Chapter XXII

by Mary Jane Holmes

　　JULIA IS FOUND DROWNED

　　The morning which succeeded the events narrated in the last chapter wasclear and bright. Nature, beautiful as ever, looked as if laughingdefiance at the fearful storm which so lately had swept over the earth.Beautifully over hill and valley fell the sun's red rays, but when theypenetrated the dwelling of Mr. Middleton, they shone on the anxious,careworn faces of those who had been sleepless during the dark hours ofthat dreadful night. Even the merry-hearted Florence seemed sad andspiritless as she hurried from room to room, urging Ashton to acceleratetheir departure. By eight o'clock the last guest was gone. Around the oldstone house a gloomy silence settled, broken only by the heavy tramp ofUncle Joshua, whose cowhides came down with a vengeance, as up and downthe yard he strode, talking to Dr. Lacey, who walked by his side.

　　"Now," said he, "if this isn't a little the all-firedest muss a fellerever got into, Josh ain't no judge. Of course the papers have nothing todo but flout it all over the country. For myself I don't care a copper,but 'twill be mighty mortifyin' to you, though I think you desarve somemortifyin', for how in thunder a chap of your sense ever come to be madesuch a precious fool of is more'n I can tell."

　　"If you knew all the arts she employed, you would not wonder quite somuch," said Dr. Lacey. And Mr. Middleton answered, "Know all her arts?Don't I know 'em? Don't I know that she rummaged heaven and arth for waysand means?"

　　"I hardly think she went to the former place for assistance," said Dr.Lacey; and Mr. Middleton continued, "You are right, but I'll be boundSatan hadn't any tricks but what he told her of. 'Pears like she's beenpossessed ever since she first opened her big black eyes in the very roomwhere the row was last night. Oh, how happy I was," he continued, "when Itook her in my arms a little baby, and knew she was mine and Nancy's, andthought what a comfort she'd be to me; but George, I tell you what," saidhe, as he placed one hand on Dr. Lacey's arm and passed the other throughthe grizzled locks which lay around his brow, "I tell you what, these grayhairs come a heap too soon, and all for her, for her. Oh, Julia, Julia,what trouble have you not caused me!" and in his hands Uncle Joshua buriedhis face, while through his large red fingers the tears trickled slowly,and fell upon the ground. For a moment he wept, and then wiping his eyes,said, "But wasn't it lucky that long-legged, salmon-colored Joe got hereas he did! Another minute and you'd have been clinched, but now thetempest has blowed over, and for the rest of your life you'll have nothingbut sunshine."

　　The overseer now approached to ask orders concerning a piece of work inwhich the negroes were employed. Mr. Middleton accompanied him to thefield, while Dr. Lacey returned to the house in quest of Fanny. He wastold that she was with Julia, and with an involuntary shudder, heapproached the chamber which contained one who had well nigh been hiswife! His wife! The very idea filled him with loathing when associatedwith her, and still he pitied the suffering girl, who, divested of herbridal attire, now lay moaning in pain. With coming day had come a burningfever, which increased so rapidly that Dr. Gordon shook his head whenquestioned as to the result.

　　The change of affairs had also wrought a change in Fanny, who seemed andreally was better than she had been for many days. Gladly would she havestayed with Dr. Lacey, but she felt that duty called her to Julia'sbedside. With unwearying devotion she hung over the pillow of her sister,who seemed more quiet when she knew Fanny was near. Once she lookedwistfully in her face, and appeared as if anxious to speak, but Fannygently laid her hand on her lips, saying, "No, no, Julia; you must not."

　　She did, however, and the word "forgive" met Fanny's ear. Had Fanny beenless of a Christian, forgiveness might have been hard, but now sheanswered sincerely, truthfully, "As I hope for pardon in heaven, so do Iforgive you for the great wrong you have done me."

　　At the mention of the word "heaven," Julia shuddered, and after a timerepeated, "Heaven! You will find it, but I--never--never!"

　　Earnestly then did Fanny speak of a Savior's love, which receives all,pardons all, who come to him. Julia shook her head despairingly, and asthe conversation seemed to annoy her, Fanny ceased talking, while a voicebehind her said, "Teach me, too, the way of life, for I fear I have neverwalked in it."

　　It was Dr. Lacey, who, unobserved by either of the girls, had entered andbeen a listener to what Fanny said. As Julia heard the sound of voices sheturned toward him a look so imploring, so full of contrition and entreaty,that he was moved, and approaching the bedside, took the vacant seat nearFanny. But he did not, like her, breathe words of forgiveness, for hisheart was full of bitterness toward her. As he sat there, gazing coldly,sternly at her, she again spoke, "If you can, if you will only forgiveme."

　　Dr. Lacey's brow grew dark and his manner excited, as he replied, "Forgiveyou! In time I may learn to do so, but to forget will take me my lifetime,and yet I blame myself not less than I do you for having been so duped."

　　A low sob was Julia's only answer as Dr. Lacey arose to leave, announcingto Fanny his intention of visiting Joseph Dunn, who was said to be dying.As he entered the house where Joseph lay, tossing in feverish agony, thesick man's eyes glared wildly upon him as he shrieked, "Why have you cometo taunt me with my crime? Is it not enough that the room is full oflittle devils who creep over my pillow, and shout in my ear as they holdto view the letters I withheld? I did not do it alone. She bribed me withgold, and now when I am dead, who will take care of my mother? She will becold when the winter winds blow, and hungry when the summer corn ripens."

　　Dr. Lacey drew nearer to him and stooping down, whispered, "Is your mothervery poor and you all her dependence?"

　　"Yes, yes," answered Joseph, whose almost only virtue was the love he borehis mother.

　　"Fear not, then," said Dr. Lacey, "I will care for her; for though you didme a great wrong, you saved me from being today the most wretched of men."

　　That night as the October sun went down there was heard beneath thatlonely roof the piteous cry of a widowed mother, for Joseph, herfirst-born, her only child, was dead. Next day they buried him, as isfrequently the custom in Kentucky, beneath a large shade tree in thegarden. Many words of sympathy were spoken to the bereaved mother, butnone fell so soothingly on her ear as did those of Dr. Lacey, who waspresent at the funeral, and led the weeping mother to the grave.

　　After the burial was over he whispered to her, "I will surely rememberyou, for, erring though your son may have been, I owe him a debt ofgratitude." So saying, he walked hastily away toward Mr. Middleton's,where he was met by alarmed faces, soft footsteps, and subdued whispers.In reply to his inquiries, he was told by Aunt Judy, that "somehow or'nother, Miss Julia had got wind of Mr. Dunn's death, and it had gone toher head, makin' her ravin' mad, and the doctor said she wouldn't getwell."

　　Aunt Judy was right; Julia had accidently heard of Mr. Dunn's death, andit added greatly to the nervous excitement which she was alreadysuffering, and when Dr. Gordon came he was surprised to find the dangeroussymptoms of his patient increased to an alarming extent. The fever hadsettled upon her brain, and for many days she lay at the very gates ofdeath.

　　Incessantly she talked of Dr. Lacey, Fanny and Mr. Wilmot, the latter ofwhom, in her disordered imagination, was constantly pursuing her. "Goback--go back to your grave," she would say; "there are tears enough shedfor you, but none will fall for me when I am dead. He will laugh and beglad, and the first moon that shines on my grave will light the marriagetrain to the altar." Then, as if the phantom still were near her, shewould cry out, "Take him away, I tell you! What have I to do with coffins,and white faces, and broken hearts? I killed him, I know, and he loved me,too, as no one else ever has, but I madly loved another, and now he hatesme, spurns me!" Then turning to Fanny she would say, "I broke your hearttoo, and still pressed on when I saw it was killing you, but you forgaveme, and now you must plead with him, who loves the air you breathe, tothink compassionately of me. I do not ask him to love me, for I know thatis impossible; but he can, at least, forgive and forget the past."

　　Sometimes she would speak of her father, saying, "He will be glad when thetempest is still and ceases to trouble him, for he never loved me, neverspoke to me as he did to Fanny. I know I did not deserve his love, but Ishould have been better if he had given me a little, yes, just a little."

　　"God knows she speaks the truth," said Uncle Joshua, wiping away the tearshe was not ashamed to weep. "I have been mighty hard on her, but I nevers'posed she cared."

　　Such were the scenes which daily occurred in Julia's sick room until atlast, from utter exhaustion, she became still, and for many days she layin a dreamy kind of sleep.

　　"Will she live?" asked Mr. Middleton of Dr. Gordon, as he one day left thesick room.

　　"With proper care, I think she may," was the answer; and then Dr. Laceyagain urged the request he had once before made of Mr. Middleton.

　　But Uncle Joshua answered, "No, George, wait a little longer. Nuthin' 'llcome betwixt you again, I reckon, and I wouldn't have you marry her whilet'other one is so low."

　　So Dr. Lacey was obliged to wait, but though he would much rather haveremained near Fanny he deemed it expedient to change his abode and removeto Mrs. Crane's. He was partly induced to do this on Rondeau's account,who, being Ike's sworn enemy, was the cause of no little annoyance to Mr.Middleton, who, with his negroes, was much nettled by the air ofsuperiority which that young gentleman thought proper to assume.

　　Greatly was Rondeau delighted to exchange the crazy old stone house, withits corn-bread and fried bacon, for Mrs. Crane's elegant place, with itsoyster soups and ice creams, a part of which the head cook always reservedfor the "colored gentleman from New Orleans," who assured her, that thoughwhen at home he didn't exactly eat at the same table with his master, hestill lived on the top shelf! Not long, however, did Rondeau enjoy his newquarters, for about that time Mr. William Middleton returned to NewOrleans, and Dr. Lacey sent with him his servant Rondeau, nothing loath toreturn home, for Leffie's face of late had haunted him not a little.

　　Dr. Lacey's return to Mrs. Crane's gave great satisfaction to Mrs.Carrington, who, though she had no hopes of winning him, still, to use herown words, "took great delight in reminding him of the snare into which hehad fallen, notwithstanding his profound wisdom and boasted foresight." Itrequired all the good breeding he was master of to answer politely when,after returning from a visit to Mr. Middleton's, she would jeeringly askhim concerning "his bride's health!"

　　But Mrs. Carrington's levity was brought to an end by an unforeseencircumstance. It was now six weeks since the evening of the denouement,and Julia's health was so much improved that Dr. Lacey began to speakconfidently of the day when Fanny would be his own. Uncle Joshua had givenhis consent, and preparations for the marriage had actually commenced,when Julia, in whose room Mrs. Middleton had been in the habit ofsleeping, insisted upon being left alone. "I am well now," she said, "anddo not need you."

　　Mrs. Middleton was finally persuaded, but charged her daughter to be sureand call her if she wished for her during the night.

　　Over Julia's face a meaning smile flitted as she answered, "I hope totrouble no one much longer," but it was unnoticed by Mrs. Middleton, andJulia was left alone. Early next morning Luce went as usual to make a firefor her young mistress, after which she softly drew back the bed curtainsto see if Julia slept. She was surprised to find no Julia there, neitherwere there signs of her having been there during the night. With a loudcry Luce summoned to the room both Mr. and Mrs. Middleton, the former ofwhom on seeing how matters stood, exclaimed, "So ho! Up to her tricksagain. I thought she couldn't hold good long."

　　"'The de'il when sick, a saint would be,But when he got well, the de'il a saint was he.'"

　　"Don't, husband," said Mrs. Middleton; "perhaps she will never come backalive, and then you will be sorry."

　　Uncle Joshua readily guessed his wife's meaning, and turning to Luce,said, "Rout out the whole gang and set 'em to huntin'."

　　In less than two hours scores of men on horseback were seen hunting in alldirections, looking, as Bob expressed it, "for all the world like they washuntin' a runaway."

　　Ere long the news reached Frankfort, causing Mrs. Carrington to sneeringlyadvise Dr. Lacey "by all means to join in the hunt." He deigned her noreply, but mounting his horse took the road to Mr. Middleton's, where hewas welcomed with tears by Mrs. Middleton and Fanny, whose fears he stroveto allay.

　　Meanwhile the search went on, headed by Uncle Joshua, who, late in theafternoon, unconsciously led a part of the company to the banks of theriver, not far from a point called Woodford Landing. Dismounting, hestrolled along the shore for several rods, when suddenly a loud cry turnedtoward him the attention of the party. Near the water's edge he haddiscovered a shawl, which he knew belonged to Julia, and near by lay apair of slippers, on the inside of which her name was marked. Instantlythe conviction flashed upon all--Julia was drowned!

　　Upon a large flat rock Uncle Joshua sat down, while his long gray lockswere tossed by the November wind which swept mournfully by, bearing on itswing the bitter tones with which the stricken father bewailed his loss."Everything goes ag'in me," said he, "everything--she's dead and, worsethan all, died by her own hand." Then, as if void of reason, he arose, andover the craggy hillside and down the dark, rolling river echoed the loud,shrill cry of, "Julia, Julia, oh, my child! Come back, come back! Why wasyou left to break your old father's heart?" And to that wail of sorrowonly the moaning wind replied, and faster the waters of the Kentuckyrolled on.

　　They took the old man home, and long weary days went by, during which theriver near the landing was dragged again and again, and still no trace ofthe missing girl was found. Then, as hope began to whisper that possiblyshe was not dead, the papers far and near contained advertisements forher, and by the side of that appeared another for a lunatic girl, who hadescaped from the asylum at Lexington.

　　Four weeks went by, and the waters of the Kentucky frowned angrily "in thegray December light," making Uncle Joshua shudder whenever he chanced topass by, and thought perhaps his daughter lay sleeping in their coldembrace. A gloomy drizzly day was settling into a dark rainy night, whentwo young men, who, either for business or pleasure, had rowed across theriver some miles from Woodford Landing, started to return home. They hadstepped into their boat and were about pushing off when among somedriftwood which lay not far from the shore, they thought they descried afemale's garment floating on the water. The spot was soon reached, and totheir horror they discovered the body of a young girl, which, from itsappearance, must have been in the water some time. They had heard thestory of Julia, and readily concluded that the bloated, disfigured formbefore them must have been she. Taking her to the nearest dwelling, theydispatched a messenger for Mr. Middleton, who, now that his worst fearswere confirmed, seemed paralyzed with the shock.

　　"Oh, I cannot go!" said he, "I cannot. Is there no one to do it for me?"

　　Dr. Lacey, who chanced to be present, said, "For your sake, sir, and forFanny's, I will go."

　　"God bless you, George!" answered Mr. Middleton, and in a few moments Dr.Lacey departed.

　　With a thrill of horror he looked upon the swollen, discolored face, roundwhich the long black hair clung, matted and slimy from being so longsaturated with water, and thought that this was once the beautiful Julia,though now so fearfully changed that no one could possibly have recognizedher. Owing to the state which the body was in, Dr. Lacey thought proper toproduce a coffin before removing her home; consequently it was nearly teno'clock the following morning ere the little procession slowly entered theyard, from which, with wonderful forethought, Mr. Middleton had ordered tobe removed some half dozen carts, corn cribs, etc. Fanny was pressingforward to look at her unfortunate sister, when Dr. Lacey, gently butfirmly, led her away, saying, "No, Fanny, you must not see her. The sightwould haunt you for months and years." Then, as her tears fell fast, hestrove in various way to divert her mind from Julia's untimely end.

　　About noon a middle-aged man came to the house and asked permission to seethe body. His request was granted, but he almost immediately turned awayfrom the coffin, saying, by way of explanation, "I am the father of themaniac girl who some time since escaped from Lexington, and I thoughtperhaps this might be my daughter; but it is not, and even if it were Icould not recognize her."

　　On Mr. Middleton's farm, and not far from the house, was a small yardwhich had been enclosed as a burial place for the family. On this spotFanny had expended much time and labor. Roses and honeysuckles everbloomed there for a season, while the dark evergreen and weeping willowwaved their branches and beckoned the passer-by to rest beneath theirshadow. In one corner was a tall forest maple, where Julia and Fanny oftenhad played, and where Fanny once, when dangerously ill in childhood, hadasked to be laid. As yet no mound had rendered that spot dearer for thesake of the lost one who slept there, but now in the scarcely frozenground the ringing of the spade was heard; shovelful after shovelful ofearth was thrown up, and into that cold, damp grave, as the sun wassetting, they lowered the remains of Julia, who once little thought thatshe first of all would break the turf of the family graveyard.

　　That night was fast merging into the hours of morning ere the sound ofUncle Joshua's footsteps ceased, as again and again he traversed thelength and breadth of his sleeping room, occasionally stopping before thewindow and peering out in the darkness toward the spot where he knew laythat newly-made grave. Memory was busily at work, and in the events whichmarked Julia's short life, oh, how much he saw for which to blame himself.Remorse mingled in the old man's cup of affliction, and while the hottears rolled down his cheeks he exclaimed, "If she could only come backand I could do it over, I'd love her more, and maybe she'd be better. ButI treated her mean. I gin her only harsh words and cross looks." Then ashis wife's tears mingled with his, he took her hand, saying, "Don't takeon so, Nancy, you've nothin' to cry for. You's always good to her and kindo' took up for her when I got sot ag'in her."

　　Mrs. Middleton could only answer by her tears to this touching attempt atsympathy, but she finally succeeded in quieting her husband, and beforedaybreak, he had forgotten in sleep the injustice done to Julia. Allthoughts of Fanny's marriage for the present were of course given up,although Mr. Middleton promised that when the autumn came round again hewould surely give his treasure to the care of another.

　　Two weeks after Julia's burial, all of which time was passed at Mr.Middleton's, Dr. Lacey went back to New Orleans, having first placed inMr. Middleton's care a sum of money for the benefit of Mrs. Dunn,promising Fanny that with the spring he would come again. He bade heradieu, praying that nothing might come between them again. Heavily nowdragged the days at Mr. Middleton's, until Uncle Joshua hit upon a planwhich would not only give pleasure to Fanny, but would also relieve thetedium of his own life. It was nothing more nor less than the erection ofa new house on a grassy lawn, which Fanny had frequently pointed out asbeing a good location. Long he revolved in his mind the for and against,but the remembrance of Julia's wish to have the "old shell fixed up,"finally decided him. "If 'twasn't good enough for her to be married in, itsurely wasn't good enough for Sunshine."

　　At the breakfast table he first announced his intention, causing Fanny inher surprise and joy not only to drop her knife, but also to upset hercoffee. "All right," said he, "I'll do it, if it breaks me. We'll have abuster," said he, "marble mantletrys, windows that come to the floor,Brussels carpets, and if you're a mind to, you may have them four-leggedsplit things, though, Lord knows I'll never eat with them."

　　In a short time the necessary arrangements were completed. A large numberof men were hired and matters progressed so rapidly that there was everyprobability of the house being completed early in June, should the winterseason prove favorable.

　　Here we may as well relate a little circumstance which occurred to Fannyduring the winter. Bill Jeffrey, who, it will be remembered, had alwaysfelt a predilection for her, emboldened by the kindness of her manner, nowdetermined to make his wishes known. Accordingly, he sent her numerouslittle cakes of maple sugar, besides giving her many knowing winks, hisusual method of showing his preference.

　　As she was one day strolling in the woods she suddenly encountered Bill,who thought this was as favorable an opportunity as he would probablyhave. He was rather awkward and unaccustomed to love-making, but heresolved to do his best. Planting his foot upon a log, he with one handdrew from his head his old wool cap and thrust it under his arm, whilewith the other he twirled a huge brass watchkey, which hung suspended fromhis pocket. (He had the day before traded off an old jack knife, twopuppies, and a cracked fiddle, for a brass watch which would only go byshaking.)

　　Tiger, who had accompanied Fanny, eyed Bill's movements uneasily. He was,however, unnoticed by the young man, who had got his mouth open, and atlast found courage to say, "I always liked you, Fanny, 'cause you neverlaughed at me, nor called me a fool, and now if you'll have me, you maycarry my watch, and I'll work for your father two seasons in the hempfield." This last was wonderful, for Bill was notoriously lazy.

　　Involuntarily Fanny laughed, but Bill construed it into approval, and wasabout to sit down by her, when Tiger, with an angry growl, sprang forwardand precipitated the wooing swain over the log into the dirt. Fanny calledoff the dog, and Bill gathered himself up, carefully brushing the dirtfrom his Sunday suit. Fearing he would repeat his offer, Fanny said, "Iappreciate your kindness, Billy, but you see Tiger doesn't seem to approveof your proposal, and as I have great confidence in his judgment, I thinkI, too, must follow his example, and though I shan't knock you down, Ishall have to tell you 'No.'"

　　She might as well have knocked him down, for he instantly sat down, andcovering his face with his hands, burst into such a fit of crying thatFanny, half-laughing at and half-pitying him, said, "Poor Billy, I amsorry for you, and though I cannot marry you, I will like you just as wellas you fancy I always have."

　　This failed to quiet Bill, who kept on crying until Tiger made so manythreatening demonstrations of anger, that Bill thought it was wise toleave before he got another tumble.

　　He had hardly disappeared when a loud voice called out, "Bravo, Tiger! Youknow how to fix 'em." Looking around, Fanny saw her father, who had been asilent spectator of the scene, and now came forward laughing heartily athis would-be son-in-law. "Pretty well done, Sunshine," said he. "Let'ssee, how many offers does this make? Thar's Joe's one, the doctor's two;Yankee Carmeron's three; and lubberin' Bill Jeffrey's four, and you notquite eighteen. That'll do; that'll do!" Afterward, when Mr. Middletonwished to entertain his visitors with anything extra, he would rehearse tothem, with some exaggerations, Bill Jeffrey's proposal to Fanny.

　　Glancing backward a few pages, we find we have omitted to repeat whathappened among Dr. Lacey's blacks during the days when they were anxiouslybut vainly watching for the coming of their young master and his bride.For a week Aunt Dilsey was unusually crusty, and all her attempts atcookery invariably failed, plainly showing her mind to be in a disturbedstate.

　　"I don't keer," she would say, "if the cakes is all dough and the 'sarvesall froth. They's good enough for her, any day." Then she would call out,"Get along you, Jack, pokin' your fingers into the 'lasses cup; makeyourself scarce in this kitchen, or I'll crack your head mighty nigh ashard as the new Miss will." Then she would scold Leffie, who, she said,"was of no more account than a burnt stick, now she was spectin' Rondeau.Pity but the boat he come on wouldn't blow up and let 'em all intoperdition together."

　　Leffie knew her mother didn't mean more than half what she said, but shechose to keep silent, hoping each morning that the close of the day wouldbring the long absent Rondeau. Thus, between scolding and fretting,cooking and sweating, Aunt Dilsey passed the time until the day arrived onwhich, as she said, "they'd come if they ever did."

　　Mrs. Lacey, whose husband had not yet received his son's letter announcingthe catastrophe, came out to superintend affairs and receive her newdaughter. In the large, handsome dining room, the supper table was neatlyspread, while Aunt Dilsey bustled about with the air of one who felt hertime was short, but was determined to contest every inch of ground ereyielding it to another. She had condescended to put on her new calico gown(the one she proposed taking with her in a "handkerchief") and had evenwashed the grease and molasses from Jack's and the baby's face, tellingthe former that "he needn't mind about making up faces at the lady thatnight."

　　Claib had gone to the landing, and now Mrs. Lacey and the servants weregathered upon the upper piazza, waiting his return. Suddenly Dilsey, whoseeyesight seemed wonderfully sharpened, exclaimed, "Thar, that's Claib. Icould tell my old man if I should meet him at a camp meeting!"

　　Mrs. Lacey looked in the direction of the city and saw the carriage whichDilsey had pointed out. It proved to be Claib; and Leffie, who was rathernear-sighted, strained her eyes to see if Rondeau, too, was on the box.

　　"Thar's nobody in that ar," said Dilsey. "Reckon the boat has run into theground, or bust her riggin'; so, Leffie, you've put on your pink dress fornothin'."

　　The elder Mr. Lacey, was, however, in the carriage, and alighting, headvanced toward his wife and gave her the letter he had just received fromhis son. Mrs. Lacey read it, while the blacks crowded around Claib askinghim scores of foolish questions, such as, "Was Marster George in the boat?And why wasn't he thar? And when would he be thar?"

　　When Mrs. Lacey finished reading the letter she said to Leffie, who wasstill standing near, "Rondeau is well, and will be home in a few days."

　　"When's the new miss a comin'?" asked Aunt Dilsey.

　　"Not at all," was Mrs. Lacey's reply.

　　"Glad on't," said Dilsey, "for now Jack can spit as fur and as big spitsas he wants to."

　　Nothing more was known by the blacks until many days after, when Rondeaureturned home, and related the whole story with many embellishments. Heomitted to tell of the whipping which Ike had given him, but spoke withunqualified contempt of the old house and everything belonging to it,except Miss Fanny, who, he said, "Looked just like an angel, only a heapbetter."

　　"You ought to have seen her," said he, "that night when every thing wast'other side up; folks a yellin' like they was crazy, and one man wasstark mad. Miss Julia lay on the floor, the blood pourin' out of her eyesand mouth by pails full; Miss Florence, she fainted, and they had to throwher out the window, glass and all, because there was so many low,ill-mannered niggers crowded in the hall."

　　"I s'pose you's one of the niggers?" said Aunt Dilsey.

　　"Why, yes," returned Rondeau; "but then I was helpin' and was tryin' topush them all back so I could get to marster, who was feelin' so bad thatthey sent for me, because nobody else could comfort him."

　　Here Rondeau began to fumble in his pocket, as if in search of something.Having found it, he continued, "Marster got hold of her hand and grabbedoff her wedding ring so quick that it broke her finger. Then he threw itfrom him and I picked it up. Here 'tis," said he, holding up a ring.

　　"That's a likely story," interrupted Aunt Dilsey "If they wasn't married,how came the ring on her finger?"

　　Rondeau saw he had stretched a trifle too much, but he answered, "Well,anyhow, he throwed it away, and I'm goin' to keep it till--till, you knowwhen, Dilsey."

　　"Keep it till you're gray," said Aunt Dilsey. "Leffie ain't goin' to bemarried with no such flummery."

　　Here Leffie, anxious to change the conversation, asked, "What of MissFanny?"

　　"Why, yes," answered Rondeau, "that's what I'm going to tell. Right in themiddle of the fuss I heard something moving softly down the stairs, and Isaw a thing all as white as snow. Her hair, which was about the color ofLeffie's neck--real handsome--was hanging in long curls down her back. Ithought it was an angel, and kinder touched her as she passed, to see ifshe had wings. But the niggers said, 'It's Miss Fanny,' and next I heard'twas all as still in the room, and marster was huggin' and kissin' herand cryin' over her. Then, when I tried to get nearer and see more, theycrowded me into such a little spot that I didn't breathe again for aweek."

　　"Why didn't you get out of the crowd then?" asked Dilsey.

　　"How could I?" answered Rondeau. "Lord, Dilsey, I'd like to have seen youthere; but then there wouldn't have been room for anybody else, for thehall wouldn't more than hold you."

　　Here the conversation ended, but for a long time Rondeau carried on hisarm the marks of Aunt Dilsey's finger and thumb.