NO} es AK This book ts the property of the Library Association. This volume must be VOLUP MCA WILT acceso nenn by BO Librarian. Jeeves OLGA Shor] ee BY GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP AUTHOR OF ‘‘AN ECHO OF PASSION,’ “NEWPORT,” ETO. FUNK & WAGNALLS NEW YORK 1884 LONDON 10 AND 12 Dey Srrenr 44 Fieger Srresr All Rights Reserved CONTENTS. TRUE. CHAPTER I. Her EYES WERE GRAY Tur Dg VINES TWwILieut Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, by FUNK & WAGNALLS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. CHAPTER VI. A New Lesson rin Botany CHAPTER VII. Tue Racks, AND THE Morro CHAPTER VIII. ADEA RSTNGEND fr sean as oa eee lore otacer tats CHAPTER IX. LANCE AND SYLVHSTER........scccceeeceseeeeee ‘ CHAPTER X. Tan LIKENESS CONTENTS. CHAPTER XII. Syziv’s TROUBLE CHAPTER XIII. TEANCH CAND SAD BTiAcic cre cise ce ote cierre orth oe eteu stare olelstercie a ele eens 180 CHAPTER XIV. DENNIE’S TROUBLE ELBOW-cROOK SWAMP CHAPTER XVI. “JT Lrvz, How Lone I Trow Nor” MAJOR BARRINGTON’S MARRIAGE «‘BAD PEPPERS ” THREE BRIDGES. Tue IMPORTANCE OF A Hat FATHER, DAUGHTER, AND—WuHO ELsE? LISTENING Tur THIRD BRIDGE IN EACH OTHER’S SHOES TRUE. CHAPTER I. HER EYES WERE GRAY. Ir might have been yesterday, but in simple fact it was three hundred years ago, that something happened which has an important bearing on this story of the present. ; Antiquity is a great discourager of the sympathies : the centuries are apt to weigh like lead on an individual human sentiment. Yet we find it pleasant sometimes to throw off their weight, and thereby to discover that it is a mere feather in the scale as against the beating of a heart. T know that when I speak of Guy Wharton as having been alive and in love in the year 1587, you will feel a certain patronizing pity for him—because he is not alive now. So dol. But then it is possible that you will be interested, notwithstanding—because he was a lover. Would you like to hear what experience he had? IL promise not to go through the history of those three hundred years. The story of Guy is merely the start- ing-point of my narrative. He was in love with a sweet English girl, Gertrude Wylde, who lived in Surrey 5 and she, for her part, was the daughter of a small tenant-farmer there, well con- nected as to family, but not well furnished with worldly goods. Guy’s father was a country gentleman ; but that circumstance failed to affect the young man’s eyesight and emotions injuriously ; he beheld Gertrude, and he loved her. 1 can see it all, now, as if it were something that had happened to myself—how they strolled together in those wondrous lanes hedged with hawthorn and brier and hazel, which stray so sweetly over the rolling lands about Dorking ; how they met beneath the old yew tree where, half way up Box Hill, it hung out its foliage black as night, spotted with strange waxen blossoms of scarlet, like drops of blood upon a fnneral-pall ; how they wandered in the untamed forest of great box trees at the top; what joys they had, what anxieties beset them. ‘* And will thy father indeed take his leave of old England so soon ?” he asked her, when they had reached the brow of the hill. ‘Yes, in truth,”” she answered, sadly enough, looking out over the white chalk highlands, and the arborous glades and open downs, to where the waters of the Eng- lish Channel showed soft against the hazy sky at the horizon, like a blue vein ona circling arm. ‘‘ And that means that I must take leave of thee, Guy.”’ ‘* Never, my darling !” cried Guy, drawing her to him. ‘‘If thou goest, I go as well.” “What! Forsake all here—estate and fortune and family ? Nay, dearest, that can never be.’’ But, as she spoke these words, Gertrude pressed her face upon his shoulder and gave way to tears. Then presently, raising her head and gazing up into his face: ‘‘ How should it be possible ?’? she asked. ** Kasily enough, if thou wilt,’ he replied. ‘‘ I would go as thy affianced husband.” HER EYES WERE GRAY. Thus it was settled that he also should join the colo- nizing expedition with which Gertrude’s father had Lee solved to embark, under the patronage of Sir Walter Raleigh. Its goal was Roanoke Island, Virginia. As the lovers walked homeward in company, and parted to go their separate ways, they felt as if their feet already trod the shores of the New World. “But when we are there,’’ said Wharton before he left her at the turnstile that ushered the way to her father’s farm— “¢ there we shall have no more partings.”’ Alas, he was but a poor prophet ! Difficulties came up. Wharton’s father violently op- posed the plan that Guy had made. That, however, might not have prevented its execution, had not a fatal thing happened just at the critical time. On the eve of the sailing of the expedition, Guy’s father died. That which his bitterest activity while alive failed to effect was accomplished by his white and silent presence as he lay dead in the old manor-house. At such a moment Guy could not go away ; the unspoken edict of death restrained him absolutely. Besides, the elder Wharton’s affairs were left in a confusion which it would take long to clear up. So the ship sailed without Guy ; but you may be sure he was at the wharf when she weighed anchor, and that he bade a tender farewell to Gertrude, promising that he would follow with the first convoy that should be sent to re-enforce and victual the new colony. At the instant when he had to leave her, she said, as if answering his words, uttered many weeks before at the eee “Yes, dearest, we shall meet soon in that other world, and there shall be no more parting.” es Guy did not think of the exact expresslon, just t ie but as he travelled back to the manor-house, now 418 own, he kept saying to himself involuntarily : “ That other world? God grant it may not mean the world beyond !” When he stepped within the door, his eye rested on the inscription over the great fireplace of the hall ; **T live, how long I trow not ; I die, but where I know not ; I journey, but whither I cannot see : "Tis strange that I can merry be.”’ Many a festival had been held beneath the unnoticed shadow of those solemn lines; the laughter and the cheer, the sobs and murmurs of many a voice forever hushed, had echoed from the wall where the verses were graven ; but it seemed to him that the motto had never gained its full meaning until now. “T journey, but whither I cannot see.” Gertrude-had gone out into the great void of the un- known spaces ; and he was to follow her—whither ? It would indeed have been strange if he could have been merry ; and, to say truth, he was not greatly so ; but he kept up his hope indomitably. At last everything was arranged : he was ready to go. But he had to wait for the relief expedition to sail. In those days it was a great undertaking to prepare for a journey across the Atlantic. Raleigh was busy, per- plexed, anxious: three years went by before Admiral John White started from Plymouth with three little ships (one for each year) and two shallops. But when he did start, Guy was on board. It had been agreed with the colonists that, if anything went wrong and they should find it best to look for a new site, they should remove to a spot fifty miles inland among the friendly Indians, and should carve upon a HER EYES WERE GRAY. 9 tree the name of the place to which they were going. In case misfortune befell them, a cross was also to be carved above the name of their destination. When, after a five weeks’ voyage, Admiral White’s vessels approached the shore of Hatteras, they anchored some miles out, for safety, and sent a boat in to the . shallow Sound. Guy was in the bow of the boat which steered for Roanoke Island. The crew, when they had come near enough, blew trumpet-blasts as a signal of their approach, and sang songs of home—old English glees and madrigals—that had often echoed in the f elds, the groves, the farmhouses of Surrey and Kent. Attracted by the sound the colonists, they hoped, would make their appearance the sooner. But how strangely these familiar strains fell upon the ear in the primeval solitude of those lonely waters, on that lovely April day! So strangely, indeed, that one might almost fancy the colonists did not recognize them any more, and hence failed to respond. Yet the trumpets continued to ring out on the air, and the gay songs were trolled cheerily, as the boat drew near the landing-place. It may be imagined what an eager lookout Guy kept up at the bow. He believed every moment that, at the next, he should see Gertrude emerging from the woods and waving her hand to him. Still, not a sign of life had been given when he stepped ashore. The little party began to be oppressed by forebodings. They set out through the forest, eagerly searching for Some token of their countrymen’s presence; but no Voice answered their calls, except those of unaccustomed birds and astonished squirrels ; and no trail was found upon the light brown soil, other than the marks of an Indian moceasin or the curious dottings made by the feet of furtive animals, 10 TRUE. At last, however, the seekers came to a tree which confronted them with three rudely carved letters cut upon its side. C. R. O. That was all.. There was no indication of the cross, the symbol of distress. The men burst into exclaina- tions of delight ; yet Guy, though his heart bounded high with reviving hope, suffered a terrible suspense. The sturdy tree had, as it were, found a voice and spoken ; but it had uttered only one vague, baffling syllable. Of what use was that feeble clew? Still he pressed on, having no idea which way to turn, but guided by some inspiration ; and presently, shouting to his companions, he pointed to another conspicuous tree which bore upon its blazed trunk the full name of the colony’s new abiding-place. The letters missing from the first inscription had doubtless been worn away by storms. The word engraved upon the fibre of the second tree was ‘‘ Oroatan.”? The friends of the colonists did not know precisely where Croatan lay ; and though Guy urged an immediate exploration, the rest thought it impracticable. The dis- tance from the ships threatened danger of being separated from the expedition by some accident, and left alone without supplies. So, having read the brief message of the departed colonists, the boat party re- turned to the little squadron and reported. A storm arose ; anchors were lost ; the supply of fresh water had run low ; and a council called by the Admiral decided that prudence required taking a southerly course to find some safer harbor 3 advising also that an attempt should be made to capture some Spanish vessels and return with the booty and provisions to find the lost colony. In vain Guy pleaded, with anguish in every HER EYES WERE GRAY. word, that at least one of the ships should eruise near the coast off which they now lay and await the first favorable moment for prosecuting the search. The Admiral and his captains were inexorable; and the southern course was taken. None of the vessels ever went back to the aid of the English at Croatan. The captain of that one on which Guy Wharton was a Passenger turned her prow toward England after a little time. Once more at home, Guy made every endeavor to have a new fleet equipped ; but all his attempts failed. He was on the point of selling every- thing he owned, in order to fit out at least one ship and carry substantial aid to the exiles, when certain com- mercial ventures, in which a great deal of the property left to him was involved, went amiss and left him help- legs, Restless, unhappy, almost broken-hearted, he entered on the struggle to re-establish himself ; no oppor- tunity occurred for him to sail to Virginia again ; and 0 much time passed by, that such an undertaking came to look hopeless. Even could he have gone, what would he have found ? Perhaps Gertrude by this time had died. Or, perhaps, thinking herself forsaken or forgot- ten, as the whole community of emigrants seemingly had been, she might have married one of the colonists. The old hope went out of Guy Wharton’s life ; but though, after some years, he took a wife, he never lost the pain which this tragedy of his youth had planted in his breast, And they, meanwhile, the vanished exiles—what was their life ; what were their thoughts? How long their hope survived, no one can even guess. Without re- Sources beyond those which the friendly Croatans them- Selves had ; living a rude and simple life among the TRUE. natives in that wild and lonely land ; did they watch day after day for some sign of sail or fluttering pennon coming up the river, or listen for some sudden bugle-note or gun-shot, announcing the approach of relief? Did Gertrude keep up her faith through the weary years, hourly awaiting her lover ?—fancying she heard his voice close by ?—then waking again to the reality of the lonely stream, the fluttering forest-leaves, the uncouth habita- tions, the garments of deerskin and the swarthy savage children at play ? God only knows ; for of all those hundred and fifteen wanderers, men and women, not one was ever seen among the civilized again. They passed from the region of the known and the recorded into the vagueness of unlettered tradition. From the midst of history they were transplanted into myth. They faded out amid those dusky tribes in the forest, as the last streak of light in the west fades into darkness at nightfall. A hundred years afterward the Indians of the Hat- teras shore were described as declaring with pride that some of their ancestors were white and could ‘talk ina book,”’ like the later Englishmen who were then established in Virginia. It was taken as confirmation of this story, that some of the Indians who told it had gray eyes. Her eyes were gray. THE DE VINES. CHAPTER IL THE DE VINES. On a little headland at the southern end of Pamlico Sound where it narrows in to the waters of Core Sound, a small dwelling-house, half hut and half cottage, looked forth over the liquid expanses with an air of long habi- tude and battered self-reliance. It had but two meagre windows, and its. chimney was short and black, suggest- ing an old tobacco-pipe ; but the little house leaned comfortably against the low sandy ridge at its back, and did not seem to mind any of the imperfections in its own facial aspect. Along the ridge live oaks and red cedars flourished gracefully, and the ancient structure was closely enfolded at either side by thickets of that kind of holly known in the region as yawpon, the polished leaves and warm red berries of which glistened cheerily in the sunlight. Indeed, the whole place, dilapidated though it was, had the reassuring appearance of a home ; and when from its narrow doorway a beautiful young woman stepped forth into the breezy afternoon, nothing more was needed to complete the effect. If it was a home before, it now looked the ideal of a home. The young woman turned to the holly bushes at the left and began clipping from them some of their lighter branches, which she let fall into a large basket, held gracefully against her hip with one rounded arm, while the other plied the shears. She was tall, but not fair. No daughter of the gods, but firmly and robustly human ; yet, at the same time, there was in her TRUE. humanity something noble and inspiriting. Am I not going too fast? Why talk in this way about a young girl in a calico gown, cutting holly-sprigs beside a tumble-down old cabin on the Nawth Ca’liny shore ? No, she was not fair as to complexion; her skin was richly browned by out-door life, though a clear rose-tint shone faintly through the brown. She was beautiful, nevertheless; and yet—and yet what was it? It seemed as if that outer hue could never under any circumstances wear off. But a mere glance at her features would convince any one that she was not of octoroon or metif parentage. Only it was as if the sun, watching over her loveliness from birth, and searching into the depths of her nature, had warmed her blood until it had darkened a little and her pulses had spread a shadow in their flowing. Suddenly she desisted from her work and, bending her head forward, gazed off across the light green waves that stretched for miles between her and the low-lying strip of sand that barred out the sea. Had she heard a distant hail from the boat that was scudding fast toward the headland? At any rate, there was the burly little craft, careening to the lively breeze amid a shower of spray, with a recklessness characteristic of the young helmsman, whom the girl’s bright eyes would have recognized even farther away. And now, as the craft abruptly veered to windward, to approach the landing, her master’s careless handling received a startling illus- tration, for she almost broached to ; the sails were laid aback, and for an instant the boat threatened to cap- size. There was one passenger, an old woman, who sat near the helmsman ; and at this juncture she snatched from her lips a short clay pipe, emitting a shrill ery of fright, THE DE VINES. together with an alarmed whiff of smoke—as if she herself had unexpectedly exploded. ce oS ey save our soulds, Dennis! What be you think- @ = All right, auntie !’’ cried the young man, heartily. The critter Il come straight in half a turn.”? And exerting all his force, he caused the dug-out to ee Into her course again, with the breeze on her quarter. Two or three minutes later she touched the shore. The young woman, having thrown down her basket stood ready to greet the new-comers. ““ Well, Deely dear !” “Why, Aunty Losh, it don’t seem possible that it’s you come back again. And so you’re really here.’ CON ees s Yes ; a’most really—though, as you see just now, I . ES as Ome nearer drowndin’ in front 0’ Deely.”” my own door, Dennis submitted his stout frame to a convulsive augh, which for an instant gave him some resemblance se a dog shaking himself on emerging from the water. _Drownded in half a fathom,’ he exclaimed, hilarious- Why Ui atghiny cc anee ee tate A ne old boat, Just to show you. It would have livened you up fit to kill? ] ee ° ” . . . . . ee !” exclaimed Deely, her eyes flashing indig- antly, “you ought to be ashamed.’ ‘Oh, never mind the boy,”’ Aunty Losh soothingly wel posed. ‘It’s his natur’ to be wild, ye know. He a : : ? a t never happy unless he’s in some dare-devil scrape. ut where’s Sylvester ?” Deely, with eyes cast down, appeared needlessly embarrassed. ‘ He went up to Beaufort to market,’’ she explained. TRUE, Something in her tone caused Dennis to glance at her rather fiercely, as if he were jealous. ‘‘ Yes, yee suits him,”’ he muttered, with a trace of contempt. Ls, business is just about what Sylv is good for ; that’s what 8099 : “Tt aren’t right to speak a of your only brother, nnis,’’? said Aunty Losh, mildly. Por ee i !? (Dennis reverted to his oe expletive.) ‘‘ What does it eS whose brother he is? Ispeak my mind. Deely, don’t look so down on me. What’s the trouble?’ ; ag ‘“Only you’re so rough,”’ said the girl, Bare ner hand on his arm. ‘‘ You know I love you, don’t Fou, Dennie? But it goes against me to hear you talk so. He placed his own rough hand on her smooth one and patted it softly for an instant ; then he moved it some- what brusquely from its resting-place on his shoulder, ly drew away a step or two. oe ee all the fish,” he said, ‘‘and Sylv zakes em for himself.”’? There seemed to be an undertone of double meaning in his remark. But the ee he changed from gloom to sunny cheer. wee aunty, you mustn’t stand here on the oe - reckon you’ve been away so long you'll be kind o’ glad to see the inside of the old cabin again ; hey ?”’ He was tall and sturdy, this Dennis De Vine ; and though he could not have been described as handsome, his reddish hair and ruddy coloring, united with the glance of his blue eye and a certain good-humored Trish daring of expression, made his presence gay and attrac- tive. Aunty Losh was quick to act on his suggestion, and they all went into the cabin, which despite * limited frontage spread out sufficiently, within, to affor rooms for the old woman and her two nephews. Sukey was the cow. but stray and find, stray and find. that ditch across + Wanted it so bad. in’? qd built w }neck, and it w her cow to graze, territory. channel t that dite] THE DE VINES. ** Now, aunty,” said the girl, ‘ ready, and I’ll brew you just cutting some to dry upon Adela, ‘the tarrapin is most a good cup of yanpon. I was when you came.’? And there- taking a handful of the seasoned leaves from their place of storage in a cupboard, swung the kettle from the fire and proceeded to infuse this local substitute for tea. “* My patience, but it’s dear to my buddy and heart,” Aunty Losh murmured, as she sipped from the smoking “* An’ now tell me whats happened while I been away.’ ce Why, Sylv wrote you everything th hyar,”? Adela reminded her Ons 1 know, I know !”” didn’t seem nachul-like whe to me. at happened ,» In some surprise. was the rejoinder. ‘‘ But it n I had to have folks read it I didn’t mo’n half get it in.” (74 ° . . . There ain’t nothin? very novel,’’ said Dennis, Be except old Sukey strayed off on to the main yistiddy.”’ “Sho! Ie allays be so, long as I live. Nothin’? Ye mout hey dug he neck, Dennie, when ye knowed I If you’ll do it one o” these near-com- ays, Pll knit ye a new pair 0’ socks.” 1e headland on which Aunty Losh’s house had been a8 connected with the main only by a narrow as one of the grievances of her life that and her two or three sheep, when turned loose could so éasily make their way to the adjoining TI ce Im fearsome o? the tides,” Dennis explained. is9 They r un so strong that mebbe they’d cut a wider han you want, aunty. But Ill try it; I'll dig 1 by-and-by—or arterward.” The talk then turned to other matters, and Miss Jessie Floyd was mentioned, the daughter of an ex-Con- ferate colonel who lived a few miles inland on an “estate”? of some dozen acres, magnificently entitled “Fairleigh Park.” “‘ Miss Jessie’s been down hyar two or three times,” Adela said, ‘to buy bluefish and tarrapin for the manor; and she was very kind to the boys. Wasn’t she, Dennie ?”’ ‘That she was. She brought us jelly, one time.” Dennis gently smacked his lips, in a reminiscent way. ‘© 7 reckon she hain’t brought any money, though,”’ his aunt skeptically meditated, aloud. ‘‘ Any company up at the manor ? ‘Why, yes,” said the girl, ‘‘There’s a young gen’l’man from the Nawth—a sort of English chap, I yeckon; anyhow, he comes from New York. Mr. Lance ; that’s what they call him. I hain’t seen him, but Dennis can tell you.” ‘‘ Gertain shore,” said Dennis. ‘‘ That’s his name. He’s got idees about buildin’ up. He wants to eddicate folks all round—sort of free snack of knowledge for everybody.”’ “‘T reckon he'll be eddicating Miss Jessie to fall in love with him,” Adela observed. ‘‘ That’s what.”’ “‘ Well, I sha’n’t find no fault with him if he dos7 Dennis returned. ‘‘ Only he needn’t come down hyar away with his idees and all. Pears like him and Syly ’ud be chancey to take up with one another, though.”’ ‘‘ What makes you think that ?” Aunty Losh asked, with a trace of apprehension. ‘Cause Sylv don’t think of nothin’ now but book- larnin’, and he’s been hevin’ talks with that ar fellow.”’ THE DE VINES. ce ’ . ee ee off and leavin’ us one o’ these be By oman mused, as she put a match to the 8 ma pipe she had been filling for herself, sie oe no, aunty! You ortenter think he’d be so = ! Deely protested, with energy. ‘sand nice ae ae ; : 5 1at matters if he do go# I reckon I can take car 0’ you and aunty, all b myself, when it comes to that.” es eee: ey evidently impressed by his dictatorial man- er, bul she assumed a haughty air. ‘ J reckon it’s about one for me to go,” she retorted, “if you can’t be ay oe ay when aunty hain’t no more’n set her ae = : 0’ home, too.” And, despite her tone, there Sa slight appearance about the girl’s lips and eyelids as a she would like to ery. : es ao sore I didn’t mean nothin’, you know I ae ae ee answered, becoming penitent. ‘‘ And ee oe 2 a i he added, “I’m a-goin’ with you as far sion ee ee ance ee and all three were adanevee ee ey: c EON the news, or the local nates ast few weeks. For Aunty Losh had in - of the most remarkable events of her life, 2 ks = see some of her relatives at Norfolk, He : 2 : 8 had much to tell about the journey and apc pe neue in that great city, and dwelt ee ae t he hardship she had been compelled to stipe | a sing China tea,” instead of that far eee erceae, yaupon. The young people, in their » gradually discovered many little items which they must impart to her. : Aunty Losh, strange as it may seem, was the sole fem : alent : € representative of a stock which once gave promise 20 TRUE. of making itself distinguished. Her lineage was trace- able from a certain Major De Vine, a young Irishman who, stirred by the sympathy that led the natives of two widely separate but oppressed countries to join the cause of the American colonies, had enlisted in the cavalry corps raised by Count Pulaski to join the Continental army, during our Revolution. Pulaski was a Pole, and De Vine an Irishman, but they had the same inspiration : they fought for freedom in America with the hope that their own people might also become free. De Vine performed many a gallant deed, in the course of the war, and rose to be a major; but the consciousness of his . good service was his only recompense. At the peace he retired from the struggle poor, and ill fitted to make, his way by other means than the sword. He settled in the South, where the soil was not favorable for such a man as he. What little property he possessed was soon lost. Moreover, he and his children having surrendered to the reigning prejudice against work, there was no way open to a retrieval of even the meagre com- fort they had at. first commanded. The family, failing to make any advantageous alliance by marriage —which, indeed, would scarcely have been possible in their cireum- stances—soon declined into still deeper poverty. The Major died, followed by all his children excepting one son, who drifted across the border into North Carolina ; and his posterity became a part of that strange popula- tion known as ‘‘ poor whites.”’ Listless and inefficient as those people are, germs of energy are known to have been fostered among them, which have sometimes developed ; and the De Vines always retained enough of their ancestral vigor to coun- teract their ancestral pride, as well as their sense of unmerited misfortune, and to keep them somewhat above THE DE VINES. oe prostration of the class into which ie ee eres by the Rebellion, and left ae » had settled in the little hut on the headland, er two nephews, mere boys at the time, but now srown to efficient manhood. The elder ona Dennis ieee and courageous, and became a euccestat ce poe a asmall scale. Sylvester had also assisted in hae 2 a and together they had made a little istics oe 2 ylvester the ambition for something ie 5 2 aked : he had not only learned to read, ee ac 2 y become a student, and was now taking ee Ae ee seemed to his aunt and brother the hee en fa distant and dangerous witcheraft— i ee ns himself a lawyer. Neither of them jee ee x would ever accomplish this chimerical ie ie : ylvester’s scheme was always present to Bee ee ees of an impending danger, which was ce ate 2 ul as if it had been realized. In fact, it ie = ecause it seemed to them a spell in which eutaty a seas and to which his life would ulti- mines sacrificed. They regarded him with the ae a vy and commiseration that we are apt to be- upon those who have the strength to devote them- Selves to 7 c an idea which we think i i rOv! ee is going to prove a ch Dennis ai ee on the contrary, had never troubled himself am anything beyond that which his own instinct ae ao with the forces around him could teach. a Renee aes eae: Dee up in the dust-heaps Maree ea » to the effect that his ancestor, the Jor, had once at the siege of Savannah cut his way tl 8 F rough the British with a detachment of Pulaski’s Leoi § 7 Sion, and that in so doing he had slain with his own TRUE. hand eleven of the enemy. Well, it was with the same sort of desperate rush that Dennis cut his way. through the problems of existence. He was good for a short, sharp struggle, but he was not steady, and had no ability to plan long manceuvres or patient campaigns. A streak of fierceness remained in him, also, derived from the man who had been so deadly to his enemies when placed in a perilous dilemma. As there were no British opposed to him, it did not manifest itself in just the same way; and, thus far, being temperate in his habits and having no foes so far as any one knew, he had not slain anybody. But his passionate impulses asserted themselves plainly enough at times, to the discomfort not only of others, but also of himself. Here they were, then, these three people, the remote offspring of that old Revolutionary officer, living humbly on the North Carolina shore, unlike as possible to what Major De Vine might at one time have supposed his descendants would be, yet bearing his blood in their veins, and acting out every day his traits or those of some still earlier progenitor, with as much exactness as if what they did and said had been a part written for them in a play. They knew nothing about the romance of Guy Wharton and Gertrude Wylde, so far back, so musty with age as it seems, yet so alive and fragrant, I think, when we pluck it out from the crumbled ruins of the past where it grew. They knew nothing of the deposit of stones in the waters up by Shallowbag Point, near Roanoke, which—being of foreign character—are prob- ably the ballast of one of Raleigh’s vessels thrown over- board there, in. the stress of weather ; nothing, except that Dennis had learned to steer clear of it at low tide. But when you consider the destiny that had befallen TWILIGHT. 23 ee family of the gallant young Revolution 10w much did it differ from that of Whose rz j 3 SI arate “* How 2” !? he ex- ce . 2 a ns do now. ’Pears to me the fish ’Il bite ee ney know they’ve got to make a dinner ane 8, stead o’ for Aunty and Syly, and the pin “ll walk up to be cotched, and ground-nuts and Tice "ll allays be plenty.” a9 WA es yes D nh ie; "4 y i a < > > ennie > but who 8 coin’ to ta ce keer of Aunty Losh ”? = of talking. it bende eae = an’s face fell, and he wrinkled his fore- sadly me 8a fact ; that’s a fact,’? he murmured, : oor ole aunty! She’s been a true mammy to we mW Cres e a a and it ain’t nachul to leave her be by herself. y'v mout take keer on her, Deely.”’ said Adela, dropping back into the easier (73 Sylv? , i hi y'v's younger than you,” she objected. ‘ ’Tain’t § portion to do that.? “‘ Mebbe he ar young,” said Dennis ; ‘‘ but he’s got a darn’d sight cuter head, some ways, than I have. And you mind now what I say, Deely, this hyar thing has got to stop one o’ these hyar days. If it hadn’t been for Sylv’s mopin’ over them books, and a-glowerin’ and tryin’ to make his self too wise, Pd a-been a heap better fixed.”’ ‘‘ But Sylv wouldn’t a-been,”’ was the answer ; he’s worth thinkin’ on a little.”’ Dennis laughed scornfully. ‘‘ A little! He’s a heap too much wuth thinkin’ on.” Adela ceased walking, and faced round upon him, at the same time brushing away with one hand a tress of her crispy black hair, which the wind had blown across her eyes. She wanted to meet his gaze directly. ‘‘ What do you mean by that ?”’ she demanded. Dennis was her match for belligerency. ‘‘ I mean,” he said, “that that ar youngster takes up too much tention. Thar ar’n’t no time for considerin’ on no one else. It’s allays Sylv’s ways and Sylv’s idees, and he can’t do nothin’ for himself, but some one else hev got to do it for him. An’ here am I, one month arter another, findin? the ways for him and aunty to live, lettin’ alone myself, whiles he goes smellin’ arter them old books what’s made o’ yaller hide that ain’t no better than the skin off’n our Sukey’s back. An’ that’s whar “the bits and the dollars go, that you andI might be enjoyin’ if ’twarn’t for his dog-goned concayt of lawyer’s jawin’ and politics and parlaments. That’s what! An’ I’m tired on it, I tell ye. What 1 mean ?’ Here the young fellow’s handsome, free-colored face be- came clouded with passion that darkened it as with the shadows of a thunder-cloud. ‘‘I mean, Deely, that if you are a-goin’ to put Sylv up agin me, every chance and TWILIGHT. comes along, thinkin’ o° hj inkin” 0° his good and not 0’ mi a nigh So lovin’ 0’ me ag ye ee coe Dye n’stan’ me, now 2”? ee Adel c back sli aa i pee pee slightly, as if he had levelled a ene at her. Then ghe replied: ‘If that’s 1 ce = ay to me, Dennie De Vine, ye’ can Se ae your tracks to the cabin, and 1’ h uarters alone. ? Me eo Dennis forgot his anger i