horror- 
 stricken eyes the scene on the common. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed, Miss Herring," said 
 a grave and gentle voice ; " no one is hurt, 
 I am sure, and you see that the animal can 
 do no more mischief." 
 
 Even in the midst of her agitation, the 
 girl was aware of a curious thrill. No one 
 had ever called her Miss Herring before ! 
 She blushed and looked hastily up. Her 
 glance encountered a pair of dark serious 
 eyes which were bent kindly upon her. 
 Their owner, a man whose grave and some- 
 what careworn face belied the youthfulness 
 of his figure, smiled upon her reassuringly. 
 There was a hint of condescension in his tone 
 as he said : 
 
 " I am Mark Kennison, your rector. I 
 had just been to call on your father. You ' 
 had a narrow escape," he continued, looking 
 over to where Jeffrey and the negro still 
 stood beside their prostrate foe. " I saw it 
 all, and I " Speech suddenly failed 
 him, as he noted clearly for the first time 
 the features uplifted to his own. He drew 
 the girl's hand through his arm for she 
 was still faint and trembling without 
 
118 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 another word, and led her along the darken- 
 ing avenue to the house. She walked si- 
 lently beside him, Miss Kizzy's grotesque 
 story struggling confusedly in her mind with 
 an odd sense of gratitude toward this 
 stranger who had he saved her life ? " No, 
 it was Duncan who saved me ! " she said to 
 herself. " Duncan ! " she repeated. Yet 
 the feeling, in spite of herself, remained, 
 which gave to Mark Kennison the place, 
 momentarily at least, which of right be- 
 longed to the friend of her childhood. Cu- 
 riously enough, her father, who heard the 
 story in grim silence, involuntarily shared 
 this feeling. He wrung the hand of the 
 young minister, a few broken words of 
 thanks escaping his pale lips. Kennison 
 disclaimed any share in Olive's rescue from 
 peril, eagerly recounting the part played 
 therein by Jeffrey and Liberty, both un- 
 known to him even by name. 
 
 Nevertheless, when Duncan, a little later, 
 made his appearance, followed by Lib, he 
 found himself relegated to the background. 
 Olive, indeed, met him with outstretched 
 hands, and his former colonel, less reserved 
 with him than with the rest of the world, 
 thanked him warmly. But something 
 
A CONFESSION. 119 
 
 somehow - - was lacking. The young 
 planter stood for a moment irresolute, his 
 honest blue eyes clouding, as he glanced 
 from his own dusty and disordered dress to 
 the parson's trim and elegant figure ; then, 
 with a hasty and awkward adieu, he went 
 away. 
 
 Kennison remained to the late dinner, 
 one of the institutions at Roseneath much 
 disapproved of by Thornham in general, 
 and the Man-Fig Conclave in particular, 
 and spent the evening with Miss Herring 
 and her father on the moonlighted veranda. 
 
 That night Liberty, whose exploit was 
 the wonder and admiration of the Quarters, 
 and who had no cause to complain of luke- 
 warmness on the part of his beloved mis- 
 tress, or the master, stood thoughtfully 
 gazing up at the ceiling after he and Betty 
 had retired to the privacy of their own 
 cabin. 
 
 " What you doin', Lib ? " queried Betty 
 from the four-post bed in the corner. 
 
 " I 'm kiverin' up de fire, honey," he re- 
 plied, without moving. 
 
 " Dass a lie, Lib, an' you knows it ! 
 What you got in dat woolly haid o' yo'n ? " 
 
 " I 'm gwine ober in my min'," returned 
 
120 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 Lib slowly, " de recollections of de way you 
 shuck me when you was a gal, fer dat no- 
 count Baptiss preacher, Jack Yates." 
 
 " Lawd, Lib," giggled Betty, among her 
 pillows, " I did 'n keer nothin' 'bout Jack 
 Yates ! I was jis a-tryirf you I " 
 
 " Is dat so ? " And Liberty's solemn 
 face relaxed into a relieved smile. 
 
 In the great house, Big Hannah, Betty's 
 oldest daughter, who slept on the floor in 
 her young mistress's room, was also awake 
 and pondering. 
 
 " I ain' never seen Miss Olive restless in 
 her sleep befo'," she reasoned, " an' it 's de 
 fus time Mars Dune Jeffrey ever rid away 
 from dis house widout stayin' fer dinner. 
 An* dat preacher-man is mighty good- 
 looJcin' ! " 
 
VII. 
 
 GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 
 
 ROSE, the motherless daughter of Rufe 
 Drennon, had kept pace with Olive Herring 
 in her development into womanhood. Small 
 and graceful in figure, with innocent blue 
 eyes, a profusion of ashen-blonde hair, and 
 a round infantile face, she presented a strik- 
 ing contrast in appearance to the heiress of 
 Roseneath; and there were those in the 
 village who thought the common laborer's 
 only child far more attractive than her 
 patrician friend. 
 
 For, the two girls, after Olive's vigorous 
 championship of Rose at the dancing-school, 
 became at once inseparable. Through the 
 thoughtful generosity of Mrs. Herring, the 
 little " poor- white " shared all the advan- 
 tages possessed by that lady's own children. 
 Punctually every morning, from the cabin 
 on the outskirts of the town, where Drennon 
 lived, the child made her appearance at 
 Roseneath. There, in the airy schoolroom. 
 
122 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 season after season, the youthful pair 
 studied from the same books, the red- 
 dish-brown curls and the blonde locks in- 
 termingled ; they bewailed together the 
 stony-heartedness of successive governesses, 
 drawing and music masters ; they listened 
 together to Liberty's stories of the war; and 
 to Betty's wonderful " ghos' " tales ; together 
 they were instructed in the mysteries of the 
 still-room by Aunt Patty Hopson, romp- 
 ing and frolicking between whiles about the 
 shaded grounds and through the mazy rose- 
 garden in company with Young Van and 
 Duncan Jeffrey. 
 
 Rufe Drennon's dull eyes gleamed with a 
 sort of torpid pride when he saw his child 
 hand in hand with the daughter of Van 
 Herring. He was, himself, thus relieved 
 of all paternal responsibility, more stolidly 
 shiftless than ever, loafing from day's end 
 to day's end under the Man-Fig, while a 
 "hired nigger" (paid by Mrs. Herring) 
 looked after the cabin in the midst of its un- 
 kempt bit of field. Small wonder that Rose 
 sweet and shallow Rose ! with her inher- 
 ited indolence, and her cultivated sense of re- 
 finement should, as she grew older, spend 
 more and more of her time at Roseneath. 
 
GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 123 
 
 After his wife's death, Herring continued 
 without question her lavish bounty toward 
 her protegee. And so it was that a stran- 
 ger happening upon them would have sup- 
 posed Rose, as well as Olive, a daughter of 
 the house. 
 
 Neither had the position of Duncan Jef- 
 frey in the household changed in all these 
 years. An orphan with no near relative 
 except the choleric grand-uncle, a pio- 
 neer into the country with Steven Thorn- 
 ham, the lad had found his only idea of 
 home-life under Vanborough Herring's roof. 
 Honest, manly, and chivalric by nature, his 
 attitude toward the Herring children had 
 always been that of an elder brother. For 
 Olive, there was an added and a tenderer 
 feeling. He had barely reached his seventh 
 birthday when Mrs. Herring called him, 
 one morning, into her own room, and, smil- 
 ing, laid in his arms a tiny sleeping crea- 
 ture who sighed contentedly as her dark 
 head fell against his shoulder. A curious 
 sensation stirred the boy, forgotten im- 
 mediately, but remembered and felt again 
 the day when, smarting under Madame 
 de Jolibois's stern reproof, he had heard 
 his little playfellow's whispered words of 
 
124 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 praise ; remembered, and never lost sight of 
 again. He had long called the feeling by 
 its true name. " / love her" he said to 
 himself, springing into battle at the head of 
 his company, or trudging, a barefoot soldier, 
 about the frozen roads of Virginia. " / 
 love her" he murmured, looking up from 
 his books at midnight in his college dormi- 
 tory ; the phrase broke involuntarily from 
 his lips beneath the shadow of old-world 
 monuments, or in presence of storied works 
 of art. " Does she love me? " The question 
 must needs shake his soul, but the time was 
 not yet. 
 
 When Uncle Billy Duncan scarred vet- 
 eran of three wars died, soon after the 
 boys in gray came marching home, his 
 grand-nephew and sole heir succeeded to 
 his fine estate, impaired, but not materially, 
 by the war. A couple of years spent in 
 study, another in foreign travel, and the 
 young ex-officer settled at Good Luck, his 
 plantation, and threw himself with ardor 
 into its management. 
 
 Good Luck, with its outstretching cane- 
 fields, lay on the west bank of the river, a 
 few miles above Thornham. Its owner, as 
 he rode thitherward in the falling dusk, 
 
GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 125 
 
 after his meeting with the new Kector of 
 St. John's, was grimly thoughtful. 
 
 " Why have I waited? " he asked himself 
 savagely ; " why, when for years I have 
 had the sanction of both her father and 
 mother ! Why have I not spoken ? What 
 a fool, an idiot, I have been to hold back, 
 thinking her still a child, and fearing lest I 
 might frighten her ! How her eyes shone 
 as she looked at him ! The god has come, 
 the half -god must go ! ' Balder is dead.' 
 
 " * Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead/ " 
 
 He broke into the fragment of song, 
 laughing not too mirthfully at the whimsi- 
 cal association of ideas. He sang, in a so- 
 norous, musical baritone, another couplet of 
 the ballad, then fell silent again. 
 
 "No, he is not a prig, the Reverend 
 Mark Kennison ! " he broke out aloud, an- 
 swering some rising thought within ; " he is 
 an agreeable, manly fellow, and remarkably 
 handsome." 
 
 This last reflection provoked a sigh which 
 was superfluous. For the speaker could 
 have given odds to most men on the score 
 of good looks. He was somewhat above the 
 common height, with a finely proportioned 
 
126 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 figure, which was at once graceful and com- 
 manding. His frank expressive face, almost 
 perfect in outline, was lighted by a pair of 
 dark blue eyes, whose steady gaze betokened 
 strength and sincerity of purpose ; his close- 
 cut mustache was dark-brown, but the clus- 
 tering curls shading his broad forehead were 
 yellow as spun gold. Many an old veteran 
 of the war, who has perhaps forgotten graver 
 things, still recalls with delight the lad "wf 
 yaller hair a-flyin'," with the light of the 
 camp-fire on his bonny brow, or the smoke 
 of battle griming his boyish face ! 
 
 " Yes, he is a fine fellow, if he is a 
 preacher," he repeated emphatically. 
 
 Already the bitterness had died out of his 
 voice ; the unwonted mood had passed. But 
 the poignant question, until that moment 
 hardly framed, "Can I win her?" re- 
 mained. 
 
 " But I will win her, or die," he cried 
 fiercely, turning in at his own gate, which 
 swung open at the sound of his horse's gal- 
 loping hoofs, while from the fence half a 
 score of pickaninnies shouted a welcome to 
 their indulgent young master. 
 
 He laughed inwardly at his own foolish 
 fears and misgivings, when he presented 
 
GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 127 
 
 himself as usual at Roseneath the next after- 
 noon. He found Olive and Rose in the lit- 
 tle sitting-room with Madame de Jolibois. 
 
 "Ah, here he is!" cried Olive, her eyes 
 sparkling, though a quiver of the lip be- 
 trayed her emotion on seeing him. " Come 
 in, Duncan. Here is Miss Kizzy wanting 
 to know how it all happened. And so do I. 
 For I saw nothing but the bull. 7 ' 
 
 Miss Kizzy turned pale, and her lips 
 moved. Rose said afterward that they 
 plainly framed gentleman-cow! 
 
 " I had very little to do with it," Jeffrey 
 declared, shaking hands with his old in- 
 structress. "It was Lib who carried the 
 day. His arms must be out of joi " 
 
 " But you carried off the spoils, Duncan," 
 interrupted Rose demurely. 
 
 They all laughed at this. Olive blushed, 
 but kept her frank eyes on Duncan's face. 
 His own were dropped, lest in their depths 
 might be read the tremulous joy which still 
 possessed him, when he remembered that he 
 had clasped her in his arms, that her head 
 had rested against his shoulder as he bore 
 her toward 
 
 " Mr. Mark Kennison." 
 
 He looked up with a sudden inward shock. 
 
128 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 Kennison had entered the room from the 
 library where he had been sitting with his 
 host, and was being formally presented to 
 Rose. 
 
 The young men shook hands cordially, 
 Duncan's momentary confusion passing like 
 a cloud before the open greeting of the 
 stranger. Kennison looked with vaguely 
 puzzled eyes at Madame de Jolibois, who, 
 sitting bolt upright on the sofa, acknow- 
 ledged the introduction with a dignified 
 bow. The talk ran for a few moments upon 
 the adventure of the day before, then Olive, 
 who was beginning to tremble nervously 
 over the recollection of her danger, changed 
 its current by turning to Miss Kizzy and 
 inquiring 
 
 " How is Alexander H. Stephens ? " 
 
 " He has ceased forever to crow," Miss 
 Kizzy returned solemnly. " Serena is pro- 
 foundly affected. We think it was too much 
 corn." 
 
 Kennison looked mystified. 
 
 " Oh, I am so sorry," said Olive hysteri- 
 cally. 
 
 Jeffrey swallowed a laugh. "And the 
 Academy, Miss Kizzy?" he asked. " I hope 
 the boys have improved since my time." 
 
GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 129 
 
 " Your deportment even as a very 
 young gentleman was always excellent, 
 Duncan," replied Madame de Jolibois po- 
 litely. "You will be interested to learn, 
 my dear," she added, turning to Olive, " that 
 we have decided upon employing an assist- 
 ant. A most momentous decision." She 
 shook her head gravely. 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Olive with lively sym- 
 pathy ; " whom have you chosen ? " 
 
 " Sarah Ann Hunter, one of our gradu- 
 ates who does not wish to be entirely de- 
 pendent upon her friends for her support." 
 
 Madame de Jolibois, as she said this, 
 looked severely at Rose, of whom she dis- 
 tinctly disapproved. But Rose smiled so in- 
 nocently that Miss Kizzy was beguiled into 
 smiling back at her. 
 
 " Serena will continue to play the piano," 
 she added, "and I shall of course teach 
 grace and deportment as heretofore, during 
 the enforced absence of Monshur dee Jolly- 
 boys. When he returns we will doubtless 
 make other arrangements." 
 
 She arose to take her leave. A half-smile 
 of recognition came into the rector's eyes ; 
 he held out his hand and opened his lips to 
 speak ; but the old lady drew back with a 
 
130 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 stiff Dancing- Academy " curchey " and went 
 away, followed by Jeffrey and Olive, who 
 walked with her to her own gate. There 
 she waved the young man aside, and draw- 
 ing Olive to her she whispered tragically, 
 " He possesses the dangerous secret, Olive, 
 my child. I saw it in his visual orbs. I 
 fear there will be bloodshed." 
 
 The two young people walked back across 
 the common, laughing a little at Miss Kizzy's 
 delusions, then dropping into silence. The 
 girl seemed constrained and preoccupied, 
 and her companion, with beating heart, was 
 vainly trying to formulate some indifferent 
 remark concerning the new minister, when 
 she stopped abruptly. It was upon the spot 
 still showing signs of the conflict in the 
 beaten grass and plowed soil where, not 
 twenty-four hours earlier, her life had been 
 for a moment in deadly peril. 
 
 " I can see those horrible flaming eyes 
 yet," she said in an awed tone ; " O Dun- 
 can, how can I thank you ! how can I ever 
 repay you ! " 
 
 For all answer, he caught her hand, and a 
 torrent of words came struggling to his lips. 
 
 " Olive ! Duncan ! " called Rose in her 
 shrill sweet voice. He looked up. She was 
 
GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 131 
 
 coming clown the avenue of oaks to meet 
 them, accompanied by Mark Kennison. 
 
 Thus was added, almost without the for- 
 mality of an introduction, a new element to 
 the intimate life of Roseneath. 
 
 The young clergyman, while instituting 
 energetic changes in his church, changes 
 somewhat startling to his conservative con- 
 gregation, still had leisure to enter with 
 zest into his novel and attractive surround- 
 ings. Born in a colder climate and among 
 a more reserved people, Mark Kennison's 
 fervid and poetic temperament found some- 
 thing curiously akin to itself in the rose-gar- 
 dens and orange-groves ; the stately many- 
 galleried houses ; the joyous open-air life 
 and warm responsiveness of this far-away 
 little Southern town. 
 
 " How did you happen to come so far 
 away from home, Mr. Kennison ? " de- 
 manded Rose one afternoon when the now 
 familiar quartette lingered together on the 
 front gallery, watching the brown patched 
 sails on a schooner creep down the river. 
 
 " So far away from home ! " echoed Ken- 
 nison dreamily ; " it was rather the return 
 of an exile ! " His eyes as he spoke met 
 
132 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 those of Olive Herring turned curiously 
 toward him. A quick flush passed over his 
 swarthy cheek. " I came," he continued in 
 a conventional tone, " to accompany a sick 
 friend to San Antonio. On my homeward 
 
 journey I stopped in H , where I was 
 
 caught by the yellow-fever epidemic just 
 then breaking out. I had the fever myself, 
 and when the quarantine was raised, my 
 strength was too exhausted to permit me at 
 once to return to my duties. I therefore 
 resigned my former charge and returned to 
 San Antonio. There I received the call to 
 St. John's where" He paused, his 
 eyes wandering absently over the soft Oc- 
 tober landscape. 
 
 " Where, may you wave forever ! " con- 
 cluded Kose irreverently. 
 
 " Amen ! " ejaculated Jeffrey in the same 
 tone, looking up from the Lamarque rose- 
 vine which with Liberty's help he was train- 
 ing about one of the fluted pillars of the 
 veranda. 
 
 " How still the air is ! " said Olive, rising 
 and strolling down the steps. 
 
 "Sho's you bawn, Betty," Lib declared 
 that night at the usual hour for such confi- 
 
GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 133 
 
 dences, " ef Mars Dune don't hump his-se'f , 
 he 's gwine ter lose de race ! " 
 
 " Why 'nt he hump his-se'f, den ? " cried 
 Betty indignantly. " Ef Mars Dune don't 
 keer enough fer Miss Olive ter head off dat 
 preacher-man, den let de preacher-man git 
 her. Dass de way wi' man-folks, anyhow. 
 So biggaty, dey think a gal is boun' fer ter 
 drop in dey mouth lak a briled pattridge ! 
 Lawd, ef Miss Olive has got de right sort o' 
 spunk, she 's gwine ter hoi' dat preacher-man 
 over Mars Dune's haid lak I helt Jack Yates 
 over yo'n, ontell " 
 
 " Shet up, gal, an' go to sleep," interrupted 
 Lib with a smothered chuckle. " I got to 
 'scort dem young folks up to Good Luck 
 to-morrow to see de sugar-bilin'." 
 
 The Herring carriage, drawn by its sleek 
 bays, and driven by Liberty in person, 
 stopped the next morning about ten o'clock 
 in front of the rambling plantation-house at 
 Good Luck. Mrs. Huddlestone, fat and 
 motherly, came bustling down the steps to 
 receive the visitors as they alighted. 
 
 " Lord, honey, how you 've grown ! " she 
 cried, bestowing a sounding kiss upon Olive's 
 cheek. " And I do declare you 're the mortal 
 
134 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 spi't of your cousin, Elinor Thornham ! 
 How 's the Colonel ? Well an' hearty ? " 
 
 Mrs. Huddlestone dated back to the very 
 earliest days of Thornham. She had been 
 Major Billy Duncan's housekeeper at Good 
 Luck for more than thirty years, and con- 
 tinued to perform that important service for 
 his grand-nephew. 
 
 " And bless my soul, Rose Drennon, if you 
 ain't got on long dresses ! How 's yo' paw, 
 honey? I ain't seen Rufe Drennon for a 
 coon's age ! " Her tone, though still kindly, 
 became slightly patronizing as she addressed 
 the girl who belonged to her own class. 
 " You '11 find Mr. Duncan over at the sugar- 
 house," she went on, waddling across the 
 house-yard in front of the party, " onless 
 you come into the dinin' - room an' have 
 some buttermilk, first ? It 's just out o' the 
 churn. You don't keer for it ? Well. Here, 
 Jupe, you lazy, good - for - nothing limb o' 
 Satan, run ahead an' open the gates for yo' 
 Miss Olive. Look out for them tie-vines, 
 honey." This last admonition was addressed 
 to Kennison, who stared and blushed a little 
 at the familiarity; but recovered himself 
 when he heard her say to the setter trotting 
 beside her, as she turned toward the house : 
 
GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 135 
 
 " Now, Alamo, honey, ain't you ashamed 
 o' yo'self to be a-barkin' at Lib Thornham 
 like as if you had n't never set eyes on 
 him afore ! " 
 
 Jupe, coal-black, plump and ragged, raced 
 across the wide grassy lot, bursting with 
 vain-glory, and swung open the large gate 
 leading into a rose-hedged lane, beyond 
 which towered the great square red-brick 
 chimneys of the sugar-house. From these 
 a circling column of velvety-black smoke 
 wavered upward. Below stretched the 
 broad low expanse of the sugar-shed. High- 
 wheeled wagons drawn by sturdy sugar 
 mules were lumbering in, loaded with pur- 
 plish-red and golden-yellow cane ; their grin- 
 ning drivers shouted and gesticulated at the 
 occupants of the empty carts clattering back 
 to the fields. A file of men alongside the 
 creeping "carrier " were feeding it steadily 
 from the huge pile of cane hard by. Clouds 
 of white steam blew out at intervals from 
 the engines whose regular pulses throbbed 
 noisily. A small mountain of bagasse arose 
 in the rear of the shed ; over against it a 
 row of discarded sugar-kettles showed their 
 flaring sides, red with rust. The wholesome 
 smell of boiling cane-juice was everywhere. 
 
136 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 The young planter came across the busy 
 inclosure to greet his guests. His hat was 
 pushed back from his forehead and he was 
 in his shirt-sleeves. He excused himself for 
 not having been at the house to meet them 
 on their arrival. 
 
 " We were tinkering upon a piece of 
 broken shafting. Welcome to Good Luck," 
 he said, shaking hands heartily with Ken- 
 nison. "It has been two years since you 
 were here," he continued, speaking to the 
 two girls, but looking at Olive. "I have 
 made a great many improvements since. 
 Will you go over the sugar-house, first? 
 Or shall we see the cane-cutting ? " 
 
 " The cane-cutting first," decided Rose, 
 who was scampering about, heedless and 
 joyous as a young kitten. 
 
 Jeffrey gave some instructions to his man- 
 ager, then, drawing on his coat, he led the 
 way to the fields, which, blue-green and 
 billowy under the morning sun, made a 
 smiling background in every direction for 
 the central picture of noise and activity. 
 
 It was Kennison's first view of a sugar 
 plantation, and he looked about him with 
 keen interest. 
 
 The autumn clay was perfect; the sky 
 
GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 137 
 
 was absolutely cloudless, except where the 
 vapory smoke from the sugar-house chimneys 
 banked itself against the eastern horizon. 
 A soft breeze stirred the tall cane, which 
 moved with an incessant murmurous rust- 
 ling. The broad ditches intersecting the 
 fields were ablaze with ragged sunflowers 
 and wide-disked coreopsis ; the grass, still 
 green underfoot, was sprinkled with coarse 
 purple daisies. 
 
 The smell of honeysuckle and roses inter- 
 mixed came in whiffs from the dooryards 
 of the Quarter, whose cabins stcod in a 
 double row to the right of the open lane. 
 From "Indian-cut," so named from a 
 low mound marking its boundary where 
 the cane-cutters were at work, a chorus, 
 monotonous, plaintive, weird, arose and 
 floated away to lose itself in the outlying 
 swamps. As Jeffrey and his friends drew 
 nearer the words were distinguishable : 
 
 " Stan' right still, an.' steady yo'se'f , 
 
 Sinner ! 
 
 Zoom-ba-loom-ba ! 
 De Lawd gwine ter move dis Ark His-se'f, 
 
 Sinner ! 
 
 Zoom-ba-loom-ba ! 
 Look to de eas' an' look to de wes', 
 
 Sinner ! 
 Zoom-ba-loom-ba ! 
 
138 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 De saints o' de Lawd marchin' abreas', 
 Zoom-ba-loom-ba ! 
 Zoom!" 
 
 The song ceased abruptly, and the singers 
 greeted the master with a lusty shout. The 
 gang numbered about one hundred, of whom 
 nearly one half were women, strong, stal- 
 wart, and brawny, their striped turbans 
 and blue skirts distinguishing them from 
 their male companions. The cutters moved 
 with swift rhythmic step among the cane ; 
 the broad, keen-edged, hooked knives rose 
 and fell in unison, stripping the leaves, 
 and severing the stalks with unerring pre- 
 cision. 
 
 A bent and wrinkled old negro on horse- 
 back, who was directing their movements, 
 rode forward and dismounted, baring his 
 gray head. 
 
 Jeffrey nodded pleasantly. " Well, Jer- 
 ry," he said, "how is your gang working 
 to-day?" 
 
 "Pretty well, Mars Dune, pretty well, 
 sah," returned the old man. "Injun-cut's 
 nigh erbout finished, sah" He pointed 
 with his whip, as he spoke, to the denuded 
 portion of the field, where the cane lay right 
 and left, alternately, across the furrows in 
 
GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 139 
 
 symmetrical heaps, the stripped stalks glis- 
 tening in the sun. 
 
 "Very well, Uncle Jerry," commented 
 his master with a smile of approval, " come 
 up to the house to-night, and I '11 see what 
 I can do for you." 
 
 Jerry ducked his head, snickering into 
 his hat. He felt in anticipation a finger of 
 Mars Dune's mellow Bourbon slipping like 
 perfumed oil down his dry old throat. 
 
 He swung himself lightly into the saddle 
 and resumed his wonted air of severe dis- 
 approval. 
 
 The planter, walking back across the field, 
 explained to Kennison, excited and enthusi- 
 astic, the methods of planting and cultivat- 
 ing the cane. 
 
 a It is not without its compensations, life 
 on a sugar plantation," he concluded, " but 
 it is from year's end to year's end ; it is a 
 constant financial risk, and it is monoto- 
 nous." 
 
 " I should never tire of it," declared 
 Olive with conviction. 
 
 Duncan's heart gave a sudden leap, and his 
 eyes lighted as if the hope of a lifetime 
 were already realized. He could hardly 
 trust himself to look at her. When he did 
 
140 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 steal a glance in her direction, her calmly 
 unconscious face sobered him, and his mo- 
 mentary elation died away. 
 
 Far behind them the chorus of the cane- 
 cutters again filled the air with its curious 
 meaningless refrain : 
 
 " Zoom-ba-loom-ba ! 
 Zoom!" 
 
 After the noontide rest, spent in loiter- 
 ing about the cabins and offices, they in- 
 spected the sugar-making. It was in the 
 days of the open kettles ; the ponderous and 
 wonderful machinery of the present time 
 had not yet been introduced, and the pro- 
 cess was more simple, more wasteful, and 
 more picturesque. When they had seen it 
 all, from the sickly, sweetish, green juice, 
 pouring from the crushers, to the great 
 vats of dark, slowly-cooling molasses, and 
 the moist heaps of yellow sugar, shoveled 
 like golden sand from the clean floors and 
 thrown, spadeful by spadeful, into the wait- 
 ing barrels, they came out and stood by 
 the carrier, watching its slow upward move- 
 ment. The feeders were mostly negroes; 
 but there were two white men among them ; 
 an old " poor-white," with a long lean pa- 
 
GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 141 
 
 tient face, who stooped painfully over his 
 work; and a young man whose black eyes 
 glowed dully beneath scowling brows. The 
 latter, whose name was Hogan, worked at 
 the upper end of the carrier. He stepped 
 to the ever-lessening, always-growing pile of 
 cane, and slowly pulled from it an armful of 
 stalks, staring boldly the while at the two 
 pretty young women. Turning to the man 
 who stood next him, he said something in 
 a low tone, lifting his load at the same time 
 to cast it into the carrier. As he did so he 
 stumbled, and the cane, missing its mark, 
 fell to the ground. Jeffrey, who had lin- 
 gered a moment in the sugar-house, had 
 come out unobserved ; and as the man re- 
 covered himself he sprang at him without a 
 word and dealt him a blow with his clenched 
 fist full upon the mouth. Hogan dropped 
 like a stone, but rose immediately, the blood 
 streaming from his face, and looked around 
 him with glaring eyeballs. When he recog- 
 nized his antagonist, however, he stooped, 
 muttering sullenly, and began to pick up the 
 scattered cane. 
 
 The negroes stopped work for a second, 
 and a smothered laugh of approval passed 
 along the line. Kennison looked pained and 
 
142 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 surprised ; Rose drew timidly back ; Olive's 
 eyes blazed with indignation. 
 
 Jeffrey wiped the blood from his hand 
 with his handkerchief. " Here comes Jupe 
 to say that dinner is waiting," he said in his 
 ordinary tone. " I hope that you all have a 
 country appetite." 
 
 Olive walked beside him in displeased 
 silence, her lips quivering and her cheeks 
 flushed. 
 
 "Was not that rather a severe punish- 
 ment for so trifling an offense as dropping 
 an armful of cane? " she demanded in a low 
 tone, when she could sufficiently command 
 her voice. 
 
 " Perhaps," he answered good-humoredly, 
 though he winced a little. " But discipline 
 is necessarily severe on the plantation dur- 
 ing sugar-making time." 
 
 The Good Luck plantation-house was a 
 wide-galleried one-story structure, which 
 " spraddled," as Mrs. Huddlestone said, " all 
 over creation." The late Major Duncan, who 
 had remained a bachelor all his life, had fol- 
 lowed his own whims in the matter of build- 
 ing, undeterred by the mild remonstrances 
 of his housekeeper, constructing wings, add- 
 ing closets, throwing out porches, as their 
 
GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 143 
 
 need became apparent. The result was 
 quaintly pleasing to the eye. There was a 
 certain bareness within ; the large rooms, 
 containing only the necessary pieces of pon- 
 derous old-fashioned furniture, lacked the 
 dainty touch of a woman's hand. This in 
 itself was a constant source of inward grati- 
 fication to the present owner. " It will be 
 Olive," he said it shyly to himself, "it 
 will be Olive who will make the old place 
 look like home ! " 
 
 The banks of the river, which made a long 
 outward curve in front of the plantation, 
 were lower here than at Thornham. The 
 windows of the dining-room looked directly 
 out upon La Salle Point, the place where 
 the famous French explorer was reputed to 
 have made his crossing on that last fatal jour- 
 ney in search of the Chevalier Tonti, which 
 ended in his death. Through the 4 noble 
 trees which studded the park, glimpses of 
 the yellow water could be seen. On the fur- 
 ther side, a bit of unbroken forest stretched 
 away to the horizon. 
 
 "Dinner's ready," announced Mrs. Hud- 
 dlestone, appearing on the gallery where the 
 party was enjoying this view. " You set at 
 the head of the table, honey," she whispered 
 
144 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 to Olive, " an' keep yo' eye on them keerless 
 diniii'-room boys. Lib Thornham 's in the 
 pantry, an' I 'in goin' to stay in the kitchen. 
 Lord, I hope young Mr. Duncan will be sat- 
 isfied!" 
 
 There was no ground for complaint. The 
 late William Duncan, variously known as 
 " Major " and " Uncle Billy " Duncan, had 
 been a notoriously good liver, and he had 
 left behind him a cook who had been for 
 years the envy of his neighbors. 
 
 The behavior of " the boys," a couple of 
 sedate middle-aged men, under Liberty's 
 severe supervision, was admirable ; nothing 
 was lacking in the appointment of the table 
 with its handsome hereditary service of silver 
 and glass. Yet- the dinner was not a 
 success. 
 
 The master of Good Luck, who had been 
 planning and arranging for weeks, and who 
 had looked forward with almost feverish 
 impatience to seeing Olive Herring at the 
 head of his own dinner-table, confessed to 
 himself with a sinking heart that things 
 somehow had gone wrong. A constraint 
 was upon them all. Kennison indeed talked, 
 but the heartiness of his tone was gone ; 
 Olive was cold and unresponsive ; even 
 
GOOD LUCK PLANTATION. 145 
 
 Kose, looking with questioning eyes from 
 one to another, was silent. 
 
 It was a relief when they rose at last from 
 the table. Almost immediately the carriage 
 appeared at the door, for the afternoon 
 shadows were beginning to fall. 
 
 " Come again soon, honey," Mrs. Huddle- 
 stone called from the head of the steps. 
 Jeffrey, leaning against the wheel, longed 
 but did not dare to echo her invitation. He 
 looked somewhat wistfully at them all. 
 
 " I shall not be able to be much at Rose- 
 neath until the grinding is over," he said, 
 stepping back after the adieux were said. 
 
 The carriage rolled away. He watched it 
 until a turn in the road hid it from sight. 
 The smile that curved his lips was tinged 
 with bitterness. But his voice was cheery 
 enough as he called up to his housekeeper, 
 lifting his hat, " Thank you, Mrs. Huddle- 
 stone ! The dinner would have delighted 
 Uncle Billy himself." 
 
 He walked rapidly to the sugar-house, 
 where the night-torches were already flaring ; 
 the smoke from the huge chimney was starred 
 with red sparks ; the engines pounded cease- 
 lessty ; the figures moving about in the pur- 
 ple gloom, carrying lanterns, had a ghostly 
 
146 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 look; in the little upper room where the 
 chemist tested the " takes," a greenish light 
 glittered like a planet ; the feeders along 
 the carrier were droning a mournful hymn. 
 
 At the gate leading into the inclosure, 
 Jeffrey encountered the man, Hogan. He 
 stopped and regarded him for a moment 
 with lips compressed and fingers itching. 
 
 " You scoundrel ! you you cowardly 
 hound ! " he said when he could speak. 
 " How dare you show yourself to me ! 
 Leave this place instantly; and if I ever 
 catch you on my premises again, I will break 
 every bone in your body ! " 
 
 Before he had finished speaking, Hogan 
 had slunk away. 
 
 This is what Jeffrey had overheard earlier 
 in the day when he came up unseen behind 
 the man: 
 
 " Smp ! Van Herrin's pretty gal looks 
 stuck up, don't she ! Wonder ef she 's a 
 thieft lak her daddy ! " 
 
VIII. 
 
 TWO CAMPAIGNS. 
 
 THAT winter was the gayest known in 
 Thornham since its brief reign as the capital 
 of an infant republic. Roseneath, whose 
 chatelaine for the second time in the history 
 of the manor-house was a beautiful and 
 charming young woman, continued to be, as 
 in times past, the focus whence radiated all 
 social animation. Herring, apparently ab- 
 sorbed in his public duties, and busied with 
 money speculations, yet appeared to note 
 with ever-increasing pride the success of the 
 joyous young creature who might be said to 
 redeem all his own past. He spared no 
 pains to add to her pleasures or her tri- 
 umphs. There were no more quiet expedi- 
 tions to Good Luck plantation, where the 
 grinding of an enormous crop went on un- 
 interruptedly ; but there was a succession 
 of plantation parties at Fair View, par- 
 ties which brought together people from 
 all' quarters of the country, and which 
 
148 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 were veritable fairy-tales of mirth and ex- 
 travagance. 
 
 Jeffrey the press of the sugar-making 
 over took his wonted place as leader in 
 this gay circle, the momentary constraint 
 which followed his unexplained and appar- 
 ently unjustifiable assault on the man Hogan 
 quite forgotten by his friends at Koseneath. 
 
 Kennison's advent, too, had awakened a 
 lively, and, truth to tell, half-puzzled inter- 
 est throughout the little town. His mag- 
 netism in the pulpit swept his listeners with 
 enthusiasm with ritualistic changes and ex- 
 terior reforms, which in cooler moments they 
 did not sanction ; his free association with 
 what Miss Kizzy called the Eealm of Fa- 
 shion was sharply criticised and denounced 
 by the older members of St. John's; but 
 even these melted into smiling approval be- 
 fore his winning and sympathetic personality. 
 
 " I wish my Maker may strike me stone 
 dead ef the parson ain't a plum out-'n-out 
 gentleman," was June Badgett's verdict. 
 For Kennison, doubly interested in this 
 group of men, as souls oftentimes awry, 
 and as types hitherto unknown to his expe- 
 rience, often stopped under the Man-Fig and 
 talked familiarly with the Council. 
 
TWO CAMPAIGNS. 149 
 
 To Vanborough Herring, whose scholarly 
 instincts in rare moments asserted them- 
 selves before the lettered young divine and 
 met with quick and tactful response, he 
 stood nearer than any man except per- 
 haps Duncan Jeffrey had stood for many 
 years. 
 
 The rush went bravely on. In the midst 
 of it Herring announced himself as a candi- 
 date for the United States Congress. His 
 election was a foregone conclusion; never- 
 theless the campaign, which was a vigorous 
 one, necessitated frequent absences from 
 home, and a breathless coming and going 
 of party leaders and political subalterns. 
 
 Almost at the moment of this announce- 
 ment, the small world of Thornham awoke, 
 electrified, to the fact that another, and to 
 the isolated and self-centred community a 
 far more important campaign was in pro- 
 gress in their midst. The dullest eye in the 
 village could be no longer blind to the cer- 
 tainty that the Rector of St. John's and the 
 master of Good Luck plantation were open 
 and determined, though friendly rivals for 
 the favor of Olive Herring. 
 
 Public sentiment was divided between the 
 two suitors. There was scarcely a man or 
 
150 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 woman in the county who had not known 
 and loved Duncan Jeffrey from his freckle- 
 faced and awkward, but always honest and 
 loyal boyhood, to the present moment. But 
 the glamour of romance was on the side of 
 the stranger. 
 
 " Of course she will marry Duncan ! " said 
 Madame de Jolibois confidently ; " she would 
 not be so foolish as to Why, he toted her 
 when she was a baby, and made mud-pies 
 for her, when " 
 
 " Fiddlesticks, Keziah," interrupted Mrs. 
 Alsbury, who was arguing the case with her. 
 " Olive Herring is just as wise and no wiser 
 than other girls. She '11 marry the preach- 
 er's dark eyes, and you '11 live to see it." 
 
 "Vanborough Herring's daughter?" said 
 an eminent statesman a keen, subtle, ob- 
 servant man of the world who had spent 
 some days at Fair View in conference with 
 the congressional candidate. " She is simply 
 living. Every fibre of her beautiful young 
 body is alive ; every sense is alert. But she 
 has, as yet, learned neither to feel nor to 
 think. When that time comes, the man 
 who wins her will indeed be a fortunate 
 one ! " 
 
 The object of this solicitous interest mean- 
 
TWO CAMPAIGNS. 151 
 
 while maintained an unconscious girlish dig- 
 nity which made any allusion to the subject 
 impossible in her presence. Liberty and 
 Betty continued to discuss it hotly in the 
 privacy of their own cabin. 
 
 44 Why 'nt Mars Dune hump his-se'f ! " 
 Betty would cry wrathf ully. " Is he gwine 
 ter give dat preacher-man a walk-over ? " 
 
 And Liberty, from the book of his own 
 experience, would reply, " Lawd, gal, Mars 
 Dune neenter fret. He kin come in on de 
 home-stretch. He aivi ham-strenk yit, bless 
 Gawd ! " 
 
 Thus the two campaigns went on side by 
 side, the air fairly throbbing with anticipa- 
 tion and excitement. The conclusion of the 
 political contest in Herring's triumphant 
 elevation to the coveted seat at Washing- 
 ton was inevitable. 
 
 But the result of the sentimental tourney 
 remained doubtful. 
 
IX. 
 
 THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 
 
 " WHERE is Liberty, Maum Betty ? " 
 asked Miss Herring one afternoon, putting 
 her head in at the summer-house door. 
 
 Betty looked up from the bench where 
 she was sitting with a heaped-up tray of vio- 
 lets on her lap. 
 
 " Lib ? " she stopped to chuckle softly 
 to herself, " dat fool nigger, Miss Olive, 
 has gone to 'Mancipation." 
 
 " Sure enough, this is Emancipation Day ! 
 I had forgotten. That is why the place is 
 so quiet. Why did you not go yourself, 
 Maum?" 
 
 " Who, me ? Lawd, chile, does you think 
 I ain' got nothin' to do but to go trailin' 
 a'ter 'Mancipation? Ez fer Lib, he's dat 
 narrer-minded dat he ain' 'shame to caper 
 off de minit Mars Van gin him leave. Gawd 
 knows what debblement dem free-niggers is 
 up to out yander at 'Mancipation ! " 
 
 "Oh, Maum/ 99 the tall girl sank on her 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 153 
 
 knees beside her old nurse and caressed her 
 shriveled hands coaxingly, "you want to 
 go, I am sure you do ! And you have been 
 promising to take me ever since ' freedom.' 
 Cannot we go to-day ? Rose and I ? And 
 Duncan ? Please, Maum Betty ! " 
 
 Betty's eyes brightened, but she turned 
 her head away with an affectation of reluc- 
 tance. " Lawd, honey, what intrus has a 
 grown-up young lady like you got in dem 
 free-niggers ! . . . But ef you is sot on it ! 
 . . . Dey ain' no mo' 'count dan a passel 
 o' kerkle-burs ! . . . 'Sides, I got to fix 
 yo' vi'let-water. But ef Mars Dune '11 go 
 'long"- 
 
 By this time she was urging her objec- 
 tions upon empty air, for Olive had sped 
 across the rose-garden, crying with the eager- 
 ness of a child, " Rose ! Rose ! come ! " 
 
 Half an hour later the two girls came out 
 of the house accompanied by Jeffrey, and 
 followed at a respectful distance by Betty, 
 in a monstrous gala-day turban, her best 
 bombazine gown, and white kerchief. At 
 the foot of the steps they encountered Ken- 
 nison, who turned back with them, delighted 
 at the opportunity of witnessing the famous 
 celebration of Emancipation Day. 
 
154 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 [It may be explained, in passing, that the 
 negroes in the Southern States celebrate the 
 day upon which the proclamation reached 
 them, and not the day upon which it was 
 promulgated. Hence the date differs ac- 
 cording to their nearness or remoteness 
 from the seat of government.] 
 
 Their way led them directly past the 
 Jolibois Dancing- Academy. The sound of 
 shuffling feet within and the tinkle of the 
 piano indicated that the Saturday afternoon 
 class (an innovation by Sarah Hunter) was 
 in training. 
 
 Olive left her companions at the gate 
 and ran in. Madame de Jolibois sat on 
 the high-backed sofa, with a red rose in her 
 hair, glaring at her assistant. Sarah Hunter 
 was hopelessly entangled with her young 
 charges in the intricate " hands-all-around " 
 of the Lancers. It took the visitor but a 
 moment to unravel the chain. 
 
 " I only came in to see how you are get- 
 ting on, Miss Kizzy. We are going to the 
 Emancipation picnic," she explained, " Rose 
 and Duncan and I and Mr. Kennison." 
 
 Madame de Jolibois smiled affectionately 
 up at her young friend. " Duncan Jeffrey," 
 she remarked irrelevantly, " is the most cul- 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 155 
 
 tivated young gentleman in Thornham, by 
 far. I am sure that Monshur dee Jollyboys, 
 when he returns, will approve of Duncan 
 Jeffrey. Mr. Kennison is also highly 
 proper," she added, with some haste. " I 
 am satisfied, Olive," her voice sank to a 
 whisper, though Miss Serena's monotonous 
 thumping and Sarah Hunter's loud com- 
 mands made such a precaution unnecessary, 
 "I am satisfied that he has never divulged 
 the dangerous secret. It is well. Monshur 
 dee Jollyboys is a husband. And there 
 would have been bloodshed." 
 
 Newall, from the open window of his 
 office, saw them approaching, and came out 
 to meet them. Time had borne heavily 
 upon the lawyer ; his friends often won- 
 dered why ; for the income from his pro- 
 fession more than sufficed for his simple 
 needs, and he had no other cares. He 
 walked with his head down and his hands 
 behind his back, like an old man. He was 
 quite bald. His clothes, as usual, were well- 
 worn and shabby. The curiously sad look 
 in his eyes seemed out of keeping with his 
 large features and bulky figure. 
 
 He held Olive's hand between his own 
 while he chatted pleasantly with them ; and 
 
156 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 he looked lingeringly after her as she moved 
 away with Kennison at her side, Jeffrey and 
 Rose walking together behind them. 
 
 "How like she is to Elinor Thornham," 
 he muttered ; " the same proud, yet sweet 
 look ; the same smile, the very same smile ! 
 Keep to the rear, Duncan, my boy," he 
 added bitterly, " she is not for you. It is 
 the stranger who wins now as then." 
 
 The place chosen by the negroes for their 
 annual gathering was about a mile distant 
 from the straggling suburbs of the village. 
 The level stretch of ground from which the 
 undergrowth had been cleared away was 
 shaded by vast live-oaks whose green was 
 intermixed with the dusty-gray of down- 
 ward-sweeping Spanish moss. There was a 
 rude attempt at decoration above the grove ; 
 flags and streamers fluttered from poles 
 planted in the open spaces ; ropes of ever- 
 green hung dangling between them. Near 
 the centre of the grounds a rough platform 
 had been erected, and scattered about under 
 the trees were numberless little tables 
 loaded with food and presided over by 
 high-turbaned dames, famous in the annals 
 of the county for their skill in cookery. A 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 157 
 
 well-trodden and dusty plot in the rear was 
 reserved for dancing. This place, however, 
 as well as the quarter laid off for foot-races, 
 ball-playing, and other sports, was for the 
 moment deserted ; and the large assem- 
 blage, as the party from Koseneath drew 
 near, was pressing toward the raised plat- 
 form. 
 
 Here, upon a huge split-bottomed chair 
 ornamented with streamers of red, white, 
 and blue calico, which stood on the dais, 
 sat Uncle Isham Lester. His hands rested 
 on his knees ; his body was rigidly erect ; 
 his eyes were half-closed ; his lips were com- 
 pressed. 
 
 Uncle Isham was the " Centre Figger." 
 
 "The Centre Figger," Olive explained 
 in a whisper to Kennison, " is the man or 
 woman chosen each year by the negro com- 
 munity to preside over Emancipation Day. 
 It is a great honor." 
 
 They had stationed themselves in the 
 shade of a tree a little to the right of the 
 dais, whence they could observe the pro- 
 ceedings. Liberty and Big Hannah greeted 
 them, grinning, from the crowd ; and Bet- 
 ty's younger children plunged toward her 
 uproariously, butting a path for themselves 
 
158 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 through the swaying remonstrating throng, 
 with their woolly heads. 
 
 " De Centre Figger is gwine to norate," 
 announced Jack Yates, the sleek brown 
 Baptist preacher, in a pompous tone from 
 the steps of the platform. " De Daughters 
 of Rebecca will percede de noration by 
 singin' de Hymn o' Freedom. De conjuga- 
 tion will jine in de chorus." 
 
 The Daughters of Rebecca, a band of 
 black but comely damsels in a grotesque 
 uniform of blue and white paper-cambric, 
 who were ranged behind the split-bottomed 
 throne, broke into a wild chant as Uncle 
 Isham rose and stepped forward : 
 
 " The Angull Gabl he up an' axed de Lawd, 
 
 ' Lawd, why 'nt you set dem colored people free ? ' 
 And de Lawd he anserd, ' I 'm bidin' my time 
 Ter set my people free ! 
 
 Free ! Free ! 
 Bidin' my time 
 Ter set my people free ! ' ' 
 
 The immense crowd took up the chorus : 
 
 "Free! Free! 
 Bidin' my time 
 Ter set my people free ! " 
 
 The drowsy summer air fairly thrilled 
 with the volume of sound. There were 
 those in the motley multitude old men 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 159 
 
 and women with scarred brows, whose 
 backs had smarted under the lash who 
 sang the anthem with solemn fervor, the 
 tears streaming down their black faces ; the 
 younger ones sang it exultantly, insolently, 
 clapping their hands and swinging their 
 bodies to its rhythm ; the children with their 
 piping voices echoed the refrain. Louder 
 and louder it rose ; faster and faster ; the 
 excited mass began to surge and roar like a 
 storm-swollen sea ; a subtle and penetrating 
 odor pervaded the atmosphere. Blood-shot 
 eyeballs rolled in the direction of the white 
 faces turned almost awestruck upon them ; 
 a Berserker rage was rising, blind, unrea- 
 soning, resistless ! 
 
 Jeffrey, signaling to Liberty for assist- 
 ance in case it was needed, was on the point 
 of hurrying his companions away, when 
 Uncle Isham lifted his hand. The tumultu- 
 ous throng fell into instant silence. 
 
 The old man stood for a moment looking 
 quietly but masterfully down upon the mass 
 of faces uplifted to his own. He was very 
 black, though his features had none of the 
 grotesqueness of the typical negro face ; his 
 large nose was straight, his lips curiously 
 thin. His forehead was branded with tat- 
 
160 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 too marks ; these hieroglyphs also circled 
 his bare arms, and were traced diagonally 
 across his naked breast, the sign of his 
 royal birth. For Uncle Isharn was an Afri- 
 can prince. One of those nameless inward- 
 stealing vessels which plied between the 
 coast of Guinea and Thornham in its early 
 days had set him ashore at midnight in the 
 canebrake with several hundred others of 
 his color. He was then in the strength and 
 vigor of young manhood ; now his head was 
 snow-white, and his once tall and command- 
 ing form was shrunken with age. But his 
 dark eyes glowed fiercely beneath their over- 
 hanging brows. There was something about 
 him, even under the threatening whip of the 
 overseer, which inspired fear and respect. 
 " Me slave outside," he sometimes said, 
 drawing himself up with truly royal dignity, 
 " inside, me king." 
 
 He began to speak slowly and as if mea- 
 suring each word. Reduced to plain Eng- 
 lish, from his uncouth but musical patois, 
 his brief speech ran somewhat after this 
 fashion : 
 
 " My friends, I am an old man and I 
 cannot talk much. You have made ine the 
 Centre Figger, and you have done well. 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 161 
 
 For you have been once slaves and you cele- 
 brate your freedom. But I have been twice 
 a slave, I who am the son of a king. I, 
 who would have been a king myself, I have 
 been a slave to white people in this country 
 who have been kind to me ; and I have been 
 a slave in my own country to black people 
 who lashed my back with leather thongs. I 
 was a prince. I lived in a great-house. I 
 also had slaves who were as the dust under 
 my feet. Do you think white men were the 
 only people who had slaves ? There was a 
 wall around the king's great-house, and be- 
 yond there was a grove of palm-trees. Do 
 you want to know how I became a slave ? 
 I will tell you. It is the first time that I 
 have told it. There was a hut in the grove 
 of palms. And a girl, who had brown eyes 
 and a soft skin, came out of the hut. I 
 saw her over the wall ; and though the king, 
 my father, had forbidden the gate to be 
 opened, I opened it and went down to where 
 the girl stood under the palms. Not once, 
 but many times. And there, at last, I was 
 seized and carried into the country of my 
 father's enemy. And I was dust under his 
 foot. For many years I served in his field, 
 until the white man bought me from him, 
 
162 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 and fetched me across the big water to be 
 the dust under his foot. Now, I am twice 
 free, and I live in a land where there are 
 no slaves. But something in a man dies 
 hard." 
 
 He paused, and his uplifted arm fell to 
 his side. When he spoke again, it was in 
 a low dreamy tone ; a strange light softened 
 his sunken eyes. 
 
 " I have a wife," he said. " She is a 
 good woman. She has made me a father 
 seven times. She has planted the gourd- 
 vine in my dooryard and kept my hearth 
 bright. But I would be slave again to the 
 white man who has been kind to me, and 
 slave again to the black man who lashed 
 the blood from my back with a leather 
 thong ; I would be chained like a dog in 
 the dark place of the ship, burnt with fever 
 and parched with thirst. For what? do 
 you ask me ? For a sight of the blue sky 
 of my country ? But I tell you, no. To sit 
 beside the king, my father, on his gold- 
 fringed mat? But I tell you, no! Twice 
 am I free, but twice would I be a slave again 
 to look once more in the eyes of the girl 
 who waited for me under the palm-tree ! " 
 
 This unexpected climax confused and be- 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 163 
 
 wildered his listeners ; they gazed at each 
 other in open-mouthed amazement. The 
 prince had seated himself in his chair and 
 resumed his impassive attitude. An aged 
 negress came up out of the throng and stood 
 beside him with her hand on his shoul- 
 der, looking down at the sea of faces with 
 proudly defiant eyes. 
 
 It was his wife. 
 
 She opened her lips as if to speak ; but 
 the Keverend Jack Yates, recovering from 
 his momentary stupefaction, motioned to the 
 Daughters of Rebecca, and again the tri- 
 umphant chorus swelled forth : 
 
 " Free ! Free ! 
 I 'm bidin' my time 
 Ter set my people free." 
 
 " Let us go," said Jeffrey to his friends, 
 and they slipped away unobserved. Lib- 
 erty, working his way through the press, 
 reached them as they entered the tangled 
 glade stretching away to the edge of the 
 town. He looked a little shamefaced as he 
 dropped behind with Betty and the chil- 
 dren. Big Hannah, being President of the 
 Sisters of Deborah, had remained with that 
 uniformed, be-streamered, and be-badged 
 association. 
 
164 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 "Well, Lib," said Betty quizzically, "has 
 you got nuff o' dat free-nigger foolishness ? 
 Ef I was Unk' Is'om Lester's wife " 
 
 "But you ain', honey!" cried Liberty, 
 recovering his accustomed jauntiness, " you 
 ain'. You my wife, an' my pa'm-tree gal 
 besides ; an' de onlies' woman dat I ever 
 shined my eyes on." 
 
 The young people walked rather silently 
 along the rutty wagon-road which threaded 
 its way between the over-arching trees. 
 Once or twice Kennison stopped to pick a 
 wild-flower, or a bit of fern ; the others 
 gazed at him as he did so with abstracted 
 and dreamy eyes, hearing inwardly the 
 echoes of Uncle Isham's love-story. 
 
 When they reached the outer park-gate 
 of Roseneath, Rose stopped. 
 
 " I must go home," she said ; " I cannot 
 come in." 
 
 " Why, Rose ! " remonstrated Olive. 
 
 " I promised my father that I would be 
 there to-night. I have not seen him for a 
 week. I must go," Rose continued with a 
 little break in her voice, which showed how 
 great was the sacrifice. 
 
 Olive did not urge her. For, ease-loving 
 and shallow as the girl undoubtedly was, 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 165 
 
 she was stoutly loyal to her uncouth, slouch- 
 ing, idle father. 
 
 "I will come back Monday afternoon," 
 she said, looking at them all as she turned 
 to go. Her eyes had a new wistf ulness in 
 them ; something like a dawning soul looked 
 out of their blue depths. 
 
 Duncan had a momentary struggle with 
 himself ; then he stepped forward. " I will 
 go with you, Rose," he said. " It is too 
 late for you to go alone." She smiled 
 gratefully, and they turned down the road 
 in the direction of Drennon's cabin. 
 
 The low sun threw a soft glow over the 
 rose-garden. Kennison passed with Olive 
 along one of the lavender-bordered walks, 
 and drew her without speaking into the old 
 summer-house. Liberty and the children 
 disappeared around a corner of the gallery, 
 but Betty seated herself with a discontented 
 air on the steps. 
 
 "Lawd," she muttered, with her chin in 
 her hand and her scowling gaze fixed upon 
 the summer-house. " Why 'n't Mars Dune 
 stay here an' min' his own business, stidder 
 takin' dat gal Rose home. I seen a look in 
 de preacher-man's eyes whilse Unk' Is'om 
 was noratin' 'bout dat pa'm-tree gal, an' 
 
166 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 sho 's you bawn he 's co'tin' Miss Olive 
 yander in de summer-house dis ininit." 
 
 Betty's instincts, and her knowledge of 
 man in his kind, had not deceived her. 
 
 " Miss Herring Olive ! " Kennison was 
 saying in a voice shaken by emotion, " do 
 I need to tell you that I love you ? That I 
 have looked over the wall of my every-day 
 existence and seen you standing under the 
 palm-trees of love! May I open the gate 
 and come to you ? Will you give me the 
 love which I crave, Olive? Will you be 
 my wife ? " 
 
 It was but a half-whispered word which 
 he bent to hear. But it was enough. She 
 hid her agitated face on his shoulder, yield- 
 ing as loyally to his caress as she had 
 proudly withheld even from herself any 
 admission of her love until openly wooed. 
 
 Nearly an hour passed in the first raptur- 
 ous interchange of confidence, and mutual 
 confession. Kennison at last arose, reluct- 
 antly, to go. 
 
 " To-morrow is Sunday," he said, " and I 
 have still a part of my sermon to prepare. 
 I may speak to your father soon, may I not ? 
 It will seem an eternity until I see you 
 again ! " 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 167 
 
 He came back from the gate to assure 
 himself once more, as he laughingly said, 
 that he had not been dreaming, and then 
 ran, with a light and boyish step, down the 
 road toward the town. 
 
 He was scarcely out of sight, and Olive 
 still sat in the summer-house, where the 
 gray twilight shadows were gathering, when 
 Jeffrey opened the gate. 
 
 At sight of him Betty shook her head 
 mournfully. " De winnin' hoss has done 
 gone under de rope, Mars Dune ! You is 
 too late ! " she groaned beneath her breath, 
 waving him silently to the summer-house. 
 
 He walked with a determined step across 
 the rose-garden. 
 
 " Olive," he began abruptly, standing 
 before her with bared head, " I love you. I 
 have loved you ever since you were a baby. 
 Will you marry me ? " 
 
 His wooing was rude enough in contrast 
 with Kennison's poetic and impassioned ap- 
 peal. But it moved the girl strangely. A 
 storm of conflicting emotions swept sud- 
 denly over her. 
 
 " O Duncan ! " she cried, springing up 
 and putting out an entreating hand. Her 
 face was pale, and her dark eyes looked 
 troubled in the wan light. 
 
168 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 He caught her hand and pressed it with 
 both his own against his breast. 
 
 " I am but a common-place fellow, Olive ; 
 I know that I do not deserve such happi- 
 ness ; but I would give my life for you. I 
 will try to be worthy of you. I will study 
 your wishes, I will " 
 
 " Don't, Duncan," she pleaded implor- 
 ingly, "I" 
 
 The eager flush faded from his cheek. 
 
 " Is it is it Kennison ? " he asked slowly. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, trying to steady her 
 voice, " I am going to marry Mr. Kenni- 
 son." 
 
 Duncan loosed the hand he still held, then 
 he caught it again in a firm clasp. 
 
 " He is a noble fellow, and far more wor- 
 thy of you than I could ever be. God bless 
 you, Olive ; I know you will be happy ! " 
 
 He lifted her hand to his lips, touched 
 with reverent fingers her bowed head, and 
 was gone. 
 
 Kennison's thoughts, as he bounded along 
 the dusty road, were of so joyous a nature 
 that he could hardly refrain from shouting 
 them aloud for all the world to hear ; already 
 they had leaped forward with a daring which 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 169 
 
 a few hours earlier he would have deemed 
 preposterous ; for he could not but realize 
 that his rival his equal in all other re- 
 spects was, from a worldly point of view, 
 far better suited than himself to the future 
 heiress of Roseneath. Now ! he lifted his 
 eyes to the distant spire of St. John's 
 Church, touched with the last pale-gold of 
 the evening light, and his heart beat exult- 
 antly at the inward vision which swam before 
 them; he saw himself waiting at the altar, 
 while up the aisle came to him, with down- 
 dropped eyes, and fair face, shining like a 
 star through the mist of her veil, his bride. 
 His bride ! He murmured the words aloud, 
 in a sort of rapture. 
 
 Suddenly he slackened his pace, and tried 
 to shake himself into soberness ; for some 
 one was approaching him in the falling 
 dusk. As he drew nearer, he recognized the 
 squat figure and red puffy face of June 
 Badge tt. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Badgett ? " he in- 
 quired heartily, stopping to shake hands. 
 
 " Wa-al," drawled June, " I ain't over an' 
 above well, parson. Ef I had my druthers, 
 I 'd be in bed ; but I promised Mis' Alsbury, 
 day before yistiddy, that I 'd fetch her some 
 
170 UNDER PHE MAN-FIG. 
 
 mint-'n'-tansy ; an' I reckin she 's in a swivet 
 to git it before supper." 
 
 He laughed lazily, shifting the basket of 
 herbs from one arm to the other. 
 
 " You have not been to church for a long 
 time, Badgett," Kennison vainly tried to 
 throw some severity into his voice. 
 
 " Lord, parson, I can't do everything an' 
 go to mill, too," cried June. " 'Pears like 
 some folks kin, 'specially ef they start out 
 by stealin' di'mon's." He pointed his elbow 
 significantly, as he spoke, at Herring, who 
 flashed by in a light buggy drawn by a pair 
 of superb horses. 
 
 "Eh? What did you say, Badgett?" 
 asked Kennison abstractedly, gazing after 
 the turnout, and wondering how this proucj 
 and reticent man would like for his daughter 
 to marry a penniless and obscure preacher. 
 
 The change in his tone which showed his 
 thoughts to be with the rich man and not 
 upon himself, Badgett, stirred the usually 
 good-natured loafer to anger. 
 
 " I said," he repeated, raising his voice, 
 " that folks that kin git their start by steal- 
 in' di'mon's kin efford to drive fine hosses, 
 an' go to Congress, an' set at a table loden 
 with gold, an' silver, an' champagne." 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 171 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Ken- 
 nison, staring at him blankly. 
 
 " I mean what I say," replied Badgett, 
 doggedly ; " I mean that Van Herrin' yonder 
 is a thief, an' a double thief, for he stole 
 di'mon's from a dead woman. You ain't 
 never heerd that tale, parson ? Then ax the 
 first man you run acrost ; f er ever' man, wo- 
 man an' chile in Thornham knows that Van 
 Herrin' was ez poor ez I am, on tell the night 
 he sneaked out'n Koseneath yander with 
 Miss Elinor Thornham's di'mon's under his 
 arm. An' I wish my Maker would strike 
 me stone dead ef I did n't see him with my 
 own eyes." 
 
 " You had better go home, Badgett," said 
 Kennison, seizing him by the collar and 
 looking sternly in his face. " You have been 
 drinking." 
 
 " Drinkin' ! " echoed Badgett, angrily, 
 shaking himself loose. " Let go o' me, d 11 
 you ! You 're a plum out-'n'-out gentleman, 
 parson," he added with sullen humility, 
 " but you 're liable to mistakes. Ax the 
 first man you run acrost about Van Herrin', 
 an' Miss Elinor's di'mon's." 
 
 He walked away, leaving his antagonist 
 rooted where he stood and speechless with 
 anger. 
 
172 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 Kennison's brain was in a whirl. What 
 did it mean ? Did it mean anything ? 
 
 " Pshaw ! " he ejaculated with a laugh, 
 resuming his walk, " the envious froth of a 
 foolish man's tongue ! " But his exhilaration 
 was gone. Strive as he would he could not 
 recall that image of his bride in her white 
 and virgin loveliness. Badgett's words re- 
 turned with teasing insistence ; and certain 
 half-uttered phrases, heretofore meaningless, 
 began to shape themselves, unconsciously, 
 into clearness in his troubled brain. 
 
 " Ax the first man you run acrost ; " he 
 repeated Badgett's words monotonously. " I 
 will not ! " he replied to himself angrily. 
 " I will," he finally exclaimed. " At least 
 I will see what the idle report means." 
 
 He quickened his steps again until he 
 reached the business portion of the street. 
 Here he looked about him uncertainly ; then 
 perceiving a light in an upper room of one 
 of the weather-beaten houses, he ran up the 
 outer stair, that climbed shakily to the sec- 
 ond floor, and tapped on the door. It was 
 opened by Andrew Barclay of the firm of 
 Barclay and Wright, an elderly man, a law- 
 yer, and one of his own parishioners. 
 
 " Why, good-evening, Mr. Kennison," he 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 173 
 
 said cordially. " Come in, come in. I am 
 glad to see you." 
 
 Kennison suddenly appeared ridiculous in 
 his own eyes. 
 
 " I only stopped," he stammered, " to 
 speak to you about the matter of repairs at 
 the church I beg your pardon, Mr. Bar- 
 clay," he continued with an abrupt change 
 of manner, and a return to his usual quiet 
 dignity, " I came for personal reasons. Will 
 you allow me a few moments' talk? " 
 
 " Certainly," responded Mr. Barclay, clos- 
 ing the door and leading the way into his 
 inner office, where he placed a chair for his 
 visitor, and seated himself. 
 
 Again Kennison drew back. A quick 
 sense of his own treachery to his friend and 
 to his betrothed swept over him. But he 
 steadied himself and leaned forward. 
 
 " Mr. Barclay," he began, " I have to-day 
 for the first time heard a very serious charge 
 a charge of theft brought against one 
 of my friends and parishioners. The source 
 from which this information reached me is a 
 very doubtful one. But I feel justified in 
 investigating its truth. I refer to the re- 
 port that Colonel Herring For reasons 
 personal to myself, I desire to hear the story 
 
174 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 which I am confident is false, or grossly 
 exaggerated from some responsible person. 
 Will you give me the facts in the case ? " 
 
 Mr. Barclay got up from his chair, sat 
 down again, and coughed aimlessly once or 
 twice. 
 
 " Really, Mr. Kennison," he said, " I 
 hardly know how to reply. There was cer- 
 tainly a curious robbery here in Thornham 
 some twelve or thirteen years ago ; and cir- 
 cumstances at the time seemed to implicate 
 Van Colonel Herring. But " 
 
 " You will oblige me by relating the af- 
 fair just as it happened," interrupted Ken- 
 nison in a tone of authority. 
 
 Andrew Barclay was a conscientious man ; 
 he prided himself on his straightforward- 
 ness, and on the entire absence of prejudice 
 in his profession. But his profession had also 
 cultivated a certain dramatic talent which 
 he possessed ; and although he began Van- 
 borough Herring's story with the intention 
 of giving simply an unbiased statement, 
 yet as he proceeded, his own secret convic- 
 tion that there was something rotten at the 
 core of the successful man's life tinged his 
 words. He related the details of Elinor 
 Thornham's death as if he had been present ; 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 175 
 
 almost unconsciously he added as facts the 
 later exaggerations that had crept into the 
 story ; his sonorous voice rose and fell with 
 cadenced emphasis ; he felt himself thrilled 
 with his own eloquence as he described the 
 tragic death of Young Van, and the sudden 
 snatching away of the wife and two children. 
 
 " The Hand of God sometimes delays," 
 he concluded, " but it is heavy when it does 
 strike." 
 
 His auditor, who had sat motionless 
 through the long recital, rose as if jerked 
 upward by a spring. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Bar- 
 clay," he said in a heavy monotonous voice. 
 " One question, if you please. Why was 
 Colonel Herring never prosecuted ? " 
 
 " Oh," returned the lawyer with a shrug 
 of his shoulders, " family pride. The Thorn- 
 hams themselves would have been disgraced 
 if a kinsman of their own had gone to the 
 penitentiary." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Barclay," Kennison said 
 again; "good-evening." 
 
 Barclay listened with a bewildered air to 
 the echo of his retreating footsteps on the 
 stair outside. Suddenly he dashed his hand 
 to his forehead with a groan. 
 
176 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " Oh, Lord, what have I done ! " he cried. 
 " What an old ass I am. I had forgotten ! 
 They say he is to marry Olive Herring. 
 Poor little Olive ! Kennison ! " he shouted, 
 springing precipitately to the door ; " Mr. 
 Kennison ! " he called again, possessed by a 
 wild desire to take it all back, somehow. 
 But the stairway, which was now quite dark, 
 was empty. 
 
 The young preacher entered his study, 
 hardly knowing how he got there, and lighted 
 his student-lamp. His nearly finished ser- 
 mon lay on the table ; he glanced at it indif- 
 ferently, and at the loose sheet beside it, upon 
 which he had that morning written some 
 verses dedicated to Olive Herring. He 
 picked up the latter and mechanically cor- 
 rected an error; then dropping it, he began 
 to walk restlessly up and down the small 
 room. 
 
 " A common thief ! " he ejaculated, flush- 
 ing and paling by turns. " No, not a com- 
 mon thief, by heaven ! A rich, successful, 
 ambitious thief. ... It is incredible, I 
 will not believe it ! ... And yet, is there 
 room for doubt? Barclay certainly believes 
 him guilty. . . . Olive, the daughter of a 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 177 
 
 man publicly branded as a coward and a 
 criminal ! It cannot, cannot be ! ... But 
 . . . dare I, have I the right to marry a 
 woman upon whose family rests even such 
 a suspicion? Do I not owe something to 
 my calling ? . . . A taint in the blood of 
 my wife ! . . . A stain upon my wife's 
 name ! . . . O Olive ! . . . Olive ! . . . My 
 God ! " he groaned aloud, and falling upon 
 his knees he strove to pray ; but the words 
 which rose to his lips had no meaning. 
 
 The night wore away in a conflict between 
 what he believed to be love and duty. When 
 he appeared before his congregation the next 
 morning, his extreme pallor startled those 
 nearest him. To Olive, who stole a glance 
 at him as he entered, this was but the visible 
 trace of the same emotion which had kept 
 her awake the livelong night ; and her heart 
 throbbed with secret exultation. No one 
 else suspected its cause; for neither June 
 Badgett nor Andrew Barclay was present. 
 
 The voice with which Kennison began his 
 sermon was weak and husky. He had no 
 notes before him, for it was not the sermon 
 which he had nearly finished the day before, 
 and which still lay, untouched, on the study- 
 table. He chose for his text the words : 
 
178 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " But God is faithful, who will not suffer 
 you to be tempted above that ye are able" 
 His theme was self -sacrifice. Moved by the 
 hidden springs of wretchedness and indeci- 
 sion within him, he spoke with a fervor 
 which stirred his listeners to enthusiasm ; his 
 voice gathered strength as he proceeded, and 
 his pale face shone as with the glory of 
 martyrdom. 
 
 Olive Herring, in her pew, with Madame 
 de Jolibois seated beside her, heard the voice 
 of the speaker as through a dream ; the 
 sense of his words penetrated but vaguely to 
 her understanding. Her feeling for the man 
 overpowered for the moment all thought of 
 the preacher and his vocation. She dared 
 not glance at him lest the conscious look in 
 her eyes should disturb his impassioned flow 
 of thought. She might indeed have gazed 
 her fill, for he kept his own eyes sedulously 
 turned away from that part of the church in 
 which she sat. 
 
 " The parson wrastled like he had a pow- 
 erful purchase on ole Satan ! " remarked 
 Dud Welsh with a laugh to his companion, 
 as they walked away from the church to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Poor young man ! " commented Miss 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 179 
 
 Kizzy to Olive. " He must have some 
 hidden trouble, a thorn in the flesh, like St. 
 Paul." 
 
 Olive did not reply, but she smiled, secure 
 in the knowledge of their secret, his and 
 hers ! 
 
 She waited for him through the drowsy 
 afternoon in the shady summer-house, dis- 
 appointed but no-wise disturbed by his non- 
 appearance. 
 
 " Sunday is always a busy day with him ; 
 he will come to-morrow," she whispered to 
 herself confidently, answering the summons 
 to dinner. 
 
 Herring looked up at his daughter as 
 she entered the dining-room, and glanced at 
 the vacant places usually occupied by Jef- 
 frey and Kennison. He moved uneasily in 
 his chair and seemed about to question her, 
 but checked himself, evidently reassured by 
 her calm and happy face. 
 
 " What a delightful dinner-party ! " he 
 said gayly as they arose from the table. 
 " Better company than all the senators and 
 judges, planters and preachers we have been 
 accustomed to dine with lately, eh, Olive ? " 
 
 He drew her hand through his arm and 
 walked with her up and down tne long gal- 
 
180 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 lery, chatting almost eagerly. It was the first 
 time his daughter ever remembered to have 
 seen him like this though those who had 
 known him in former times would have ex- 
 claimed, " The old Van Herring ! " He was 
 boyishly enthusiastic, talking of his plans for 
 himself and her ; and overflowing with what 
 seemed to her a new-born tenderness. It 
 was an evening long to be remembered. 
 
 She wished to speak to him of Kennison, 
 but refrained for her lover had begged to 
 be allowed to plead his own cause. But she 
 had no longer any doubts. She felt that 
 he divined her happiness and rejoiced in it. 
 
 " Oh ! how noble he is, my father ! my 
 hero ! " she murmured when with his good- 
 night kiss on her brow, she went up to her 
 own room. " No wonder that he and Mark " 
 she breathed the name shyly "no won- 
 der they were drawn to each other from the 
 first." 
 
 Nor had the father's unwonted mood 
 passed the next morning. He laughed and 
 jested with his daughter over the breakfast- 
 table, and lingered talking to her long after 
 his usual hour for leaving the house. When 
 at length he kissed her and drove away in 
 the direction of Fair View, he looked back 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 181 
 
 to shout a greeting to her. She waved her 
 hand, standing on the high steps, but gave 
 a sudden start, as a vague picture floated 
 suddenly through her brain a picture of 
 Young Van riding away to his death that 
 spring morning ! The vision passed as 
 quickly as it came, and she ran down into 
 the rose-garden. 
 
 She was in the little morning-room when 
 Kennison came. The half-withered flowers 
 which he had gathered for her the Saturday 
 before were in a vase on the table beside 
 her. She sprang to meet him with a glad 
 smile. He came forward slowly, and barely 
 touched her outstretched hands with his, 
 which were cold and clammy. 
 
 " Olive," he began, " Miss Herring " he 
 paused, confused by the growing wonder in 
 her eyes ; "I I " he went on desper- 
 ately, " since I saw you last, I have heard 
 the story of Miss Thornham's diamonds " 
 
 " Miss Thornham's diamonds ? " repeated 
 Olive, puzzled. 
 
 "And and of your of Colonel Her- 
 ring's supposed connection with their disap- 
 pearance," he stammered. 
 
 "Of my father's" 
 
 He interrupted her eagerly. He was no 
 
182 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 longer conscious of what he said, but seemed 
 possessed by a mad haste to unburden him- 
 self of the terrible story ; the words poured 
 from his lips in an irresistible torrent. To do 
 him justice, it had not occurred to him that 
 the daughter might, by some miracle, through 
 all these years, have been spared the know- 
 ledge of her father's dishonor. He told the 
 story, not indeed as it had been told him ; 
 sparing her instinctively, softening ugly 
 phrases and suppressing many details. But 
 he told it, nevertheless. 
 
 When he left his study after a second 
 sleepless and wretched night, he had not 
 known definitely what he meant to say to 
 her. Certainly he had not foreseen that the 
 sight of her would arouse in him an insane 
 desire to justify to his own better nature 
 the course he had decided upon pursuing. 
 What he had called duty seemed to him, as 
 he concluded, the basest cowardice. 
 
 She heard him to the end, standing mo- 
 tionless before him, with her arms hanging, 
 and her eyes fixed upon his face. 
 
 " Do you really mean to tell me, Mr. Ken- 
 nison," she said slowly when he had finished, 
 " that the people of Thornham, my father's 
 friends and neighbors, who have known him 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 183 
 
 since his early manhood, have for thirteen 
 years believed him to be an unscrupulous 
 criminal? And that, believing him to be 
 so base, they have continued to associate 
 with him and his family? to come to his 
 house and accept his hospitality ? " 
 
 Kennison did not reply. A terrible con- 
 viction was forcing itself upon him. 
 
 "Can it be, Olive," he panted, horror- 
 stricken, "that you have never heard this 
 story before ? " 
 
 " I have never heard it," she returned in 
 a hard voice, " and I wish you to under- 
 stand, Mr. Kennison, that I know it to be 
 false wickedly, monstrously, cruelly false. 
 My father," she lifted her head proudly, 
 " my father ! the truest, bravest, gentlest, 
 and most loyal gentleman my father ! " 
 she put her hand to her throat to check a 
 rising sob there. 
 
 Kennison, overwhelmed by a sense of his 
 own brutality, fairly staggered, clutching at 
 a corner of the table for support. " My 
 God, what have I done ! O, Olive, can you 
 ever forgive " 
 
 " Will you be good enough to go," she 
 interrupted coldly. Then, suddenly losing 
 control of herself, she cried passionately, 
 
184 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " Go ! can you not see that your presence is 
 an insult to my father's daughter ! " 
 
 He made no further appeal, but stood 
 looking at her in silence, devouring every 
 detail of her lovely face, scorching under 
 the lire of her beautiful angry eyes. 
 
 "You cannot despise me more than I 
 despise myself/' he said at length. With 
 these words he quitted the room and the 
 house. 
 
 Her courage sustained her until the echo 
 of his footsteps died away. Then, with a 
 shuddering cry, she dropped to the floor and 
 buried her face in her hands. A world of 
 unheeded half-forgotten things rushed upon 
 her, significant glances, whispered phrases, 
 a hint here, a shake of the head there ; the 
 words spoken by Young Van when he lay 
 a-dying . . . had she really heard them then ? 
 they rang loudly enough in her ears now! 
 . . . the strange and unaccountable change 
 in her father's manner. Oh, she remem- 
 bered now how joyous and gay he used to be 
 at the " other house," and how constrained 
 and silent after 
 
 "Oh, my mother, my poor mother, and 
 poor, poor little Van ! " she moaned. " And 
 I alone, through all these wretched years, 
 
THE PALM-TREE GIRL. 185 
 
 have been foolishly, heartlessly, blindly gay 
 and light-hearted. Why have they not told 
 me! Oh, the vile, horrible lie! Father! 
 Father!" 
 
 Through her grief and rage there came 
 now and then another and a keener pang. 
 But this she resolutely put aside. 
 
 " He never loved me," she said sternly, 
 " or instead of giving me up, he would surely 
 have gathered me in his arms and sheltered 
 me from all pain. That would have been 
 my father's way or Duncan's. Does Dun- 
 can know, I wonder ? Oh, I cannot, cannot 
 bear it." 
 
 The recurring thought was intolerable, 
 and, stung beyond endurance, she sought 
 her old nurse, and, laying her head against 
 her bosom, she found relief in a partixysm 
 of tears. 
 
 " Somep'n 's wrong wi' de chile," mused 
 Betty, stroking the soft hair. " An' de 
 preacher-man is sho at de bottom of it ! " 
 But neither then nor later did she suspect 
 the whole truth. 
 
 Soothed into at least a semblance of quiet, 
 Olive awaited with feverish impatience her 
 father's return. She would throw herself 
 into his arms and tell it all to him, her 
 
186 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 remorse at not having guessed that some 
 trouble had clouded his, her mother's, Young 
 Van's lives; her shame at having been so 
 frivolous, all, all ! 
 
 She ran to meet him in the late afternoon. 
 He saw her on the steps as he turned in at 
 the park-gateway, and shouted a greeting as 
 he had done that morning. But his face 
 changed when he looked closely into hers. 
 She did throw herself into his arms, but the 
 words she wished to utter died in her throat. 
 There rose up on the instant between the 
 father and daughter the impenetrable bar- 
 rier which for so many years had lain impas- 
 sable between the husband and wife. 
 
 He kissed her tenderly, asked a few com- 
 monplace questions concerning the day's 
 occupations, and passed into his library, 
 closing the door behind him. Then followed 
 for Vanborough Herring perhaps the bitter- 
 est hour of his life. He had read but too 
 clearly in the wistful eyes. 
 
 He knew that she knew ! 
 
X. 
 
 ELINOR THORNHAM. 
 
 WHEN it became known in Thornham 
 that the visits both of Kennison and Jeffrey 
 to Roseneath had ceased abruptly, there was 
 an outburst of curiosity. And, as usual, 
 there were not wanting theories to explain 
 the fact; some asserted that Miss Herring 
 had dismissed both men in favor of a third 
 unknown admirer ; others declared that 
 Herring had peremptorily forbidden them 
 both his house; one rumor had it that Jef- 
 frey, the fortunate man, was ostentatiously 
 absenting himself in order to throw gossip 
 off the scent ; another gravely demonstrated 
 that neither suitor had been really in ear- 
 nest, and the pursuit had been discontinued 
 by a mutual understanding between them, 
 leaving the field free to whoever chose to 
 enter it. A few had an inkling of the truth. 
 Among these was Andrew Barclay, who, un- 
 easy and contrite, at length sought his pas- 
 tor, and quite humbly confessed that, carried 
 
188 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 away by professional enthusiasm, he had 
 exaggerated the story of the theft. 
 
 " The bottom facts, as known, would not 
 convict," he concluded remorsefully. 
 
 "Pray think no more about the matter, 
 Mr. Barclay," the preacher returned. " If 
 I have made mistakes in this affair I alone 
 am to blame." He spoke with a certain 
 dull weariness. Something had gone out of 
 the man. From that time forward, truly, 
 there was no talk of changes and reforms in 
 St. John's Church. The rector's sermons 
 were quite orthodox, and singularly color- 
 less. Then, by a contradiction not unusual 
 in human nature, those who had cried out 
 most loudly against his innovations and his 
 latitude of creed, cried out more loudly still 
 against his want of progress. 
 
 The young mistress of Roseneath found 
 the days which followed Kennison's revela- 
 tion well-nigh unbearable ; she shrank pain- 
 fully from contact with the people of the 
 village ; she would gladly have denied her- 
 self even to Rose, in whose subtly changed 
 face she read a knowledge of the shameful 
 story. Wrung with sympathy for her fa- 
 ther, to whom she felt immeasurably nearer, 
 
ELINOR THORNHAM. 189 
 
 yet from whom in some inexplicable way, 
 too, she was infinitely removed, she proudly 
 forbore to question even her old nurse. 
 Thus, turned upon herself and tortured by 
 uncertainty and self-pity, it seemed for a 
 time as if she were about to succumb like 
 her mother before her ; her step became list- 
 less, her eyes lost their sparkle. Her father 
 watched her with a solicitude doubled by 
 the recollection of his former losses. But 
 something of his own indomitable spirit 
 presently arose within her, and she found 
 herself able to smile calmly into familiar 
 faces, while intuitively selecting from those 
 about her the few who had known how, un- 
 questioning, to trust a friend. 
 
 Nevertheless the change in her outward 
 appearance was great ; a reserve which bor- 
 dered upon hauteur took the place of her 
 girlish frankness ; her open straightforward 
 gaze became cool and searching ; her move- 
 ments were less quick and impulsive. The 
 stately dignity of her bearing enhanced her 
 beauty a thousand fold. 
 
 This sudden transformation seemed little 
 less than marvelous to those unacquainted 
 with its secret spring. 
 
 In a short time, fearful of disappointing 
 
190 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 or injuring her father, she resumed as nearly 
 as possible the life which had been so rudely 
 interrupted, filling Eoseneath beautiful 
 under the blue autumnal skies with guests 
 and giving it a semblance at least of all its 
 former gayety. Kennison she saw only from 
 a distance, or from the pew in his church, 
 which she continued to occupy, bearing the 
 keen gaze of the public with such proud 
 calm that criticism was disarmed and gossip 
 itself disconcerted. 
 
 Jeffrey had resumed somewhat of his old 
 position in the household, though his visits 
 were fewer and of a more formal character. 
 
 He sat with her one day, watching her 
 active preparations for the coming season in 
 Washington for Herring, as had been 
 foreseen, had received an almost unanimous 
 vote at the election. " Olive," he said reso- 
 lutely, though with an embarrassed air, 
 "Kennisoii has ceased to come to Rose- 
 neath. Does that mean " 
 
 " I am no longer engaged to Mr. Kenni- 
 son," she interrupted, a trifle haughtily. 
 
 His face brightened. He arose and made 
 a movement toward her. " Then . . . you 
 have read your own heart more truly . . . 
 you have found that you do not love him. 
 
ELINOR THORNHAM. 191 
 
 . . . Perhaps ? . . . Olive, will you ... is 
 it too soon for me to speak again? . . . 
 Will you be my wife ? " 
 
 She shrank from him with a gesture of 
 horror. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " she cried, " no, that is for- 
 ever impossible ! " 
 
 " Olive," said her father, entering at that 
 moment with an open letter in his hand, 
 " we shall have to leave sooner than I had 
 thought. To-morrow, if possible. Betty 
 will accompany us. Liberty will remain 
 behind to close the house, and follow later. 
 Duncan, my boy," he laid his hand with 
 unwonted familiarity on the young man's 
 shoulder, " Thornham is a dull place for a 
 man with a soul ; come with us to Washing- 
 ton." 
 
 Jeffrey glanced at Olive before he replied. 
 " Thank you, Colonel," he said warmly, " I 
 wish I could ; but the grinding at Good 
 Luck is in full blast and I must be here to 
 look after it." 
 
 He crossed the river the next morning to 
 the station to see them off. A large num- 
 ber of Colonel Herring's constituents were 
 gathered about him on the platform ; and 
 several of Olive's friends, including Madame 
 
192 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 de Jolibois and Rose, had followed her into 
 the car. Rose clung, weeping, to her friend, 
 but she smiled through her tears. " The 
 things you sent came this morning, Olive," 
 she whispered ; " the cabin will be lovely 
 when they are all in place. And I know 
 I will like keeping house for my father." 
 
 "I am sure you will, dear," returned Olive, 
 kissing the small upturned face. 
 
 " If you should meet Monshur dee Jolly- 
 boys in the sumptuous Halls of our Nation's 
 Metropolis " began Miss Kizzy, but' the 
 train which had been making threatening 
 movements for half an hour was at last re- 
 ally about to start, and Jeffrey hurried her 
 away, cutting short her studied apostrophe. 
 
 The Honorable Vanborough Herring and 
 his daughter entered at once into the social 
 life of the Capital. The great wealth and 
 distinguished air of the one, and the beauty 
 and charm of the other, made them a wel- 
 come addition even to that wide and brilliant 
 circle. 
 
 To the girl, who saw her father for the 
 first time unconstrained and wholly at ease, 
 the transition from the pain and wretched- 
 ness of the past weeks to sudden joyous com- 
 
ELINOR THORNHAM. 193 
 
 panionship with him was like a birth into 
 some new world ; the hideous dream was re- 
 membered only when some chance word or 
 inadvertent reference brought into his eyes 
 the look which said, " Thus far shalt thou 
 come even thou and no farther." 
 
 The outer life of the great city interested 
 and amused her. Balls, dinners, the theatre, 
 routs of all kinds, following each other in 
 endless succession, found the young stranger 
 always the centre of a host of admirers. If 
 a word or look from any of these brought to 
 her a memory of a twilight hour in the old 
 summer-house at Roseneath, and of a pair of 
 dark eyes glowing with masterful love, there 
 was at least nothing in her own to betray 
 the thought. 
 
 One night toward the end of February 
 she came down the stairway of their hand- 
 some apartment dressed for a ball, given 
 in honor of a foreign embassy. Her shoul- 
 ders arose white and gleaming above the 
 foamy lace of her satin gown ; jewels 
 flashed on her bare arms and shone in her 
 hair. Beautiful and imperious, her face 
 showed no trace of the shock which, but a 
 few months earlier, had stunned her into 
 apathy. Midway on the stair she paused 
 
194 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 and threw up her head, like a deer in the 
 forest, which scents a presence on the morn- 
 ing air. Betty, following her with a heap 
 of furred wraps on her arm, stopped also 
 and chuckled softly. 
 
 " I knows dat voice, too, Miss Olive ! You 
 ain' mistakened, chile. It 's Mars Duncan." 
 
 It was Duncan who stood talking gayly 
 with her father in the drawing-room, and 
 looking very bright and handsome. He 
 came forward to meet her. 
 
 " I have this moment arrived," he said, 
 when the warm unembarrassed greetings were 
 over, "and as I am leaving to-morrow " 
 
 " To-morrow ! " echoed his hosts in a 
 breath. 
 
 " Yes," he explained, " I have leased 
 Good Luck for a couple of years (the crop, 
 by the way, this year, Colonel, was the 
 heaviest ever handled on the plantation) to 
 Lester, with the privilege of renewing or 
 buying me out at the end of that time. My 
 other business is in such a. shape that it 
 does not require my personal attention. I 
 am going to knock around Europe for a 
 year or two, perhaps longer, and I am 
 hurrying to join some old college friends in 
 New York who sail on Saturday." 
 
ELINOR THORNHAM. 195 
 
 Colonel Herring rang for Liberty and 
 ordered his carriage to be dismissed. 
 
 " We will spend the evening at home, 
 Olive ? " he said, half-questioningly. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she acquiesced quickly. 
 
 Jeffrey protested but faintly, his gaze 
 wandering hungrily over her as she sat near 
 him with the firelight playing over her shim- 
 mering gown ; her head resting on her hand, 
 and her luminous eyes fixed upon his face. 
 
 The evening sped but too quickly. He 
 sighed involuntarily as he rose to go. 
 
 " Wait a moment, Duncan," said Her- 
 ring, " I wish to give you a couple of letters 
 to some friends in London." He walked 
 into the library, and Olive and Duncan, left 
 alone, relapsed into a silence through which 
 they could hear the scratching of the pen 
 on paper through the draped doorway. 
 
 " Olive," the young man said at last in a 
 low tone, " I have been hoping that you 
 would ask me to stay, or that you would 
 come with me. Am I foolish to speak 
 again ? Yet I must. Will you not give 
 yourself to me, .Olive ? " 
 
 " No, Duncan," she replied as before, 
 " that is quite impossible." But seeing him 
 turn away, the tears sprang to her eyes. 
 
196 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 She laid her hand on his arm beseechingly. 
 " But but you will not forget me, Dun- 
 can, your childhood's friend, your sister ? 
 You will write us sometimes ; you will think 
 of us of me ? " 
 
 " Forget you ! " he exclaimed, taking her 
 hands in his warm clasp. " Olive, do you 
 imagine that I will not go on loving you as 
 long as I live ! Do you think, dear, that I 
 could put you out of my life if I tried ! " 
 He paused and added, smiling a little, " It 
 runs in my family to be faithful. My uncle 
 perhaps you never knew that, Olive ? 
 my uncle died, an old man, true to the 
 one woman he had ever loved and whom he 
 lost in his early manhood. Oh yes. I will 
 write," he continued, as Herring reentered 
 the room with the letters in his hand, " and 
 perhaps one day " 
 
 He left the significant sentence, uttered 
 in her father's presence, unfinished, and 
 departed. 
 
 " Duncan is a fine fellow ; I wish you 
 could have loved him well enough to marry 
 him, Olive," Herring said, after a long 
 silence, during which he mused with his 
 eyes fixed abstractedly on the fire. 
 
 These were the only words he ever ut- 
 
ELINOR THORNHAM. 197 
 
 tered which betrayed his knowledge of what 
 had been passing in his daughter's life. 
 
 " I cannot marry Duncan," she replied, 
 paling. " I shall never marry. Why 
 should I ? " she continued in a lighter tone, 
 coming over and putting her arms about his 
 neck, " have I not you ? " 
 
 Herring's private affairs in the late spring 
 necessitated a flying trip to Thornham ; he 
 announced this to Olive, suggesting, though 
 but half-heartedly, that she remain in Wash- 
 ington during his brief absence. 
 
 " How dare you hint such a thing ! " she 
 cried with saucy indignation. " No, in- 
 deed ! You are too attractive by far to be 
 allowed to travel alone, Colonel Herring ! 
 Even in stupid old Thornham some woman 
 might set a trap for you " 
 
 " Miss Kizzy ? " he demanded demurely. 
 
 "Now, papa," she admonished gravely, 
 with uplifted finger. " You know that 
 Monshur dee Jollyboys is a husband. And 
 there would certainly be bloodshed ! " 
 
 Whereat they laughed like a pair of chil- 
 dren. 
 
 Liberty, who had preceded them, met 
 them on their arrival at Thornham. 
 
198 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " De river 's 011 a big rise, Mars Van," he 
 remarked, leading the way to the carriage. 
 
 The horses threw up their heads, and 
 pulled back with quivering nostrils and 
 trembling flanks, when he attempted to lead 
 them on the ferry-boat which rose and fell 
 011 the swirling current, and it was some mo- 
 ments before he succeeded in calming them. 
 
 The steadily rising water, blood-red and 
 flecked with foam, was within a foot of the 
 grass-grown edge of the high bluffs. Its 
 surface was covered with floating debris, 
 tree-trunks, broken barrels, hencoops, bits 
 of shingle, what not, from above, which 
 made it difficult for John Hopson, the old 
 ferryman, to manage the passage. Jack 
 Addington, standing in the door of his ware- 
 house, which seemed dangerously near the 
 bank, saw them approaching and came out 
 to greet them. He was a small, shrewd- 
 looking man, with a forceful face and plea- 
 sant quizzical eyes. 
 
 " I think we are in for a whizzer this time, 
 Colonel," he said. " I hope Fair View is 
 in good shape to stand it ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," responded Herring confidently, 
 " but how about the warehouse? " 
 
 " Well," said Addington, " I 'm trusting 
 
ELINOR THORNHAM. 199 
 
 some in Providence, and a good deal in 
 bricks and mortar, for the warehouse. You 
 look like a Eoseneath rose, Olive ! Making 
 laws for your country agrees with you." 
 
 He removed his foot from the carriage- 
 step and they drove rapidly to Roseneath, 
 where, five minutes later, Betty was scold- 
 ing Big Hannah, and browbeating 'Liza 
 and Job, for all manner of (presumable) 
 crimes committed during her absence. 
 
 It was very peaceful and quiet at the old 
 place. Olive came out upon the gallery 
 about an hour before sunset, and stood look- 
 ing over the familiar landscape. The mag- 
 nolias shading the steps were starred with 
 great white cups ; the wholesome odor of 
 these mingled with the perfume of damask- 
 roses " Mother-roses," she and Van used 
 to call them! abloom in the rose-garden. 
 A boat was slipping Gulf-ward on the river, 
 its black hull dancing high on the swollen 
 stream ; a light wind swayed the tops of the 
 live-oaks. She turned her eyes in the direc- 
 tion of the village, where the slim needle of 
 St. John's spire arose above the surrounding 
 roofs ; a slight flush colored her cheeks, and 
 an inscrutable smile played about her lips. 
 
 "Papa!" she called to Herring, who sat 
 
200 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 at his library-table within, writing. " Do 
 not work any longer to-day. Come on the 
 gallery with me." 
 
 He rose obediently, gathering some papers 
 together and thrusting them into his breast- 
 pocket, and came out. He passed his hand 
 wearily over his forehead ; he looked care- 
 worn and pale. 
 
 "Why, father," she cried, " are you ill ? " 
 
 He shook his head, smiling. 
 
 " Then you are very tired, and no wonder ; 
 sit here and rest." 
 
 She pulled a chair forward, and when he 
 was seated she nestled on the floor at his 
 feet, leaning her head against his knee. 
 
 He stroked her hair absently with his hand. 
 
 " Olive," he asked abruptly, after a mo- 
 ment's silence, "do you remember your 
 cousin, Elinor Thornham ? " 
 
 The question drove the blood from her 
 heart ; her lips trembled so that she could 
 not speak. But the quiet look on his face 
 as she glanced furtively up reassured her. 
 
 "Why yes," she said, "I remember her. 
 She sent for me once here. I can dimly 
 recall her face bending over me while she 
 held me on her lap. She gave me a doll 
 which had been hers when she was a child. 
 
ELINOR THORNHAM. 201 
 
 I think, though I am not quite sure, that Big 
 Hannah and I broke it the same day! 
 Afterward, one day when Van and I were 
 playing in the garden at the other house, 
 she called us to her carriage in passing, and 
 talked to us. Oh yes, I remember her." 
 
 " You are like her, Olive, wonderfully like 
 her. She was very beautiful," he mused 
 more to himself than to his daughter. Then, 
 slowly and formally as if rehearsing a care- 
 fully thought-out tale, he went on : "I was 
 hardly more than a lad when I came to 
 Thornham, Olive, fresh from college, and 
 poor, but full of energy and ambition. The 
 Thornhams and the Vanboroughs my 
 mother's people were closely related ; and 
 it was at the suggestion of Steven Thornham 
 her father that I left Kentucky to try 
 my fortune in Texas. She was but a slip of 
 a girl when I first saw her here at Rose- 
 neath. She had no sisters ; and John, her 
 only brother, had left home, after a bitter 
 quarrel with his father, four or five years 
 before. The mother's heart was with her 
 exiled boy ; the father was stormy and ec- 
 centric ; but in spite of this, Roseneath was 
 very gay ; and Elinor, as young as she was, 
 was the acknowledged leader of the social 
 
202 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 life then very brilliant in Thornham. 
 She was very beautiful, high-spirited, and 
 somewhat willful, and the idol of her father, 
 who somehow favored my suit from the 
 first ; for, from the moment I came into her 
 presence, I began to love Elinor Thornham." 
 
 Olive made an involuntary movement, 
 shrinking almost imperceptibly away from 
 him ; but he drew her head again to his 
 knee and continued : 
 
 " Among her many suitors I had but one 
 rival, Peter Newall. Perhaps you cannot 
 think of him, Olive, as an ardent wooer, 
 shabby quiet old Newall ! But in those 
 days he also was young and eager, with life 
 before him. And he loved her ; he had 
 loved her long before I ever saw her, 
 since she was a little girl ; and I think 
 I know that she was fond of him. But 
 it was I whom she loved ! It had all come 
 about so naturally that the possibility of 
 any change or interruption to the course of 
 our love-life never troubled me. Her father 
 stipulated only that we should wait until 
 my law-practice should be on a firmer basis. 
 It was the rosy morning of my life." 
 
 His voice lost its monotony and thrilled 
 with exultant passion. 
 
ELINOR THORNHAM. 203 
 
 " I saw her daily. There is not a path in 
 the rose-garden yonder that I have not 
 walked with her, nor a nook or corner about 
 Roseneath in which some memory of that 
 happy time does not linger. The date was 
 fixed for our marriage, when her father died 
 suddenly ; and in. less than two months 
 Mrs. Thornham followed him, leaving Eli- 
 nor alone in the world, except for the almost 
 unknown brother who lived in New Orleans, 
 and who was abroad at the time of his 
 mother's death. Up to this moment Eli- 
 nor's affection for me had seemed bound- 
 less. Through the trying time of her mo- 
 ther's death and burial she clung to me as 
 her only and natural protector, and we had 
 arranged that the marriage, in spite of her 
 mourning, should take place at once. No 
 man, surely, was ever happier than I was 
 the morning a summons came from my 
 betrothed bride appointing an hour for me 
 to call at Roseneath. Strange as this sum- 
 mons seemed, since I was in the habit of 
 spending a part of every day at Roseneath, 
 I yet had no suspicion of anything wrong. 
 At the appointed hour I found her in the 
 summer-house waiting for me. She seemed 
 utterly transformed. Her manner was cold 
 
204 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 to haughtiness, her voice was hard, her lips 
 set and cruel. I gazed at her in dismay 
 while she told me in a few measured words 
 that our engagement was at an end. She 
 declined giving her reasons ; but when I 
 stormed and raved against her cruelty, she 
 admitted that she had ceased to love me. I 
 pleaded in vain ; she begged my forgiveness 
 indeed when she saw my despair. When I 
 thought it over afterward, I seemed to re- 
 member a softening light in her eyes, and a 
 quivering about the corners of her mouth ; 
 but at the time I was half-blind with anger 
 and mortification, and I saw nothing. I 
 flung myself away from her with words 
 which I do not now like to recall. The 
 next day I left Thorn ham for my old home 
 in Kentucky, persuaded I would never re- 
 turn. 
 
 " There I met again the little girl, grown 
 to womanhood since I had last seen her, to 
 whom in our school-days I had plighted my 
 boyish troth, Jeanie, your mother, Olive, 
 the sweetest, truest, most loyal woman and 
 wife that ever blessed a man's heart and 
 home ! " 
 
 He lifted his hand, wet with Olive's tears, 
 to his own brimming eyes. The child's 
 
ELINOR THORNHAM. 205 
 
 heart throbbed with exquisite emotion at 
 this tribute to the mother for whose memory 
 a moment before she had felt such jealous 
 pangs. 
 
 Herring remained silent a short time. 
 When he resumed there was a change in his 
 tone, as if some mighty undercurrent of 
 feeling, to which the history of his love-life 
 had been but a prelude, were about to make 
 itself felt. 
 
 " We were both poor Jeanie and I 
 though some of my family were rich and 
 influential ; and after a time we decided to 
 come to Thornham, where I owned a small 
 piece of property the ' other house,' 
 which Van and his mother loved so. She 
 knew the story of my early love, but she had 
 no fear, for she also knew that Elinor Thorn- 
 ham was less than the shadow of a shade in 
 my life, beside her own blooming image. 
 We were very happy in the cottage where 
 you were all born, Olive, though I was still 
 poor, and Jeanie had to make many sacri- 
 fices. I saw Elinor occasionally. She was 
 a semi-invalid and lived alone in this lonely 
 house with her housekeeper and her ser- 
 vants. She called on my wife when we 
 first came to Thornham ; and we made one 
 
206 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 or two visits to Roseneath. But her health 
 soon failed entirely, and she ceased to go 
 anywhere. Yes, we were very happy. No 
 wonder my boy longed for that ' other 
 house ! ' 
 
 " Well . . . the years passed. . . . One 
 morning, Liberty, who was Elinor's butler, 
 brought a note to my office. It was a sum- 
 mons for the second time to Roseneath. 
 The hour fixed was half past eight o'clock 
 the same evening. I confess that my heart 
 stirred a little when I saw the handwriting, 
 but the feeling uppermost was curiosity. As 
 night approached, I found myself growing 
 impatient, and as soon as the hour struck, I 
 left home and walked out the familiar road to 
 Roseneath. The moon was shining brightly 
 as I passed along the avenue to the house ; 
 but I saw no one, and when I reached the door 
 it was opened for me by Elinor herself ; so 
 pale, so weak and trembling, that she fell 
 almost fainting in my arms. I carried her 
 into the sitting-room and laid her upon the 
 couch. When she recovered sufficiently to 
 speak, she explained that she had purposely 
 sent every one out of the way, wishing to see 
 me alone and without question or comment, 
 even from her own family." 
 
ELINOR THORNHAM. 207 
 
 Olive was listening now with a strained 
 attention that caused her heart to stand still. 
 
 "She was thin and worn, but she was still 
 beautiful, as she lay there lifting her large 
 lustrous eyes to mine." 
 
 " Something in a man dies hard ! " 
 Olive seemed to hear the echo of old Isham's 
 words in her father's voice. 
 
 " I need not tell you all that passed be- 
 tween us; though the interview was not a 
 long one. She felt that death was upon her ; 
 and she wished before she died to tell me 
 why she had broken the sacred vows that 
 had once bound our lives together. I can 
 see her now, her slight form supported by 
 pillows, clad in the soft and clinging white 
 she loved ! She held in her hand a small 
 jewel-box, the cursed necklet, which, as 
 sure as there is a God in Heaven, caused the 
 death of my wife, and of my son." 
 
 The last words broke from him in a sort 
 of fury. But he seemed unconscious of hav- 
 ing uttered them. His daughter's heart 
 throbbed painfully. Kennison's story rushed 
 back upon her. What was she about to 
 hear ? She could hardly forbear crying out 
 and beseeching him, in mercy to himself and 
 to her, to say no more ! 
 
208 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 But lie took up the thread again. 
 
 " This is what she told me, stopping often 
 to take breath, for she was pitifully weak 
 and suffering. I knelt, helpless, beside the 
 couch. She had never ceased to love me. 
 Her whole heart, from the moment she saw 
 me first, was mine, and mine only. But 
 a malady which had kept her delicate, as a 
 child, and troubled her girlhood curious 
 lapses of consciousness, which left her faint 
 and ill it was only after her mother's 
 death, and when she was doubly orphaned, 
 that she knew its nature and meaning 
 Epilepsy. She had been kept in ignorance 
 of the very word. Almost by chance she 
 had heard it applied to the attack which 
 seized her a few days after her mother's 
 death. She insisted upon knowing from the 
 physician who had attended her from her 
 babyhood the nature of the disease ; and 
 horror-stricken at his explanation, she de- 
 termined not to commit the crime of mar- 
 riage. But she could not bring herself to 
 tell me the real reason. Perhaps she feared 
 her own power of resistance ; for she must 
 have known that such an argument would 
 have small weight in a lover's eyes. And 
 she chose rather to let me believe her false 
 
ELINOR THORNHAM. 209 
 
 and cruel. You know already how the en- 
 gagement ended. . . . When I left her, I 
 opened a window and went out upon the 
 gallery, and crossed the rose-garden." 
 
 He stopped and leaned back in his large 
 chair. Olive all her senses wrought to 
 agony was listening still. 
 
 " And and the necklet, father, the dia- 
 monds ? " she said, unable longer to endure 
 the suspense. 
 
 " Oh, the cursed diamonds ! " his voice 
 was thick and smothered ; he spoke as if 
 his tongue were cleaving to the roof of his 
 mouth. " Yes, the diamonds. I took them 
 from her, and put " 
 
 Again he was silent ; so long that the 
 silence became intolerable. She pressed 
 closer to him, trembling in every limb. 
 
 " Yes, father, I know how it was," she 
 stammered eagerly. " I understand per- 
 fectly. You need not mind telling me. I 
 know that you meant to give them back . . . 
 the next day. Oh, father, you did mean to 
 give them back ? " 
 
 A heavy groan was the only response. 
 She felt a sort of shiver pass through the 
 hand she held in hers. 
 
XL 
 
 DEATH IN LIFE. 
 
 OLIVE sprang to her feet, startled by a 
 nameless fear. Her father's head had fallen 
 to one side ; his eyes were partly closed and 
 devoid of expression ; his lips were rigid ; 
 one arm hung inert at his side ; the other, 
 as Olive loosened her hold upon it, fell like 
 a lifeless thing across his breast. 
 
 The girl's terrified shrieks aroused the 
 household ; the servants flocked in. 
 
 " Don't be skeered, Miss Olive," Liberty 
 said confidently, " 't ain't nothin' but a 
 faintin'-fit." 
 
 He lifted his master in his strong arms, 
 and bore him into an inner room, where 
 they exhausted, without apparent effect, the 
 usual remedies. It seemed a long time to 
 the helpless watchers before the doctor came ; 
 it was in reality but a short half -hour. 
 
 He was accompanied by Newall, who 
 chanced to be at his office when the mes- 
 senger arrived. He cleared the room of all 
 
DEATH IN LIFE. 211 
 
 but Liberty, and began a close examination 
 of his patient. It was some time before he 
 came out upon the gallery, where Olive, 
 pale and agitated, awaited him, in company 
 with the lawyer. 
 
 "Is he better, Doctor Alsbury ? " she de- 
 manded eagerly. " Has he revived ? " 
 
 "He is sleeping," the doctor answered 
 evasively ; " send some one to town with this 
 prescription at once," he added, handing 
 her a slip of paper. 
 
 "Is it death ? " asked Newall, when she 
 was out of hearing. 
 
 The doctor shook his head. 
 
 " It is worse than death," he said. " It 
 is almost complete paralysis of the body, 
 involving the brain." 
 
 " He cannot recover ? " 
 
 " He cannot recover, except by a miracle ; 
 and he may live for years in this condition." 
 
 " My God ! " groaned the lawyer ; " who 
 will tell his daughter this ? " 
 
 " I will tell her myself," Doctor Alsbury 
 said gravely; "or I will at least tell her 
 what she must of necessity know : that her 
 father has had a stroke of paralysis which 
 will render him for some time absolutely 
 helpless." 
 
212 UNDER THE MAN -FIG. 
 
 He did tell her, taking her apart, and re- 
 maining with her less the physician than 
 the lifelong friend of her father and mother 
 until the first paroxysm of agony had a 
 little spent itself. Then at her own request 
 he led her into the room where her father 
 was. 
 
 The lamplight fell upon his face, for it 
 was long past nightfall ; his eyes stared 
 vacantly from beneath their half -closed lids ; 
 he breathed heavily. 
 
 " He is awake," said the doctor, laying 
 his palm gently upon the broad forehead. 
 
 The only perceptible difference between 
 the sleeping and the waking state of the 
 stricken man was in the slight lifting of the 
 heavy eyelids, and a restless movement of 
 the lips. 
 
 " It may be a long time before he will be 
 able to move, Olive," Doctor Alsbury went 
 on, looking down compassionately at the 
 lifeless body and ghastly face. "He will 
 have to be fed and cared for like an infant. 
 Liberty will attend to that." 
 
 Liberty nodded, unable to speak ; his 
 massive chest was heaving and his dark 
 cheeks were wet with tears. 
 
 The daughter had dropped with a wail of 
 
DEATH IN LIFE. 213 
 
 anguish on her knees by the bedside, and 
 was covering her father's motionless hand 
 with kisses. 
 
 The next morning she followed the physi- 
 cian out of the room. She had watched 
 through the long hours of the night with 
 Liberty, hoping, despairing, praying. It 
 seemed monstrous that the returning light 
 should have brought no change for the 
 better. 
 
 " He is just the same ? " she implored pit- 
 eously. 
 
 " Yes, my child." The old doctor drew 
 her head against his shoulder, striving to 
 soothe her. " He is just the same. You 
 must try and bear it." 
 
 She broke away from him and lifted her 
 eyes earnestly to his face. 
 
 " Doctor Alsbury," she asked, " do you 
 think my father is conscious ? Do you think 
 f he can hear, or understand ? " 
 
 The doctor hesitated. 
 
 " I cannot tell," he replied slowly, " it 
 may be, it may possibly be." 
 
 She left him and walked swiftly back 
 into her father's room. 
 
 " Please leave me alone with him a mo- 
 ment," she said gently to Madame de Joli- 
 
214 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 bois and Mrs. Alsbury, who sat by the 
 bed. 
 
 They went out softly, closing the door be- 
 hind them. 
 
 She knelt beside him and laid her cheek 
 against his ; then, drawing back, she gazed 
 steadily upon his face. 
 
 " He is awake," she sobbed tenderly, for 
 the eyelids were partially raised. " Father," 
 she said in a clear loud voice, " I am sure 
 that you can hear your little girl. Listen, 
 father, I love you. / love you ! And I 
 know that you did not carry away Elinor 
 Thornham's jewels. My brave, true-hearted, 
 hero-father ! / know that you did not take 
 Elinor Thornharrfs diamonds" 
 
 There was not a quiver on the marble- 
 like face ; not a movement of the thick 
 eyelashes. But she rose from her knees 
 comforted. And from that day forward, 
 as long as her father lived, her first act 
 upon rising in the morning was to repeat, 
 kneeling beside him, like a prayer, the same 
 simple and fervent words. 
 
 The next day after Herring was stricken 
 with paralysis, the river began to shrink 
 once more within its banks. Jack Adding- 
 
DEATH IN LIFE. 215 
 
 ton's warehouse stood, squat and sturdy, un- 
 injured, with the marks of the flood on its 
 rusty bricks ; but this time the swirling 
 waters did not spare Fair View ; the young 
 cane, wrenched up by the roots and tram- 
 pled into the ground, was totally destroyed ; 
 fences, cabins, outhouses were beaten out of 
 existence by the angry sweep of The Arms 
 of God ; the frightened live stock, huddled 
 together in the fields, perished ; the labor- 
 ers, fleeing empty-handed, barely escaped 
 with their lives. The destruction was com- 
 plete ! 
 
XII. 
 
 ROSE. 
 
 " IT is inexplicable ! It is incredible ! " 
 the lawyer pushed the mass of papers before 
 him to one side of the table, and, leaning his 
 head on his hand, stared with frowning eyes 
 into space. 
 
 It was long past midnight ; Peter Newall, 
 in his ill-lighted, shabby little office, had 
 been poring for hours over the documents 
 placed in his hands by Olive Herring, let- 
 ters, deeds, memoranda, receipts, accounts, 
 everything pertaining to Vanborough Her- 
 ring's business which she had been able to 
 find. They were methodically arranged, 
 labeled, and dated ; there was no confusion 
 or disarray about them. Herring had al- 
 ways attended to his own business affairs. 
 Only on rare occasions had he ever been 
 known to intrust any matter relating to his 
 private concerns into other hands. Newall's 
 investigation had therefore been easy enough. 
 The papers dated back to the purchase of 
 
ROSE. 217 
 
 Roseneath, and included all transactions up 
 to the moment of the late departure from 
 Washington for Thornham. The revelation 
 contained in these carefully annotated docu- 
 ments was of so extraordinary a nature that 
 the lawyer, scarcely believing the evidence 
 of his own senses, had returned to them 
 again and again, but always with the same 
 result. 
 
 The fabric which the successful advocate, 
 politician, and planter had reared with such 
 apparent ease, and which had reached such 
 imposing proportions, was, it appeared, built 
 upon a foundation so slender that it was 
 already tottering to a fall under its own 
 weight. Roseneath mortgaged to its full 
 value ; Fair View loaded with debt ; notes 
 falling due for which no provision could 
 possibly be made; the" very belongings of 
 stables and outhouses unpaid for ! There 
 were indications showing that the master- 
 hand which had planned and builded the 
 structure had been at work, and the danger 
 might for a time have been averted, or at 
 least postponed. As it was, the ruin was 
 inevitable and imminent. 
 
 " It is inconceivable," the lawyer repeated, 
 " inexplicable. Poor, poor child ! " 
 
218 ' UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 He arose and paced up and down the 
 room, a thousand vague plans crowding 
 upon his wearied brain ; the only definite 
 conclusion being a determination to keep 
 from the daughter, so far as possible, the 
 knowledge of her father's financial wreck, 
 and her own helpless and dependent condi- 
 tion. In this, however, he reckoned without 
 a sufficient understanding of the strong and 
 resolute character of the girl herself. 
 
 " I wish to know exactly how my father's 
 business affairs stand, Mr. Newall," she said 
 quietly when that gentleman presented him- 
 self, a week later, at Roseneath, and began 
 his carefully prepared statement. 
 
 " My dear child " he stammered. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Newall," she interrupted, smil- 
 ing a little at his discomfiture, " I saw 
 enough in those papers before I put them 
 into your hands to assure me, inexperi- 
 enced as I am, that serious trouble was im- 
 pending. I know that the crop at Fair 
 View, upon which my father must have 
 counted, is totally destroyed. I must know 
 the exact truth. You need not be afraid of 
 my strength or courage. I am my father's 
 daughter." 
 
 It was now nearly a month since the fatal 
 
ROSE. 219 
 
 stroke had fallen upon the master of Rose- 
 neath. The doctor's prognostication was but 
 too true. The inert body lay, day after day, 
 heavy, motionless, dead; always the same 
 vacant nearly closed eyes, the livid face, the 
 twitching lips, the muffled breathing. The 
 household, after the first days of terrified 
 expectation and despair, had fallen into a 
 forlorn sort of routine. Liberty and Betty 
 watched by turns at night; dressed and 
 undressed the nearly inanimate body, and 
 pressed, morsel by morsel, at proper intervals, 
 food and drink between the lips. Through 
 the long summer days Olive sat beside him, 
 slowly yielding up her hopes for his re- 
 covery. Miss Kizzy, Mrs. Alsbury, Newall, 
 Addington, and other friends came and went 
 from the silent chamber. Rose, with fright- 
 ened face, hovered about the door, rarely 
 crossing the threshold. The idle servants 
 loitered about the great deserted rooms, gos- 
 siping in hushed whispers. 
 
 Olive looked at the lawyer in silence when 
 the papers had finally been examined, and all 
 legal technicalities clearly explained to her. 
 
 " It is worse than I thought," she said 
 at last. Her face was pale but determined. 
 "You will sell Fair View, of course," she 
 
220 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 continued, " and arrange as far as possible 
 to have my father's debts paid " 
 
 " My dear young lady," Newall hastened 
 to break in, "the homestead law of this State 
 allows you " 
 
 " I am of age, or will be in a few weeks," 
 she interrupted imperiously, " and I wish 
 everything sold that is salable. Every cent 
 must be applied to the payment of my fa- 
 ther's debts. And we must of course leave 
 Roseneath at once." 
 
 Her lips quivered a little as she said this 
 and her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "No, my child, no," replied Newall de- 
 cidedly. " I have a late letter from Mr. 
 B , who holds the mortgage on Rose- 
 neath. He is not prepared to take control. 
 He desires for the sake of the place itself 
 that you should remain for the present in 
 the house." 
 
 This was perfectly true, though it was the 
 result of his own arguments and unbusiness- 
 like entreaties to the good-natured, wealthy 
 and careless young fellow who had advanced 
 a large sum of money to Herring on the 
 property. 
 
 " I am glad," she replied with a grateful 
 look. " It would be terrible for him to find 
 
ROSE. 221 
 
 himself in a strange place when he recovers 
 consciousness. But I must find something 
 to do that will enable us to live " 
 
 " Now, Olive," interrupted Newall eagerly, 
 and with a hint of reproach in his voice, 
 " you know that I have no one in the world 
 but myself to look after, selfish old bach- 
 elor that I am! I have known you since 
 you were a baby ; you are dearer to me than 
 you dream of. I am not a rich man, but I 
 have enough for us all. You are not too 
 proud to let me take care of you and your 
 father?" 
 
 She clasped her hands about his arm and 
 looked up in his face, struggling for a mo- 
 ment with the sobs in her throat. 
 
 " No, I am not too proud," she said at 
 length. "I will be grateful, oh, more grate- 
 ful than I can hope to tell you, for anything 
 you can do for Mm. But I must help, dear 
 friend. I must learn to support myself." 
 
 He went away, content perforce with this ; 
 and while busied with the by no means easy 
 task of getting the most out of the ruined 
 estate, arranging with creditors and selling 
 off superfluous stock, he managed, with the 
 help of Mrs. Alsbury and Madame de Joli- 
 bois, to get the promise of a few pupils for 
 
222 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 his ward. In a little less than three months 
 from the day the envied young heiress 
 reached Thornham from Washington, Fair 
 View's new owner was rebuilding its fences ; 
 the stables at Eoseneath were empty; the 
 costlier furniture of the house was sold ; the 
 servants, with the exception of Liberty and 
 Betty, were scattered far and wide ; the 
 former master was lying helpless and un- 
 conscious in one of its rooms, while in an- 
 other, a penniless girl was trying to earn 
 her daily living by teaching school. 
 
 The Hand of God, according to the open- 
 mouthed and awestruck gossips, had fallen 
 again heavily, heavily ! 
 
 It must not be supposed that Peter New- 
 all was the only one of her father's old 
 friends who hastened with offers of practical 
 assistance to the forlorn young creature so 
 suddenly and so awfully bereft. More than 
 one of Herring's colleagues in office tried 
 in ways more or less tactful to place 
 her above the necessity of daily labor, 
 the Alsburys ; Major Burnham, fat, pursy, 
 and self-important, but kind-hearted ; Jack 
 Addington, hesitating and embarrassed in 
 
ROSE. 223 
 
 the depths of his stiff shirt-collar, and pre- 
 tending that there was a balance ahem 
 still unpaid on an old note ahem he 'd 
 been owin' the Colonel for ahem he 
 did n't know how many years ; and above 
 all, Miss Kizzy, who was ready to vacate 
 her Doric-pillared mansion and dwell in the 
 kitchen if only Vanborough " Why, it was 
 your father, Olive (poor as he was then), 
 who took care of Serena while I, through 
 Miss Thornham's generosity, studied the 
 Saltatory Art in New Orleans, though he 
 would never let me tell it " if only Olive 
 and her father would take possession of it. 
 
 But all these offers, acknowledged with 
 simple and unaffected gratitude, were de- 
 clined, and the stuff of which she was made 
 began to assert itself. 
 
 The young teacher chose for her school- 
 room at Roseneath, not the remote upper 
 hall where her own gay school-days had 
 passed ; but a spacious guest-chamber open- 
 ing into the library and upon a curve of the 
 wide gallery. From where she sat, with the 
 row of small faces in front of her desk, 
 she could see in pleasant weather her 
 father, in the low wheeled chair which Lib- 
 erty had constructed for him. Betty, after 
 
224 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 pushing him out into a vine-hung corner of 
 the gallery, would sit beside him through 
 the long mornings, sewing or mending, and 
 crooning to herself and to him in a subdued 
 voice familiar plantation lullabies. The 
 school-children were so placed that they 
 could not see him ; Olive had contrived this, 
 lest the sight of the swathed and motionless 
 figure should frighten them. 
 
 It was but a handful of scholars which 
 was intrusted at first and most of them 
 out of sheer pity to the sometime chate- 
 laine of Koseneath. Presently others came ; 
 for it was soon noised about the village that 
 Miss Herring had a " knack " at teaching. 
 She entered upon her new vocation timidly 
 enough ; but was surprised after a few days 
 to find herself loving it for its own sake. 
 Moreover, she loved the children and they 
 loved her. As time passed on for this 
 was but the beginning of a succession of 
 monotonous and uneventful days which 
 stretched on into years she regained, de- 
 spite the death-in-life brooding over the 
 house, much of her natural buoyancy ; the 
 color came back to her cheeks, the spring to 
 her step. 
 
 They continued to live at Roseneath. 
 
ROSE. 225 
 
 For, the mortgage foreclosed and the place 
 offered for sale, 110 purchaser presenting him- 
 self, it remained, whether or no, in the hands 
 of the mortgagee. The latter, after a visit 
 to his property, wrote frankly to Newall. 
 "I do not care to put any more money upon 
 that elephant," he said. " If I see a chance 
 to sell, I shall sell. If you can rent it to a 
 good paying tenant, please do so. In the 
 mean time, if Miss Herring will consent to 
 remain in it and so keep it from dropping to 
 pieces, I shall regard it as a favor to my- 
 self." 
 
 Thus, rarely going beyond the boundaries 
 of the place, surrounded by innocently af- 
 fectionate children, whom she taught after 
 a happy fashion of her own, and seeing 
 only the faces of the old and tried friends 
 who came to her, she well-nigh forgot the 
 shadow which had crushed her mother and 
 brother, and darkened her father's career; 
 that mysterious and terrible shadow which, 
 falling upon herself, had in one swift mo- 
 ment changed her confidence into defiant 
 mistrust, and chilled love itself out of her 
 pathway. The unquestioning faith of her 
 childhood, the innocent faith in God and 
 man, adorable in its simplicity, had not 
 
226 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 returned to her ; nothing indeed can restore 
 that, once it is lost ! But her mind and heart, 
 working silently over the problem of life, 
 had found the higher faith which comes 
 through earnest seeking. Of this the healthy 
 inner and outer life even in the midst of 
 toil and anxiety was the result. The time 
 predicted for her had come : she had learned 
 to feel and to think ! 
 
 The Reverend Mark Kennison, in the 
 early days of her father's affliction, came 
 several times in his priestly capacity, but 
 soon desisted, repulsed by her coldness. 
 
 Newall, to whom she turned more and 
 more for counsel and comfort, was much 
 with her. Unaware that she held the secret 
 of his inner life, he talked to her sometimes 
 of a girl "like her" whom he had once 
 known. This invariably brought the pang 
 that everything connected with Elinor Thorn- 
 ham gave her. But it served to increase her 
 growing affection for the man whose life had 
 been as love-lonely as her own promised to 
 be. His encouragement tided her over the 
 first uncertain months of her attempt at self- 
 support ; his practical advice helped to solve 
 the problem of daily living. At his sugges- 
 tion, Liberty enlarged the kitchen-garden 
 
ROSE. 227 
 
 and added to the scanty income by selling 
 the vegetables which he raised. 
 
 " Or perhaps, Lib," the lawyer said hesi- 
 tatingly, " you and Betty may prefer to go 
 away. In that case " 
 
 "In the name o' Gawd, Mars Pete," in- 
 terrupted Liberty indignantly, " does you 
 pointedly s'pose me an' Betty has got black 
 insides, 'caze ou' outsides happens to be 
 black? No, Mist' Newall, ez long ez ou' 
 heads is hot, me an' Betty b'longs to Mars 
 Van an' Miss Olive. Belongs, I say, Mars 
 Pete! We aln no free-niggers ! ' 
 
 "Thank you, Lib," returned Newall, 
 grasping the huge brown hand in his and 
 shaking it warmly. 
 
 Liberty essayed also to keep the rose-gar- 
 den and the great oak-studded lawn in order. 
 But he was soon forced to give that experi- 
 ment over; and a gradual though not un- 
 lovely decay set in at Roseneath. Runners 
 from the climbing vines sprawled over the 
 winding walks ; the grass in summer waved 
 knee-deep where the smooth-shaven plots 
 were wont to be, and in the winter rustled 
 dry and yellow in the bleak wind ; the rose- 
 garden became a tangled thicket of sweets ; 
 the gates sagged, falling away from broken 
 
228 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 hinges ; the rotted roof of the old summer- 
 house caved in, though the clambering 
 honeysuckle mercifully hid the wreck. The 
 house itself took on a stained and weather- 
 beaten look. Sometimes, when her school 
 was dismissed and Olive came down into the 
 rose-garden to pace for a few moments its 
 deserted paths, she seemed to herself like a 
 ghost moving about the shadows of a long- 
 gone but lovely past. 
 
 It was about the time her little school 
 was opened that Olive received a letter from 
 Duncan Jeffrey. It was in answer to one 
 written by herself the day she and her father 
 left Washington on their last journey to 
 Thornham. She read it, sitting alone in 
 the disused library ; then she came out 
 upon the gallery where her father lay in 
 his wheeled chair, and read it aloud to 
 him. 
 
 For, little by little, to the sacred morning 
 invocation, " Father, I love you. Father, 
 I know that you did not take Elinor Thorn- 
 ham's diamonds" she had fallen into the 
 habit of adding bits of the day's history ; 
 and, finally, of telling him everything as she 
 had been wont to do in happier days. At 
 first the sound of her own voice, echoing as 
 
ROSE. 229 
 
 it were against a blank wall, was strange in 
 her own ears, and the sentences would end 
 in a hushed whisper, ofteiier in piteous sobs 
 and a rain of tears. For the glazed eyes 
 seemed still to see nothing ; and the leaden 
 face was as changeless as the face of the 
 dead. " But he may hear ! He may under- 
 stand ! Oh, father, does my voice come to 
 you in your lonely prison? Do you hear 
 me ? Do you love me ? " 
 
 And so, gradually, as has been said, she 
 came to sit or stand by him when her day's 
 duties were ended, or before they began ; 
 and to talk to him in a clear, low, confident 
 tone, which often brought tears to old Betty's 
 eyes as she listened. 
 
 " Father," she would say caressingly, 
 " Rufe Drennon has just been here. He 
 brought a basket of those pink lotus-lilies 
 which grow in the lake behind Good Luck 
 Plantation. They are lovely, all pearled 
 with dew, and their golden stamens trem- 
 bling." Or, " Do you remember Major 
 Burnham's big bay horse, Otho, papa? 
 Well, he has bought a perfect match for him. 
 He drove them out this morning for us to 
 see." Or, "Mrs. Alsbury says that her 
 cousin, Martha Damon, whom you will re- 
 
230 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 member, has come to make her a visit. She 
 has four little girls ; the oldest is named 
 Jeanie Herring, after mamma." Or, " Lib- 
 erty went down to Fair View yesterday to 
 trim the roses on Van's grave. The flood 
 (you know there was a flood at Fair View 
 last spring, father, that did some damage ?) 
 does not seem to have injured our burying- 
 ground at all." 
 
 Sometimes, in obedience to something 
 fluttering within her, like a fledgling bird 
 trying its wings, she half said, half sung 
 some rhymes of her own making; or de- 
 scribed a picture which shaped itself in her 
 brain. Once, when she had been musing 
 over Young Van's broken life, the tender 
 pitying thought took shape in this wise : 
 
 PERCY. 
 
 My little maid, whose golden hair 
 
 Outglints the warm sunshine, 
 Come, round to rosy hollows fair 
 
 Those dimpled palms of thine, 
 And send an elfin bugle-blast 
 
 Across the rosy morn, 
 To call the bonny blue -eyed lad 
 
 A-hoeing in the corn. 
 
 She shakes her head, the little maid ; 
 He is not there, she saith. 
 
ROSE. 231 
 
 Nay then, where lush green grasses spread 
 
 And summer holds her breath, 
 Mayhap he leads the loitering kine ; 
 
 Or where the sunbeams steep 
 The grassy slopes, and shadows dwine, 
 
 He minds your father's sheep. 
 
 She shakes her head, the little maid ; 
 
 He is not there, she saith. 
 Nay then, fleet-foot and unafraid, 
 
 He speeds across the heath, 
 A-chasing of the antlered deer ; 
 
 The hounds are following fair ; 
 His ringing shout I surely hear. 
 
 She saith, he is not there. 
 
 She brought me to the wind-swept hill, 
 
 Whose lonesome grasses wave, 
 Through summer's heat and winter's chill, 
 
 On many a heaped-up grave. 
 And when with trembling tongue I prayed 
 
 The name of one who slept 
 Beneath the mound the newest made, 
 
 She answered not, but wept. 
 
 Duncan's letter was dated at Paris some 
 weeks earlier. 
 
 " I am glad you are at Roseneath," he 
 wrote, " though I suppose you will soon be 
 going back to the Capital. It seems far 
 more natural to think of you in the dear old 
 home by the riverside, than where I saw 
 you last, in a strange city and surrounded 
 by unfamiliar objects. 
 
232 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 "Tell the Colonel that I fancy he will 
 half envy me when he learns that I am on 
 the eve of starting down into South Africa, 
 where some genuine fighting seems to be 
 going on. I am already tired of aimless 
 drifting about, and if you should chance to 
 hear of me as leading a charge either for or 
 against some unpronounceable African chief, 
 do not be surprised." 
 
 " Miss Olive," asked Betty, who had lis- 
 tened attentively to the reading, " is Mars 
 Duncan projikin' mongs' a passel.o' niggers 
 in Afftka, where Unk' Is'om Lester come 
 from?" 
 
 " I am afraid he is," returned her mis- 
 tress, laughing a little, but sighing too. 
 
 " I sholy thought little Mars Dune had 
 mo' 'scretion ! " said Betty. 
 
 " I wonder what has become of Rose. 
 She has not been here for more than a 
 week." 
 
 The short winter was already beginning 
 to break. Although there yet remained a 
 full third of February to come, by the alma- 
 nac, the air was filled with the scent of 
 young orange-blossoms, and the elusive per- 
 fume of the sweet-olive. The sky was cov- 
 
ROSE. 233 
 
 ered with the soft little drifting clouds which 
 follow in the wake of a spent " norther." 
 It was the first time for many weeks that 
 the wheeled chair, with its heavy and dull 
 burden, had been brought out upon the open 
 gallery. Olive, just released from the school- 
 room, was walking slowly up and down near 
 it, with her hands clasped behind her, bare- 
 headed in the soft sunshine. 
 
 Liberty, turning the brown mould with 
 his spade in a patch beneath the library 
 windows, was singing. His voice arose 
 lusty and sweet on the afternoon air : 
 
 " 'F I 'd a wife I could n't please, 
 I 'd whop her sho 's she bawn ; 
 I 'd sen' her down to Nu Orleens, 
 An' trade her off fer co'n." 
 
 " I wonder what has become of Rose ! " 
 
 The words reached the singer, who had 
 paused to take breath, leaning on his spade. 
 He grunted, muttering something under his 
 breath about " po'-white trash." 
 
 At that moment Rose herself appeared at 
 the side-gate. She crossed the rose-garden 
 slowly, looking over her shoulder, and stop- 
 ping every now and then as if minded to go 
 back. 
 
 As she neared the steps, however, she 
 
234 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 broke into a little run, and reached Olive's 
 side, breathless and smiling. 
 
 "Come into the sitting-room, Olive, dear," 
 she whispered, with her eyes turned away 
 from the chair and its occupant. She had 
 never been able to bring herself to approach 
 the half-animate thing which had been her 
 benefactor ; quivering with ill - concealed 
 terror at the mere thought. Olive, at first 
 deeply pained by this unreasoning and 
 childish awe, had schooled herself into a 
 sort of tender indulgence of it, and she now 
 hastened to follow the trim little figure into 
 the sitting-room. Kose drew a stool to her 
 feet when she was seated, and perched her- 
 self daintily upon it. 
 
 "Olive," she said, blushing painfully, lift- 
 ing her eyes with shy entreaty and instantly 
 dropping them again, " I have something to 
 tell you. I I hope you will not be 
 angry. I have loved him for a long time. 
 Oh, from the very first ! Olive, I I am 
 going to marry Mr. Kennison." 
 
 Olive's heart gave a sudden throb ; and a 
 curious indefinable shade crossed her eyes. 
 
 "Dear Rose," she said, gathering the 
 tearful, smiling little creature into her arms, 
 " I am so glad. I hope you will be happy, 
 I am sure you will be happy." 
 
ROSE. 235 
 
 "Do you know, Olive, darling," Rose 
 continued, after the long and minute history 
 of her engagement had been told, and her 
 rapture had somewhat exhausted itself, 
 " do you know, I thought once I was 
 afraid that Mr. Kennison loved you ? " 
 
 "He never did," Olive said earnestly, 
 " dear Rose, he never did." And she kissed 
 again the bright upturned face. 
 
 She did not, somehow, tell her father of 
 Rose's engagement or of her wedding. But 
 a year later, when Big Hannah brought 
 little Olive, Rose Kennison's baby, to Rose- 
 neath, she took the dark-eyed mite from 
 the nurse's arms, and knelt with it beside 
 him. 
 
 " See, papa," she said, " this is our Rose's 
 baby a dear little girl named for me, 
 Olive, Olive Kennison." She smiled a little 
 as she uttered the name which was to have 
 been her own. " Our Rose a minister's 
 wife! think of it! And she is so happy. 
 And Ruf e is so proud. He has refused to 
 live with them, though. He stays alone at 
 the old cabin, when he is not loafing, as he 
 has always done. He was at the back steps 
 this morning with a bucket of honey for you, 
 father." 
 
XIII. 
 
 AN ARRIVAL. 
 
 IT was Kennison's rejected love who 
 pinned on the misty white veil through 
 which his bride's face looked out at him as 
 she floated, on her father's arm, up the aisle 
 of St. John's Church ! 
 
 Olive accompanied Rose to the church ; 
 awkward shambling Rufe Drennon stub- 
 bornly refusing to sit in the carriage with 
 them ; and there, in the familiar pew, the 
 woman who was to have been his wife 
 watched Mark Kennison place the golden 
 circlet emblem of wifehood upon 
 Rose's finger. Little Rose, her own friend 
 and playmate! She kissed her when the 
 ceremony was over, and offered him her con- 
 gratulations with quiet dignity. Then she 
 hurried back to her father. 
 
 The March wind was blowing with un- 
 spring-like bleakness along the wide river 
 road. 
 
 "It's as cold as a Christian," declared 
 
AN ARRIVAL. 237 
 
 June Badgett, shivering under the Maii- 
 Fig. "An' it's a mighty onlucky day for 
 a weddin'. I reckin Rufe Drennon '11 be 
 as biggaty as John Thornham his-se'f 
 marryin' his gal to a preacher." 
 
 " I sort o' thought, a little more 'n a year 
 back," said his neighbor, " that the parson 
 an' Miss Olive Herrin' would make a match 
 of it. I seen 'em together ever 'where." 
 
 None of the old group were left except 
 Badgett himself, and Drennon, at that mo- 
 ment hanging bashfully back from the vestry 
 at the church, where the bridal party were 
 signing the register. Even Dud Welsh had 
 resigned, as it were, from the Man-Fig 
 Council, having taken to himself a wife 
 who had incontinently " put her foot down " 
 on his loafings there. 
 
 " Lord," said one of the new squad, 
 " even a preacher ain't got gall enough to 
 marry a girl livin' under such a curse." 
 
 " What curse ? " demanded another a 
 stranger curiously. 
 
 " Ain't you never heerd about Van Her- 
 rin' and the Hand o' God? Well, I be 
 dinged ! Here, June, tell Joe Collop about 
 Van" 
 
 " Shet up," growled Badgett. 
 
* 
 
 238 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 For the carriage that had conveyed the 
 bride to the church was passing. In it, 
 alone, leaning back, pale and thoughtful, sat 
 Vanborough Herring's daughter. At sight 
 of her father's old soldier-comrade, she leaned 
 forward and bowed, an affectionate smile 
 illuminating her beautiful features. 
 
 "Ax somebody else, ef you want to know," 
 June continued, turning away. " I 'm plum 
 tired o' telliii' that tale ; wish my Maker may 
 strike me stone dead ef I ain't." 
 
 The year wore away. The vacation of 
 the little school came and went, nothing 
 breaking the dead monotony of the long 
 summer days, except the visits of the 
 few friends who remembered that Van- 
 borough Herring still lived ; and pitied, or 
 loved, his daughter. Olive read much, sit- 
 ting by the wheeled chair, often aloud, and 
 chiefly those books from her father's library 
 which showed his handling. By .these, his 
 favorites, she came to know him as she had 
 never known him before, the rare, tender, 
 refined nature thrown back upon itself and 
 scarce lonelier now in its torpid prison 
 than when it had been surrounded by a 
 world of flattering and deceitful parasites. 
 
AN ARRIVAL. 239 
 
 "Oil, had I but seen with keener eyes, 
 and felt with a less selfish heart," she 
 sometimes cried out, laying down her book, 
 after reading a passage marked and an- 
 notated by his hand. And the cry shaped 
 itself into a bit of rhyme which she often 
 repeated : 
 
 OH, TO LIVE MY LIFE OVER. 
 
 Oh, to live my life over ! 
 
 Not to be young again, 
 Not to seek peace and pleasantness 
 
 Where I have had tears and pain ! 
 Not for myself at all, dear Lord, 
 
 Would I live over my life ! 
 But I would gladly bear its woes once more, 
 
 Its bitter wrongs, and its strife, 
 If only where I have hurt my own, 
 
 Or failed them in any wise, 
 I could repay them for that loss ! 
 
 If for tears in their dear eyes, 
 I could put smiles ; if for pain 
 
 I could give joy O God, 
 I would tread the burning coals again, 
 
 And pass again under thy rod ! 
 
 One morning in the late fall she sat on 
 the front gallery, with the invalid's chair 
 drawn close beside her own. Betty's voice 
 floated to her at intervals from the kitchen, 
 where, released by a school holiday from 
 attendance on her master, she was at work. 
 
240 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 A letter had come from Jeffrey, the first 
 for many months. It had been long delayed, 
 and the postmark was illegible. It was 
 dated, within, from a small town in the heart 
 of Hindostan. 
 
 " I have your letter, dear Olive [he said] , 
 in which you tell me that the Colonel has 
 retired from public life on account of fail- 
 ing health. [This, in fact, was what she 
 had written some months after her father's 
 stroke ; she could not bear at the time to 
 speak more plainly ; and nothing to indi- 
 cate the financial wreck had escaped her.] 
 I can hardly imagine him inactive, but I 
 am glad for your sake." 
 
 An account of various amusing and novel 
 experiences followed, with a description of 
 his present locality. 
 
 " I shall go still farther into the interior, 
 with my traveling companion, Ballard, who 
 is a capital fellow [he concluded]. Your 
 final and decisive answer to the question in 
 my letter from Cape Town makes it useless 
 for me to return to America. I should have 
 no object there except to acquire money ; 
 
AN ARRIVAL. 241 
 
 and what use has a drifting nomad like me 
 for more money than I already possess? 
 Only I find I cannot persuade myself to sell 
 Good Luck. I shall hold on to that for the 
 sake of the day long dreamed of ! when 
 you sat at the head of my table. My agent 
 has my instructions, covering several years 
 at least. And now, dear playmate, friend, 
 sister, I must say good-by, for the guides are 
 calling. I shall write when occasion per- 
 mits, but I cannot hope to hear from you 
 soon. God bless you. Do you remember 
 what I told you about my uncle when I saw 
 you last? DUNCAN." 
 
 She laid the letter which she did not 
 read aloud upon her knee. Her lips quiv- 
 ered, and the lonely look in her eyes deep- 
 ened. But making an outward gesture with 
 her hand, as if putting something away from 
 her, she leaned closer to the mute form be- 
 side her, and said cheerily: "The sky is 
 so soft to-day, papa, and so blue. Away 
 beyond Thornham, which looks as if it were 
 asleep in the sunshine, there is a dark gray- 
 ing cloud that moves upward. I think it 
 must be the smoke from the Good Luck 
 sugar-house. The climbing sun strikes upon 
 
242 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 it, and turns its edges to silver. There is a 
 harrow-shaped flock of wild geese just this 
 side of it ; we shall hear their honk presently, 
 for they are coming this way ; that means 
 that we shall have a norther to-morrow. 
 The river looks like liquid amber ; a steam- 
 boat is going by ; I can hear the hands singing 
 on the lower deck. The road by the river- 
 bank is like a brown crumpled ribbon." 
 
 She paused abruptly, and stood up. The 
 big gate had swung open and two figures 
 a man and a woman were advancing 
 along the leaf-strewn avenue. The woman 
 was Miss Kizzy. She walked with an as- 
 sured tread quite in contrast with her usual 
 hurried step. She wore the stiff and rust- 
 ling black silk gown which was in general 
 sacred to the Soirees given by the Pupils of 
 the Jolibois Dancing- Academy to their Par- 
 ents and Guardians. Her hands were 
 gloved and a bonnet of the latest pattern 
 crowned her head. Olive tried vainly to 
 recognize her companion. He was small 
 and shrunken ; his knees wobbled curiously 
 as he minced along upon a pair of very 
 tight, very high-heeled, patent-leather shoes ; 
 a huge pair of mustachios, waxed at the 
 ends, and suspiciously black, sprung from 
 
AN ARRIVAL. 243 
 
 beneath his prominent nose, giving a gro- 
 tesquely fierce look to his brown weazen 
 face, with its small black eyes, and high 
 cheek-bones. His dress was correct to jaunti- 
 ness ; he carried a cane and wore a red rose 
 on the lappel of his coat. Miss Kizzy's 
 hand was drawn through his arm, and he 
 regarded her patronizingly, towering above 
 him, from time to time. 
 
 " Olive," said Miss Kizzy, as her young 
 friend descended the steps to meet this 
 strangely assorted pair, " in the gentleman 
 at my side you behold Monshur dee Jolly- 
 boys." She spoke with ill-concealed triumph. 
 " He has returned from a highly successful 
 Mission to the Foreign Powers. He will 
 from this time forward reside permanently 
 in Thornham. Monshur Anatole, this is my 
 friend, Miss Herring." 
 
 Miss Herring stood for a moment speech- 
 less with astonishment. This shriveled and 
 dried-up old beau the dashing hero of her 
 childish dreams ! This ridiculous figure the 
 superb young chevalier of the Legion of 
 Honor, whose deeds had kindled her youth- 
 ful imagination ! This the 
 
 Monsieur de Jolibois meanwhile was bow- 
 ing before her, hat in hand, so low that the 
 
244 - UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 bald and shiny spot on the back of his head 
 shone at her feet. 
 
 " Thees ees an 'ona," he smirked. " I 'ave 
 h'aspire seense thees morning to encounter 
 Mees Eereeng. I 'ave absented myself," he 
 explained when they were seated on the 
 veranda, " an absence which I r-regr-ret. 
 An' een zat absence my 'ona has suffered." 
 
 Olive started. Had he really heard of 
 the yellow-fever patient and Miss Kizzy's 
 flannel? And was there to be bloodshed 
 after all? 
 
 But she was reassured, as he continued 
 with a grandiloquent wave of his very small, 
 very white, and bejeweled hand, " Mais oui, 
 my 'ona has suffered. Madame de Jolibois 
 has stain ze name of zefamille Jolibois by 
 condescend to a School of Dance. I blame 
 you not, ma pauvre petite," he added, gal- 
 lantly lifting his wife's hand and imprinting 
 an airy kiss upon her fingers, " your Anatole 
 knows not 'ow to cheereesh what you call 
 maleese. But I 'ave remedy ze w-r-rong, 
 Mees Eereeng ; I 'ave remedy ze w-r-rong. 
 Zefamille Jolibois cannot be deesgrace by 
 a School of Dance ! I 'ave open ze door to 
 zose enfants. I 'ave open ze door an' dees- 
 mees zem from zat School of Dance. I 'ave 
 
AN ARRIVAL. 245 
 
 told zose enfants zat ze vife of Anatole de 
 Jolibois cannot no longer insult herself by 
 conduct zat School of Dance. C'est moi, 
 Anatole de Jolibois, who weell in ze future 
 'ave ze care of Madame de Jolibois an' ze 
 aimaU Zeereena/" He slapped his stiff 
 shirt-front and looked about him proudly. 
 
 Madame de Jolibois was regarding him 
 with tender admiration. 
 
 " Yes, my dear Olive," she said, " Mon- 
 shur dee Jollyboys was shocked, as I feared 
 he would be, by my plebeian occupation. 
 But he has forgiven me. He has dismissed 
 the school forever. He made a most af- 
 fecting discourse to the Pupils. I think 
 Sarah Hunter wept. You must slip away 
 from your father, sometimes, child, and come 
 to see us. Monshur Anatole will enter busi- 
 ness in Thornham. But he will reserve to 
 himself abundant leisure for less sordid 
 pursuits." 
 
 She rose to go. Monsieur de Jolibois, 
 after another profound obeisance to Mees 
 Eereeng, with his hand upon his heart, ex- 
 tended his arm to his wife. 
 
 " I am charm' to return from my voyage," 
 he remarked, handing her politely down the 
 steps. " Ze village of T'ornham is vairy 
 
246 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 peetoresque; zose little hut by ze rivaire 
 remind me of la France" 
 
 Olive watched them strutting down the 
 walk together, and then returned to her 
 father. She related the incident to him, 
 laughing with girlish glee. 
 
 " He looked for all the world like a Jump- 
 ing- Jack," she concluded. " But no matter 
 how he looks. If dear old Miss Kizzy is 
 satisfied with him, that is enough. God 
 bless her for a true and faithful friend ! " 
 
 The next afternoon, when Newall dropped 
 in for his daily visit, he brought the news 
 that Monsieur de Jolibois had absconded 
 as he termed it again. 
 
 " History has once more repeated itself," 
 he said. " The rascal wheedled Miss Kizzy 
 into taking the whole of her savings from 
 the bank, and placing them in his hands. 
 He swaggered around all day yesterday with 
 his wife on his arm, making calls and talk- 
 ing in his confounded oily way about en- 
 tering business circles in Thornham. This 
 morning he sneaked away on the train, tak- 
 ing with him not only all the money belong- 
 ing to those two foolish old women, but the 
 few trinkets which they possessed." 
 
 " Poor Miss Kizzy ! " exclaimed Olive, 
 " what will she do ? " 
 
AN ARRIVAL. 247 
 
 " Do ? " echoed Newall with an amused 
 chuckle ; " Madame de Jolibois, plucky, proud 
 old soul! has already been around to see 
 her patrons. She has explained that Mon- 
 shur dee Jolly boys has been called away 
 on a delicate foreign Diplomatic Mission. 
 The sign has been replaced above her front 
 door; and as I came by just now, Miss 
 ' Fatty ' was thumping away on the piano, 
 and I heard Sarah Hunter's voice. The 
 Jolibois Dancing- Academy is once more in 
 full blast!" 
 
 The following year the third after the 
 awful dispensation which condemned Van- 
 borough Herring to a living death, and his 
 daughter to poverty and toil, there were two 
 happenings which disturbed the unvarying 
 quiet of Roseneath. 
 
 For Olive and her father, with the two 
 faithful old servitors, were still at Roseneath. 
 The times were dull and hard, and buyers 
 of property, anywhere, were rare. Few out- 
 siders seeking homes were attracted to the 
 lagging old town ; and these had no mind 
 to add to the purchase-money the enormous 
 expense for repairs necessary to the decay- 
 ing old mansion and its grounds. The owner 
 
248 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 wrote occasionally to Newall, but in the 
 main, absorbed in other things, troubled 
 himself very little about this out-of-the-way 
 piece of property. Olive, meanwhile, man- 
 aged, out of her slender earnings, to pay a 
 nominal rent, and when she anxiously sug- 
 gested the advisability of finding another 
 house, "Not yet," Newall invariably replied, 
 " not yet." He well knew what a wrench 
 it would be to her to remove her father from 
 this sacred retreat which in life he had so 
 loved. There was, besides, a secret and un- 
 confessed pleasure to himself in seeing Eli- 
 nor Thornham's kinswoman and radiant like- 
 ness flit about the house which had once 
 been hers. And so they stayed on, Olive's 
 school flourishing in the same sober and con- 
 servative fashion in which for above twenty- 
 five years had flourished the Jolibois Dan- 
 cing-Academy. 
 
 In the spring of that third year Kenni- 
 son's young wife sickened and died. Her 
 brief and happy married life ended quite 
 suddenly. Two days before her death she 
 danced like a sunbeam about the rectory- 
 garden, calling gayly to her husband through 
 his study-window, and showering rose-leaves 
 upon little Olive's bright head. 
 
AN ARRIVAL. 249 
 
 The news came with a painful shock to 
 Olive Herring. 
 
 * Dear Rose," she sobbed, standing beside 
 the coffin in the dim church, with the two- 
 year-old motherless child in her arms, and 
 Rufe Drennon, sluggish in his grief as in 
 his joy, beside her ; " dear sweet little Rose ! 
 How could Death have the heart to touch 
 your golden head ! But at least your life 
 has been happy and free of care ! " 
 
 It was true. By a strange perversity of 
 fate, the indolent, dependent, affectionate 
 daughter of the shiftless poor-white had 
 been shielded like a hothouse flower from 
 every wind that blew, while the child of her 
 powerful and aristocratic benefactor had 
 been exposed to the merciless fury of the 
 tempest. Poor and obscure, she had never 
 known the pangs of poverty, or suffered for 
 want of tender companionship. Her healthy 
 body had rarely felt pain ; her careless heart 
 had been untouched by grief or disappoint- 
 ment. Unaware of her danger to the last, 
 she died with a ripple of infantine laughter 
 on her lips. Putting her into the grave was 
 like turning the mould over a bright-winged 
 humming-bird ; or a half-blown rose whose 
 petals are pearled with morning dew. 
 
250 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 Thereafter, daily, like her mother before 
 her, little Olive, in the arms of Big Hannah, 
 came up to Roseneath. Unlike her mother 
 the child felt no terror of the silent rigid 
 figure on the couch, or in the wheeled chair. 
 She nestled against it with strange confi- 
 dence, lifting a tiny hand to touch the pallid 
 cheek, or to smooth back the falling gray 
 locks. Her first words, in a smiling effort 
 to imitate Olive, whom she adored, were 
 "/ wuv oo,faver, I wuv oo." 
 
 Following hard upon Rose's death came 
 an incident which disturbed in many ways 
 the tranquil if mournful life at Roseneath. 
 Olive sat one day beside her father in the 
 habitual gallery-nook. Rose's baby, cooing 
 and babbling, played at her feet ; Big Han- 
 nah looking on from the steps where she sat, 
 idle and good-natured. 
 
 There was a rush of footsteps around the 
 corner of the house, and Betty appeared, 
 breathless, and ashen with fright. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Olive, honey," she shouted, 
 "come quick, an' he'p me find some linen- 
 truck fer de doctor. Lib 's done broke his 
 laig!" 
 
XIV. 
 THE DRUM-MAJOR'S LEG. 
 
 IT proved to be worse than a broken leg. 
 A tree which Liberty was engaged in cutting 
 down in a corner of the stable-yard had top- 
 pled unexpectedly and fallen upon him, in- 
 juring his back and crushing his right leg 
 into a bruised and quivering mass. Some 
 passers-by, attracted by his cries, had 
 brought him in. An immediate operation 
 was found to be necessary, and the leg was 
 amputated just above the knee. 
 
 The stay and prop of the forlorn little 
 household seemed suddenly removed. For 
 the first time since her father's affliction 
 Olive's fortitude gave way. She bent over 
 the rugged black face on the pillow in 
 Betty's cabin and sobbed aloud. Feeling 
 her tears upon his face the negro opened his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Lawd, chile," he said, reaching out a 
 big horny hand and patting her head ten- 
 derly, " don' cry, clon' cry ! I ain' much 
 
252 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 hu't. I 'm gwine to be ez spry ez ever, soon 
 ez Doct' Alsbury gits thro' projickin' wi' my 
 laig." 
 
 Still dazed by the chloroform, he did not 
 know that his leg had been cut off. 
 
 This was too much for Betty, and she fled, 
 weeping, into the yard. 
 
 The next morning, she hurried distractedly 
 to the cabin from the great-house, where 
 she and the young mistress together had 
 made Herring's toilet, sorely missing Lib- 
 erty's strong arms and gentle touch. She 
 found her husband groaning loudly, or, to 
 speak more accurately, roaring like a 
 wounded lion. 
 
 " Gawd-a-mighty ! What 's de matter ? 
 What's de matter?" she demanded, trem- 
 bling with apprehension. 
 
 " Hush, 'ooman," replied Liberty, " I 'm 
 honorin' my sickness. Ef I don't honor my 
 sickness, who's gwine to honor it ?" 
 
 But this was a pretext, as he presently 
 confessed. 
 
 " Betty," he said piteously, " in course I 
 hates to lose my laig, an' seem-like I can't 
 stan' de wrenchin' misery in my back. But 
 it ain' dat, gal, it ain' dat! What, in de 
 name o' Gawd, is gwine to become o' Mars 
 
THE DRUM-MAJOR'S LEG. 253 
 
 Van an' Miss Olive now ? Dat chile workin' 
 herse'f to de bone, teachin' o' dem bowda- 
 cious chillun ; an' Lib a-layin' like a ole log 
 in de bed ! No ino' garden-patch ! no mo' 
 tater - patch ! no mo' co'ii - patch ! Who 
 gwine ter lif ' Mars Van, an' dress him, an' 
 feed him ? Who gwine O Lawd ! " 
 
 Betty's face twitched, but she answered 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " Don' fret yo'se'f , Lib. Big Hannah 's 
 my chile. I fotch her inter de world ; an' 
 ef she don' b'long to me I don' know who 
 she do b'long to ! She 's mighty triflin' 
 sence she tuck to nussin'. But she's ez 
 strong ez a sugar-mule. I done laid down 
 de law to Big Hannah. She 's got to come 
 fum Mist' Kennison's soon enough in de 
 mawnin's to lif Mars Van, an' he'p me dress 
 him. Ef she don't I '11 wear her to a fraz- 
 zle ! " 
 
 Liberty laughed among his pillows. 
 
 " Big Hannah 's got de strenk, Betty ; she 
 got her strenk fum me. But who gwine 
 to feed Big Hannah ? She kin eat like a 
 sugar-mule, too." , 
 
 Betty soothed this anxiety as best she 
 could, and went back to the house. 
 
 In the new order of things Olive's cares 
 
254 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 seemed doubled. She realized more and 
 more how she had depended upon her major- 
 domo's great faithful heart and strong will- 
 ing arms. She wished to have him removed 
 to the house, where he would be more 
 within reach, and less alone. But he ob- 
 jected. 
 
 " No, Miss Olive," he said with dignity, 
 " I 'm better off in ou' cabin. Besides," and 
 his eyes twinkled, " I 'd ruther be where I 
 can honor my sickness, d'out sturbin' you 
 an' Mars Van." 
 
 As soon as he was able to sit up in bed, 
 he sent for one of his boys, a lad who 
 tended Major Burnham's horses, and gave 
 him some instructions. A day or two later 
 Olive found the bed strewn with withes of 
 white-oak. Liberty, propped up among his 
 pillows, was weaving baskets to sell. 
 
 Meanwhile there was quite a little flutter 
 among Liberty's white friends, for his pa- 
 tient and unselfish devotion to his former 
 owner in his misfortunes had won him 
 many. This was no less than a project, 
 originating with Madame de Jolibois, to 
 buy him an artificial leg. 
 
 " One in the very latest style," Miss Kizzy 
 explained to Newall, sitting in his office. 
 
THE DRUM-MAJOR'S LEG. 255 
 
 " I learned from Sarah Hunter, whose uncle- 
 in-law lost his limb at the Battle of Shiloh," 
 she went on, " that for a sum which I con- 
 fess seems large, Peter, these artificial limbs 
 may be procured in the North. I am at 
 present in correspondence with a firm in 
 Philadelphia. In fact, I am negotiating for 
 a second-hand limb " 
 
 " Second-hand ! " gasped Newall. 
 
 " Second - hand," repeated Miss Kizzy 
 firmly. " The limb, which corresponds to 
 Liberty Thornham's proportions, was made, 
 it appears, for a drum-major who lost his 
 limb in a battle during our war. I do not 
 know what battle, for I regret to say that 
 the drum-major was in the Yankee army. 
 I feel that I ought to offer an apology to 
 the people of Thornham for having decided 
 upon buying if the money can be raised 
 a limb which has been worn by one of 
 our enemies. But being second-hand (for 
 the drum-major, they inform me, returned 
 it after using it about a year), being 
 second-hand, I get it at half-price." 
 
 " How much money have you on hand ? " 
 Newall asked, taking out his purse. 
 
 " The fund, Peter, amounts as yet to 
 only a few dollars," she returned. " But 
 
256 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 several people have promised to subscribe, 
 and there will be mite-meetings, in Mrs. 
 Alsbury's yard and elsewhere, for the benefit 
 of the fund. Were it not for the unavoid- 
 able expense of Monshur dee Jollyboys' trip 
 I could do more myself. Liberty has been 
 informed of this movement. But of course 
 we do not wish Olive to know as yet," she 
 added anxiously. 
 
 " You are a good woman, Keziah," New- 
 all said, doubling his subscription, which he 
 could ill afford at the moment, " and if ever 
 a man in this world has done his duty, that 
 man is Lib Thornham." 
 
 Madame de Jolibois went away radiant. 
 The fund under her indefatigable general- 
 ship grew ; but it grew slowly. Sixty 
 dollars was a large sum to raise for such a 
 purpose ; and it was a full year before the 
 drum-major's leg came, consigned to Ma- 
 dame de Jolibois. 
 
 Long before this Liberty had contrived 
 a pair of crutches strong enough to bear his 
 immense weight. 
 
 " I kin werry along wi' dese ontell I git 
 de dum-major's laig," he said to Betty, re- 
 garding them with just pride. 
 
 He swung himself on them to the great- 
 
THE DRUM-MAJOR'S LEG. 257 
 
 house every morning to superintend his 
 master's toilet. Big Hannah and her 
 charge arrived promptly from the rectory 
 at the same hour. Kennison, in his untidy 
 and silent home, was pleased to have his 
 child under Miss Herring's guardianship. 
 
 Big Hannah's duties in the sick-room 
 completed, with what assistance he could 
 give, Liberty then assumed charge of the 
 invalid and the child ; seating himself in a 
 split-bottomed chair brought over from the 
 cabin, and setting about his basket-weaving; 
 while his daughter, obediently though not 
 with alacrity, trudged out into the garden- 
 patch. 
 
 " Neb' mine, Miss Olive," he said in an- 
 swer to the expostulations of his mistress, 
 " neb' mine ; Mist' Kennison hiahs Big 
 Hannah to nuss his chile. Big Hannah 's a 
 mighty po' nuss. I kin tek keer o' de chile 
 a heap better 'n she kin. At de same 
 time Big Hannah ain' los' her laig, an' she 
 kin drive a spade an' han'l a hoe better 'n 
 / kin. Ef I kin nuss better 'n Big Han- 
 nah, Mist' Kennison ain' got no call to com- 
 plain ! " 
 
 " But how about Big Hannah ? " his mis- 
 tress asked. 
 
258 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 "Lawd, Miss Olive, Big Hannah am' 
 complainin' ! But ef she dassen to open 
 her mouth, her mammy 's got strenk 'nuff to 
 wear her to a frazzle ! " 
 
 The long-expected leg arrived at last. 
 Doctor Alsbury fetched the box over in his 
 buggy and assisted at the unpacking. Lib- 
 erty examined the straps and buckles with 
 staring eyes, and hugged the somewhat bat- 
 tered leg (the drum-major had evidently 
 been in the habit of using it as a projec- 
 tile !) to his bosom with loud hallelujahs. 
 But he broke down and cried like a child 
 when he found that he could not wear it, 
 try as he would. 
 
 " Hit ain' no use, Miss Olive," he said 
 dejectedly. " Dat dum-major's laig don' 
 seem to fit, no matter how me an' Betty 
 ties an' onties dem strops. Seem-like dat 
 Yankee dum-major has hoodooed dat laig, 
 anyhow ! " 
 
 He stood it up against the foot of the 
 four-post bed in his cabin, regarding it with 
 a mixture of awe and admiration as he went 
 in and out ; and occasionally he tried it on. 
 
 " Dem Philadelphy folks ain' got much 
 jedgment, nohow," he finally concluded, phi- 
 losophically whittling out a new crutch. 
 
XV. 
 
 RELEASE. 
 
 No prison is without a door, and sooner 
 or later, in one way or another, every cap- 
 tive escapes from bondage. 
 
 So it was at last with Vanborough Her- 
 ring. 
 
 The time was spring, a little more than 
 five years from the day the soul was thrust 
 into its donjon -cell. His daughter was 
 standing beside him ; Rose's child was pat- 
 tering about the sunny gallery ; Liberty sat 
 on the steps with his crutches beside him 
 watching Big Hannah spade the lettuce-bed 
 below ; the voices of the school-children at 
 their noon play on the front lawn blended 
 pleasantly with the plantation hymn Betty 
 was singing over her wash-tubs. 
 
 " Do you know, father," Olive \as saying 
 lightly, " I had a curious dream last night. 
 I thought I saw mother and Van come across 
 the rose-garden hand in hand. They called 
 to me, and I ran out to where they were. 
 
260 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 And all at once we were all back in the 
 " other house," and you had little Jeanie in 
 your arms. And then " she paused and 
 stooped to kiss his forehead, but started 
 back with a cry. A quiver was running 
 along his limbs ; his ashen face was pur- 
 pling. Oh, God in Heaven, was it life com- 
 ing back ? 
 
 No, not life ! Death had opened the door, 
 and the prisoner was free ! 
 
 The daughter's grief was terrible. It was 
 utterly incomprehensible to those who for 
 years had been saying to each other how 
 much better for him, and for her, if he could 
 only die ; even Newall wondered at it. Only 
 Betty, gathering her nursling in her arms 
 and weeping with her, could understand the 
 sudden void, the aching loneliness in the 
 heart throbbing so painfully against her 
 own. 
 
 " Yes, honey," she said soothingly, " Maum 
 knows. It's like losin' a baby. My ole 
 arms is achin' yit a'ter my fust little gal, an' 
 she been onder groun' mo' 'n thirty year." 
 
 " If he could have spoken to me, just 
 once before he left me, Maum Betty ! If he 
 could have given me one look ! If he could 
 only have known truly that I did not be- 
 
RELEASE. 261 
 
 lieve " And here there was an added 
 pang, which Betty's mother-heart knowing 
 nothing yet dimly divined. She pressed 
 the tear-stained face closer to her bosom. 
 
 "Ez to knowing honey," she whispered, 
 " don' trebble 'bout dat ; Mars Van knowed 
 it all ' o' he went. Ef he did n' he sholy 
 knows it all now." 
 
 He looked, lying in his coffin, with the 
 quiet majesty of death upon his marble face, 
 the face which had settled back into the 
 beautiful and regular outlines so well re- 
 membered by those who knew him best, 
 he looked as if he might in truth know all. 
 The smile hovering about the closed lips 
 was one of triumph. 
 
 " A Vanborough ! Impossible ! ' : John 
 Thornham's hot words leaped back into 
 Ne wall's mind as he stood looking down 
 upon the dead man. 
 
 " Impossible, indeed," he murmured. 
 " Whatever secret Vanborough Herring is 
 carrying to his grave, it is not one of dis- 
 honor ! " 
 
 They buried him in the Thornham family 
 burying-ground at Fair View. The shadow 
 of the stone at Young Van's head fell 
 athwart the grave as they lowered the 
 
262 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 casket beside the mouldering coffins, already 
 placed there, of his wife and two little chil- 
 dren. 
 
 It was not the Kector of St. John's who 
 read the burial-service over the dead, but 
 Father Dalton, the superannuated old Me- 
 thodist preacher, who had known him. when 
 he was a little lad in Kentucky. He recalled 
 this fact in his homely and familiar dis- 
 course, and spoke at some length of certain 
 traits of character in the boy which had de- 
 veloped nobly in the man ; he dwelt upon 
 the kindness and generosity which had al- 
 ways distinguished him as a friend and as a 
 citizen ; and referred to his secret benefac- 
 tions, and at this some among his listeners 
 winced. 
 
 " And now, my brethren," concluded the 
 old man, looking somewhat sternly around 
 upon the large crowd of people, who from 
 various motives had followed the dead man 
 to his last resting-place, " I say unto you, 
 beware lest in your foolish judgment you 
 mistake the wisdom of the Almighty. Whom 
 He loveth He chasteneth. A blessing often- 
 times hath the outer shape and disfigure- 
 ment of a curse. Was not the Hand of God 
 heavy also upon his servant Job ? " 
 
RELEASE. 263 
 
 The sun had set, and the sudden shadows 
 of nightfall descended even as he spoke. 
 In the hush that followed his words, the 
 outer circle of hearers, the negroes who 
 had once called Vanborough Herring mas- 
 ter, gathered together under Liberty's lead- 
 ership, broke into a mournful hymn, which 
 yet had in its refrain a ringing undercur- 
 rent of exultation : 
 
 " I traveled fur an' I traveled fas', 
 
 Kb'jftVj O good Lawd, mo'mV. 
 Night-time come an' I drapped at las', 
 
 Ifo'nsV, O good Lawd, mo'mV, 
 Now in de mawnin' I open my eyes 
 
 Shouting O good Lawd, shoutin 1 
 In de shiny mountains o' Paradise ; 
 
 Shouting O good Lawd, shoutin 1 . " 
 
 " I would like to remain a few days longer 
 at Roseneath," Olive said, talking over her 
 plans later with Newall. For the time was 
 indeed come when she must leave Rose- 
 neath. 
 
 He nodded abstractedly. It was plain 
 that his thoughts were elsewhere. 
 
 " Of course I shall keep my school," she 
 continued, " not only for my own support 
 and that of dear faithful Maum Betty and 
 Lib, but to save me from utter loneliness." 
 
264 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " Olive," said her companion abruptly, 
 " have I not by this time something like a 
 father's right to take care of you ? " 
 
 " Dear friend," she replied, pressing her 
 lips to his hand which she held in hers, 
 " you have always the right to love me, and 
 advise me, and comfort me. Nay, more," 
 and she smiled a little wistfully up into his 
 face, " you have the right to scold me, too, 
 whenever you like. But a great healthy 
 young woman like myself to sit quietly down 
 to be taken care of ! For shame, Mr. Peter 
 Newall ! You should not encourage such 
 idleness." 
 
 " Well, my dear," he sighed, disappointed, 
 " it must be as you wish, I suppose. But I 
 have your promise to come to me when you 
 need anything. Certainly you must stay on 
 here as long as you wish. It will take some 
 time to set the smaller house we have rented 
 in order. But I fear you will be very 
 lonely." 
 
 She was lonely. Yet, as the long summer 
 days drifted by and the time approached 
 for the inevitable change, the dismantling 
 of the old familiar rooms, the gathering to- 
 gether of personal belongings, the removal to 
 a strange house, she clung more and more, 
 
RELEASE. 265 
 
 with a frightened sort of feeling, to the very 
 loneliness and desolation about her. 
 
 Kennison was sitting beside his study- 
 table. The August noontide was stiflingiy 
 hot ; the lifeless air in the small room was 
 heavy with the perfume of the cape jessa- 
 mines in the garden outside, the perfume 
 which always reminded him of Rose's cof- 
 fin, which had been smothered under them. 
 He pushed back his chair impatiently and 
 threw down his pen, leaning back at the 
 same time to draw the dingy curtains across 
 the open window. 
 
 The Rector of St. John's was looking 
 gaunt and worn. He was barely thirty 
 years of age, but he had long lost all sem- 
 blance of youth. People said it was the 
 climate and the death of his young wife. 
 His dark eyes were strangely sunken ; his 
 hair was quite gray ; there were deep wrin- 
 kles on his forehead and around the drooping 
 corners of his mouth. His sad and overwea- 
 ried air was in harmony with the lonely shab- 
 biness of his surroundings. During the two 
 years of his widowhood things had gone 
 pretty much as they pleased at the rectory ; 
 now the older women of the congregation 
 
266 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 were beginning to say that the rector ought 
 to look about him for a " suitable " mother 
 for his child. 
 
 He got up and walked listlessly to the 
 door. There was a rattle of wheels in the 
 street, which ceased abruptly ; and Doctor 
 Alsbury called from the gate, 
 
 " Good-day, parson. I brought your mail 
 over, a couple of letters and some news- 
 papers." 
 
 "Thank you, Alsbury." He came out 
 and stood by the buggy. 
 
 "You look fagged out, Mr. Kennison," 
 continued the doctor. " Jump in and drive 
 about with me a little. It is pretty hot, but 
 the open air will do you good. I am going 
 down to Ruf e Drennon's ca house. He 's 
 been laid up for a week and I have not 
 seen him since the day before yesterday." 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked Kennison. 
 
 If Eufe Drennon had not been the rec- 
 tor's father-in-law, the doctor would proba- 
 bly have characterized the attack as " pure 
 laziness ; " as it was, however, he replied 
 carelessly, 
 
 " Oh, nothing in particular ; seems to be 
 a little feverish, and complains of headache. 
 He '11 pull up in a day or two." 
 
RELEASE. 267 
 
 Kennison called Big Hannah, for, for 
 once in a way, little Olive and her nurse 
 had elected to spend a part of the day at 
 home, and gave her some directions. Then 
 he stepped into the buggy and they turned 
 down the dusty but well-shaded lane that led 
 to the outskirts of the town. 
 
 Drennon's cabin stood in the midst of a 
 small field which at present was a tangle of 
 sunflowers and cockle-burrs. It was built 
 of logs, and in its day and time had been a 
 comfortable dwelling-place. There were two 
 rooms, with a wide open passage-way be- 
 tween them, and a couple of shed-rooms in 
 the rear. But the chimney, straining away 
 from the end wall, seemed on the eve of 
 tumbling to the ground ; the roof drooped 
 under the weight of rotting shingles ; the 
 floor of the passage-way was broken in many 
 places; it looked as shiftless and dilapi- 
 dated as Drennon himself. 
 
 They found him lying on an unkempt bed 
 in one of the shed-rooms. There seemed to 
 be no one else on the premises. A pitcher 
 of water was set on the floor within his 
 reach ; an ill-smelling lamp on a shelf above 
 the head of the bed was still burning, its 
 . flame looking strangely forlorn in the sun- 
 
268 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 light which streamed in through the open 
 door. 
 
 The moment the doctor's practiced eye 
 fell upon his patient, his countenance 
 changed ; his careless expression gave place 
 to grave anxiety. He laid his hand on the 
 brown hairy wrist stretched along the soiled 
 coverlet and felt the pulse. Drennon looked 
 at him with dull curiosity. 
 
 " Well, Doc," he said in a husky whisper, 
 "I reckin my time 's come, ain't it ?" 
 
 The physician did not reply; he was 
 hastily mixing some brandy and water in a 
 cracked teacup. 
 
 " Swallow this, Rufe," he said, slipping 
 his arm under the pillow, and lifting the 
 sick man's shoulders. 
 
 But Drennon moved his head aside fret- 
 fully. 
 
 " 'T ain't no use, Doc," he said, " my 
 time 's come. I 've had innard fever off 'n' 
 on f er mo' 'n six months ; an' sence I Ve 
 been layin' here, I 've felt somep'n snap 
 som'ers inside me. An' I don' keer. I'm 
 plum tired anyhow. I never did keer much," 
 he rambled on, his voice now stronger, now 
 sinking into a faint monotone, " cep'n fer 
 Rosy ; Rosy's things is all in them two front 
 
RELEASE. 269 
 
 rooms. She fixed 'em up herse'f , them 
 two front rooms. I ain' never onsettled 
 'em sence she lef V 
 
 Kennison looked at the doctor, who had 
 seated himself on the side of the bed after 
 forcing a swallow of brandy down Dren- 
 non's throat, and was softly chafing one of 
 his hands. 
 
 "What does it mean? "he asked in an 
 undertone. 
 
 Alsbury shook his head. 
 
 " Death," he replied briefly. " A sudden 
 collapse. There is no possible hope. He 
 is dying." 
 
 " I know it," said Drennon, opening his 
 eyes, for he had sunk into an uneasy slum- 
 ber ; " an' I don't keer. But afore I die I 
 want to tell about them di'mon's." 
 
 " What diamonds ? " demanded Alsbury, 
 warning Kennison with a glance not to 
 speak. 
 
 " It was this-a-way, Doc," continued the 
 sick man with a slight show of eagerness. 
 " I useter sell things to Miss Elinor, you 
 know, fresh eggs, an' blackberries, an' figs, 
 an' sech. An' that night I tuk a basket o' figs 
 to Eoseneath, 'cause I heerd she'd been 
 a-honin' a'ter figs. I went late, 'cause Rosy 
 
270 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 was afeerd to stay by herse'f , an' I had to 
 wait ontell she was asleep, po' little 
 Rosy!" 
 
 "Well?" said the doctor, again motion- 
 ing to Kennison to keep out of sight. 
 
 " Well, I come 'crost the rose - gyarden 
 without seein' a soul, an' I started to go 
 roun' to the front do'. But all at onct, I 
 heerd Van Herrin's voice inside, an' I crope 
 back an' tuk off my shoes, an' went up on 
 the side-gall'ry to the winder. He was in 
 the settin'-room with Miss Elinor. They 
 had done quit talkin' an' he was standin' by 
 her. She was a-layin' on the lounge. I 
 reckin he was tellin' her good-by. They 
 useter be sweethearts, Miss Elinor an' Van. 
 He started to go an' she called him back an' 
 showed him a box. I seen her open it. He 
 took it an' looked at somep'n inside it. Then 
 he laid it down on the table, an' stooped 
 over an' kissed her onct. Then he opened 
 the blind, an' come out'n the winder, an' 
 jumped down fum the gall'ry, an' went 
 'crost to the rose-gyardeli gate. Ef he had 
 looked 'roun', he might of seen me. But 
 he did n't. I heerd June Badgett hollerin' 
 to them mules of his'n out in the road, an' 
 I waited ontell he got by ; an' then I 
 
RELEASE. 271 
 
 knocked on the winder, an' went in with my 
 basket. I wa'n't thinkin' o' nothin' but sell- 
 in' them figs an' gittin' back to Rosy. But 
 Miss Elinor's eyes were shet ; an' I seen she 
 was asleep. She wa'n't dead; she was 
 sleepin' like a baby. I would n't of done 
 it ef she had been dead. That box was 
 layin' where Van Herrin' had put it, an' I 
 took it an' put it in my pocket, an' crope 
 back, an' got my shoes, an' come home. An' 
 nex' mornin' I heerd that Miss Elinor was 
 dead." 
 
 Kennison could restrain himself no longer. 
 
 " What ! " he thundered, " you were the 
 thief ! You took those diamonds ! and all 
 these years you have allowed an innocent 
 man to suffer for your crime ! " 
 
 "You neenter holler so loud, parson," 
 said Drennon peevishly. " I ain't deef ." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, Mr. Kennison," 
 urged the doctor, "be quiet. The man 
 is sinking rapidly. Let him finish his 
 story." 
 
 As he spoke, he put the brandy and water 
 again to his patient's lips. 
 
 "I don' want no medicine, Doc," whis- 
 pered Drennon. " Don't you be skeered. 
 I ain't goin' to die ontell I git good an' 
 
272 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 ready ! Ef the law had a-tuk up the case, 
 I 'd of come forrard quick enough. Or ef 
 Johnny Thornham had of prosecuted, I 
 wouldn't of let the law tech him. But I 
 knowed no Thornham wa'n't goin' to pros- 
 ecute no other Thornham ! Onct I had 'em 
 in my pocket when I tuk Mis' Herrin' some 
 truck she ast me to git her out'n the woods. 
 But I did n't git no chance to give 'em to 
 her. An' when she tuk Rosy an' was so 
 good to her, I did n' dassen to give 'em to 
 her, less'n she 'd turn Rosy out. / did n' 
 want 'em. They wa'n't no manner o' use to 
 me. When Van Herrin' was struck, Doc, 
 I kep' tellin' that fool June Badgett not to 
 be so blame shore about the Hand o' God ! 
 When Van got struck I useter take Miss 
 Olive ever' nice thing I got a holt of 
 peaches, an' honey, an' eggs, an' flowers. I 
 did n' want no pay fer 'em. But she 
 would n' take nothin' without pay. Them 
 Thornhams is mighty biggaty ! Anyhow, I 
 never spent none o' that money. I 've got 
 it all ever' blame cent." 
 
 He felt feebly under his pillow and 
 brought out a little blue calico bag, and emp- 
 tied its contents a handful of silver dimes 
 and quarter-dollars on the coverlet. 
 
-RELEASE. 273 
 
 " Ever' cent Mis' Herrin' ever give me, an' 
 ever' cent Miss Olive ever give me ; Doc, I 
 want you to give it to Miss Olive." 
 
 "I will, Eufe," said Alsbury. "But what 
 became of the diamonds, Rufe ? Have you 
 got them?" 
 
 " Yes, I 've got 'em. I 've jest had to 
 keep 'em. / did n' want 'em. The Lord 
 knows they wa'n't no good to me. But I 
 had to keep 'em. I useter lock 'em in the 
 cupboard, but I fetched 'em to bed with me 
 yistiddy, because I knowed my time had 
 come. An' I don't keer. Tek 'em, Doc. 
 An' that 's all I got to say." 
 
 The dying man felt under the pillow again 
 and thrust into the doctor's hand a small 
 leather case ; then closed his eyes, and 
 turned upon the pillow as if addressing him- 
 self to sleep. He did, in fact, fall asleep 
 almost instantly, breathing at first heavily, 
 then more softly, and finally, flutteringly, 
 and at long intervals. Doctor Alsbury, with 
 the little jewel-box in one hand, and the 
 other upon the sleeping man's wrist, sat per- 
 fectly silent for a long time ; the shaft of 
 sunlight that fell across the floor receded 
 steadily ; the breeze freshened a little ; the 
 afternoon was waning. At length he leaned 
 
274 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 forward with a sigh and drew the covering 
 over the haggard face on the pillow. 
 
 "He is dead," he said gently. "Poor 
 Rufe!" 
 
 Kennison, who sat stunned and motion- 
 less in a corner, all thought of his calling 
 clean gone out of his mind, looked up at 
 the sound of his voice ; then arose and came 
 forward, staggering like a drunken man. 
 The doctor also arose, opening, as he 
 did so, the little casket. It contained an 
 old-fashioned necklet, a slender thread of 
 twisted gold; the heart-shaped pendant that 
 hung upon it was set with two or three small 
 and insignificant stones. On a yellowed slip 
 of paper in the box were the words, " For 
 little Olive" in a woman's handwriting. 
 
 A spasm distorted Kenni son's pale face 
 of rage against the dull clod, forever be- 
 yond his reach, lying at peace upon the 
 sordid bed? Of shame at the recollection 
 of his own cowardice? Of self-pity? He 
 could not himself have defined the feeling 
 which overwhelmed him. He took the box 
 from Alsbury's hands, and looked at it. 
 
 " Elinor ThornJiam's diamonds ! " The 
 words burst from him in a hot resistless 
 flood. "The priceless necklet ! " he sneered. 
 
RELEASE. 275 
 
 " Priceless indeed ! An honorable name for 
 its sake dragged in the mire ; an innocent 
 man hounded to his grave ; a happy family 
 destroyed ! Ay, and more, by Heaven ! A 
 young and tender creature tortured by a 
 coward a brute " 
 
 He checked himself suddenly and rushed 
 from the cabin, and across the field to where 
 the horse and buggy had been left in the 
 shade of a live-oak. Untying the lines with 
 mad haste, he sprang into the buggy and 
 drove away, deaf to the amazed halloo of 
 the doctor, who stood in the door of the 
 cabin, gazing after him, apprehensive for 
 his reason. He drove furiously, lashing the 
 old horse into a foam, until he reached Rose- 
 neath. 
 
 There he alighted and walked rapidly 
 across the grounds, and entered the house 
 by the familiar side-hall. Olive was in the 
 little sitting-room. She sat by the window 
 with her hands folded idly in her lap, and 
 her dreamy eyes turned toward the gar- 
 den. At the sound of footsteps she looked 
 up. 
 
 Kenriison was standing, wild-eyed and hag- 
 gard, on the threshold. 
 
 "Miss Herring," he said, in a loud un- 
 
276 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 natural voice, " I wish I must speak with 
 
 you." 
 
 She sprang to her feet. 
 
 " Little Olive ! Oh, what has happened 
 to her?" she cried, growing pale. 
 
 " The child is well," he returned, advan- 
 cing until he stood directly in front of her. 
 "It is not of little Olive that I have to 
 speak." He faced her a moment in silence 
 as if trying to collect his thoughts, then he 
 went on : "I have this moment come from 
 the death-bed of Rose's father of Rufus 
 Drennon, my father-in-law. No, do not 
 interrupt me," he said, as she made a ges- 
 ture of sympathy. 
 
 " Miss Herring Olive the last time I 
 was in this room I stood where I now stand, 
 and told you the story of your father's crime 
 wait," for she had drawn herself up 
 proudly, and was pointing to the door, 
 " wait, I beseech you, and hear me out. I 
 told you what people were saying of his 
 disgrace and his shame. I told you that I 
 thought it my duty, as a servant before 
 God's altar, to break the troth which hardly 
 twenty-four hours earlier I had plighted to 
 you. I told you that I could not ally my- 
 self with a family upon which such a stain 
 
RELEASE. 277 
 
 rested ; I could not marry a woman whose 
 father was a criminal though unpunished ; 
 a thief though free from the clutches of the 
 law. Wait, I beg of you ! I told you all 
 this, standing where I now stand, and look- 
 ing, as I now look, in the face of your father's 
 daughter. Well, I come to you, now, to 
 tell you that I the proud, the virtuous, 
 the lofty-minded man and minister of God, 
 who would not contaminate himself by tak- 
 ing in his your innocent white hand ; I, the 
 despicable coward ; I Mark Kennison 
 / married the daughter of the real thief ; 
 my wife was the child of the man who stole 
 Elinor Thornham's diamonds." 
 
 Olive, who had listened, spell-bound, re- 
 coiled at the last words. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she gasped, pale 
 to the very lips. "What do you mean?" 
 
 She almost shrieked the words, catching 
 him unconsciously by the wrists. 
 
 " I mean " - he spoke more slowly, for 
 he was beginning to feel weak and ex- 
 hausted "I mean that your father lived 
 and died an innocent man unjustly ac- 
 cused, foully slandered. I mean that Rufus 
 Drennon, my wife's father, has confessed 
 with his dying breath that it was he who 
 
278 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 committed the crime for which your father 
 has been branded in this community for 
 nearly twenty years " 
 
 He caught her in his arms ; for the room 
 whirled about her, and she could no longer 
 stand. Her white glorified face rested a 
 moment on his breast. 
 
 " O God, I thank Thee ! " she murmured 
 in ecstasy. " Father, Father ! " 
 
 He waited until the flow of happy tears 
 allowed her again to listen. Then, word for 
 word, he took up the story as Drennon had 
 told it ; as it had burnt itself into his brain ! 
 His lips were dry and parched and his tongue 
 almost refused to obey his will as he re- 
 peated mechanically the uncouth phrases of 
 the dying man. 
 
 " Oh," she cried, putting out a hand to 
 stay him, " in pity do not tell me any more ! 
 It is enough for me to know that my father's 
 honor is vindicated." 
 
 " I must," he groaned, " I must ! " 
 
 And when he had finished, he took the 
 paltry casket from his breast-pocket, and 
 laid it on the table beside her. Then he 
 went away. 
 
 She snatched up the box as soon as he 
 had left her, and ran out into the yard, cry- 
 
RELEASE. 279 
 
 " Liberty ! Liberty ! Maum Betty, where 
 are you ? " 
 
 " What in de name o' Gawd is de matter 
 wi' de chile ! " said the old man, sitting up 
 in bed ; for he was resting his tired back. 
 " Bonn's like she got somep'n on her 
 min' ! " 
 
 " No it don't ! " cried Betty, running to 
 the door, " it soun's like she 's got religion ! 
 What is it, honey ? " 
 
 Olive, panting and happy, threw herself 
 into her nurse's outstretched arms ; then 
 she flew to the bedside. 
 
 " O Liberty," she sobbed, " it was not 
 true ! It was never true ! I knew he never 
 could have done it ! O father ! father ! " 
 
 The old people stared at each other, mys- 
 tified. She poured out the glad tidings, 
 laughing and crying in the same breath. 
 
 " And after all," she concluded, " the neck- 
 let was mine ! My cousin Elinor must have 
 intended him to take it away with him ! 
 See, Maum, here is my name on the card 
 for little Olive" 
 
 " Lawd, is dem de di'mon's dat made all 
 de splutterme/i ? " asked Lib, contemptu- 
 ously eying the old-fashioned ornament. 
 " Hmp ! Ef Mars Van been in de way o' 
 
280 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 stealin', he sholy would ha' tuk somep'n bet- 
 ter 'n dem glass beads ! Yes, chile, I has 
 always knowed dat monsus lie 'bout Mars 
 Van me an' Betty bofe. I mashed de 
 mouth o' de free-nigger dat had de insu'- 
 ance to tell us ! In cose, Miss Olive, I 
 knowed Mars Van was wi' Miss Elinor dat 
 night, 'caze I tuk de note to his office axin' 
 him to come. She tole me to keep de yuthers 
 out'n de way. Seem-like she sort o' shame 
 to let anybody but me know dat she saunt 
 fer Mars Van. Anyhow, when all dat 
 human-cry riz up 'bout dem di'mon's, I kep' 
 my mouth shet. 'Caze I knowed Mars Van 
 had been wi' Miss Elinor. An* ef Betty's 
 Marster wanted to tote off a passel o' di'- 
 mon's, I Oh, in cose I knowed he 
 did n't do it, honey ! I knowed he did n't 
 do it ! An' dis is de fus' time I has even 
 tole dat / knowed Mars Van was at Rose- 
 neath dat night ! " 
 
 " Ez fer Rufe Drennon," remarked Betty, 
 " what kin you 'spec' fum po'-white folks, 
 anyhow." 
 
 Olive returned to the house, walking on 
 air ; her heart sang like a freed bird. As 
 she passed around the vine-hung nook of 
 the gallery where the dumb and motionless 
 
RELEASE. 281 
 
 invalid had so often lain in his chair, she 
 stopped. 
 
 "Ah, Sir Lancelot, there thou liest" 
 the words rose involuntarily to her lips, 
 " thou that wert never matched of earthly 
 knight's hand ; and thou wert the courtliest 
 knight that ever bare shield ; and thou ivert 
 the truest friend to thy lover that ever be- 
 strode horse " 
 
 She sought her memory in vain for the 
 next sentence ; and she turned into the li- 
 brary. The little squat copy of " Morte 
 d' Arthur," how well she remembered it ! It 
 used to be always in Young Van's hands. 
 She went to a small bookcase in a corner 
 and began searching among the books that 
 had belonged to her brother. Yes, there 
 it was, with its battered binding and torn 
 leaves ! 
 
 " And thou wert the kindest man that ever 
 strake with sword ; and thou wert the good- 
 liest person that ever came among press of 
 knights" 
 
 She closed the book and laid it back on 
 the shelf. " Yes, you were all that and 
 more, my father, my hero ! " 
 
 She was turning away when something 
 wedged in between a couple of volumes on 
 
282 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 the same shelf caught her eye. A confused 
 sense of recognition stirred her at sight of 
 it, and she took it down. It was a some- 
 what bulky diary, bound in red morocco. 
 Some letters were fastened to it with a bit 
 of tape. She turned it over in her hands ; 
 the confused memory became clear in a 
 flash. It was the packet which she had 
 seen her father thrust into his pocket as he 
 came out to her on the gallery that last fatal 
 afternoon the day his voice had ceased 
 forever in the midst of his life-story ! She 
 now remembered seeing it lying on the floor 
 after Liberty had carried him into his room. 
 Some one had doubtless picked it up, amid 
 the excitement, and placed it in the cabinet, 
 where all these years it had remained unno- 
 ticed and forgotten. This surmise was cor- 
 rect, Job afterward admitting that it was 
 himself who had "lef'it dar, ontell Mars 
 Van mout ax fer it," and then forgotten it. 
 
 The packet was marked in her father's 
 bold handwriting : " Private and Person- 
 al" Olive untied the tape with shaking 
 fingers and examined its contents. 
 
 There were several letters ; some of these 
 were quite yellow with age. One was from 
 Herring's mother, written evidently when 
 
RELEASE. 283 
 
 he was a little boy and away from home for 
 the first time. The grand-daughter smiled 
 a little at the old-fashioned phraseology ; 
 but the tears sprang to her eyes as she read 
 the post scriptum : - 
 
 And above All things, my Son, you must 
 be Honest and Faithful, and Never break 
 your Word, though you should be Eeviled 
 for keeping it. MOTHER. 
 
 Two letters she laid aside as too sacred 
 for even a daughter's eyes to dwell upon ; 
 they were marked : " From my beloved 
 wife." Besides these there were one from 
 herself, a funny little scrawl ; she re- 
 membered quite well the day she wrote it, 
 and sent it in one of her mother's to the far- 
 away camp in Virginia ! and one in Young 
 Van's sprawly schoolboy hand. Another 
 was indorsed on the envelope, " John Thorn- 
 ham. Received Oct. 14, 1857." 
 
 Olive unfolded the large business-looking 
 sheet. The letter, dated from New Orleans, 
 began abruptly : 
 
 VANBOROUGH HERRING : I do not know 
 what wrongs my sister Elinor suffered at 
 
284 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 your hands, or what stain you may have 
 placed upon the old and honorable name 
 you bear. I do not wish to know. My 
 sister evidently cherished for you until the 
 day of her death a feeling which her wrongs 
 if she had any had been unable to de- 
 stroy. I find among the papers which I 
 brought away with me from Roseneath a 
 letter addressed to myself, written shortly 
 before her death, and intended to be read, 
 as it has been, after she had passed away. 
 It was her wish that certain property be- 
 longing exclusively to herself should be 
 converted into money and given to you un- 
 conditionally. Or rather, with the sole con- 
 dition that the gift should remain a secret 
 between you and myself. You may have 
 some idea concerning her reasons for this 
 condition ; I have not. At any rate, I make 
 no doubt whatever your character may 
 be you will respect her wishes in this 
 matter. But I will be greatly obliged if 
 you will affix your name to the inclosed line 
 attesting under oath your intention of sub- 
 mitting to the above-mentioned condition. 
 Upon receipt of this, the money, amounting 
 to fifty thousand dollars, will be placed in 
 the bank of in Galveston subject to 
 your demand. 
 
RELEASE. 285 
 
 I desire also, with your permission, to 
 add to this the sum of one thousand dollars 
 for the purchase of the negrfr, Liberty, who 
 belonged to my sister Elinor, to belong in 
 future to your daughter, Olive Vanborough 
 Herring; named, as I understand, for my 
 mother. With this proviso : that she be 
 kept in ignorance of her ownership of this 
 piece of property until she is twenty-one 
 years of age. If anything in this latter 
 transaction strikes you as strange, set it 
 down to the well-known eccentricity of the 
 Thornhams. 
 
 Let me hear from you as soon as possible. 
 JOHN THORNHAM. 
 
 Some further correspondence had evi- 
 dently passed between the two men relative 
 to these bequests : for there was another 
 letter, undated, but written probably some 
 weeks later. It was very brief : 
 
 I am glad to know the truth, so far as 
 you are concerned. I could not bring my- 
 self to believe that a Vanborough could be 
 guilty of a thing so dishonorable. Take the 
 money, then, with a free heart, as she wished, 
 poor girl ! But bear in mind the condition 
 
286 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 which she herself imposed. Your little Olive 
 resembles my mother strangely. J. T. 
 
 On the margin of this note was the mem- 
 orandum : " J. T. died of yellow fever in 
 New Orleans in 1859." 
 
 To these letters, clearing the mystery of 
 Herring's sudden acquisition of money for 
 the purchase of Roseneath and other pro- 
 perty, his daughter did not attach the signi- 
 ficance which they assumed in the eyes of 
 Newall when he examined them later. The 
 main fact Drennon's confession, which 
 removed the stain of infamy from her fa- 
 ther's name made all else seem of small 
 importance. A dim recollection of a tall 
 dark man bending over her and softly re- 
 peating her name, Olive VanborougJi, flitted 
 intangibly through her mind as she read 
 the lines which concerned the gift to her- 
 self of " the negro, Liberty." But she was 
 too absorbed to grasp it. 
 
 She laid aside the letters and took up, 
 reverently, the leather-covered diary. Its 
 closely written pages contained the story 
 much more in detail, and brought to some- 
 thing like a conclusion that her father 
 had partly related to her. It was begun in 
 
RELEASE. 287 
 
 Washington, evidently soon after Duncan's 
 visit ; but appearances indicated that the 
 last lines were written the day of their arri- 
 val at Roseneath. 
 
 It was a passionate outpouring of the 
 man's inmost soul ; penned perhaps as a re- 
 lief to the repressed and tortured life ; cer- 
 tainly meant to be overlooked by no human 
 eye save his own. Olive quivered as she 
 read ; fascinated, stirred, shaken to the very 
 depths of her being by the spectacle of a 
 great tender heart, bare and bleeding under 
 her gaze. 
 
 " She told me," the narrative went on, 
 after describing at some length that part of 
 the writer's interview with Elinor Thorn- 
 ham which related to the broken engage- 
 ment and her reasons therefor, "she told 
 me that she wished me to have the property 
 which had come to her, personally, from her 
 grandmother, who was also mine, and which 
 was absolutely at her own disposition. She 
 did not mention the amount ; and at that 
 time I supposed it to be trifling. For rea- 
 sons which at this distance of time I shrink 
 from putting upon paper, I at first and with 
 some warmth declined this legacy. But her 
 agitation at my refusal was so extreme that, 
 
288 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 alarmed by her suffering, I promised to do 
 whatever she wished in all matters. c One 
 of these days, then,' she said, ' I hope you 
 will live at Koseneath.' This remark I 
 hardly noticed at the moment; she was 
 very weak and ill, and my thoughts were 
 more upon herself than upon what she was 
 saying. Finally, she opened the little cas- 
 ket, which she had held during the whole of 
 our interview in her hand, and showed me a 
 necklet a child's gewgaw which she had 
 worn when she was my Olive's age, desiring 
 me to send my little daughter to her the 
 next day, that she might clasp it around her 
 neck with her own hands. Then, at last, 
 I kissed her an eternal good-by, and came 
 away. She seemed so nervously anxious lest 
 my presence there should become known 
 to the inmates of the house that I passed 
 out at one of the windows, and crossed the 
 rose-garden to the gate. I saw no one, 
 though I seem sometimes, when I recall it 
 all, to have heard the sound of wheels in 
 the road outside." 
 
 An account followed of the circumstances 
 of Elinor Thornham's death and burial ; and 
 of John Thornham's first letter, and of the 
 narrator's surprise at its contents. 
 
RELEASE. 289 
 
 " I did not understand the full meaning of 
 Thornham's reference to Elinor's wrongs," 
 lie continued ; " at that time I supposed him 
 to allude only to the broken engagement and 
 to my subsequent marriage. I felt justified 
 in writing him a full account of my last in- 
 terview with his sister, wherein she explained 
 her motives in severing those early bonds, 
 and of my own conduct in consequence of 
 her (supposed) unjust and wayward treat- 
 ment. 
 
 " I thought I understood Elinor's wish to 
 confine the knowledge of her bequest to her 
 brother and myself. She had, in fact, in 
 her last talk with me, hinted that nay wife 
 might very naturally be disturbed by such 
 a legacy from the woman whom I had once 
 loved. I stated this frankly. I could not, 
 I said, for the sake of the money, give pain 
 to the mother of my children. Some money 
 due me in Kentucky from a family lawsuit, 
 and about to be paid, would, as he suggested 
 later, and did, render any explanation 
 to my wife unnecessary. I did not, unhap- 
 pily, take the outside world into account. 
 In referring to John Thornham's own gift 
 to my little girl, I mentioned Elinor's legacy 
 to her of the neck-chain, a circumstance so 
 
290 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 trivial in itself that but for his peculiar 
 interest in the child I should hardly have 
 remembered it at all. I now know that this 
 disposed, for him, of the hideous charge 
 which, unknown to myself alone, had been 
 brought against mo by the people among 
 whom I lived ; while in his reference to it I 
 read simply enough an allusion to the broken 
 engagement. So, after a somewhat pro- 
 longed correspondence, I signed the written 
 condition." 
 
 The writer gave a minute account of his 
 journey to Galvestoii, where he received the 
 money which he brought back to Thornham, 
 and which he at once invested in the pur- 
 chase of Roseneath, and in laying the foun- 
 dation for later speculations. He described 
 the growing and inexplicable coldness of 
 many of his neighbors and friends. This at 
 first, absorbed in arranging and planning 
 for his new *lif e, he scarcely noted ; then, 
 his overwhelming astonishment and indig- 
 nation when by a curious chance he learned 
 the cause. 
 
 " I doubt whether in that moment," he 
 wrote, " stung to the heart's core by this cal- 
 umny, I should have justified myself even if 
 I could honorably have done so. In regard 
 
RELEASE. 291 
 
 to the theft of the necklet, indeed, which 
 seemed as ridiculous as it was unjust, I could 
 have made no explanation whatever. I did 
 not know, and I have never been able to 
 conjecture, what became of it, unless some 
 servant entered the room and took it after 
 I left her and before the others came in to 
 find her dead on the couch. Curiously 
 enough, no one except possibly a few 
 friends foolish enough to believe in me 
 ever seems to have given me the benefit of 
 this doubt. I found myself suddenly sur- 
 rounded by a horrible atmosphere of suspi- 
 cion and distrust. No word was ever spoken 
 openly in my hearing, no chance given me to 
 cram the lie down the throat of my slander- 
 ers. I said to myself, foolishly enough, that 
 Truth is mighty and will prevail ; and I 
 waited." 
 
 Olive's horror and indignation deepened 
 as she read on. It was all there ; the mute 
 questioning in the eyes of the wife ; the 
 daily torture of the sensitive, shrinking boy ; 
 the slowly hardening pride of the strong 
 man, conscious of his own integrity; the 
 quickly destroyed illusion of hope which 
 was born of the soldier's gallant record ; the 
 defiant despair which followed the death 
 
292 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 of his first-born ; of his wife and little chil- 
 dren. 
 
 " But Olive, at least, my bright sunny- 
 hearted Olive, had never been made to 
 share or bear this awful burden. By a mir- 
 acle for which I thanked God daily, on my 
 knees, she had escaped all knowledge of 
 the cloud which hung over us. But at 
 last" 
 
 The last pages, burning with a record of 
 his anguish upon learning that his cherished 
 and adored daughter had at length been told 
 the infamous story, were written more hur- 
 riedly than the rest. These were doubtless 
 the pages that he had penned that last day, 
 and just before impelled by some forever 
 unknowable feeling he had partly broken 
 the seal of silence. The almost illegible 
 characters and the confused ending of the 
 sentences, showed that, even as he wrote, 
 the unseen enemy was creeping upon him. 
 
 As the daughter, with tear-reddened eyes, 
 finished reading the last pathetic words : 
 " For myself, I no longer care, but for 
 Olive" a step sounded on the gallery. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Newall ! " she cried, springing 
 up and running eagerly to meet the lawyer, 
 " have you heard ? Do you know ? " 
 
RELEASE. 293 
 
 " Yes, I know ! " he responded, almost 
 choked with emotion ; " I have just seen Als- 
 bury. Poor Van ! And that scoundrel, 
 that villain, Rufe Drennon " 
 
 " Oh," she interrupted, " he is lying yon- 
 der in his cabin, dead. Rose's father, little 
 Olive's grandfather ! Let us not think of 
 him, poor ignorant Rufe ! Think rather of 
 how my father must be rejoicing where he is, 
 at sight of my happiness ! " 
 
 She placed the diary and John Thorn- 
 ham's letters in his hands. 
 
 " Think of my chancing upon them this 
 day of all others ! " she said, showing him 
 their hiding-place. 
 
 His eyes lighted as he glanced through 
 them. 
 
 " I at least am bound by no vow of se- 
 crecy, Olive, my child," he said when he had 
 finished. He rose and took his hat. " And 
 before I sleep to-night all questions concern- 
 ing your father's life, so far as a prying pub- 
 lic has any right to ask, shall be fully and 
 forever answered." 
 
 He lingered only long enough to explain 
 the significance of the documents he held. 
 
 " Here come Doctor and Mrs. Alsbury, 
 Major Burnham and his wife, and Jack 
 
294 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 Addington," he called back from the door. 
 " Let them rejoice with you, Olive. They 
 have the right, as true and faithful friends 
 of your father." 
 
 " Come back a minute, Mr. Newall ! " 
 She met him as he turned, and placed her 
 hands on his shoulders. " I know who has 
 been the truest and faithfulest of all," she 
 said, looking affectionately at him, " and if 
 a daughter's love and devotion can re- 
 pay"- 
 
 " Repay ! nonsense ! " he interrupted with 
 a gruffness belied by his beaming face; 
 " who dares to talk of payment of any sort 
 between father and daughter ! ' 
 
XVI. 
 
 MARK KENNISON. 
 
 THE storm which had raged in Kenni- 
 son's soul seemed to have spent itself when 
 he left Olive Herring shedding tears of sa- 
 cred joy over the vindication of her father's 
 good name, and came out once more into 
 the open air. He walked slowly down the 
 wide avenue, and, passing out at the park- 
 gate, entered the road which led towiiward, 
 wholly forgetful of Alsbury's old horse which 
 stretched a long neck toward him from the 
 rose-garden wicket, whinnying and tugging 
 at the hitch-rein. 
 
 He felt bruised and sore, as if he had 
 come out of a sharp physical contest. He 
 wondered dully at his late outburst, well 
 knowing that nothing could ever move him 
 again. He tried vainly to recall the scene 
 in Drennon's cabin. A blurred picture only, 
 in which he himself had no part, presented 
 itself to his mind, a shaggy head turning 
 restlessly on a pillow; a belt of sunshine 
 
296 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 lying across an uneven floor ; a line of small 
 ants crawling up the leg of a rickety table, 
 and the fragmentary vision faded away. 
 Finally he ceased to think altogether, mov- 
 ing automatically along the dusty highway 
 without volition of his own. But something 
 startled him suddenly again into life. It 
 was the voice of June Badgett calling to 
 him from the Man-Fig, where he stood with 
 his back against the gnarled tree-trunk. 
 
 " Hello, parson," he drawled, " wher have 
 you been? You look like you've seen a 
 ghosV 
 
 Kennison ran forward and stopped, facing 
 him savagely. The demoniac fury which 
 had possessed him came surging back with 
 increased violence. His breast heaved ; his 
 white lips quivered in an impotent attempt 
 at speech. He was seized with an insane 
 desire to smite the old man in the face ; his 
 clenched fist trembled at his side as he 
 hissed, at length, rather than said : 
 
 " Do you want to know where I have 
 been, June Badgett ? Well, I will tell you. 
 I come from the death-bed of the man who 
 stole Elinor Thornham's diamonds." 
 
 There was a movement of curiosity among 
 the idlers lounging around. Badgett started 
 
MARK KENNISON. 297 
 
 forward with an inarticulate cry ; his eye- 
 balls seeming ready to burst from his head. 
 
 " Diamonds ! " Kennison stopped and 
 laughed scornfully, "a miserable little 
 trinket, too insignificant to buy even your 
 soul, June Badgett, contemptible as that 
 is!" 
 
 " Who was the thief ? " ventured one of 
 the crowd, unable longer to contain his curi- 
 osity. 
 
 " The thief ? " echoed the minister. " The 
 thief," he said with deliberate slowness, 
 " was one of your own friends, and my 
 father-in-law, Kufus Drennon." 
 
 And without noticing the amazed ejacu- 
 lations which arose about him, he told the 
 story again, as lie had a little while before 
 told it to Olive Herring, using Drennon' s 
 own words, and unconsciously copying the 
 dying man's very gestures and intonations. 
 
 " And there," he concluded harshly, ad- 
 dressing Badgett, " there is where I have 
 been, and that is the ghost I have seen." 
 
 With that he turned abruptly and con- 
 tinued his walk toward the village. 
 
 The effect of this revelation upon Badgett 
 was terrible. 
 
 " I done it. God-a-mighty, I done it!" 
 
298 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 he shrieked, throwing up his arms and 
 clutching wildly at his gray hair. 
 
 Nobody ever stopped to think of it, but 
 June had nearly reached the allotted three- 
 score and ten of years ; his once burly figure 
 was bent and shuffling ; his flabby face was 
 seamed with wrinkles, his eyes bleared and 
 sunken. 
 
 " Jedge not that ye be not jedged," he con- 
 tinued hoarsely. " I thought Van took 'em. 
 I wish my Maker may strike me stone dead 
 ef I wa'n't shore that Van took 'em ! *" I 
 done all the mischief. I done it ! I kep' 
 the parson f um marryin' the sweetes' young 
 gal in Thornham ! I done it all ! God- 
 a-mighty let jedgment fall on me ! Let the 
 Hand o' God strike ole June Badge tt, an' 
 strike hard. God-a-mighty have mercy on 
 my soul. I done it ! " 
 
 His companions fell back, staring at him 
 in helpless wonder, and finally slunk away, 
 one by one, leaving him alone under the 
 Man-Fig. 
 
 As Kennison approached the village he 
 saw Doctor Alsbury standing in the midst 
 of an excited group, gesticulating and talk- 
 ing loudly and rapidly. For the first time 
 
MARK KENNISON. 299 
 
 he remembered the horse and buggy, and 
 half turned, wondering idly how Alsbury 
 had got to town. But the torpor was on 
 him again, and he plodded on, heavily, to- 
 ward his own house. The group about the 
 doctor was breaking up ; people were hurry- 
 ing away to tell the news ; heads were thrust 
 out of office windows ; horsemen were lean- 
 ing from their saddles ; the air was thrilled 
 with breathless questions and excited re- 
 plies ; women came running, bareheaded, to 
 their gates, calling to each other and to 
 chance passers ; they shrank aside, fright- 
 ened, as Kennison stumbled by with staring 
 but unseeing eyes. 
 
 He reached his study at last, and threw 
 himself into a chair, where he sat motionless 
 and without thought or feeling, for hours. 
 A summons to supper failed to rouse him, 
 though he had eaten nothing since morning. 
 Big Hannah lighted the lamp, looking at 
 him curiously, for she had already been up 
 to Roseneath to talk over the wonderful 
 news and to ask Miss Olive whether she 
 should put " mo'nin' " on little Olive for 
 her grandfather ; she withdrew silently, for- 
 bearing to intrude even his child upon her 
 stricken master. 
 
300 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 As the hours passed, the lonely man be- 
 came aware that something was beginning 
 to pierce through his apathy something 
 strangely, poignantly sweet. He felt upon 
 his breast the nestling touch of the head 
 that had rested there for one brief moment 
 that day. A thrill passed through him and 
 he arose, instantly alert and alive. The 
 shame and the disgrace were forgotten. 
 
 " Oh," he cried in a sort of ecstasy, " she 
 will surely understand when I tell her how 
 it has all been a dream a strange, sad, ter- 
 rible dream, which began in this very room 
 the night when, coward and fool that I was ! 
 I cast her out of my life, and with her all 
 that was best and highest within me ! Surely 
 she will understand ! Has she not kept her- 
 self free all these years ? Can it have been 
 for my sake ? Olive, Olive, all that has been 
 dead so long poetry, romance, feeling, the 
 desire to achieve, the longing to do all 
 that mates with your own high and ardent 
 soul is reborn within me at this hour ! 
 Together together we will " 
 
 He paused, exhausted with excess of emo- 
 tion. A lingering smile illuminated his pale 
 features. He arose and passed into the next 
 room, where his child lay sleeping in her 
 
MARK KENNISON. 301 
 
 crib, Big Hannah nodding on the floor be- 
 side her. He stooped and kissed the red 
 slightly parted lips, and as he did so his 
 heart smote him, remembering her mother. 
 
 u Dear little Rose," he murmured, " you at 
 least were innocent and loving. But I do 
 no wrong to your memory, Rose, for you 
 loved her always ; yes," he whispered, " I 
 will go to her to-morrow morning. She will 
 understand. Olive, Olive Kennison" he 
 smiled, bending again over the sleeping 
 child. 
 
 He forced himself to remember, as he 
 turned away, that he would be compelled 
 the next morning to make arrangements for 
 Rufe Drennon's funeral. 
 
 " But I will not let the day pass without 
 seeing her Olive, my Olive," he said im- 
 patiently, throwing himself, without undress- 
 ing, upon his bed. 
 
XVII. 
 
 A SUMMER AFTERNOON. 
 
 OLIVE HERRING arose early the morning 
 following the confession and death of Dren- 
 non. She had lain awake for very joy ! 
 the short summer night through. But she 
 felt no fatigue ; she ran like a child about 
 the old home, now become dearer than ever ; 
 and along the brier-grown walks of the 
 garden. 
 
 " Oh, if he could only have lived to this 
 day ! " she cried at last, seating herself on 
 the step of Betty's cabin, and looking up in 
 her nurse's sympathetic old face. " If they 
 could have all shared this happiness 
 father and mother and Van ! Think what 
 it would have meant to them, Maum Betty, 
 after all they suffered." 
 
 " Dass so," said Betty, " but don' you 
 fret yo'se'f , Miss Olive, chile. Dey kin see 
 an' onderstan'. An' dey sholy is shoutin' 
 in Kingdom-Come dis minit ! " 
 
 Soon after breakfast, people began to 
 
A SUMMER AFTERNOON. 303 
 
 drop in upon one pretext or another. Some 
 of these visitors were old friends ; many 
 were mere acquaintances ; but all came, in- 
 terested and congratulatory. It appeared 
 that no one in Thornham had believed the 
 slander, after all ! 
 
 NewalFs lip curled a little cynically, as 
 he watched the procession stream in and 
 out, and listened to the buzz of reminiscent 
 indignation. But there was no room for 
 bitterness in Olive's soul. She met her 
 guests with frankly extended hands, her 
 heart throbbing with exultation. 
 
 " How good they all are ! " she said to her- 
 self again and again. " Oh, if he were but 
 here beside me, my father ! " 
 
 Toward noon, when everybody had gone, 
 even Newall, who was as restless as a lover 
 away from this daughter of his heart, she 
 went up into her old bedroom, unused 
 these many years. The flat air was musty 
 within and the purple shadows lay heavy 
 along the floor. She moved softly forward, 
 and her blood tingled ; for she seemed as 
 she entered to catch an elusive glimpse of 
 her mother's white-robed figure, stealing 
 away from the bedside, where she had so 
 often knelt to pray above her sleeping child ! 
 
304 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 She opened the door of the huge cedar 
 armoire which stood in an alcove. 
 
 " How foolish I am ! " she exclaimed, 
 rummaging among its contents ; " and yet, 
 why should I not, on this wonderful day?" 
 
 She chose from among the heap of half- 
 forgotten garments laid away on the sweet- 
 smelling shelves the diaphanous rose-pink 
 gown which she had worn that long-gone 
 summer afternoon when Kennison had 
 breathed into her ears the old - new story 
 whose end was heartache and bitterness. 
 She slipped it on, fastening the dainty rib- 
 bons and smoothing the yellowed laces into 
 place. Then she walked to the long mirror, 
 lifting the skirts from the dust. 
 
 " How foolish I am ! " she repeated. 
 " Why, I am past twenty - five. I am a 
 dreary old maid ! " 
 
 The face looking back at her from the 
 glass belied her words. It was a marvel- 
 ously beautiful face. The troubles and 
 anxieties of these later years had but added 
 a subtler charm to the lovely features, a 
 more luminous depth to the dark eyes. She 
 smiled at the slightly old-fashioned look of 
 the gown which sheathed her slender figure, 
 exquisite in the virginal purity of its out- 
 
A SUMMER AFTERNOON. 305 
 
 lines ; the smile made the mirrored face so 
 radiantly young that she started back, won- 
 dering if that could indeed be herself ! 
 Hastily loosening her abundant and beauti- 
 ful hair, she wound it in the old way about 
 her head, letting the curling tendrils caress 
 her white neck and lie on the low white 
 brow, from which every trace of mistrust 
 had vanished. Then she stood with a finger 
 on her lip, smiling bashfully, as if half- 
 ashamed of her own loveliness. 
 
 " Miss Olive," said Big Hannah, appear- 
 ing in the doorway holding little Olive by 
 the hand. The child dashed forward, scream- 
 ing with delight ; a black sash was tied 
 about her waist, and the sleeves of her white 
 gown were fastened with black ribbons. 
 Olive blushed guiltily ; she had forgotten 
 Rufe Drennoii's funeral ! 
 
 " Lawd, Miss Olive, how pretty you does 
 look ! " cried Big Hannah, her eyes wander- 
 ing in open and undisguised admiration 
 over the daintily arrayed figure before her. 
 Then, recollecting her errand, " There 's a 
 gent'lum downstairs waitin' to see you, 
 Miss Olive." 
 
 There was a significance in Big Hannah's 
 voice which brought the blood to the cheek 
 of her mistress. 
 
306 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 "A gentleman? Very well, Big Han- 
 nah. You may say that I will be down in 
 a few moments." 
 
 She hurriedly unfastened the ribbons of 
 her gown, but retied them after a second's 
 consideration. 
 
 " No," she murmured, " I will not take it 
 off. On this day, at least, I will wear no 
 mourning." 
 
 She descended the long flight of steps 
 slowly. Her heart was beating fast. She 
 was beginning to shrink painfully from the 
 interview which she had instinctively fore- 
 seen. 
 
 On the landing she turned, irresolute ; 
 then with sudden determination she ran 
 swiftly down and entered the little sitting- 
 room. There was no one there. Puzzled, 
 she crossed the wide hall to the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 The curtainless windows were open, and 
 a drowsy breeze, drifting in, stirred the 
 faint perfume that arose from the tall spice- 
 jars in the chimney-corners. She stood for 
 a moment on the threshold, the bare pol- 
 ished floor reflecting the rosy cloud of her 
 draperies. Then with a single rapturous 
 cry she flew into his arms. There was no 
 
A SUMMER AFTERNOON. 307 
 
 greeting, no question, no answer. Her face 
 was on his breast; her tear-wet eyes were 
 shining into his; his caressing inarticulate 
 words were in her ears ; his kisses were on 
 her lips, her cheeks, her hair ! 
 
 "When --when did you come?" she 
 asked, when at last she found voice to 
 speak. 
 
 " Just now," returned Duncan. For it 
 was Duncan Jeffrey a little stouter, and 
 very bronzed by his tropical wanderings, 
 but young, erect, and handsomer than ever. 
 " Just now ; I drove out direct from the sta- 
 tion. Old Dud Welsh came over on the 
 
 train with me from H . He told me 
 
 O Olive, how could you dare not to tell 
 me ? " he broke off reproachfully. 
 
 " He told you" she urged breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 " He told me of your father's affliction 
 and death. And of the loss of the money ; 
 and of your school. O Olive, how brave, 
 how noble you have been ; and what a blun- 
 dering, ignorant, selfish fool I have been ! 
 How can you ever forgive me ! How can 
 I ever forgive myself for loitering aimlessly 
 about the world, as I have been doing all 
 these years, leaving you to " 
 
308 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " Duncan," she interrupted earnestly, 
 " have you seen 110 one ? Have you heard 
 nothing else ? " 
 
 " Why no," he replied. " Jack Adding- 
 ton ran out and hailed me as I passed the 
 warehouse, but I did not stop. Why ? 
 What ? Olive " a sudden alarm shook 
 his voice, " what more is there to tell ? 
 You are not Good God, Olive ! You are 
 not married ? " 
 
 She extricated herself from his arms, half- 
 vexed, half-laughing. 
 
 " No, I am not married. But, Duncan," 
 her voice quivered a little, " tell me. Did 
 you know the story of my cousin Elinor 
 Thornham's diamonds when you asked me, 
 six years ago, to marry you ? " 
 
 Jeffrey blushed scarlet through his sun- 
 burn and tan. But he answered promptly, 
 " Yes, I have always known it." 
 
 He waited, afraid to add another word. 
 
 " And did you think that my father car- 
 ried away that my father stole those dia- 
 monds ? " 
 
 " Olive ! " he cried, recoiling. 
 
 " Did you ? " she persisted, gazing stead- 
 ily at him. 
 
 " I don't know," he said, flushing again, 
 
A SUMMER AFTERNOON. 309 
 
 and painfully embarrassed. " I only know 
 that I always thought him the bravest, no- 
 blest, and truest gentleman that ever lived. 
 But if he had been a thousand times over 
 what they said he was, how could that have 
 made any difference in my love for you ? I 
 would still have wanted you for my wife if 
 every drop of blood in your body had been 
 akin to a race of thieves and murderers." 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad ! " she cried, clinging 
 to him hysterically. " I almost hoped that 
 you believed it ! " 
 
 He looked at her wonderingly, not daring 
 in his unhoped-for happiness to ask a ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " I will tell you everything presently," 
 she said, answering the look, " but first, 
 about yourself ? " 
 
 " Oh, myself ! " he echoed scornfully, 
 drawing her to a sofa and seating himself 
 beside her. " I am out of all patience 
 with myself. And yet, Olive, your letters 
 were so placid and cheerful. I had no hint 
 from any one else. The letters from my 
 agent a newcomer in Thornham, you 
 know contained simply business details, 
 and were very rare at that. I have been 
 tramping about strange countries, wearying 
 
310 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 myself with strange peoples, and trying to 
 keep myself from remembering too much 
 and longing too much. That is about all. 
 One night, nearly four months ago, lying in 
 a lonely camp in Ceylon, under the shadow 
 of a ruined temple, with no one near me but 
 my native guides, for Ballard came home 
 long ago, I seemed all at once to hear you 
 calling me. I did not wait for daylight. 
 Within the hour my face was set Westward. 
 I have been telling myself daily ever since 
 that I was an idiot to come with that hope. 
 And I had almost persuaded myself that I 
 was hurrying back because I was homesick 
 for the smell of the sugar-boiling at Good 
 Luck. Now " 
 
 He stopped to lift her hand to his lips. 
 
 " But Olive, dear," he continued, " why 
 did you let me go away ? Why have you 
 kept me away from you all these years, if 
 you"- 
 
 "If I loved you?" she finished the sen- 
 tence for him frankly. " I did love you, 
 Duncan," she went on, looking bravely in 
 his face, though her cheeks paled and her 
 voice shook. " I have loved you always ; 
 yes, even when for a little while I was under 
 the spell of Mark Kennison's poetic and 
 
A SUMMER AFTERNOON. 311 
 
 highly strung nature. Even at the moment 
 of plighting my troth to him the thought of 
 you stirred me so strangely that I forced 
 myself to put it aside." 
 
 This confession from the lips of the wo- 
 man loved so long and so hopelessly was 
 almost more than the eager listener could 
 bear. He leaned forward, gazing at her with 
 adoring eyes, no longer caring to know why 
 she had held him away from her. In this 
 supreme moment, the weary years behind 
 him were forgotten ; the despair, the heart- 
 ache, the self-torture all had fallen away 
 like an outworn garment ! 
 
 "Yes, I have always loved you," she re- 
 peated dreamily. " But I dared hot let you 
 marry me after I wish to tell you every- 
 thing, Duncan. Listen." 
 
 He listened, breathless, while she related 
 all that had passed between Kennison and 
 herself that summer, six years ago ; the woo- 
 ing in the old summer-house ; the interven- 
 ing day, with its bright and joyous memo- 
 ries of her father ; the final and terrible 
 rupture. She spared the minister as much 
 as possible, softening his language to herself, 
 and hurrying over his statement of the pub- 
 lic belief in her father's guilt. 
 
312 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 But in the midst of the recital Jeffrey 
 started up, the veins on his forehead swollen 
 with anger. 
 
 " The scoundrel ! " he shouted, " the 
 cowardly contemptible scoundrel. I will " 
 
 " Do not blame him too much, Duncan," 
 she said gently. " Remember, he was a 
 stranger here then. Since that time, he has 
 had more to suffer than you yet know. 
 Besides " an arch smile curved her lips. 
 
 " Besides, God bless him ! " Jeffrey ex- 
 claimed, seizing her hands again and cover- 
 ing them with kisses ; " besides, if he had 
 not been such a contemptible coward, per- 
 haps I should not be the happiest man in 
 the universe to-day ! " 
 
 "Perhaps," she assented, still smiling. 
 " Then you came back," she said, taking up 
 the thread of her story again, after recount- 
 ing the meeting with her father and the 
 then inexplicable change in his open atti- 
 tude toward her. " Even in the midst of 
 the shame and agony which overwhelmed me 
 when he Kennison left me that day, 
 Duncan, the thought of you, and how dif- 
 ferently you would have acted, came to me 
 to help me and comfort me. But how could 
 I let you take into your life one upon whom 
 
A SUMMER AFTERNOON. 313 
 
 rested such dishonor and disgrace that an- 
 other man, plighted to her by sacred vows, 
 had deemed it his duty to abandon her?" 
 
 " Do yon mean to say, Olive," demanded 
 Jeffrey almost sternly, " that this was the 
 reason you refused to be my wife ? " 
 
 " This was the reason, then and after," she 
 replied simply. " Was it not enough ? I 
 told myself that perhaps you, like myself, 
 had never heard the story ; that yon did not 
 know of the horrible suspicion that clung to 
 us of the dark blot upon our *name. 
 More than that, oh Duncan ! " she burst into 
 a fit of passionate weeping, " there were 
 times when I think I must have believed it 
 myself!" 
 
 " No, you did not," he said, soothing her, 
 " you never did. Poor little girl ! " 
 
 His tone and the touch of his hand on 
 her bowed head reminded her of her fa- 
 ther ; her tears flowed afresh but more 
 quietly. 
 
 " It was the same when you came to us in 
 Washington," she went on when she had 
 grown calm once more. " The thought of 
 your going filled me with sadness, and a sort 
 of terror which seemed to forebode some 
 coming evil, as indeed it did ! But I 
 
314 UNDER THE MAN-FIG, 
 
 could not, I dared not, link to yours a stained 
 and dishonored name. I think that my fa- 
 ther understood this feeling, though, know- 
 ing of my broken engagement, and divining 
 its cause, he may have thought that my 
 heart clung to that lost illusion. But he 
 loved you as his own son, Duncan. If he 
 can look upon us now, I know that he is 
 happy at seeing us united at last." 
 
 " For all time, please God," interrupted 
 Jeffrey solemnly. 
 
 "For all time! Dear father! Those 
 were happy months in spite of all that 
 winter at Washington ! I saw him so ad- 
 mired, so honored, everywhere for the 
 first time really himself : open, genial, gay. 
 And I saw into the secretest recesses of his 
 soul except the one place where he kept 
 in honor, and for the sake of a pledge given 
 to a woman's memory, the secret which had 
 ruined his life." 
 
 She dwelt long and tenderly on the home- 
 coming and on the half -finished revelation 
 made the same day by Herring. The stroke 
 of paralysis; the sudden shattering of the 
 fortune so rapidly amassed ; the long patient 
 weary years which followed of all this 
 she spoke less freely ; the wounds were too 
 
A SUMMER AFTERNOON. 315 
 
 recent, the soreness too great, in spite of 
 the ecstasy of the past twenty-four hours. 
 
 " Kennison married Eose ! " Jeffrey ex- 
 claimed at that point of the narrative. " I 
 cannot conceive of it ! Yet she was a 
 pretty, clinging, warm-hearted little crea- 
 ture. And has she been happy with 
 him?" 
 
 " She died three years ago. Yes, she was 
 happy. Dear Rose! You must see her 
 little girl, Duncan, a little girl named for 
 me Olive ; Olive Kennison." 
 
 Duncan reddened angrily, then laughed 
 at the absurdity of his jealous thought. 
 
 Then came the history of Drennon's ill- 
 ness and death. The all but incredible 
 story of the theft produced upon Jeffrey an 
 effect as electrical as it had upon Olive 
 herself. He walked about the room in a 
 transport of joyful excitement, hardly able 
 to contain himself. 
 
 "Did you not say," he asked curiously, 
 when the long and absorbing recital was 
 finally concluded, and they sat hand in hand, 
 silent from the very fullness of content, 
 " did you not say that Kennison married 
 Rose Drennon ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
316 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 "Then lie became the son-in-law of the 
 actual " 
 
 "Don't, Duncan," she implored, laying 
 her hand on his lips. " Let us forget that 
 forever. Let the dead rest in peace ; and 
 as for the living what I have myself suf' 
 fered makes me tender toward the pain and 
 mortification of Mark Kennison." 
 
 " Provided it is only that ! " he returned, 
 smiling. 
 
 " And now, Duncan, you will understand 
 what I meant when I said that I almost 
 hoped you believed the story of my father's 
 crime when you asked me to be your wife. 
 Another man had cast me away from him 
 because of it. You, in spite of it " 
 
 " Hush ! " he said peremptorily. " I will 
 not have it. I forbid you ever to refer to 
 that again. Do not my own sufferings for 
 the past six years count for something ? " 
 
 " O Duncan ! " she threw herself into his 
 arms again. 
 
 At that moment, Betty's voice rang 
 through the house. 
 
 "O Miss Olive! Fer Gawd's sake ! Hally- 
 hsilly-luyah ! Glory ! De fountain o' bless- 
 in' keeps a-runnin' ! De Lawd's name be 
 praise'. Amen ! " 
 
A SUMMER AFTERNOON, 317 
 
 She appeared in the doorway, her turban 
 on one side, her suds- wet hands clasped above 
 her head, her eyes streaming. 
 
 "What is it, Maum?" cried Olive, flying 
 to her. 
 
 " Lib ! Miss Olive, Lib ! He 's stompin' 
 'roun' on de dum-major's laig same ez ef he 
 ain' never los' his'n. He 's been practicin' 
 onbeknowns to me, an' he 's done stropped 
 it on by his-se'f, clat dum-major's laig ; an', 
 bless Gawd, he 's a-struttin' 'roun' de back- 
 yard like a peacock ! He 's feered to come 
 up de steps, less'n he slip down why, 
 Mars Dune, is dat you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Aunt Betty, I have come home to 
 stay," he replied, coming forward and grasp- 
 ing her hand. 
 
 " Hmp," she grunted, " it wuz high 
 time!" 
 
 " I think so myself, Aunt Betty," he said. 
 " I have been a fool to keep away all these 
 years." 
 
 " I agrees wi' you, Mars Dune," she ad- 
 mitted candidly. 
 
 Liberty's stentorian voice calling obstrep- 
 erously, " Betty ! Betty ! where is you, gal? " 
 recalled her to the business in hand, and she 
 hurried out. 
 
318 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 " Go and see him, Duncan, dear old 
 Lib ! " Olive said. " I will join you pre- 
 sently." 
 
 She ran into the little morning-room. 
 Here, where so many dark hours had de- 
 scended upon her, she wished for a moment 
 to be alone with her sunshine. 
 
 " She mus' be in the settin'-room then," 
 said Big Hannah outside ; and Madame de 
 Jolibois entered, accompanied by Miss Se- 
 rena. Both were clad in deep though ec- 
 centric and Dibbs-like mourning. 
 
 " Be not affrighted at these habiliments 
 of woe, Olive," said Miss Kizzy, embracing 
 her quite cheerfully. "You have before 
 you the widow and the sister-in-law of the 
 late Monshur dee Jollyboys. Death has 
 bereft us of our natural protector. Yes, 
 Olive, Monshur Anatole expired a year ago 
 in his native land. I received the informa- 
 tion of his demise the day before yesterday. 
 Hence these funereal trappings. And hence 
 the reason of Monshur Anatole 's failure to 
 return to enter business and social circles in 
 Thornham. I feel as a wife ; Serena feels 
 as a sister-in-law. We shall wear these 
 outward symbols of grief forever." 
 
A SUMMER AFTERNOON. 319 
 
 "Oh, I am so sorry," exclaimed Olive, 
 conscious on a sudden of her pink frock and 
 ribbons. 
 
 " I sorrow at not having been with him in 
 his last moments," continued Miss Kizzy; 
 " so does Serena." 
 
 Miss "Fatty," smiling and comfortable 
 on the sofa, nodded assent. 
 
 " Pray forgive my appearance, Miss Kiz- 
 zy," Olive hastened to say. " I put on this 
 colored gown because of course you have 
 heard that my father's honor has been vin- 
 dicated by " 
 
 " Dear child," interrupted Madame de 
 Jolibois, " I am delighted to see you in your 
 present attire. Such raiment is appropriate 
 to your youth and beauty. As to Vanbor- 
 ough Herring, he needed no vindication in 
 my eyes. I never doubted him." 
 
 " I know you never did, dear, dear friend," 
 cried Olive, throwing her arms about the 
 withered neck. 
 
 She started up. Kennison had entered 
 silently, and stood looking down at her. 
 His face showed traces of the painful strug- 
 gle of the previous day, and of the night's 
 sleepless vigil. His hands shook, he looked 
 ill and worn, but there was a light in his 
 
320 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 eyes which had long been a stranger to 
 them. 
 
 Olive read in his nervous and hesitating 
 manner his disappointment at not finding 
 her alone. She covered her own embarrass- 
 ment with a cordial welcome, and was talk- 
 ing on indifferent matters when Jeffrey 
 entered with Liberty, proud and happy on 
 the drum-major's leg. Betty, radiant, fol- 
 lowed, carrying the crutches in case of acci- 
 dent. 
 
 " Hello, Kennison ! " cried the returned 
 wanderer with a heartiness whose genuine- 
 ness surprised himself. The sight of his 
 forlorn and defeated adversary stirred his 
 generous nature to the quick. 
 
 Kennison started and stammered ; but, 
 instantly recovering himself, he took the 
 proffered hand in his own. 
 
 " I am glad to see you back, Jeffrey," he 
 said, " when did you arrive?" 
 
 " I declare, Miss Kizzy ! " Duncan said, 
 when he had answered a volley of questions 
 from everybody, including Newall, who had 
 hastened back to Roseneath as soon as busi- 
 ness would permit, " I do declare you look 
 younger than you did the day you stood me 
 in a corner for declining to dosy-do, as we 
 
A SUMMER AFTERNOON. 321 
 
 used to call it, with Kitty Washington ! 
 And how goes the Dancing- Academy ? " 
 
 Madame de Jolibois tried hard to recover 
 the tone of decorous woe which she had 
 thought fit to assume. 
 
 " 1 do not, Duncan," she replied, " con- 
 sider it proper that the relict and the sister- 
 in-law of a dee Jollyboys should continue to 
 degrade his memory by teaching the Salta- 
 tory Art, and I have concluded an arrange- 
 ment whereby Sarah Ann Hunter shall 
 henceforth and forever conduct the exercises 
 in her own name, and receive all the emolu- 
 ments. We have rented our mansion to her. 
 It will in future be known as the Dibbs 
 Dancing- Academy. I am somewhat appre- 
 hensive concerning the future of the very 
 young ladies and gentlemen of Thornham, 
 but Sarah Ann Hunter has our example be- 
 fore her eyes, and I trust she will continue 
 to feel the solemn responsibility of her posi- 
 tion. Serena and I will retire to private 
 life. That is, we shall take in sewing for 
 our maintenance." 
 
 " You will do nothing of the kind, Miss 
 Kizzy," Jeffrey said warmly. " You and 
 Miss Fa Miss Serena will come and live 
 at Good Luck with us." 
 
322 UNDER THE MAN-FIG. 
 
 He glanced at Olive as he spoke. 
 
 "Ah!" cried Newall, delighted, "then 
 that is what fetched you home, you young 
 rascal ! " 
 
 "The hope of it brought me," Duncan 
 said frankly. 
 
 Kennison's pale cheek grew a shade 
 paler. 
 
 Olive had opened her lips to declare 
 boldly in the face of them all that her be- 
 trothed when he spoke knew nothing what- 
 ever of Drennon's disclosure. But seeing 
 the pain and chagrin in the rector's eyes, 
 she forbore. 
 
 " Yes," Jeffrey was saying, " we shall 
 keep Good Luck, and spend a part at least 
 of each year there. For the rest, our plans 
 are hardly made as yet, except that we shall 
 be married within the month from Rose- 
 neath." 
 
 " Why, Duncan ! " remonstrated Olive, 
 forgetting in her surprise that they were not 
 alone, " you know that not a word has been 
 said about " 
 
 " From Roseneath," continued Jeffrey 
 calmly. " And we may run over to the 
 other side for a wedding-trip. Olive needs 
 a change of air." 
 
A SUMMER AFTERNOON. 323 
 
 " Ef Mars Dune had a-humped his-se'f 
 dat-a-way six year back," muttered Betty 
 in an aside to Liberty, "he neenter gone 
 foolin' 'roun' Affika, an' he neenter waited 
 nuther ! " 
 
 " Dass so," said Liberty in the same tone, 
 " but den, 'oomans an' gals is dat onsartain 
 dat mebby ef he had n't a-gone to Affika, 
 an' been so bowdacious long a-comin' back, 
 de chile might n't o' had him ! " 
 
 " Dass so," grinned his wife. 
 
 Jeffrey, pushing a chair aside, dislodged 
 something from the little table. It fell to 
 the floor ; he stooped and picked up the 
 rusty leather box which contained Elinor 
 Thornham's " diamonds." 
 
 " What is this?" he asked carelessly. 
 
 Olive reached out a hand and took it 
 from him. 
 
 "It is nothing," she said quietly, putting 
 it out of sight, "a forgotten plaything." 
 
 Kennison, turning to go, gave her a grate- 
 ful look. 
 
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