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 "BASIL ROSE PROMPTLY AND EMPTIED HIS PIPE" Page
 
 MARYLAND! 
 MANOR 
 
 A Novel of Plantation 
 Aristocracy and its Fall | 
 
 By Frederic Emory 
 
 With a frontispiece by 
 
 B. West Clinedinst 
 
 NEW YORK 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 Publishers
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1901. 
 BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY. 
 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
 SECOND EDITION
 
 STACK 
 ANNEX 
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE steamboat Severn had just left her wharf in the 
 harbour of Baltimore for one of the Tidewater counties of 
 Maryland. It was a little after daybreak, and the leaden 
 grey of the east was tinged with a faint flush of rose. A 
 cutting breeze made shelter welcome, and all the passengers, 
 save two, had sought the warmth of the saloon. These two 
 were standing aft on the hurricane deck, and one of them 
 a tall, well-knit young fellow in a suit of grey tweed was 
 gazing moodily down upon the furrow of foam the vessel 
 left in her wake. His companion a stout, vulgar-looking 
 man of middle age, in black broadcloth and an antiquated 
 stovepipe hat was regarding him with some uneasiness. 
 
 " Really, Oswald," he said in an injured tone, " you seem 
 to be anything but glad to get home." 
 
 " I'm not glad, father," said Oswald irritably, " I wish 
 you had let me stay abroad." 
 
 " What for good? Separate myself permanently from 
 you ? Impossible, my boy 1 " 
 
 " You might have come to me," suggested Oswald, a 
 gleam of satire in his dark blue eyes. He knew the idea 
 was absurd. Even had he cared for his father's society 
 and nothing could have been more unwelcome it would 
 have been difficult to entice him far from home. Not that 
 his home had any inherent attraction for him. Mr. Reeve, 
 
 i
 
 2 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 indeed, felt quite as strong a distaste for it as his son 
 seemed to cherish. It was the one spot above all others 
 where he would have chosen not to live, but chance had 
 anchored him there, and he clung to it tenaciously because 
 it had come to be the centre of his interests, his purposes 
 in life. These absorbed him to the exclusion of every con 
 sideration save his affection for his son. Even this was 
 subordinate to and helped to feed his special ambitions. 
 Naturally coarse and masterful, with a cold, calculating 
 mind and a firm conviction that material advancement was 
 everything, he was impatient of any softer feelings that 
 might conflict with the objects he had at heart. The only 
 luxury of the sort that he permitted himself was his weak 
 ness for his elegant, handsome boy, and he flattered himself 
 he had that, too, under good control. For years he had 
 been the slave of his profession the law and had be 
 grudged every moment that was not occupied with busi 
 ness as a foolish waste of time. It was with a guilty 
 sense of extravagance that he had yielded to the tempta 
 tion to take two whole days from his affairs in order 
 that he might go to Baltimore and meet Oswald returning 
 from a long stay in Europe. He had tried hard to dissuade 
 himself, and await his son's arrival, but curiosity had finally 
 overcome his scruples. 
 
 He was eager to see what Oswald was like. They had 
 been parted for nearly two years. Had he acquired the 
 polish he had sent him abroad to seek ? He had soon sat 
 isfied himself on this point; he was even beginning to fear 
 Oswald had too much polish. There was a fastidiousness 
 in his dress, his manner, his whole appearance that made 
 the father proud, and yet uncomfortable. What did Oswald 
 think of him ? No doubt, he seemed awkward, uncouth, 
 " common " to this exceedingly refined young person. 
 
 " Come to you ! " he exclaimed, with a nervous laugh, in
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 3 
 
 answer to his son's suggestion, " why, half the county would 
 have been in a mess. The business of all the big people is 
 in my hands. Every old family has got into the habit of 
 saying it ' can't do without Reeve ' damn them." 
 
 He uttered the last two words with some heat, but also with 
 some complacency. 
 
 " You seem to be making a good thing of it why damn 
 them ? " asked Oswald. He knew well enough, but was 
 curious to hear his father's reasons. He wondered whether 
 he had any fresh causes of offence. 
 
 " Because they insist upon treating me as if I were nothing 
 more than a machine. They use my brains why ? Be 
 cause they find it to their advantage. But as to associating 
 with me, no indeed ! I am a better man than any of them ; 
 I can twist them and turn them to any purpose I choose ; 
 they follow meekly where I lead in all matters of business. 
 Their confidence in me is unbounded ; I could ruin them if 
 I wished. You might suppose they would fear me. Not at 
 all. It never enters their heads that I would dare to hurt 
 them. What, the son of an overseer presume to cherish the 
 thought of injury to them ! And Colonel Cheston is the 
 worst of them all. He thinks his family made me, because 
 his father, the Judge, took me into his office, a ragged boy, 
 and taught me law. That man makes my blood boil ; he is 
 always so lofty. One might suppose I was one of his 
 niggers." 
 
 Oswald shivered slightly. 
 
 " You ought to be able to understand," he said, looking 
 away from his father, " why I'm not glad to get back to 
 that." 
 
 " But it will be different for you/' There was a touch of 
 eagerness, as if to convince, in the elder man's tone. " Your 
 mother was a lady, if she did many me. Her people, though 
 poor, are first-rate, and will help you along. Besides, the
 
 4 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 most hidebound of these aristocrats can't resist you. The 
 Colonel always liked you. If he puts the Cheston stamp on 
 you, you're safe. No one will dispute his verdict. He's 
 the social autocrat of the county, as you know." 
 
 Oswald glanced at his father rather pityingly. He was a 
 shrewd man no "sharper" lawyer, people said, in the 
 whole circuit and yet, he could so delude himself. None 
 knew better the nature of the prejudices he expected him to 
 overcome. His mother's social position could be of little 
 benefit to him. It was but a memory. She had long been 
 dead. His father was living an active irritant to these prej 
 udices, as he had always been. Had he not just put the 
 real situation clearly, if coarsely, in saying that Colonel 
 Cheston had but little more regard for him than for " one 
 of his niggers"? How could he, Oswald, hope to escape 
 the social ignominy of the fact that " Lawyer Reeve," as he 
 was popularly, and by some contemptuously called, was his 
 father ? The " old families " might consent, for his mother's 
 sake, to receive him in their homes, though he was by no 
 means sanguine even as to this, but it would be on suffer 
 ance only, and his father's presence in these same houses 
 as a mere hireling, with no title to social recognition, would 
 always be a barrier to that equality which he felt to be his 
 right. In Europe, he had moved in the best circles of the 
 great capitals. His ample means for his father, naturally 
 close, had not stinted him in his allowance his good looks, 
 his easy manners had enabled him to win his way in the 
 most exclusive "sets." No one asked for his pedigree. It 
 was enough that he was a rich young American, of good ad 
 dress. They accepted Americans over there without laying 
 too much stress upon their antecedents, if they were well- 
 behaved and amusing. But here, in his own home, it was 
 different. Here, he was known as Lawyer Reeve's son. 
 Here, his social status could be accurately gauged. Every-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 5 
 
 one would recall the fact that his grandfather had been a 
 " poor white," an overseer. This narrow rural aristocracy, 
 while it might tolerate him, on occasion, would always hold 
 him at arm's length, ready, at any moment, to check the least 
 symptom of presumption. 
 
 Nor could he have looked for sympathy, even had he 
 cared for it, outside this class. There were no elements 
 capable of making head against it. His pretensions would 
 be viewed with derision even by the " poor whites." The 
 aristocratic principle was so thoroughly ingrained in Tide 
 water society that a man was generally held to be foolish who 
 attempted to run counter to it. Slavery here, as elsewhere 
 in the South, had built up a plantation caste which domi 
 nated everything. In this instance, hereditary and local in 
 fluences had combined to fix it hard and fast in very nearly 
 its original lines, laid down by colonists of Stuart times. 
 Nowhere did the old English ideas of rank, of consequence 
 attaching to the ownership of land, of limiting control of 
 affairs to a privileged few, flourish so luxuriantly or linger so 
 long on American soil as on the shores of the Chesapeake 
 and its tributaries. 
 
 Oswald knew but little of the origin or causes of this con 
 dition of things, but he was thoroughly familiar with its 
 practical effects. It seemed to him the very appearance of 
 the country was typical of the spirit of conservatism, of 
 unchanging fixity of habits which opposed a stolid indiffer 
 ence to new ideas. On the one side, the Tidewater region 
 was shielded from the buffets of the Atlantic by the Dela 
 ware Peninsula ; on the other, from the full scope of the 
 western winds by a barrier of hills ascending gradually to 
 the vast bulwark of the Alleghanies. It lay inert, contented, 
 smiling in its comparative immunity from rude disturbance. 
 Its surface was either flat, or slightly rolling, with here and 
 there a range of cliffs of yellow clay, or prominent bluffs
 
 6 A MARYLAND MANOR i 
 
 along the shores of the bay. There were many broad, slow- 
 moving rivers, into which flowed a network of creeks and 
 coves scarcely less sluggish. Everywhere, one met the 
 same suggestion of leisure, of obstinate placidity. A poetic 
 beauty might often be found in the silvery reaches of the 
 water-courses ; in the brooding mystery of great salt marshes, 
 with their creeping thoroughfares or still lagoons, or of 
 dark, stagnant pools in the heart of lonely stretches of 
 forest ; in distant glimpses of sunlit spaces of the bay 
 beyond low points or islands clothed with phalanxes of 
 pines, but it was beauty of the passive kind which rarely 
 strikes a stern or tragic note. The Chesapeake and its 
 estuaries were the only potent elements of change. The 
 great bay was sometimes boisterous enough, but its usual 
 aspect was one of dreamy calm or languorous movement, 
 and its occasional fits of rage but served to emphasise the 
 general quietude. 
 
 As Nature here was in a state of self-satisfied indolence, 
 so, with but few exceptions, were the people. Their sur 
 roundings were all benign. They considered themselves 
 peculiarly favoured, and cherished so strong a conceit in their 
 kindly soil, their genial climate, the choiceness of their 
 viands, that it often moved them to compassion for the world 
 at large. The home of the canvas-back duck, the diamond- 
 back terrapin ; the Chesapeake oyster, the bay mackerel, 
 the tailor, the shad, might be expected to breed a race of 
 epicureans. Existence was made so easy, so pleasant, so 
 restful for them, that it was but natural they should wish it 
 to move on undisturbed, at the same leisurely gait, like the 
 slow ebb and flow of the tide which gave the region its name. 
 Life quickened its pace only as it got farther and farther 
 away from the basin of the Chesapeake and began to climb 
 the slopes of the restless world beyond. 
 
 There was, in fact, a sharp line of cleavage between the
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 7 
 
 people of the Tidewater counties and those who dwelt in the 
 higher, less sheltered, portions of the state. The latter felt 
 the tonic of sharper, more invigorating winds ; they were 
 brought into contact with the busy activity of the world at 
 large ; the stress of competition, of difficulties to be met and 
 conquered developed their energies in many ways unknown 
 to their softly placed brethren of the lowlands. Mechanical 
 industries flourished among them ; there were factories and 
 mines and busy towns ; the lands were divided into small 
 holdings supporting thrifty, hard-working families ; the atmos 
 phere was thoroughly democratic. Oswald Reeve would 
 have had no serious inequalities confronting him there; his 
 father would have found a free field for his ambition, his 
 bustling energy. 
 
 The Tidewater region, on the other hand, was almost 
 wholly agricultural, with large acreages in tobacco or in 
 wheat and corn, and society was divided broadly into two 
 classes the planters, with scores of slaves, who owned nearly 
 all the land and the " poor whites," including tenants and 
 overseers, who had neither land nor slaves. An interme 
 diate class, recruited from both, and composed chiefly of 
 shopkeepers, was but vaguely defined. It could have no 
 strong individuality of its own, from the fact that it was, to 
 a large extent, parasitic, depending for sustenance chiefly 
 upon the planters. Here and there, a " small farmer " 
 might be found who owned his land, but he, too, attached him 
 self as a rule to some planter under whose protecting author 
 ity he found safe refuge from difficulties which were beyond 
 his strength. Every Tidewater neighborhood had its local 
 magnate, its petty great man, the legitimate descendant of 
 the old English squire. The popular attitude towards these 
 personages was one of good-humored sufferance. There 
 was no general discontent with their monopoly of dignities, 
 of political as well as of social honors, or even their exclu-
 
 8 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 siveness, for the reason that the people were used to their 
 control, and had found, upon the whole, that it worked very 
 well and saved them trouble and bother to which they were 
 not in the least inclined. 
 
 It was an amiable despotism, when not opposed. Its 
 temper was seldom ruffled except by impertinent encroach 
 ments upon its dignity. It rested, serene and confident, 
 in custom, tradition, the general inaptitude for change. It 
 was only now and then that some bold spirit, with private 
 ambitions of his own, had the hardihood to dispute its 
 authority or to seek to share its privileges against its will. 
 Suppression, in one way or another, was his inevitable fate. 
 He was snuffed out socially, or if his aspirations were 
 political, he was disciplined in party conventions or at the 
 polls. The planter found his " poor white " followers in 
 valuable in the latter case, and seldom had to complain 
 of their lack of zeal. They were, if anything, more intolerant 
 than he of efforts on the part of members of their class to 
 rise above the general level. If they were to have people 
 over them, they preferred that they should be thosa. 
 to whom they had always been accustomed. They were 
 genuine, they had an inherited claim to respect ; the " new 
 people " were merely " puttin' on airs " and their anxiety to 
 separate themselves as widely as possible from their former 
 associates usually stirred the latter to resentment and to 
 active efforts to reduce them to a proper state of humility. 
 Naturally, the discomfited aspirants were often bitter. 
 
 Owsald Reeve knew that his father had been one of the 
 most obstinate of these malcontents, and that his experiences 
 had been such as to make him particularly sour. His vanity 
 was extreme ; his ambition inordinate. He often boasted to 
 his familiars that he was wholly a self-made man. It was 
 true Judge Cheston had educated him and set him up as a 
 lawyer, but his own shrewdness and energy alone had enabled
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 9 
 
 him to achieve success. The qualities which had com 
 mended him as a useful attorney, a clever business man, 
 ought, in his opinion, to count in his favor in politics, in 
 social life. It was just the contrary. His self-confidence, 
 his "push," his insensibility to rebuffs, which gave him a 
 distinct advantage in business affairs, served only to bring 
 into stronger relief an ingrained coarseness which inflamed 
 the prejudices he sought to overcome. He hoped to win by 
 a kind of tour de force what could only be won by patient 
 and slow approaches and by fitting himself for the associa 
 tion he desired. 
 
 No doubt, he realized instinctively that the last was im 
 possible for him ; his tastes were ineradicably vulgar, his 
 manners unalterably " common." Try as hard as he might, 
 he could never imitate successfully the little niceties of 
 speech and bearing which he envied in Colonel Cheston, 
 for example. It was out of the question for him to act, 
 much less to think and feel as gentlemen did. He suc 
 ceeded only in making himself ridiculous. It was the con 
 sciousness of this that caused him to rely all the more upon 
 his fancied resources for compelling recognition. Among 
 these, he gave the first place to the power of money, and 
 his natural cupidity was intensified by his ambition. He 
 devoted all his energies to the acquisition of a fortune, and 
 as, little by little, he got control of the affairs of many large 
 estates, and his general practice as a lawyer steadily increased, 
 he became, in course of time, a man of considerable wealth. 
 The reputation of being a money-lender gave him undoubted 
 weight in the community which he sought to increase by 
 ostentatious display. 
 
 He could hardly have committed a more serious blunder. 
 There was nothing more obnoxious to the Tidewater squires 
 than a vulgar opulence. Many of them were " land poor," 
 and, for that reason, they insisted the more jealously upon
 
 10 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 their claims to consideration on the score of position and 
 blood. Money was a dangerous foe to their prestige. It 
 was all very well so long as Reeve grew rich in their service 
 'without thrusting his money under their noses ; it was quite 
 another matter when he undertook to use it as a means of 
 lifting himself to equality with them. The impudence of 
 the fellow became outrageous when it was learned that he 
 had taken advantage of the poverty of one of their very best 
 families to persuade a member of it a middle-aged spin 
 ster whose hopes of a socially eligible match had faded to 
 become his wife. His motive was perfectly clear ; he hoped 
 to avail himself of her family connections to improve his 
 status. It had been a matter of bargain and sale. Their 
 sense of security was shaken. If one of their class could 
 be tempted by money, others might be. The thing must be 
 stopped at once. Mrs. Reeve was made to feel that she 
 had committed a social enormity. The poor woman, who 
 soon discovered that her husband was incorrigible, suffered 
 cruelly from her isolation, and gradually withered away. As 
 for Reeve, the lines were drawn more tightly against him 
 than ever. 
 
 He made a stubborn fight of it, but finally gave up the 
 struggle on his own behalf, and pinned all his hopes upon 
 his son. The boy, who seemed to " take after " his mother 
 in traits of sensitiveness and instinctive refinement, which he 
 had certainly not inherited from him, might be able to obtain 
 for him what he had so signally failed to obtain for himself. 
 Reeve set to work with great zeal to make the most of these 
 qualities. His son should have the advantages that had 
 been denied to him. He must never have cause to complain 
 of the ignorance of those fine airs and graces which had so 
 often humiliated and baffled him. He wished him to be 
 fitted, at all points, for association with his mother's people. 
 They could hardly refuse to recognise him if he showed him-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 11 
 
 self to be well-bred and responsive to their finicky ideas, 
 and it was more than probable they would, at last, consent 
 to accept him for his son's sake. All he asked was an en 
 tering wedge ; he would know how to go ahead when once 
 inside the pale. 
 
 In pursuance of this design, which he thought very clever, 
 he employed a " lady-governess," and afterwards, a " gentle- 
 mon-tutor " for Oswald and surrounded him with servants 
 bred in old families. He sought in every possible way 
 to stimulate his ambition, to inculcate in him " genteel " 
 tastes, and even to suppress his own individuality as far as 
 possible in the boy's presence, lest it contaminate him with 
 ideas and habits which he could not shake off. When he 
 was old enough, he sent him to Harvard, and after he had 
 completed the course there, he decided it would be well for 
 him to spend a couple of years in Europe. That was a 
 kind of " finishing off " which ought to give him a distinct 
 advantage among his future associates. But few of the 
 Tidewater families sent their sons abroad, and a young man 
 who had travelled extensively was always an object of in 
 terest and emulation among them. 
 
 It was not until now that he saw him again, that Lawyer 
 Reeve realised the possible dangers of the scheme of edu 
 cation which he had pursued so confidently. Perhaps he 
 had overdone the thing. He had never concerned himself 
 on this point before. He had known all along that Oswald 
 was growing more and more unlike him ; less and less sym 
 pathetic ; it was what he wished. The fewer the points of 
 similarity between them, the better. He had thought to 
 attach him to him by his liberality, his zeal in his interests, 
 his energy in " pushing " him. How could his son help 
 being grateful ? Did he not owe everything to him ? Would 
 not his evident utility atone for the lack of qualities that 
 were merely ornamental ? He was not so sure. He didn't
 
 12 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 like the way Oswald looked at him ; it reminded him of the 
 cool, disparaging criticism he had so often read in the eyes 
 of the people who habitually snubbed him. Was it possible 
 he must be cautious about taking liberties with his own son ? 
 Nonsense ! The boy needed him ; he couldn't get on 
 without him he must soon see that. He would have to 
 put up with him, whether he liked it or not. Nevertheless, 
 he was very uncomfortable. Oswald might take it into his 
 head to rebel. 
 
 Oswald wished, from the bottom of his heart, he could 
 rebel. Nothing would have pleased him better than to cut 
 loose from his father. He was conscious of no obligation 
 to feel grateful to him. He had discovered long ago that 
 his affection was largely selfish, that it was his own ambi 
 tion he sought to gratify first of all. He felt that he was 
 little more than a convenient tool. From early childhood, 
 he had suffered keenly from his clumsy efforts to use him as 
 a means of exploiting himself. He had often caused him 
 mortification and distress by taking him to plantation houses 
 in order that he might " show off." On such occasions, 
 Oswald had seen clearly enough that he was an object merely 
 of compassionate curiosity ; the " Quality " evidently 
 pitied him because of his father, but were restrained from 
 showing him more than a polite approbation, lest Reeve seek 
 to reap some profit from their indulgence. It was even 
 harder for him when he was brought into contact with the 
 children of these families. They were not so considerate 
 as their parents. On the contrary, they were often brutally 
 frank, and with the unconscious arrogance of childhood, 
 seemed to take pleasure in making him feel his inferiority. 
 Sometimes they were openly scornful of his fine clothes, his 
 costly toys, his bountiful supply of spending money ; in 
 their crude logic, he had no right to these things. His 
 trials of this sort were really agonising ; there is no suffer-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 13 
 
 ing greater than that of a sensitive child exposed to such 
 slights. 
 
 His situation, now, was even worse. His tastes were 
 fully formed, his habits fixed, his standards definite. He 
 had been a swell in cautious clubs and fashionable draw 
 ing-rooms of London and Paris, a social favourite, an elegant 
 idler. The gulf between him and his father had widened 
 immeasurably. His experiences abroad had been precisely 
 such as to make his father's vulgarity, his solecisms of speech 
 and manner, obnoxious to him. He had feared this when 
 he received a summons to return ; the reality was harsher, 
 even, than he had imagined. His father was socially im 
 possible. Imagine having to introduce him to some of his 
 foreign friends ! Thank Heaven, he would be spared that, 
 but what consolation was there in the fact that though he 
 would not have to stand sponsor for him at home, his father 
 would inevitably attempt to stand sponsor for him ? Oh, 
 yes, he saw it all so plainly ! There would never be a 
 moment of freedom for him. He would be handicapped at 
 every turn by his fatuous activity. It would be just as it 
 had been throughout his boyhood the smart, self-confident 
 attorney busying himself, as he would have busied himself 
 with a case in court, with cheap shyster tricks and expedients 
 which would have only the effect of thrusting him into an 
 unpleasant prominence, of exposing him to more resentful 
 criticism. He felt he might come to hate this burly, com 
 placent, irrepressible figure if it were always at his elbow, 
 eager to " push " him. 
 
 Cut loose from him ? How could he ? He had no re 
 sources in himself. If he were capable of earning his own 
 livelihood, it might be possible to escape to some place 
 where Tidewater prejudices did not exist and begin over 
 again. But he had been bred in idleness and was utterly 
 unfit for even manual labor. His father had always pooh-
 
 H A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 poohed the idea of his engaging in business or studying a 
 profession. " It's your business to be a gentleman, my son," 
 he had once said, adding, with a wink and a slap on his 
 trousers' pocket, " I've enough here for both of us. There's 
 no need for you to work ; I've saved you from that." 
 Oswald had acquiesced with no idea that work, repugnant 
 as it had already become to him, might, some day, seem less 
 grinding than a luxurious slavery in the midst of the condi 
 tions he was now about to face. It had been pleasant 
 enough this playing gentleman away from his father ; he 
 realised, too late, that he had lost the energy, the inclination, 
 even, to be anything else. He had been caught in the web 
 of desires, of habits, of tastes which only a large income 
 could satisfy. He was wholly dependent upon his father ; 
 he must do what he wished. 
 
 All the way home from Europe he had been striving to 
 convince himself it might not be so bad, but from the instant 
 his father had greeted him in Baltimore until now that they 
 were actually on the final stage of his journey, the prospect 
 had steadily darkened, and he had, at last, reached a pitch 
 of nervous impatience which was almost beyond control. 
 His father's presence made what lay before him so imminent, 
 so vivid, so coarsely real. He glanced down more than 
 once upon the churning waters at the stern, with an absurd 
 desire to fling himself into them. It was all so trivial, and 
 yet so tragic. Most people would think him a fool for 
 taking it so much to heart ; of course, his father would 
 think so ; it was only those who felt, as he felt, that social 
 proscription meant the denial of all that made life pleasant 
 and desirable who could realize the rank injustice, the 
 humiliation, the actual torture of it. 
 
 " Father," he said suddenly, " I almost wish you had 
 never tried to make a gentleman of me j it might have been 
 better for both of us,"
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 15 
 
 " Why, what do you mean ? " gasped Reeve, with a look 
 of consternation. For a moment, he feared Oswald was 
 already in a state of mutiny. 
 
 Oswald shrugged his shoulders and turned away. He could 
 not very well tell his father, to his face, that he was ashamed 
 of him ; that he would have been much more comfortable in 
 his society if he were less unlike him ; that he might even 
 have sympathised with him had he never been raised above 
 his level. But Lawyer Reeve did not need to be told. 
 His spirits sank. It was but too evident to him, now, that 
 his son regarded him as an incubus. 
 
 " Don't say that," he exclaimed, almost piteously, " I've 
 spent such a lot of money on you 1 " 
 
 Oswald laughed harshly. It was so like him to think of 
 that I Everything had its pecuniary significance to him, 
 first of all. 
 
 " Besides," continued Reeve eagerly, " you'll get used to 
 to " he was about to say " me," but stopped short, unwilling 
 to put the fact so baldly to his son. He substituted the 
 word " things." " It won't be half so hard," he added, 
 " when you've shown people what you are. You are wor 
 ried, now, by fancies that time will cure. Take my word for 
 it, they are really exaggerated. I'm not the man to under 
 rate our difficulties haven't I been floored by them, again 
 and again ? But you're a horse of another colour. Cheer 
 up, my boy ; we're bound to win ! " 
 
 He had gathered confidence as he proceeded ; his tone 
 was almost boisterous at the close. It grated on Os 
 wald. 
 
 " Some one else is on deck," exclaimed Reeve suddenly, 
 glancing forward. " Do you see that girl, there, by the wheel- 
 house? I wish she were here beside you, in my place; 
 you'd find her interesting. She's the beauty of the county." 
 
 " Who is she ? " asked Oswald, with a careless glance.
 
 16 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 She seemed to be a graceful creature and carried herself 
 well. As yet, he could not see her face. 
 
 " The Colonel's daughter Lydia Cheston." 
 
 " Could you not introduce me ? " asked Oswald dryly. 
 
 " I wouldn't dare," said his father hastily, confused. 
 " Haven't I told you of the footing on which I stand in her 
 father's house ? Besides, she doesn't like me ; she flouts me 
 whenever she gets the chance." 
 
 " You see ? " said Oswald, bitterly, " I knew how it would 
 be ; we shall run against this sort of thing at every turn." 
 
 "No, you won't, if we are careful. I I think I'll leave 
 you for awhile. It would be better if, at first, she didn't see 
 you with me. Take a good look at her ; I assure you, it'll 
 be worth your while." 
 
 Before Oswald could protest, if he were inclined to do so, 
 his father had turned away and was hurrying below.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE sun had risen, and hung, a globe of crimson, just 
 clear of the distant water-line towards which the steamer 
 was heading. Long shafts of flame marked tremulous stripes 
 on the blue expanse of the Patapsco. From a group of iron 
 furnaces on the northern bank of the river, dense clouds of 
 smoke rolled forth and floated off in patches of purple and 
 lavender. A mantle of haze enveloped, without concealing, 
 the city, now several miles away, which rose, in curving tiers, 
 along the face of a chain of hills. The effect was that of 
 a vast amphitheatre of variously tinted stone flushed with 
 amethyst light and vaguely outlined against the dark, rugged 
 summits which brooded sullenly in the background. 
 
 Lydia Cheston seemed to Oswald, as he watched her 
 without moving from his place, to have taken just the posi 
 tion in which to present herself to the best advantage. She 
 was standing well forward of the wheel-house near the guard 
 rail, and there was nothing between her and the setting of 
 sky and water ahead. From this luminous screen, her 
 slender figure, clothed in some dark woollen stuff, stood out in 
 bold relief. She was very graceful, and as the vessel rolled 
 in the swell of a rather stiff breeze, she kept her footing, ap 
 parently with little effort, and swayed easily to and fro in a 
 kind of instinctive rhythm. She was evidently used to this 
 sort of thing. Oswald fancied the poetry of motion, both 
 on water and land, was something she had unconsciously 
 studied from her earliest years. Her family, he knew, like 
 most of those of the Tidewater planters, were devoted to 
 every form of exercise and enjoyment in the open air. Sailing, 
 fox-hunting, galloping about the country, were their daily 
 2 17
 
 i8 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 amusements. It was these, no doubt, that had given her this 
 easy confidence, this supple grace. 
 
 But was she a " beauty," as his father had asserted ? Her 
 back was still turned towards him, and it was impossible, as 
 yet, to obtain a glimpse of her face. All that he could see 
 was a mass of curling hair, with a reddish gleam in it, tucked 
 up rather loosely under a wide-brimmed hat, and the tips of 
 two tiny ears. He moved forward as close to her as he 
 dared, hoping she would change her position, but she seemed 
 absorbed. Apparently, her gaze was fixed upon some 
 object far away, but looking beyond her, Oswald saw noth 
 ing but the glittering surface of the bay. 
 
 The sun was now fully abroad, and its beams, changed 
 from crimson to gold, cast a myriad of diamond points upon 
 the steel blue depths of the river which was tossing in long, 
 crested waves. Vessels under full sail were scudding before 
 the wind or tacking in the contrary direction. Others lay 
 at anchor, awaiting tugs. Ocean steamers moved slowly 
 along, feeling their way cautiously in the narrow channel. 
 Coquettish little canoes danced impudently near the massive 
 bows of huge " three-masters " whose cobweb of ropes was 
 delicately outlined against the clear sky. Sea-gulls flitted 
 hither and thither, and occasionally, swept in graceful curves 
 about the vessel, showing flashes of snowy white at certain 
 angles of their flight. A salty flavour was perceptible in the 
 breeze, a sign that the steamer was nearing the Bay. Lydia 
 threw back her head and seemed to be drinking in the brac 
 ing air with eager relish, but did not change the direction of 
 her gaze. Oswald was strongly tempted to do something 
 that would make her look round. He was saved this impru 
 dence by the sudden arrival on the scene of a dog a coal- 
 black setter who, with long, graceful leaps, bounded up to 
 the girl, and with a loud bark, stretched himself close to 
 her and began to pull her dress, rapping the deck vig-
 
 orously with his tail. Lydia turned quickly, with a merry 
 laugh. 
 
 " Well, Rover, you have found me," she exclaimed, " I 
 thought I'd given you the slip." 
 
 The face revealed to Oswald was something rare. He 
 was reminded, at once, of the head of a Flora- he had seen 
 on a cameo brooch at a famous lapidary's in Rome. It 
 seemed marvellous that chiselling so fine and true could have 
 been wrought out in flesh and blood. It was a proud, sen 
 sitive face, lit up by great dark eyes which gave it soul and 
 vividness, and the glow of an ardent temper. Oswald 
 Reeve was a rather blase' young squire of dames, and in 
 clined to be critical of feminine beauty. Even now, he was 
 not sure that she was beautiful, according to his standards 
 he did not stop to ask himself the question but she pos 
 sessed the gift of charm. That was indisputable. He felt 
 it at the first glance. It was a kind of charm that was alto 
 gether new to him. He would like to analyse it at his lei 
 sure. Hitherto, he had classified all women as belonging to 
 certain types. If Lydia Cheston belonged to any type, he 
 had stumbled upon a new species. 
 
 "We are still far away, Rover," she said softly, stooping 
 to stroke the setter's glossy coat, " I have been looking so 
 hard, and can see nothing yet, not even the tiniest speck of 
 land. Our land, old fellow ! Come, we will watch together ; 
 perhaps we may catch a glimpse of it soon. Just to think 
 of being there, Rover at home, you understand. Can't you 
 picture it all the dear old house, the garden, the fields, the 
 woods for you to roam through, instead of those horrid streets 
 and alleys ? Ah, what rambles we shall have you and I 1 " 
 
 Rover gazed up at her longingly and wagged his tail with 
 a vigour intended, perhaps, to express delight. There was 
 certainly a look of some kind of comprehension in his clear 
 yellow eyes.
 
 20 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 " Come with me," said his mistress, " we'll find out from 
 Captain Grimes just how much longer it will be." 
 
 As she spoke, she started towards the wheel-house, where 
 the master of the vessel happened to be alone at the wheel. 
 He was a short, thick-set old mariner of ruddy visage, seamed 
 and wrinkled, with a pair of keen blue eyes which brightened 
 perceptibly at sight of the girl's charming face at one of the 
 windows. Shifting a huge quid of tobacco from one side 
 of his mouth to the other, and wiping his lips on his coat- 
 sleeve, he said, in a hearty voice : 
 
 " Well, Miss Lydyer, how goes it ? " 
 
 " Dreadfully slow, Captain," she said, with a rueful air, 
 " Can't you put on a little more steam ? " 
 
 " Not without bustin' the biler. We're givin' her, now, 
 all the law allows. It seems slow to you because you're 
 goin' home. It's always the way with you, ever since I can 
 remember. There was never nothin' fast enough for you." 
 
 " I suppose I am impatient," admitted " Miss Lydyer," 
 " but so would you be, too, if you had been cooped up for 
 six long months in the city." 
 
 "And had a home like the Manor to go to," added the 
 Captain, with a chuckle. 
 
 " It is lovely, isn't it ? " she demanded, eagerly catching 
 at his note of sympathy. 
 
 " The handsomest place on the river," asserted the Cap 
 tain, with gratifying emphasis. " And so it ought ter be, 
 with yo' Pa for its master. You know what I think of him. 
 There ain't a finer man livin', I say." 
 
 The girl's eyes kindled. 
 
 " Dear papa ! " she murmured softly. " What good taste 
 you have, Captain ! " she added, laughing gaily. 
 
 " Haven't I ? Well, I'm rough, but I know a gentleman 
 when I see him. Yo' Pa's a gentleman of the old sort. I 
 wish there was more like him. They're getting scarce.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 21 
 
 Some people call him a rustycrat. That don't hurt. If 
 he's a rustycrat, why give me rusty crats, all the time ! He 
 don't put on enny airs like some o' these rich folks that ain't 
 quite sure o' where they stand. Why, bless my heart, he 
 makes as much o' me as if I was his ekal. And it's just 
 the same with rich or po'. He can afford it that's why. 
 I'm a dimmycrat, and in a gener'l way o' speakin', I don't 
 believe in puttin' one man above another, but we've got to 
 have leaders, and I'm for leaders like yo' Pa, that have the 
 tone, and can't be bullied or bought. The Colonel just hits 
 it off : I'd foller him anywhere." 
 
 The Captain was a garrulous old chap, but Lydia knew 
 he was sincere. He had been a great friend of hers since 
 she was a tiny maid. She had often crossed the Bay with 
 him, and always spent much of the time at the wheel-house 
 window, or even beside him at the wheel itself, listening to 
 his stories of storms and adventures. He had taught her to 
 steer the vessel, and it was a special delight to her to be 
 with him in a gale and watch him pilot the lumbering old 
 Severn through a raging sea. There was a grim fearlessness 
 in his weather-beaten face at such moments which she loved 
 to see. It corresponded to her own youthful courage, 
 which nothing, as yet, had ever daunted. She had learned 
 to trust him absolutely and attached a greater importance to 
 his opinions than his extremely limited range of information 
 warranted. He was too clumsy as well as too honest to lie, 
 but even if she had thought he was trying to please her 
 with flattery of her father, she would have drunk it in almost 
 as eagerly. Her father was her idol. And praise of him, 
 even from coarser men than the Captain, was nothing new 
 to her. There might be people who envied or disliked him 
 as a " rustycrat," but she had never met them ; she had been 
 surrounded from infancy by an atmosphere of affection and 
 regard for him which had impressed her with the feeling
 
 22 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 that he was a kind of human pivot upon which everything 
 turned. 
 
 He was, in fact, as Reeve had said to his son, a local 
 autocrat, and as it happened, a popular one. As the head 
 of one of the oldest families and the master of a large estate, 
 he would, in any event, have wielded great influence. For 
 generations, all classes had deferred to the owner of the 
 Manor, with the feeling, originating far back in colonial 
 times when, in the exercise of manorial privileges, he had 
 really possessed exclusive authority and power, that he was 
 their natural leader in public as well as in social affairs. 
 His tenants and overseers, as well as the small farmers of 
 the neighbourhood, the " poor whites," the negroes all 
 looked to the Colonel for guidance and help. Even those 
 who felt that their individuality and liberty of action were 
 more or less dominated and repressed, found it difficult to 
 rid themselves of a sense of docility towards one whom they 
 had been taught, as children, to respect. 
 
 As the Colonel's daughter, Lydia had always been used 
 to treatment which had naturally given her a keen sense of 
 her social importance. There was a spice of haughtiness in 
 her manner to those who seemed inclined to be presuming. 
 It vanished quickly with the cause of offence. There was 
 but one individual towards whom her manner was always 
 distant and repelling. She could never force herself to be 
 other than coldly polite to her father's man of business 
 Lawyer Reeve. He had a way of looking at her, as though 
 he would be familiar -if he dared, that always stirred her 
 with a sense of repugnance. There was a veiled insolence 
 in his manner that sometimes caused her disquiet and even 
 alarm. What could it mean ? She could not fathom it. 
 All she knew was that she disliked and shrunk from him. 
 She fancied it was because he was such a " common " man. 
 
 Oswald had remained close at hand during Lydia's con-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 23 
 
 versation with the Captain. He had no intention of eaves 
 dropping. He lingered only to watch the play of animation 
 on her mobile face, to hear the soft notes of her fresh young 
 voice. He envied the Captain the flash of those brilliant 
 eyes, the roguish smile of that perfect little mouth, the flush 
 of rose colour his praise of her father had brought into her 
 cheeks. And she had not even so much as noticed him. 
 Not once had her glances travelled his way. He actually 
 felt a kind of jealousy of her dog. Happy brute, to have 
 felt the soft caress of her hand ! Oswald pulled himself to 
 gether with an exclamation of annoyance. Was he a mere 
 callow boy to be thus affected by a pretty face ? He had had 
 any number of affairs with women, and rather plumed him 
 self upon being unimpressionable. All the same, he was 
 conscious of a strong desire to meet this girl, to talk with 
 her, to discover, if he could, the secret of her extraordinary 
 charm. What folly ! Was he not the son of Lawyer Reeve, 
 her father's very humble servant and handy tool ? The 
 distance between them was not immeasurable, but it was 
 great. To seek association with her was to court the 
 humiliations he dreaded. A mere acquaintance might be 
 easily obtained, but beyond that nothing, or worse than 
 nothing, the galling slights which the least presumption on 
 his part would inevitably bring upon him. It was a bitter 
 thought. 
 
 Turning hastily, he began to pace up and down the deck, 
 excited by a conflict of feelings. If he could but have met 
 her somewhere else, under other conditions ! If only she 
 were not a Cheston and he not a Reeve ! Yes, he might 
 have had a chance, though in spite of uniform success with 
 her sex, he was not so sure. There was something undefinable 
 about her which caused him an unaccustomed sense of tim 
 idity, of doubt. Was it merely because she was a Cheston ? 
 For the first time in his varied experience of women, he felt
 
 that he was in the presence of a power with which he might 
 not be able to cope. And yet, she was little more than a 
 child, an unformed young creature who, probably, was 
 still at school. But there was that in her glance that might 
 always keep him in check. He could fancy her holding 
 herself above him superior, scornful, aloof. 
 
 Pshaw 1 Why bother about what might be ? She was as 
 far away from him as the moon. One could see at a glance 
 that she was a perfect specimen of her class. All its preju 
 dices, doubtless, were ingrained in her. And even if he 
 could establish some claim to her regard, there was her 
 father to be reckoned with, and beyond him, the rigours of a 
 caste. No, his common sense told him it were better if he 
 never met her at all. None the less, he felt it would be a 
 privilege merely to hear a word of greeting from her, to 
 meet, if but once, the gaze of those eyes. 
 
 Almost before he knew it, the thing had happened. A 
 sudden cry caused him to look round. Lydia had left the 
 wheel-house, and was bending over the guard-rail, gazing 
 down into the bow. Oswald hurried forward, and following 
 the direction of her glances, beheld her setter tearing 
 viciously at a boy who was floundering on the deck below, 
 near the heels of a huge Durham bull. The latter, tied by the 
 horns to a cross-beam, Was writhing and bellowing madly. 
 Lydia called sharply to Rover, but he took no heed. In his 
 fury, he thought only of throttling his prey. The boy, wild 
 with terror, was yelling at the top of his voice. Lydia began 
 to be alarmed. Rover was fierce when roused, and he 
 might maim the boy or even kill him. After a moment's 
 hesitation, she turned and hastened towards the companion- 
 way, fearful lest she should not reach the scene in time to 
 pull Rover off before he had inflicted some grievous hurt. 
 Oswald, following, caught up with her and raised his hat. 
 
 " May I help you ? " he asked.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 25 
 
 " Thank you very much," she said, looking at him frankly, 
 but in some surprise. She had not been conscious of his pres 
 ence near her. Evidently, he knew what had occurred. 
 " My dog seems to be beside himself. I can't imagine what 
 the boy could have done to him." 
 
 A moment later, they had reached the lower deck and 
 were threading their way through a dark, narrow passage 
 toward the- bow. Lydia had taken the lead and moved so 
 rapidly that she was several paces in advance of Oswald. She 
 had just descended the steps passing over the shaft when 
 Oswald, glancing ahead of her, saw, barring her path, the huge 
 bulk of the bull. The brute had broken his fastenings and 
 dashed into the passage. The glare from the furnace pit 
 had checked him for a moment. Frightened by it, he stood 
 irresolute, his eyes gleaming fiercely, his mouth a lather of 
 foam. Emerging from the obscurity of the passage, Lydia 
 was revealed to him suddenly in the bright red glow. She was 
 still advancing at the same quick gait, when the bull, with a 
 snort of rage, tossed his head and bent low, as if about to 
 charge upon her. Oswald gave a cry of alarm and called 
 to her to stop. She checked herself instantly, and seeing 
 the bull for the first time, stood, rigid, uncertain what to do. 
 
 Oswald noticed an open door to the right of her. 
 
 " This way 1 " he cried, desperately, as he reached her 
 side. " Quick ! " 
 
 She turned instinctively towards him. As she did so, the 
 bull gave a leap forward. Oswald did not wait to ask leave, 
 but, seizing her about the waist, thrust her swiftly into a room 
 used for stowing small articles of freight. Fortunately, it 
 was empty. They had barely crossed the threshold, when 
 the bull dashed by. An instant later, there was a loud crash, 
 followed by shrieks of terror in the saloon. Lydia shivered, 
 but Oswald drew a deep sigh of relief. He cared not what 
 happened there. Thank God, she was safe 1 But for him,
 
 26 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 she might now have been at the maddened beast's mercy, to 
 be tossed upon his horns or trampled under his ponderous 
 hoofs. At this thought, he, also, shivered. Was it provi 
 dence or mere blind chance that had brought him to her 
 just in time ? Him of all men ? At any rate, it was a happy 
 accident, for which he blessed his lucky star. 
 
 " How can I thank you ? " she asked softly, glancing at 
 him with startled eyes in which her native courage was 
 struggling to reassert itself. " And who am I to thank ? " 
 There was a note of humor in her voice as she asked the 
 question. It seemed whimsical to her that he had, perhaps, 
 saved her life and she did not even know him. 
 
 Oswald winced ; the question hurt him. It brought him 
 suddenly back to the chill reality of his position. Must he 
 tell her, now, in the first moment of their meeting, in the 
 first glow of her gratitude to him ? 
 
 " I am Lydia Cheston," she added quickly, without noticing 
 his hesitation. " You may have heard of my father, Colonel 
 Cheston." 
 
 " Yes, often," said Oswald in a stifled voice, a humming in 
 his ears. He had quite lost his self-possession. All his 
 usual ease and confidence had vanished. A dozen silly 
 speeches rushed to his lips, but he said nothing. There was 
 but one thing to be said. He must tell her he was his father's 
 son. But might not there be some way of telling her that 
 would disarm or mitigate her feeling ? Of course, she could 
 think only meanly of him when she knew. No ; his ingenu 
 ity in coining phrases, which had so often enabled him to 
 extricate himself from false positions, was of no use here. 
 There was no form of words that would hide the bald truth 
 from her. She knew his father, and on the instant, would 
 stab him with a keen glance of recognition of the social dif 
 ference between them. Well, the sooner it were over with, 
 the better.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 27 
 
 " I am Oswald Reeve," he said at last, " I think you know 
 my father he is often at the Manor." 
 
 Lydia gave a little gasp of surprise, and gazed at him 
 questionirigly ; she was really not sure she had heard aright. 
 Lawyer Reeve's son ? Why, he seemed to be a gentleman ! 
 At the first glance, she had felt quite sure as to that. But 
 stop ! there was a story that Reeve had the curious whim of 
 making a gentleman of his son. She remembered now. It 
 had once or twice been a subject of amused discussion at 
 the Manor and of speculation as to the ultimate result. And 
 in a recent letter from home, something was said of young 
 Reeve's expected return from Europe after an absence of 
 several years. Yes, it must be. Young as she was, she 
 divined his embarrassment, and pitied him. Her pride of 
 class was intense, but her generosity was stronger. She 
 thought only of his mortification at having had to confess 
 himself to her, and of what she owed him. 
 
 She offered him her hand, rather shyly, as if she were not 
 quite sure it was the right thing to do, and said, with a smile 
 of winning friendliness it was impossible to doubt, 
 
 " Yes, I know your father ; Papa thinks a great deal of 
 him. When he learns what you have done for me, he will 
 hasten to thank you. I'm sure he won't be able to do enough 
 for you." 
 
 Oswald breathed more freely. Her words and the tone in 
 which they were uttered brightened the prospect wonderfully. 
 It seemed to him they were intended to reassure him, to 
 promise him considerate treatment at her father's hands. 
 At least, it was evident she meant to be kind. There was 
 no trace of condescension in her manner. Whatever her 
 thoughts might be, she had no idea of showing him the least 
 discourtesy. Her attitude placed him at once upon an equal 
 footing. He knew that he had won her regard, and it needed 
 but a glance at her earnest, candid eyes to convince him
 
 28 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 that it was a feeling which might even stand the test of the 
 social prejudice he had so much feared. 
 
 " Do you think we can venture out ? " she asked, peering 
 into the passage. As she spoke, she saw the bull being 
 dragged along by a group of men tugging at a rope about 
 his head, while others goaded him in the flanks. He had 
 been secured only after a hard struggle in which chairs and 
 tables had been overturned amid general chaos in the saloon. 
 Women had fainted, men had sworn themselves hoarse, but 
 no one had been hurt, except some of the deck hands who 
 had rushed to the rescue, and these had escaped with bruises 
 and a grazing scratch or two from the animal's horns. Lydia 
 and Oswald watched the bull's slow progress towards the bow, 
 and when the procession had at last disappeared, she ex 
 claimed : 
 
 " Come, Mr. Reeve ; I hope the boy is not much hurt." 
 
 As they stepped into the passage, Rover bounded into 
 view, and behind him, showed the grimy face of the boy. 
 On seeing his mistress, Rover crouched to the ground and 
 crept towards her with a shamefaced, penitent air. 
 
 " You naughty fellow ! " cried Lydia. " What have you 
 done ? " 
 
 "Jes' chawed me orful, thet's all," exclaimed a sullen 
 voice. 
 
 Rover's late antagonist was following close in his wake, 
 armed with a heavy club. He was a stolid-looking urchin, 
 clad in gray kersey, with copper-tipped shoes. His chubby 
 face was smeared with blood and dirt ; his clothes were torn 
 in several places. He ducked his tow head threateningly at 
 Rover, and brandished his club. Evidently, he was athirst 
 for revenge. 
 
 " Why did he attack you ? " asked Lydia, relieved to find 
 he had suffered no serious harm. 
 
 " 'Cos he's wicious thet's why. I wasn't doin' nothin'
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 29 
 
 to him. I seed him up on the deck, but never thought he'd 
 take notice o' me." 
 
 " What were you doing ? " asked Lydia, with a certain per- 
 emptoriness. She was convinced the little rascal had excited 
 Rover's wrath in some way ; he was, by nature, a peaceable 
 dog. 
 
 "Onlyteasin' the bull," said the boy, with unblushing 
 candour. " I thought I'd have a little fun pokin' him with a 
 stick en' makin' him rare en' beller. It seemed to make yo' 
 dog mad. But what had he to do with it ? It wusn't enny 
 bizness o' his'n. He pounced on me en' nearly tore me 
 up. But I got clare uv him at last en' meant to beat him 
 good." 
 
 " Oh, you did ? And you call it fun to worry a helpless 
 animal ? " There was indignation in her voice, and her 
 dark eyes sparkled angrily. "I'm glad Rover punished you. 
 Did he really bite you ? " 
 
 " Bite me ! *' gasped the boy, amazed at her pretence of 
 incredulity, " ef you don't believe me, I'll show you. He tuk a 
 piece out'n one of my legs." As he spoke, he stooped to roll 
 up his trousers. 
 
 " Oh, I believe you ! " said Lydia, hastily, with a smoth 
 ered laugh. 
 
 " Thet ain't all," continued the complainant, dolefully. 
 " He's ruined my Sunday suit. I'm in fur a lickin' when I 
 get home. Pap said he'd thrash me good ef I got it spiled." 
 
 " Really ? " exclaimed Lydia, her eyes brimming with fun. 
 " That would be too hard. Here's something to help you 
 buy new clothes." Diving into one of her pockets, she 
 produced several silver coins. " Perhaps I can help you 
 about the ' licking,' too. Where do you live ? " 
 
 " In Hornsby's Neck." 
 
 "Why, that's quite near my home the Manor. Tell 
 your father Miss Lydia Cheston, Colonel Cheston's daughter,
 
 30 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 said she would be greatly obliged to-him if he wouldn't thrash 
 you this time." 
 
 " Oh Lordy 1 " exclaimed the boy, aghast ; " I'm in fur it, 
 sho'. Pap's name is 'Zekel Giles he's one of yo' par's rent 
 ers. I thought I'd seed you befo'. He'll feel obleeged to 
 whale me, now, fur gettin' into a muss with you." 
 
 " Not if he knows I do not wish it," she asserted, with a 
 confident smile. " But you must promise not to be so cruel 
 again." 
 
 " Cruel ? " said the boy, gazing at her in half-derisive sur 
 prise, but with a certain rude deference. " T'ain't enny harm 
 ter punch a bull. They're onnery beasts, en' 'ud horn you 
 in a minnit." 
 
 Lydia turned from him to hide her amusement. It were 
 idle to endeavour to proselytise him. A bull, in his eyes, 
 was lawful game, and worrying any dangerous beast was a 
 perfectly proper pastime. She knew the type of coarse coun 
 try humourists so well. 
 
 " If you like, Mr. Reeve," she said, " we'll go on deck. 
 I'm anxious to catch the first glimpse of the Manor land 
 mark a clump of tall pines."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 WHEN they reached the deck, they found it shrouded in 
 fog. The sun was still shining overhead, yet all about the 
 vessel lay darkness so dense that objects could not be dis 
 tinguished fifty yards away. Every few seconds, the clang 
 of a lighthouse bell and the screech of whistles from ves 
 sels creeping carefully along alternated with the deep- 
 throated roar of a great ocean steamer straight ahead. All 
 at once, the smokestack and masts of the latter loomed 
 high in air, and then sank to their proper level, close at 
 hand. The yards showed vaguely next, and then the deck, 
 with misty shapes upon it, and finally, the long black hull, 
 with the British ensign floating red and blue from the stern. 
 A few fathoms farther on, the Severn suddenly glided into 
 open space again, and all ahead was brilliantly clear. The 
 Bay was dotted with sailing craft of various types, from 
 great ships to mere midges of canoes, with all their canvas 
 bent. Close on the starboard bow, a schooner was dashing 
 along, her sails vermilion in the morning sun. The Bay 
 was now of an indigo tint ; the sky pale blue, flecked with 
 fleecy clouds. Far away to the left, stretched a line of 
 shore faint violet in tone ; to the right, a dark mass of woods 
 above which rose the feathery crowns of a group of pines. 
 
 Lydia's face grew radiant at sight of them. " The pines 
 at last ! " she exclaimed, " we are entering the river 1 " 
 
 The river, like most of the tributaries of the Chesapeake, 
 was very broad at its mouth, and for some distance above it. 
 Its banks rose gently on each side to rolling uplands, broken 
 by valleys and ravines. Forests and cleared land showed, 
 like colours on a map, in tracts of varying extent. The 
 
 3*
 
 32 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 fields were dappled with the subdued yet strongly contrasted 
 tints of early spring the chocolates, grays, faint purples of 
 freshly ploughed mould ; the drabs and russets of pasture and 
 stubble ; the velvety green of wheat-fields, and, occasionally, 
 the soft pink of a peach orchard in full bloom. Set close to 
 the water's edge, as a rule, old colonial houses gleamed, red or 
 white or yellow, among clumps of budding trees, and scattered 
 near them were the hip-roofed dwellings of tenants or over 
 seers ; the brick or wooden " quarters " of the slaves, and 
 more remote but still with evident relation to the " big house," 
 the quaint log cabins, plastered over with clay, of negro or 
 " poor white " dependents of the place. 
 
 Rounding a headland, the steamer came in sight of a long 
 wharf jutting out from the base of a green bluff down which 
 wound a road white with oyster-shells which, by long usage, 
 had been ground into dust. On the crest of the bluff were 
 perched a few whitewashed houses the homes chiefly of 
 fishermen shaded by large weeping willows and elms. The 
 wharf was black with people. The whole countryside was 
 in a ferment over the outbreak of hostilities between the two 
 great sections of the country the North and the South 
 and there was eager curiosity to hear the news the steamer 
 would bring from Baltimore. Fort Sumter had fallen but a 
 few days before; something even more momentous might 
 happen at any time. People had flocked to the wharf from 
 many miles around. 
 
 The tidings brought by the steamer were, indeed, of serious 
 import. On the previous day the igth of April, 1861 
 there had been a riot in Baltimore caused by the passage 
 through the city of detachments of Northern troops on their 
 way to Washington. The first blood of the struggle had 
 been spilled. What would happen next, no one could fore 
 tell. For the present, the way was blocked to the passage of 
 the Union forces. The Secessionist element in Baltimore
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 33 
 
 was flushed with triumph. The withdrawal of Maryland 
 from the Union seemed almost assured. 
 
 Throughout the Tidewater region, the sympathy with the 
 seceding states was intense. Secession had not been pop 
 ular there, but the impression had got abroad, that an at 
 tempt was being made to coerce the South by force of arms. 
 This idea roused the passions of the slaveholding commu 
 nities. Their interests were thought to be identified with 
 those of the states that had " gone out." The example of 
 Virginia appealed most strongly to her neighbours across the 
 Potomac, and along the shores of Chesapeake Bay. The 
 Tidewater regions of the two states were knit close together 
 by long association and intercourse and the similarity of 
 their economic and social institutions. The planters in 
 each had much in common, and were animated by substan 
 tially the same ideas. They had stood together from early 
 times. As colonists, they had stubbornly resisted the at 
 tempts of Cromwell's commissioners to reduce the two 
 " plantations " as hot-beds of malignants. In the Revolution, 
 they had fought side by side, with equal valour, on many a 
 bloody field. The instinct of habit, of kinship, of traditional 
 intimacy, as well as of self-preservation, naturally impelled a 
 people who regarded slavery as the keystone of their social 
 fabric and their Virginia neighbours as their natural allies to 
 make common cause against a foe that seemed to threaten 
 both. 
 
 Lydia was in a fever of impatience as the Severn crept, 
 like a snail, as it seemed to her, towards the wharf. When, 
 at last, she was near enough to scan the upturned faces, she 
 leaned over the guard-rail, passing each in quick review 
 in the hope of discovering someone from the Manor. Os 
 wald, standing close at her side, amused himself by noting 
 the different types in the motley gathering. They were all 
 there, it seemed to him, as he recalled the various impres- 
 3
 
 34 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 sions of his boyhood the dapper swell of the plantation in rid. 
 ing suit of velveteen or corduroy ; the " genteel " lawyer or 
 doctor in professional black; the affable tradesman from 
 the county town in more or less seedy garb ; the loutish 
 overseer or tenant in gray kersey ; the " poor white, "a thing 
 of shreds and patches, and finally the negroes, slave and 
 free, young and old, of both sexes and of all conditions, from 
 the spruce " body servant " or coachman of some wealthy 
 planter, and the comfortable-looking old "aunty " in a linsey- 
 woolsey gown of blue and yellow and gaudy turban of many 
 colours, to nondescript loungers and laughing pickaninnies. 
 These last, bareheaded and barefooted, bright-eyed and 
 eager for mischief or a chance of earning a penny, were 
 dodging in and out among the throng, or sat, basking in the 
 sun, along the edges of the wharf, their legs dangling over 
 the side. 
 
 Lydia was about to turn away, disappointed, when her 
 face suddenly lit up and she gave a low cry of satisfaction. 
 
 " Uncle Caesar ! " she exclaimed, stretching eagerly for 
 ward. 
 
 An old negro, who was standing near a pile at a corner 
 of the wharf, glanced up, and doffing a huge hat of white 
 felt, made her a low bow. He was an imposing figure 
 very tall, very black, with regular features and a clean 
 shaven face projecting from a portentous collar about which 
 was wound a somewhat threadbare cravat of black silk. He 
 held himself very stiff, with a grave dignity of manner which 
 discouraged familiarity. One could see, at a glance, that he 
 considered himself a person of assured standing and impor 
 tance. 
 
 " Miss Lydyer 1 " he exclaimed, surprised and apparently 
 somewhat disconcerted. " Sobbun (servant) Miss." 
 
 " He's the gardener at. the Manor," explained Lydia to 
 Oswald, laughing. " Isn't he formidable ? He's the only
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 35 
 
 person at home of whom I'm afraid. He used to threaten 
 me with a huge pair of shears when I trampled on his flower 
 beds, and I've never quite got over my dread of him. He 
 was the overseer, long ago, and still fancies he's a power. 
 Papa says it's a pity to disturb his illusion, and lets him do 
 pretty much as he pleases. He quite lords it over me as 
 you will see." 
 
 Oswald was disposed to doubt this ; he fancied she could 
 hold her own even with this grim old fellow. 
 
 Meanwhile, Caesar was busy speculating as to the cause 
 of the unlooked-for appearance of " Young Miss," as the 
 negroes called Lydia to distinguish her from " Ole Miss," 
 her grandmother, and from her mother, "Miss Flo'r." 
 
 " What she doin' on de boat, I wonder," he muttered ; " she's 
 got no bizness, dah. We all thought her safe at school in 
 Balt'mer. Marstersaid, only dis mornin', she wan't comin' 
 tell de fust uv June. One uv her mischeevous tricks, I'll 
 be boun' 1 " 
 
 He was really glad to see her, but he instinctively re 
 solved to give no indication of the fact if he could help it. 
 Ever since she had been big enough to run about, he had 
 been struggling to make head against her. In spite of him 
 self, she had captivated him, but he was too stubborn to 
 make an open submission. He even sought to assert his 
 independence at times by finding fault with and scolding her, 
 but the subterfuge was, after all, a hollow sham which de 
 ceived neither him nor her. He would sulkily have let her 
 trample on him. 
 
 " How did ye come hyar ? " he demanded, gruffly, as 
 Lydia turned again to him, " I hope you ain't sick." There 
 was a touch of anxiety in his voice in spite of his effort to 
 appear indifferent. 
 
 " No, indeed ! " she answered blithely. " And all at 
 home ? "
 
 36 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 " 'Bout ez uzuel. Yo' Mar's kind o' po'ly but noways 
 ill," he added, noting a quick look of alarm in her face ; " jes' 
 not so peart ez she mought be." 
 
 " You came in the carriage ? " 
 
 Caesar drew himself up still more stiffly, and looked em 
 barrassed. 
 
 " No, Miss in en ox-kyart," he answered slowly, with 
 evident unwillingness, and fidgeting nervously with his hat. 
 He was sure Young Miss would tease him about the ox 
 cart. She knew what a " come down " it was for him, who 
 considered it beneath his dignity to ride abroad except on 
 horseback or as driver of Ole Miss's coach. His pride was 
 at stake, and he dreaded her laughter. 
 
 " Marster axed me to fotch some things he wuz werry 
 pertickler about," he explained, with an'air of importance 
 that, he hoped, might impress her. " He didn't want ter 
 trust 'em to keerless han's." 
 
 " An ox-cart ! " cried Lydia, her eyes shining with mis 
 chief. " That would be such fun. You can find room for 
 me, Uncle Caesar ? " 
 
 Caesar glanced at her with an air of stern reproof. This 
 was worse than being made game of. The idea of Young 
 Miss being seen on the roads in such a " common " con 
 veyance ! It was all very well at home she might ride in 
 anything there, and as a matter of fact, she had tried every 
 species of locomotion that could be found or invented but 
 on the public roads, with this crowd swarming by ! What 
 had come over her ? And that young gentleman standing 
 beside her what would he think ? Cassar laid even greater 
 store by the family dignity than by his own. His dignity, 
 in fact, was part and parcel of the family state. " Hit's dat 
 schoolin' off hyondah," was his instant conclusion. "I 
 allers said hit wouldn't do her enny good. I ain't gwine 
 ter 'low enny foolishness like dat."
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 37 
 
 But he knew very well he would be helpless to prevent it. 
 He had had many a bout with Young Miss, and had always 
 been quickly routed; she either coaxed or teased him into 
 surly compliance. His only hope lay in flight. 
 
 " I've a great min' to drive off en' leave her," he mut 
 tered. " But no," after a moment's reflection, " Marster 
 would rake me fur lettin' her get home by herself, en' she'd 
 give me no peace fur a week 1 " 
 
 He glanced appealingly at Oswald, as if to ask him to 
 come to his relief, and his brow cleared as he heard him say 
 to Lydia: 
 
 " I've no doubt I can find you a carriage, if you will per 
 mit me." 
 
 Caesar gave him an approving nod. He would not have 
 done so had he recognised in him the son of Lawyer Reeve, 
 whom he held in contempt as " po' trash," and hated be 
 cause he had been instrumental in displacing him as over 
 seer. But he did not dream that Oswald was in the least 
 objectionable. He flattered himself as to his ability to tell 
 " de Quality " at a glance, and Oswald seemed to him to be 
 a very elegant young gentleman, indeed. Very probably, 
 he was an acquaintance Young Miss had made in the city 
 or perhaps, a friend of her brother, " Marse Turlo," on his 
 way to pay a visit at the Manor. 
 
 " Thank you, no," said Lydia quickly, to Caesar's keen 
 disappointment, " I shall really enjoy the ride in the ox 
 cart. It's something I haven't done for months. And it 
 will be so amusing to watch Uncle Caesar. Don't you see 
 how shocked he is ? It's such a treat to tease him again. 
 I'll be down in a moment, Uncle Caesar," she cried to the 
 discomfited old man, " I'll mind the oxen while you get the 
 things for Papa." 
 
 Caesar smothered an oath and turned away in disgust. 
 Well, if she would do it, he could at least make her feel his
 
 38 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 displeasure on the way. The prospect of a good spell of 
 grumbling and there was no keener enjoyment for him 
 consoled him somewhat. 
 
 As Lydia and Oswald left the steamer, they brushed past 
 a tall young planter who was in the act of going on board. 
 Glancing round at them, he halted in astonishment, and of 
 fering a hand to each, greeted them cordially by their first 
 names. 
 
 " I didn't expect to see either of you here ! " he ex 
 claimed. 
 
 His frank, honest gaze rested affectionately upon Lydia, 
 and then, for a moment, kindly upon Oswald, but shifted 
 almost instantly to Lydia again. Lydia and he were great 
 friends. Oswald, years ago, had been his prote'ge' as a younger 
 boy at college, and there was a strong bond of affection be 
 tween them. Oswald was glad to see him for reasons other 
 than their college intimacy. Basil Kent belonged to the class 
 he wished to enter. He had been very kind to him at college, 
 and Oswald hoped he might be even kinder here. But he 
 was not sure. Basil might have changed, and they were 
 no longer at college, but in a far different atmosphere. 
 
 The two young men were in strong contrast as they stood 
 facing each other. Basil Kent was dark and lean, with 
 bold, rather prominent, features and a somewhat angular, 
 strongly-built frame. He had none of Oswald's grace and 
 ease of carriage. His manner, though self-possessed, lacked 
 finish. Beside Oswald's fine regularity of feature, his rug 
 ged face was almost homely. It had, however, something 
 that Oswald's countenance lacked the stamp of power. A 
 keen intelligence gleamed in the clear gray eyes ; the square 
 jaw and aquiline profile betokened a resolute will. The im 
 pression one received was that of restless energy held well 
 in hand. 
 
 Lydia looked upon Basil as an elder brother, much closer
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 39 
 
 to her in sympathy, far more to be relied upon, than her real 
 brother, Turlo, who was but a careless fellow. He lived 
 with his father on a plantation adjoining the Manor, and 
 had been Lydia's chosen friend and confidant since she 
 could first remember. Her earliest impressions were of a 
 tall, stalwart lad who carried her about on his shoulder, 
 romped with her in the garden or the garret, and submit 
 ted meekly to all her whims. It was he who had taught her 
 to ride, to sail a canoe. Like herself, he was fond of out 
 door life. There was the kinship between them of an ar 
 dent sympathy with nature. She loved him as a dear com 
 rade who was always ready to share her special tastes, whose 
 greatest pleasure it seemed to be to contribute to her enjoy 
 ment. Her eyes shone softly as she returned his greeting. 
 How glad she was he happened to be there to meet her I
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 BASIL turned back and accompanied them to the spot 
 where Uncle Caesar stood waiting in an attitude of rigid 
 protest. 
 
 " What brought you back so soon, Lydia? " he asked. 
 
 " I ran away," she said, demurely, " I couldn't stand it 
 any longer, Basil. Spring had come ; the trees in the 
 streets were putting out their leaves poor, half-starved 
 things and I thought of all that was happening at the 
 Manor. Last night, I lost control of myself ; I felt as if I 
 had a fever ; perhaps I had ; at any rate, I had but one 
 thought to get away. I knew if I spoke to Aunts, there 
 would be a scene ; they would have tried to detain me ; per 
 haps " here she laughed merrily " they might even have 
 ventured to lock me up ! Poor dears imagine their horror 
 when they came down to breakfast this morning to find me 
 gone 1 But I left them a note explaining I was on my way 
 home. It was easy to slip out of the house and make my 
 way to the steamer, with Rover for my protector. I thought 
 I had reached the wharf only just in time, but there was a 
 riot in Baltimore yesterday, and the Severn was delayed un 
 til this morning. Captain Grimes gave me a stateroom, and 
 old Eliza, the chambermaid, slept outside my door, so I was 
 safe enough. Now, don't say a word. I know what you 
 think. Yes, I was inconsiderate of Aunts, and rash and all 
 that, but if you had felt as I did, you'd have done the same. 
 Don't tell me you wouldn't ; I'm not to blame for breaking 
 out of jail." 
 
 " I don't blame you," said Basil, smiling. 
 
 Blame her ? How could he, or how could anyone who 
 . 40
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 41 
 
 knew her ? Until her departure for Baltimore in the pre 
 vious autumn, she had led a life of such freedom at the 
 Manor that Basil had feared that, in the city, with its unac 
 customed confinement, its petty restraints, she would fret 
 like a bird beating its wings against a cage. Her father, her 
 mother, her grandmother had shared his apprehensions. 
 They had permitted her to develop naturally, with only such 
 training as their ideas of propriety demanded, and found 
 delight in her overflowing vitality, her freedom from affec 
 tations, her proud self-reliance. " She is no hothouse 
 plant," Ole Miss had once exclaimed, with a keen sense of 
 sympathy, for she, in her girlhood, had been quite as inde 
 pendent and high-strung, and she wished Lydia to grow up 
 as strong and vigorous and as free from the little weaknesses 
 of her sex as her own capable womanhood had proved to 
 be. When members of the family suggested that Lydia 
 was being " spoiled " by too much indulgence, her tart 
 answer was, " Pshaw ! let her be ; there is plenty of time 
 yet to prune her. It is you who would spoil her if you 
 tried to bend her to your ways. There is no harm in her, 
 and life will tame her soon enough." 
 
 As she grew towards womanhood, however, it had been 
 deemed expedient that Lydia should receive some final 
 touches to the education obtained from an English governess, 
 and Ole Miss had consented reluctantly to the urging of her 
 two maiden daughters in Baltimore that Lydia should spend 
 a winter with them in order to attend a school which they 
 recommended. Basil knew them well those aunts. They 
 were prim old maids whose establishment was a model of 
 neatness and decorum. They had chosen to live in Balti 
 more, on annuities from the Manor, because they disliked 
 the inconveniences of country life. What they loved was 
 snug corners, a quiet routine, and the mild distractions of 
 regular " church work." Ole Miss often thought of them
 
 42 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 with a kind of dismay. They had nothing in common with 
 the rest of the family, including herself. She was a Cheston 
 by birth as well as by marriage, a cousin of her late husband, 
 the Judge, and her daughters should have had a double 
 share of the family spirit, which was hardy, resolute, with a 
 dash of lawlessness in it. How did it happen that they 
 were such timid, order-loving creatures ? Really, they were 
 scarcely safe associates for her granddaughter! The old 
 lady actually felt a half-humorous sense of apprehension lest 
 they should inoculate Lydia with their mischievously tepid 
 ideas and even make a proselyte of her. Basil had been a 
 frequent visitor at their house and had always felt a sense of 
 oppression in the little bandbox of a place, on a narrow, re 
 tired street. He had often itched to pull a chair or a table 
 from its place, and create some human disorder that would 
 give it a habitable look. No wonder Lydia thought it a jail. 
 He marvelled she had endured it as long as she had done. 
 No, he could not blame her for yielding to a sudden im 
 pulse and breaking away, but what a risk she had run I 
 Her route to the steamer, at night, passed over the scene of 
 the riot of a few hours before, the details of which he had 
 just heard. Thank Heaven, she had escaped unharmed by 
 any of the remnants of the mob. Apparently, she had not 
 been molested at all ; it was evident she had no idea of the 
 danger of her adventure. 
 
 " I came in my canoe," he said. " Will you go back with 
 me ? There's a good breeze ; we can reach the Manor in 
 half an hour." 
 
 " Of course ! " cried Lydia, delighted. 
 
 Old Caesar gave a low chuckle. 
 
 " Dat fotch her," he exclaimed under his breath ; " en ox- 
 kyart's nuthin' to a cunner wid her. Dat gives her wings, 
 en' she'd allers like to be flyin'. Bless God furbringin' 
 Marse Basil in de nick o' time ! "
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 43 
 
 " You needn't wait, Uncle Caesar," she said, turning 
 to him with a mock air of regret, " I'm so sorry to disap 
 point you, but we'll have the ox-cart some other day." 
 
 " Not ef I kin holp it," he muttered, marching off 
 promptly for fear she might change her mind. 
 
 " Excuse me a minute," said Basil, " I must speak to 
 Captain Grimes. You're not going yet, Oswald ? " 
 
 " No ; if I may wait," answered Oswald, with a glance at 
 Lydia. He was grateful to Basil for his implied suggestion ; 
 it seemed to him to indicate that Basil found nothing strange 
 in his association with Colonel Cheston's daughter. Lydia 
 turned to him when Basil had gone, and began to chat gaily 
 of the people about them. 
 
 " It's so good to see them all once more, Mr. Reeve," 
 she exclaimed. " I know most of the faces ; even people I 
 never spoke to seem like old friends. It is so different in 
 a large city, where you meet only strangers ; I was dread 
 fully lonesome there." 
 
 Oswald found her trifling confidences delightful, but he 
 was ill at ease. At any moment, his father might appear. 
 It was a craven fear, he told himself, but he could imagine 
 the curve of Lydia's haughty mouth at sight of him, and he 
 hoped this would be spared him. Would his father have the 
 good sense to keep out of the way ? He was greatly relieved 
 when Basil returned, and there was still no sign of the figure 
 in shiny black. 
 
 Oswald was mistaken in assuming that Basil accepted his 
 presence with Lydia without question. He had been puz 
 zled from the first. As he now drew near, he glanced at 
 them curiously. How had it happened that they had met ? 
 What would the Colonel say ? They seemed to be on very 
 good terms ; would the friendship extend beyond the doors 
 of the Manor ? Basil knew the nature of the Colonel's feel 
 ings towards Oswald's father. Unconsciously, perhaps, he
 
 44 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 showed his negligent regard of him more plainly than was 
 considerate. It had probably never occurred to him that 
 Reeve expected or desired any different treatment. His 
 social aspirations were known to everybody, but the Colonel 
 had never taken them seriously ; certainly, he could not be 
 expected to receive as his equal the son of his father's 
 overseer I 
 
 Basil felt a keen sympathy for Oswald ; there might be 
 rough trials ahead for him. It was all absurd, of course, 
 this pride of caste, where a well-bred, attractive young fel 
 low like Oswald was in question, but precisely because there 
 was no reason in it, it would be all the harder to combat. 
 And liberal-minded though he was, he, himself, felt a 
 thrill of repugnance at the thought of Lydia associating 
 with the son of " Lawyer Reeve," even though he had found 
 him a charming lad at college and beheld in him, now, a 
 fine, manly fellow with a grace of manner which he sorely 
 envied. Had it been any one but Lydia, would he have 
 cared ? He told himself he was not exempt from the class 
 prejudice he condemned in others, but, perhaps, it was merely 
 a twinge of jealousy of which, as yet, he was unconscious. 
 He was more sensitive than he knew, where Lydia was con 
 cerned. 
 
 " I'm ready, Lydia," he said, moving to one side of the 
 wharf where his canoe lay moored. Leaping down into the 
 bow, he began to unfurl the sail. 'There was a rickety 
 ladder reaching from the edge of the wharf to the stern, and 
 Oswald, going first, offered Lydia his hand. When she had 
 descended, he stood ready to push off the long, slender craft, 
 sharp at each end, and lying in the water as light as a cork. 
 Crouching on the wharf, lay Rover, gazing down at his 
 mistress with anxious eyes, as if fearing to be left be 
 hind. 
 
 " Now, Rover ! " said Lydia, with a gay laugh.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 45 
 
 The setter sprang up eagerly, and leaped into the waist at 
 her feet. 
 
 " Cast off, Oswald," cried Basil, easing his sheet to the 
 wind. 
 
 Oswald gave the canoe a strong push, and the sail catch 
 ing the breeze, she darted off like a bird. 
 
 " Au revoir, Mr. Reeve," Lydia called out brightly, with 
 a wave of her hand. 
 
 " Au revoir" said Oswald, bowing. 
 
 Was it really au revoir or farewell ? Would he ever meet 
 her again on the same friendly terms ? Ascending to the 
 wharf, he watched the swiftly receding boat, until it had be 
 come a mere speck upon the river. He had had a glimpse 
 of romance ; with a sigh, he turned away to face reality 
 once more. As he did so, he felt a touch upon his shoulder. 
 His father was beside him. It was reality, indeed 1 
 
 " I kept out of sight," said Mr. Reeve, evidently thinking 
 he had done something highly creditable, and confident of 
 his son's approval. " I didn't want to spoil your game, my 
 boy. But how did you contrive to scrape acquaintance with 
 her? I never thought you'd manage it so quickly." 
 
 " I didn't manage it ; " answered Oswald, shortly, " it was 
 an accident." He could not bear to discuss Lydia Cheston 
 with his father. But he was not un appreciative. His father 
 had acted with a consideration he had not expected. For 
 his sake, he had effaced himself. It were too much to ask 
 of him that he contract the habit of doing so, but his con 
 duct was distinctly encouraging. Oswald began to hope 
 they might get on together, in some sort of fashion, after all
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE canoe sped along before a stiff side wind. Its swift, 
 buoyant motion sent the blood tingling through Lydia's 
 veins. It was her duty to steer, while Basil shifted sail. 
 She held the tiller firmly, with a keen sense of power. The 
 capricious little craft seemed a live thing under her, to 
 be watched and humoured, lest it play her some prank. 
 Every now and then, it shied or bounded forward, like a 
 mettlesome colt. 
 
 Basil had but little to do with sheet or jib, and occupied 
 himself chiefly with watching Lydia as she sat, flushed and 
 eager, plying him with questions as to what was happening 
 at the Manor. It was interesting to note the changes that 
 six months had wrought in her. They seemed at first to be 
 but slight. Apparently, she was the same bright, laughing 
 child he had always known. But as he studied her, he saw 
 that, in some things, she was different. Her delicate features, 
 for example, were more firmly limned. There was greater 
 expressiveness in her face, a new light in her eyes. Her 
 figure showed rounder, more graceful lines. It was as 
 though a sketch had been filled in, with a touch here and 
 there, so that now it was a picture almost finished. She 
 had reached the boundaries of adolescence ; the child was 
 becoming a woman. 
 
 The discovery disturbed him. He had never thought of 
 her except as a child. She loved him as a child, with no 
 reserve, no scrutiny. Her affection was a matter of habit. 
 It sprang from long association and mutuality of tastes. 
 What would happen when she regarded him with a woman's 
 eyes? 
 
 46
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 47 
 
 Basil knew very well that he was not a favourite with her 
 sex. Most women, in fact, regarded him as a dull, " slow " 
 fellow. He was reserved and rather shy, with the diffidence 
 natural to a serious temperament. He had been a close 
 student at college, and, since his return home, had been 
 absorbed in the management of his father's estate. Uncon 
 sciously, he had grown to be almost as much of a recluse as 
 his father, a book-worm, who seldom stirred from home. A 
 natural disinclination for society gained upon him. He 
 gradually became impatient of its demands. Whatever 
 drew him away from his favourite occupations was apt to be 
 a source of annoyance. When, by any chance, he found 
 himself in a company of young people, he was ill at ease. 
 Women found it difficult to make him talk. It was rather 
 aggravating for them, because, among men, he had the rep 
 utation of being clever. Conscious of his social inefficiency, 
 he made strenuous efforts, now and then, to overcome it, 
 but his essays seemed to him to be absurdly clumsy and 
 abortive. He often envied men, whom he knew to be fools, 
 their gift of light and amusing small-talk. He was embar 
 rassed by a queer conscientiousness. He could seldom 
 bring himself to say a thing unless it seemed worth saying ; 
 and then, it always sounded, to his ears, forced and stilted. 
 He usually ended by hurrying home from a social gathering 
 with a keen sense of relief. 
 
 It was only at the Manor that he showed himself as he 
 really was. He had been on a familiar footing there since 
 childhood, and talked and acted as freely as at home, 
 especially when Lydia and he were alone together. He was 
 never at a loss for words with her. They had always had 
 so much in common. There was even a deeper note in the 
 love he shared with her for the fields and woods. Lydia's 
 feeling was merely instinctive ; his had been broadened and 
 made more vivid by his mode of life. He was a hard'
 
 48 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 working fellow, and for years, had carried the whole burden 
 of his father's affairs which, at one time, had been seriously 
 compromised. There were moments when it was delicious 
 to wander idly in a wood, gradually losing all sense of care. 
 His tired mind revived in keen enjoyment of its solitude, its 
 silence, its profound repose. He drank in eagerly the pun 
 gent fragrance of the pines, the fresh smell of the earth, the 
 perfume of the honeysuckle, or of wild grape or cherry 
 blossoms. No wood, however remote, was lonesome for 
 him. The stillness grew vocal if one stepped softly. The 
 chirp of crickets, the humming of bees, the warbling or the 
 conversational twitter of birds, the rustle of rabbit or fox in 
 the undergrowth all spoke to him of a companionship, 
 shy and yet familiar, that seemed to bring him into com 
 munion with Nature in her truest forms. Life was all about 
 him, yet life inarticulate, subdued, unobtrusive, which made 
 no demands upon him and harmonised perfectly with his 
 mood. There were no artificial exactions here ; no arbitrary 
 standards to which he must conform. Life in the woods 
 was natural, free, unrestrained. The birds and rabbits and 
 squirrels commented upon him among themselves, perhaps, 
 but their criticisms were unintelligible to him and he need 
 not care if they found him dull. 
 
 When Lydia shared these excursions, his pleasure was 
 of a different sort and even keener. She had always ex 
 erted a strong influence over him. As a mere child, she 
 had had the power of drawing him out of himself, of 
 almost making another man of him. He lost his self- 
 consciousness, his sense of awkwardness ; it was as though 
 a weight had been lifted from him and he was free to 
 enjoy. It was impossible to be serious with her or in 
 communicative. It was only when others shared their com 
 panionship that he relapsed into fits of taciturnity and 
 shyness, and, even then, she often coaxed him out of his
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 49 
 
 reserve. Her power was greatest when they wandered to 
 gether over the country on horseback or afoot. Then, it 
 seemed to him, she was all his own. Her joyous enthusiasm 
 affected him with a refreshing sense of the brightness and 
 gaiety and buoyancy of life. In her graceful wildness, her 
 innocent abandon, she seemed a perfect creature of the 
 woods. At times, he could fancy her a laughter-loving 
 dryad, who had fallen asleep long ages ago and had suddenly 
 wakened into life again to lure him into a delightful 
 paganism. And an expedition with her was sure to have its 
 adventures and surprises. She loved danger for its own 
 sake, and was not to be deterred by any obstacles. Many 
 a time, he had risked his neck or taken the chance of broken 
 bones because she chose to attempt some hazardous feat or 
 sheer piece of folly. When she got into trouble, she turned 
 to him coolly to extricate her, in perfect confidence that he 
 would not fail her. She trusted him implicitly, and looked 
 to him always for sympathy and help. Whatever others 
 might think of him, she never thought him " slow " or 
 dull. 
 
 But now that she was no longer a child, would she con 
 tinue to be blind to his shortcomings ? Might not she, too, 
 come to weigh him by the ordinary standards of her sex ? 
 It would be only natural, if, as a woman, she asked of him 
 what he feared he could not give, the ability to please, to 
 amuse, to jest, among other people, in the social atmosphere 
 that always chilled him. She was beautiful, and would be 
 admired and courted. Their old, unrestricted intimacy 
 would be possible no longer. At the thought, a fierce de 
 sire to keep her for himself thrilled him with the dawning 
 sense of passion. He looked at her again and understood. 
 It was no longer the child in her that he loved, but the 
 woman. 
 
 He drew a deep breath, startled. She was very lovely 
 4
 
 50 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 he had never realised how lovely before. He longed to 
 clasp her in his arms, to hold her close, a mutinous, wild 
 thing, but loving. He looked hastily away, ashamed of what 
 seemed to him to be a kind of intrusion upon her innocence. 
 Her clear, confiding gaze was still that of a child. Her feel 
 ing for him was evidently as unthinkingly fond and trusting as 
 ever. It appealed to something higher than ordinary man 
 hood in him. He must hide his rash desire from her. She 
 would not understand it. It might easily offend her, and 
 precipitate the estrangement between them he had begun 
 to fear. Thank God, he was strong ! He had long been 
 accustomed to control himself. What he willed not to do. 
 was seldom done. It seemed easy to deny himself for her 
 sake. He had not reckoned, as yet, with the tyranny of the 
 feeling which was but just stealing over him, that insidious 
 force which confuses the clearest brain and mocks the most 
 stubborn will. He would not have been so confident had 
 he ever felt the full power of her sex. 
 
 Suddenly, Lydia gave a start, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Isn't that arbutus on the hillside yonder ? " 
 
 They had entered a narrow, winding cove, with high, 
 wooded banks on one side and open fields on the other. 
 
 "Yes," she added, as she looked again, "it is, really. I 
 feared it would be out of bloom. How nice of it to wait for 
 me! Run the boat in, Basil; I must pick some." 
 
 Basil obediently started to shift the sail, but before he 
 could do so, she had changed her mind. 
 
 " No, it would detain us, and I can't lose a minute, now. 
 To-morrow, the first thing after breakfast, we'll go to the 
 Indian Spring; the arbutus is always so plentiful there." 
 
 A glimpse of the Manor house, straight ahead, increased 
 her impatience, but they were still a mile or more away. 
 The cove wound its tortuous course into the very heart of 
 the plantation. The house lay on high ground about two
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR $i 
 
 hundred yards from its banks, partly screened by evergreen 
 hedges and trees. 
 
 Lydla guided the canoe skilfully through the sudden turns 
 and past the sharp angles made by long points or tongues 
 of land, and, finally, brought up at a wharf near the head of 
 the cove. It was a rude structure of logs at the edge of a 
 gravelled path that led up a steep hill to a grove of lofty oaks. 
 Without pausing for Basil to make fast, she sprang out as 
 the canoe glided alongside the wharf, and hastened up the 
 path to the top of the bluff. The turf beneath the oaks was 
 thickly studded with wild violets. A family tradition 
 asserted that the parent plants had been brought from Eng 
 land by the immigrant Chestons, more than two hundred 
 years before. The legend found some corroboration in the 
 fact that they differed from their scentless cousins of the 
 woods in having a fragrant odour. Lydia plucked a handful 
 of the blossoms, and then, seating herself on the mossy 
 roots of the largest oak, she inhaled their perfume in long, 
 slow draughts. She was actually at home. The smell of 
 violets made vivid this fact. She glanced about her with 
 eager eyes, drinking in every detail of the scene. 
 
 This particular spot was especially dear to her. With it 
 were associated some of her earliest impressions impres 
 sions which had a delightful tinge of romance. As a child, 
 she had been assured by her old negro nurse that the thickly- 
 wooded ridge just across the cove was haunted. It was a 
 weird place, with several gaunt trees, stripped of their bark 
 by lightning, which stood out, white and naked, from the 
 background of dark green cedars and pines. Many fallen 
 giants lay rotting along the high, steep bank. Some of 
 these were easily convertible by a child's imagination into 
 ogres and monsters of terrifying shapes. There had been a 
 time when Lydia believed it quite possible for them to rise 
 in all their great bulk and height, and wade across the cove
 
 52 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 to devour her. Even now, she felt a vague thrill at the re 
 membrance of her childish terrors. How often she had sat 
 under these old oaks and listened, shuddering yet fascinated, 
 to negro folk-lore of witchcraft and ghosts, or amused and 
 intensely sympathetic, to the tar-baby and rabbit stories 
 which were common to the negroes of the Tidewater region 
 and may have drifted gradually southward, to give, at last, a 
 rich fund of material to Uncle Remus. 
 
 And there was another attraction in the spot. The bluff 
 was a coign of vantage from which she could survey the 
 greater part of the plantation. In whatever direction she 
 looked, she had a glimpse of bits of landscape which re 
 vived, in turn, some strong impression. Over yonder, 
 across a ravine, stretched a field in the middle of which stood 
 a great oak, in whose top a family of fishing hawks had 
 dwelt ever since she could remember. To the left, lay a 
 dense thicket of laurel bushes, which, in a few weeks, would 
 be a mass of pink and crimson blossoms. A little farther on, 
 a tiny stream trickled through a coppice of willows, magnolias 
 and wild rose bushes, to the cove. This was a favourite haunt 
 of birds. Here she had often sat, quite still, listening to the 
 carolling of various warblers and watching a scarlet tanager 
 as it darted from bough to bough, a flash of flame. Each 
 spot had its special individuality for her. There were certain 
 trees and even stones which she regarded as her particular 
 friends. The dearest of them all was the splendid old oak 
 against whose trunk she was leaning. It was so strong, so 
 rugged, so unchanging. With a sudden impulse, she turned 
 and furtively pressed her lips to its bark. 
 
 A footstep caused her to look round guiltily, but it was 
 only Basil. He would understand. 
 
 She sprang to her feet, and together, they started towards 
 the house. Rover followed close behind them, having been 
 admonished by his mistress to remain " at heel." She wished
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 53 
 
 to take the household by surprise, and, if anyone saw Rover 
 scampering ahead, her secret would be out. 
 
 Their path led them, first, through an old apple orchard 
 which lay at the rear of the negro " Quarter " and the stables. 
 Beyond these, ran a broad, grassy lane separating them from 
 the grounds about the " big house." The apple trees were 
 in bloom. From a low hanging bough, Lydia plucked a 
 spray of pink and white buds and fastened it at her throat. 
 It seemed to Basil appropriate to her. Its delicate tints 
 were not purer than those that blended in her cheeks. She, 
 too, was a blossom still in the bud a human blossom, the 
 very incarnation of the springtime which was burgeoning 
 all about them. 
 
 " We must avoid the Quarter," she whispered, laughing. 
 " Someone might see us, and run ahead to the house and 
 tell." 
 
 They stole noiselessly past the gable-end next the path, 
 screened from observation by a hedge of cedar. The Quarter 
 was a long, low building of brick, shaded by mulberries and 
 locusts. In front of it, a group of negro children were play 
 ing in the road. They did not look up as Lydia and Basil 
 slipped by and then descended hastily into a little valley 
 where they were hidden from view. This valley rose grad 
 ually to high ground again, at a point where an arched gate 
 way opened in a brick wall which formed the lower boundary 
 of the rear lawn and the flower garden. The wall was 
 thickly clothed with ivy which hung in clusters above the 
 gate. 
 
 Basil opened the gate and Lydia passed in. She paused 
 a moment to glance about her. The dear old garden how 
 trim and smart it looked ! Uncle Caesar had evidently just 
 completed his spring work. The tall hedges of cedar and 
 holly had been freshly clipped and the single evergreens 
 reshaped into pyramids and cones. The turf had been shorn
 
 54 
 
 and rolled so that it seemed to fit like a carpet of green 
 velvet about the roots of the trees and along the narrow 
 " borders " filled with old-fashioned flowers. 
 
 The garden was a spot of sweet and hallowed associations 
 for the imaginative girl. Not only had it been her play 
 ground, the scene of delightful romps and frolics where she 
 had often hidden, thrilling with mischievous enjoyment, in 
 the fragrant depths of the huge box trees, but it was also 
 identified with many a romantic story of the Manor. Here, 
 generation after generation of her family had laughed and 
 loved and dreamed. She could easily believe the tales of 
 the negroes of ghostly visitations of dead-and-gone Chestons 
 to its leafy alleys. Doubtless they loved it as she loved it. 
 Why shouldn't they be drawn back to the spot ? It was 
 pleasant, though eerie, for her to feel that, perhaps, when 
 she wandered here, she was surrounded by their sympathetic 
 shades. 
 
 But she was too impatient, now, to linger long, and turn 
 ing into a gravelled path between rows of tall pines alternat 
 ing with bushy holly trees, she hastened towards the house. 
 At a break in the shrubbery, she came upon a clear view of 
 the building. 
 
 " Just a moment, Basil ! " she exclaimed, and halting, she 
 stood gazing with moistened eyes at the gaunt, weather- 
 beaten pile. 
 
 The Manor house was very old, as age is measured in this 
 still youthful land of ours. It was a rambling structure of 
 mottled brick, reddish brown and gray, arranged in checker, 
 board fashion, with large verandahs, their roofs supported by 
 stout Doric pillars, at front and rear. The gable-ends were 
 covered with ivy, which also enveloped the chimneys in a 
 mantle of lustrous .green. Climbing roses and Virginia 
 creeper wandered over the walls. Great lindens and elms 
 swayed their branches above the roof, and weeping willows,
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 55 
 
 Lombardy poplars, hickories and oaks, all of them of large 
 size, were scattered about the grounds which, with the front 
 lane, must have covered a space of fifty acres or more. An 
 avenue of spreading elms extended from the front verandah, 
 shading the drive, to the gate which opened upon the public 
 road, a distance of nearly half a mile. Their branches, in 
 terlacing, formed an almost perfect arch the whole way. 
 From the rear verandah, the lawn, lined on each side by 
 Lombardy poplars planted at regular distances like sentinels, 
 descended in a succession of terraces to the garden wall. 
 Flanking it, were the flower-gardens, divided into plots by 
 hedges or by low borders of box, with gravelled paths shaded 
 by a variety of shrubbery and trees. 
 
 About the whole place, there was an atmosphere of settled 
 tranquillity and repose. There were many such places in 
 Tidewater Maryland a fact, in itself, indicative of a firmly 
 rooted order of society which had long since passed through 
 the process of evolution and had come to a standstill, well 
 satisfied to rest. 
 
 It was hard for Lydia to refrain from rushing across the 
 lawn by the nearest cut, but mastering the impulse, she 
 turned away and proceeded up the avenue of pines. A few 
 paces farther on, the sound of voices in conversation again 
 arrested her steps. 
 
 " I hear Papa ! " she cried, and leaving the path, she 
 started impetuously across a flower-bed, trampling a fine 
 plot of hyacinths as she ran. Breaking through a hedge of 
 lilac bushes, she came upon the open lawn. Here, beneath 
 a spreading horse chestnut, sat two gentlemen in rustic arm 
 chairs, smoking. One of them was her father ; the other, 
 her uncle, Mr. Josias Plunkett. The pair were oddly con 
 trasted. The Colonel was a large, robust man, with the 
 glow of vigorous health in his ruddy cheeks, and the light 
 of a wholesome, genial temper in his kindly brown eyes.
 
 56 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Mr. Plunkett was a consequential little person, with self-im 
 portance written plainly on his pink-and-white face, clean 
 shaven, smug, supercilious. 
 
 Lydia stole upon them unobserved, and flung her arms 
 about her father's neck. 
 
 " Bless my soul ! " cried the Colonel, startled, and strug 
 gling to his feet. " You little scamp ; " he added, de 
 lightedly, " you gave me a fright. What are you doing 
 here ? " 
 
 Lydia raised herself on tiptoe to kiss him. Her father 
 seized her by the shoulders and holding her off at arm's 
 length, gazed down at her in tender admiration. She was 
 lovelier than ever. 
 
 " I ran away, Papa," she answered at last, with a mock 
 air of penitence. 
 
 " Ran away ! " he exclaimed. " It's what I feared, you 
 rogue ! I told the girls they wouldn't be able to keep you." 
 
 The Colonel still called his sisters " the girls," though 
 they were verging upon fifty. 
 
 " They did their best, Papa," said Lydia, gaily, " but I 
 was really incorrigible. They'll give me up, now, as a hope 
 less case that's one comfort. I shall be permitted to stay 
 here without any further petitions from them. No doubt 
 they'll think I'm ungrateful, but I'm not. I was nearly 
 wild that's the truth. If I'd stayed another day, I might 
 have done something dreadful and been packed off in dis 
 grace. It was very discreet in me to run away." 
 
 " Very, indeed 1 " laughed her father. He felt he ought 
 to scold her just a little, but how could he, with that flower- 
 like face looking mischievously, and yet, appealingly, up at 
 him ? 
 
 " Have you missed me very much ? " demanded Lydia, 
 with a quizzical gleam in her eyes. As if there could be 
 any doubt of that I
 
 57 
 
 "Well a little," said the Colonel, teasingly; "the house 
 has been rather dull eh, Josias ? " 
 
 Mr. Plunkett nodded shortly, and stepping up to his niece, 
 greeted her with a dry formality in which there was little 
 trace of affection. Yes, the house had been dull, but he 
 liked that sort of dullness. The liveliness caused by Lydia's 
 presence was irritating to him. There was an old feud be 
 tween them. A precise, order-loving old bachelor, he found 
 only causes of disturbance and offence in Lydia's impetuos 
 ity of spirit. Ever since she had been able to crawl, she 
 had kept him in a state of constant unrest and anxiety. He 
 loved ease and quiet and a regular life. Nothing vexed him 
 more than to have his pet habits interfered with. He con 
 sidered himself a privileged member of the household be 
 cause he was, in a certain sense, a guest a guest of some 
 twenty-five years' standing ; that is to say, from the date of 
 his sister's marriage to the Colonel. He had his particular 
 armchair, his negro "boy," whom he had picked out from 
 among the Colonel's slaves, his horse, his special dishes at 
 table. His fishing tackle, his canes, his gun, all chosen from 
 the Colonel's stock, were his exclusive property, which no 
 body else must touch. Lydia laid impious hands upon all. 
 It was she who upset his tobacco box, broke his pipes, sent 
 his " boy " on errands to unaccountable places, appropriated 
 his armchair for a family of kittens, and so on, through a 
 long catalogue of constantly recurring grievances. She had 
 absolutely no sense of order. He declared once, with an 
 oath, that she was a human mosquito, continually buzzing 
 about now here, now there, but nipping, at every chance, 
 at him whose dearest wish it was to be let alone. The 
 " dullness " which had reigned in the house during her ab 
 sence had been bliss for him. He had hoped it would con 
 tinue for nearly two months longer, and now, suddenly, here 
 was Chaos come again ! Good-bye, at once, to his delicious
 
 58 
 
 afternoon naps, his unmolested enjoyment of his pipe, his 
 quiet games of chess in the evening with the Colonel or 
 Miss Twiggs, Lydia's former governess. 
 
 " What about your education ? " he demanded sourly. 
 " You don't mean to cut school altogether and grow up an 
 ignoramus ? " 
 
 Mr. Plunkett had a fondness for putting things bluntly. 
 He was one of that class of men who find a relish in telling 
 unpleasant truths. Besides, he was nettled at his niece. 
 He wanted to " get even " with her for bursting upon him 
 in this way, without the least notice. 
 
 " Thank you, Uncle Josias ! " said Lydia, sweeping him 
 a curtsy. She liked the sulky old curmudgeon and en 
 joyed his thrusts ; they served to accentuate the affection 
 that surrounded her at the Manor. 
 
 The Colonel exchanged laughing glances with her. 
 " Uncle Josias " was a standing source of amusement for 
 them. His strictures were never to be taken to heart. 
 They were a kind of condiment that gave a keener flavour to 
 life. 
 
 " We'll have to reconcile ourselves to her deficiencies, 
 Josias," said the Colonel, with a jocose pretence of accept 
 ing the inevitable ; " she has come to stay." 
 
 Mr. Plunkett turned short on his heel and left them. 
 What was the use of arguing ? His brother-in-law was 
 simply daft about the girl. She could twist him round her 
 little finger. In Mr. Plunkett's opinion, she was utterly 
 spoiled. Well, he had spoken out, and now, he would wash 
 his hands of her. Nobody could accuse him of not having 
 said what he thought. It wouldn't be his fault if she 
 turned out badly. 
 
 "Poor Uncle Josias 1" exclaimed Lydia, "you've given 
 him a blow, Papa ! But it makes me so glad to know you 
 won't send me away again. Isn't it better, after all, to be
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 59 
 
 a happy ignoramus here, than something I don't know 
 what away from everything and everybody I love ? And 
 I wasn't learning much, either. You are in earnest ? I may 
 really stay ? " 
 
 " As long as ever you like, my pet," replied the Colonel. 
 " And now, run away to your mother. She has been pining 
 for you lately, and counting the days for your return." 
 
 Lydia gave him another vigorous hug, and then sped 
 lightly away to the house.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 BASIL joined the Colonel shortly after Lydia had left him. 
 He had waited purposely, not wishing to intrude upon the 
 first moments of their meeting. He was greeted with a 
 kindly, familiar nod. Basil was practically a member of the 
 family and a day scarcely ever passed without a visit from 
 him at the Manor. 
 
 " Lydia's home again," said the Colonel, brightly, sure 
 that Basil, also, would be pleased. " But perhaps you've 
 seen her ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir; I brought her from the wharf in my canoe." 
 
 " Lucky you were there to meet her ; she might have had 
 some trouble finding a conveyance." 
 
 " You forget Caesar and his ox-cart," suggested Basil, 
 smiling. " She was about to start with him." 
 
 "Well, you saved him a disagreeable job," said the 
 Colonel, with a hearty laugh ; " 'twould have been devilish 
 hard on him to have had to bring her home in an ox-cart. 
 The old fellow is getting more and more airy every day ; 
 he'll be teaching me manners after awhile. I wish I knew 
 some way of taking him down a peg, but he enjoys his con 
 sequence so much I haven't the heart." 
 
 Basil thought to himself there were a good many things 
 the Colonel hadn't the heart to do. A kinder soul never 
 lived, notwithstanding his prejudices were strong and his 
 temper choleric. It was hard for him to say " no." He 
 liked to be on pleasant terms with everybody, down to the 
 humblest of his slaves. But for the authority he derived 
 from his position as " Marster " and the restraining influ 
 ence of his mother, the discipline at the Manor would have 
 
 60
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 61 
 
 been but lax. His servants took advantage of him when 
 ever they dared and obeyed him more from habit than for 
 any other reason. All of them loved him more or less, but 
 that did not prevent them from cheating him if they could. 
 To Caesar alone was his word the law, and it was so with 
 him only because of the old servant's rigid notions of what 
 was befitting. Basil often wondered at the Colonel's genial 
 indifference, for he had been educated to habits of discipline 
 at West Point and afterwards as an officer of dragoons in 
 the regular army. Even now, as the commander of the 
 county militia, he was strict at drill and often sharp and 
 peremptory in manner. The truth was, probably, that his 
 professional instinct reasserted itself when he donned his 
 uniform, and that, at other times, he felt free to give his 
 natural amiability full play. 
 
 " By the way, Basil," said the Colonel, " I want to con 
 sult you about my wheat. Smyrk (the overseer) thinks it 
 has got the fly in it. If you don't mind, we'll look it over." 
 
 He often consulted Basil about farming matters, having 
 great confidence in his judgment. Though a young man, 
 Basil had already made a local reputation as a successful 
 planter. At first, he had been sneered at as a " book 
 farmer " and " visionary," but most of his experiments had 
 succeeded and he had gone on raising larger crops and finer 
 cattle every year. He had merely applied common sense 
 and careful reading to his farming operations, but the re 
 sults had astonished his neighbours, who persisted in doing 
 things in a certain way because it had been sanctified by 
 habit and tradition. His success was immensely gratify 
 ing to the Colonel who regarded him almost as a son and 
 felt a kind of paternal pride in extolling him to his friends. 
 
 Basil's father had been the Colonel's favourite playmate in 
 childhood and was still his dearest friend, and this fact gave 
 a warmer tinge to his affection for the son. Since the death
 
 62 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 of his wife many years before, Mr. Kent, who, until then, had 
 been brought more or less into contact with his neighbours, 
 had led a solitary life, shrinking more and more from society, 
 and absorbed in philosophical studies. The Colonel was 
 his only regular visitor. The dissimilarity of their tempera 
 ments and tastes was, strange to say, a strong factor in the 
 intimacy of the two men. The one was essentially a man of 
 action ; the other, a thinker and a dreamer. The Colonel 
 loved out-door life ; Mr. Kent hated to stir beyond his 
 study ; to leave, for a moment, his beloved books. Each 
 admired the other for the qualities that were lacking in him 
 self. The Colonel was lost in naive wonder at the book 
 worm's learning, which seemed to him prodigious. Mr. 
 Kent envied the Colonel his animal spirits, his vigorous 
 health, his keen zest in life. At times, he almost wished the 
 Colonel would carry him off with him and force him to share 
 the enjoyments of fresh air and sunshine in which he 
 seemed to delight. Without knowing it, the Colonel brought 
 into his study, musty with the smell of books, a flavour of the 
 woods and fields that tantalised and allured the toil-worn 
 scholar. It was a breath of that pulsating outer life which 
 he shrank from, yet secretly craved. 
 
 For his old friend's sake, the Colonel had taken Basil un 
 der his special charge from the first, supplying the deficiencies 
 in his father which might have made his boyhood a lonely 
 and cheerless one. It was the Colonel who saw to it that he 
 had the usual associations and enjoyments of boys of his age 
 and encouraged him to take an interest in the management 
 of the estate. In course of time, he had grown very fond of 
 Basil and had fallen into the habit of deferring to him because, 
 as he said, he had an old head on young shoulders. When 
 ever he was in doubt or difficulty, he turned instinctively to 
 him. 
 
 It would have been well for him had he confided in him
 
 fully. His affairs were in serious disorder, though he did 
 not know it, and Basil, who had real capacity as a manager, 
 might have extricated him. But the Colonel fancied every 
 thing was going on swimmingly at the Manor. True, there 
 were debts, but the Manor was a great estate and Reeve made 
 borrowing so easy for him ! He could not hide from himself 
 the fact that the plantation was not nearly so productive as 
 in his father's day, but he was always hoping for a favourable 
 turn. He could not see why it was. He had spent large 
 sums for " improvements " of various kinds, and was always 
 ready to embark in some new enterprise, but to his surprise, 
 very few of his investments yielded any return. Basil could 
 have enlightened him. He saw clearly enough that most of 
 his schemes were extravagant and strongly suspected that 
 the overseer, Smyrk, was a rogue. But how could he tell 
 the Colonel, even indirectly, that he was thriftless, speculat 
 ive, credulous an easy prey for every swindler who came 
 along ? Besides, Basil had no suspicion of the actual facts. 
 He did not dream that the Colonel was in serious danger. 
 He, also, thought the Manor too great an estate to become 
 involved by mere negligence. The Colonel had always been 
 easy-going and improvident, and no great harm had, appar 
 ently, resulted. Why should he meddle ? He was diffident, 
 too, of his own opinions. Because he had succeeded in his 
 father's affairs, it did not follow that he could be useful in 
 the Colonel's. Even when asked, he hesitated to give him 
 advice. 
 
 His course would have been very different could he have 
 known that the Colonel's resources were being deliberately 
 sapped by the Colonel's trusted agent, Reeve, in collusion 
 with the overseer. The cunning lawyer was an adept in 
 absorbing large estates. For many years, he had made a 
 business of lending money, with men of straw as the ostensi 
 ble creditors. He chose his victims judiciously among the
 
 64 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 incapable and prodigal, and little by little, got them into his 
 power, finally plucking them as remorselessly as he dared. 
 He did not hope to obtain possession of the Manor for him 
 self. That would be a dangerous, though a tempting, feat. 
 To be the acknowledged master where he was now a mere 
 retainer, was an idea that appealed to him strongly, but he 
 could not afford it. It would be ruinous, not only for him but 
 for his son, to appear before the community as the destroyer 
 of the family which, in popular estimation, had made him what 
 he was. He would have to do that if he openly took the estate. 
 No ; he must content himself with getting the Colonel so 
 deep in debt that he would practically own him. The Ches- 
 tons fancied they had made him ; there was keen relish for 
 him in the thought that, some day, they might discover he 
 could make or unmake them. And it was within the range 
 of possibility that he might be able, ultimately, to seat his 
 son in the Colonel's place without incurring the odium he 
 feared. 
 
 The Colonel was mere clay in such hands. He had not 
 been educated as a planter but as a soldier, and had spent 
 his early manhood in the army. Called to the management 
 of the estate unexpectedly upon the death of his father, to 
 take the place of his elder brother, who had been disinherited, 
 he had brought to his duties fixed ideas and habits. It was 
 too late for him to change. He laboured conscientiously to 
 adapt himself to the new conditions, and after awhile, deluded 
 himself with the notion that he had succeeded. So far as 
 mere externals went, he was a model country gentleman of 
 the accepted type. He was a delightful host, a " social 
 leader," an impressive figure on all public occasions. He 
 could even talk quite fluently about farming, and imagined 
 himself an authority on horses and cattle. But as to the 
 real economics of agriculture, he learned little or nothing. 
 Persuaded by Reeve that old Caesar (who the lawyer soon
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 65 
 
 found was incorruptible) was too severe upon his fellow- 
 slaves, he supplanted him with Smyrk, and committed all the 
 details to him. He trusted both the lawyer and the overseer 
 implicitly ; it would never have occurred to him to suspect 
 them of treachery. Both had been born on the estate. He 
 looked upon them as his henchmen, and imagined they were 
 devoted to his interests. It was necessary to snub Reeve at 
 times, but he never dreamed that he would bear him any 
 grudge for that. In his heart, of course, the fellow must 
 know his place ! 
 
 Under these conditions, it was easy to fleece him. The 
 process had been going on for some twenty years. Reeve 
 had heavy mortgages on the Manor. Smyrk was the 
 owner of several farms in a distant part of the State. The 
 Colonel was on the verge of bankruptcy. Neither he nor 
 any of his friends had the faintest inkling of the fact. When 
 he needed money, Reeve was at hand to supply it. The 
 Colonel never hesitated to respond to an appeal for aid, and 
 was always ready to " go security " for a friend. A thorough 
 optimist, he was confident that everything would come right 
 in the end, and went on carelessly enjoying himself, after 
 the manner of his kind. 
 
 After a careful examination of the wheat, Basil expressed 
 the opinion that the damage was not so serious as Smyrk 
 had imagined. Reassured, the Colonel started to return to 
 the house. 
 
 "Any news at the wharf?" he inquired. "I forgot to 
 ask you. Lydia's sudden arrival drove everything else clean 
 out of my head." 
 
 Basil told him of the riot in Baltimore on the previous 
 day. The Colonel listened, deeply interested. This was 
 stirring news, indeed 1 
 
 " They drove the troops back ? " he demanded eagerly. 
 " They were only volunteers." 
 5
 
 66 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 As a " regular army " man, he held the militia in scant 
 esteem, though he owed his title partly to the fact that he 
 held the command of the county battalion. However, he 
 would have been dubbed " the Colonel " by his neighbours in 
 any event, merely because he was the master of the Manor. 
 The title, by common consent, went with the estate. For 
 generations, the owner, in the absence of any other dignity, 
 had been known as " the Colonel." Even his father, the 
 Judge, had been " Colonel " up to the time of his elevation 
 to the bench. It was a title which had lost its military sig 
 nificance, and had become a kind of hereditary badge of 
 rank. 
 
 " No, they succeeded in getting through to Washington," 
 said Basil. 
 
 " The devil they did ! We must stop that. It's nothing 
 short of invasion, sir invasion of a sovereign state." 
 
 The Colonel was greatly excited. He had always been 
 an ardent " States' Rights " man and a " strict construc- 
 tionist "of the Constitution. The South, for him, was sacred 
 soil. Its institutions, ideas, habits were unimpeachable ; its 
 social economy the best that could be devised, not only for 
 his own class, but as he believed, for the community as a 
 whole. He confused the interests of a small oligarchy with 
 the general interests. To his mind, that oligarchy was the 
 special depositary of intelligence, of culture, of order. Was 
 it not best for the " poor whites " as well as for the negroes, 
 that they should be guided and controlled by a disciplined 
 force rather than by the caprices of their ignorance and 
 folly ? It was no hardship, for them, any more than for so 
 many children, to be denied a power they would infallibly, 
 in his opinion, have abused. 
 
 He failed to see that repression, however benevolent, gen 
 erates in all human society diseases which gradually sap 
 the stateliest and stoutest fabric. All was fair, to his eye.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 67 
 
 because the many submitted so amiably to the few. He 
 was blind to the fact that the free states were rapidly out 
 stripping the slave states in wealth, in enlightenment, in 
 the general average of happiness precisely because they 
 gave every individual an equal chance. He pitied what 
 seemed to him their inevitable lack of social graces, their 
 sordid materialism. How could there be any fixed standard 
 of refinement, any real cultivation among people who had no 
 recognised gentry, and rated men only according to their 
 individual efficiency or their wealth, acquired, perhaps, in 
 some low form of industry or trade ? What wonder that he 
 was intolerant of conditions the opposite of those which 
 made the atmosphere of his own home so genial, so pleas 
 ant ? 
 
 There were some persons in the North, however, to whom 
 he conceded qualities corresponding to those which his 
 caste monopolised in the South. They were members of 
 " old families " with whom the Chestons had sustained rela 
 tions of intimacy from colonial times. Every autumn, a party 
 made up of Philadelphians and New Yorkers, with some 
 times a Bostonian or two, came down to the Manor to hunt, 
 accompanied by their wives and daughters. The Colonel 
 returned their visits in winter, and met them every summer 
 at Newport or Saratoga, or perhaps, at one of the Virginia 
 Springs. No doubt, there linger in Northern households, 
 even yet, many pleasant memories of the Colonel, of his 
 quaint ingenuousness, his dignified suavity, his careful def 
 erence for women, his tenderness for children. He never 
 aired his sectional arrogance there, but it was alive and 
 active in him none the less, and now, it burst forth in a 
 flame. 
 
 " I must order out the battalion at once." he exclaimed. 
 " The whole military force of the State should take the 
 field."
 
 68 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Basil glanced at him anxiously. He was fearful he might 
 do something rash. The community was already in a fer 
 ment. A hasty word from a man of the Colonel's influence, 
 and a conflagration would follow. It seemed to Basil to be 
 a time, not for precipitate action, but for caution and restraint. 
 The situation was deplorable enough as it was ; it could 
 only be aggravated by appeals to the passions of the hour. 
 
 " You will not act without orders, I presume ? " he ven 
 tured doubtfully. 
 
 The Colonel was taken aback. The question was like a 
 cold douche to him. Act without orders ? How could he ? 
 Was he not an old army officer, a West Pointer, to whom 
 obedience was the fundamental law of military conduct ? 
 
 " Of course not," he answered mechanically. With a 
 laugh, as he realised the folly of his proposed action, he 
 added, "You've saved me from a bad blunder, my boy. 
 What would people have said had I given the word without 
 waiting to hear from the brigade commander ? It would 
 have been gross insubordination. It seems I need some 
 one to keep me straight ; I must make you my adjutant ! "
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 LYDIA found her mother in bed. Mrs. Cheston was suf 
 fering from a nervous attack, of a kind to which she was 
 often subject. Its most marked symptom was intense irri 
 tability. When Lydia entered the room, she was tossing 
 impatiently about and scolding her attendant, a tall mulatto 
 woman, for being unable to make her comfortable. " You 
 are so clumsy, Phyllis ! " she exclaimed, " will you never 
 learn how to fix the pillows ? " The woman said nothing, 
 but glanced at her moodily, biting her lip, as she obediently 
 smoothed a pillow. A look of suppressed vindictiveness 
 flitted across her swarthy face, and a touch of crimson 
 showed itself in her cheeks. She hated her mistress, not so 
 much because she upbraided her so often without reason, 
 though that was hard to bear, as because she knew the secret 
 of her ailment, a secret which Mrs. Cheston guarded jealously 
 from every human eye, especially her husband's. She, Phyllis, 
 and she only, could tell what it was that had wrecked her mis 
 tress's health and left her a frail, nervous woman prematurely 
 old and always dreading exposure. Mrs. Cheston had no sus 
 picion of her knowledge. To her eyes, she was but an ordinary 
 servant. How she would have shuddered could she have 
 known that the silent, submissive creature whom she felt 
 free to vent her ill-humour upon, had it in her power to betray 
 her if she chose 1 But Phyllis was afraid to betray her ; her 
 unsupported word would probably carry but little weight and 
 she might ruin herself instead of hurting her mistress. 
 " Marster " would be sure to send her away ; perhaps he 
 would sell her. Her hatred was better served by silence ; 
 she could always be near her mistress to enjoy her misery. 
 
 69
 
 70 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 It was luxury to the savage soul of the mulatto to watch 
 her as she writhed in the agony of a sudden spasm. " Miss 
 Flo'r's " inmost thoughts lay before her, she fancied, an open 
 book. Vain remorse and longing, as well as terror of dis 
 covery, no doubt, gave poignancy to her fits of despair, for 
 they were little else. Phyllis knew there had been a time 
 when this woman had felt a consuming passion, but not for 
 the man who had afterwards become her husband. It was 
 the Colonel's brother, Edgar Cheston, who had won her 
 heart, years ago. Phyllis, then a beautiful girl, had attracted 
 the notice of " Young Marster," and worshipping him, had 
 been compelled to see him turn from her to " Miss Flo'r." 
 It was because of this she hated her, and there was more. 
 For Edgar Cheston having jilted her, " Miss Flo'r " had 
 consoled herself with his brother, and after their marriage, 
 had bitterly avenged the wrong she had suffered by intrigu 
 ing successfully to dispossess Edgar as the chosen heir to 
 the estate. It was through her, and her alone, Phyllis often 
 told herself, that " Marse Edgar " had been disinherited and 
 driven from home. Long years ago, he had disappeared in 
 the far West, and nothing had since been heard from him. 
 It was all her mistress's fault. But for her, he might now 
 be living in ease at the Manor, and she, Phyllis, might be 
 at the side of the man whom she had never ceased to adore 
 with the humble but none the less passionate devotion of a 
 slave. 
 
 At times, she felt a fierce contempt when she saw the 
 Colonel with his wife and watched the latter's demonstra 
 tions of affection. Mrs. Cheston had learned to love the 
 man whom she had married from pique and ambition, but 
 Phyllis did not believe this. It was, to her eyes, all a sham. 
 Fear of his anger alone, she was confident, prompted her 
 mistress to coddle him, to puff him up with the idea that he 
 was everything to her, so that if he did hear anything, he
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 71 
 
 would be slow to believe it. But it was precisely because 
 she loved him, that Mrs. Cheston's dread of detection was 
 so acute. The Colonel had no suspicion of her youthful 
 passion for his brother, though he knew that they had had 
 some sort of " affair," or of the part she had played in making 
 him, her husband, the master of the Manor. He was con 
 vinced his father had substituted him in his will solely be 
 cause he had discovered that Edgar was a spendthrift. 
 That his wife could have had any share in this revelation 
 would have seemed to him the figment of a disordered brain 
 and Mrs. Cheston felt that if he ever learned the truth, he 
 would despise her. She clung to his unquestioning trust 
 and affection with all the greater tenacity, because of her 
 sense of guilt towards him. Phyllis would have rejoiced 
 could she have satisfied herself that Mrs. Cheston 
 cared for her husband, and in caring, suffered the more, 
 but she believed her pride alone was involved. She was 
 sure the flame of passion still burned in her mistress, as it 
 burned in her, though now, it had evidently taken the form 
 of a hopeless disappointment, a canker of regret, which the 
 broken wife and mother must always hide. 
 
 If Edgar Cheston should reappear some day 1 That 
 were an event that might unseal her (Phyllis's) lips. She 
 could give free rein to her malice, then. His presence 
 would protect her ; he would be sure to encourage her, to 
 egg her on ; he was doubtless even more venomous than 
 she. From his point of view, he had suffered a monstrous 
 wrong, and he was not the kind of man to forgive. He had 
 always been vindictive in punishing even slight injuries ; 
 there would be no pity in him now. Revenge, such as he 
 would take, would be well worth waiting for. But his re 
 turn were too much to hope for. In common with all the 
 members of the family, so she imagined, Phyllis thought it 
 likely, from his long silence, that he was dead. There was
 
 72 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 one secret her mistress had really hid from her. Mrs. Ches- 
 ton had heard from Edgar on two occasions, and she 
 strongly suspected he was still alive. For twenty years or 
 more, she had lived, from day to day, in dread of his return. 
 It was the uncertainty that gave vitality to her fears. But 
 for this, she might, at last, have found the solace of security 
 and peace. As it was, her life was a daily ordeal of crav 
 ing for unalloyed enjoyment of the affection that surrounded 
 her with tender care and of shuddering suspense under 
 which, at times, her strength gave way and she was seized 
 with fits of nervous fright. No wonder her disorder puz 
 zled her physician ; its cause lay far beyond the reach of 
 his drugs. 
 
 Lydia drew near the bed softly, but her mother, sensitive 
 to the slightest sound, turned hastily, and recognising her, 
 though the room was dark, gave a cry of delight. 
 
 " Ah, my darling 1 " she exclaimed in a thin, worn voice, 
 as she clasped her to her breast, " I wanted you so much 1 
 I have been almost beside myself to-day. No one could 
 soothe me. I was thinking of you, and wishing, with all my 
 heart, you were here. There, put your hand on my forehead 
 so. Isn't it hot ? And your hand is so soft, so cool. 
 We won't talk, dear. I need sleep, above everything, and I 
 can sleep if you'll sit beside me, and hold your hand just 
 there." 
 
 She sank back on the pillow as she spoke and closed her 
 eyes. Lydia stroked her brow lightly, smoothing back the 
 disordered tresses of raven hair streaked with grey. Her 
 touch seemed magnetic. In a few moments, the queru 
 lous look left her mother's face, and presently, she was sleep 
 ing as tranquilly as a child. The tinkle of the dinner- 
 bell did not disturb her. Lydia knew she might leave with 
 out risk of waking her. Stealing noiselessly out of the 
 room, she descended to the dining-room, where she had a
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 73 
 
 hearty greeting from her grandmother, -her brother, and Miss 
 Twiggs, her former governess. Ah, it was good to see them 
 all once more 1 And the dinner how delicious it was 1 
 The food here had a different taste, a finer flavour than at 
 her Aunts', though the latter, like all Tidewater women, 
 were dainty epicures and prided themselves on their cooking. 
 
 Lydia ate but little of the tempting profusion before her, 
 though her appetite had been sharpened by the air of the 
 Bay. She was too busy talking. She had questions to ask 
 of everyone as to what had happened in her absence. No 
 detail was too trivial for her. Now and then, she paused to 
 glance about her with eager interest. The homely atmos 
 phere of the dining-room was sweet to her. Its furniture 
 and appointments, like everything else at the Manor, were 
 old and worn, but their very shabbiness endeared them to her. 
 The faded, almost threadbare, carpet ; the tarnished gilt 
 mirror behind her father's chair reflecting the lawn and front 
 lane, with its avenue of elms ; the horsehair sofa against the 
 wall ; the huge armchair, with a striped linen cover, in one 
 corner ; the great mahogany side-board, with its carved urn 
 at each end and its imposing array of silver ; the colored 
 prints of prize cattle and engravings of " Shakespeare and 
 His Friends," and of "Washington Crossing the Delaware," 
 which still hung in the same places on the walls each and 
 every object was idealized for her by childish memories. 
 The slightest change would have robbed the room of some 
 thing of its charm. 
 
 Immediately after dinner, she returned to her mother and 
 found her still asleep. 
 
 " Call me if she wakens, Phyllis," she whispered to the 
 mulatto, who stood like a sentinel near the head of the bed, 
 " I am going to look about me, but shan't be far away." 
 
 She was eager to make a tour of the house and grounds. 
 Basil, no doubt, would like to accompany her. She went to
 
 look for him in the library, for after dinner, her father always 
 took his guests there to smoke. She had no scruples about 
 disturbing them. Uncle Josias didn't matter he was sure 
 to resent her intrusion anywhere ; the others always wel 
 comed her. 
 
 The library was a hexagon-shaped wing which projected 
 from the western gable of the main building. It looked out, 
 on one side, upon the rear lawn and garden, and on another, 
 upon the family graveyard which lay at the head of the 
 avenue of pines, but a few feet from the corner of the house. 
 The graveyard, enclosed by a mossy brick wall, contained 
 many graves covered with periwinkle which was now in bloom. 
 Most of the graves were marked by shafts of granite or sand 
 stone or by marble tombs engraved with lengthy epitaphs 
 beneath coats of arms. The family burial places at nearly 
 all the old plantations of Tidewater Maryland are to be found 
 thus, close to the house. Is there not something touching 
 in the fact ? Does it not speak eloquently of affection, sur 
 viving death, which prompts the living to treat the departed 
 ones as still having part and parcel in the home they loved ? 
 The plantation families kept their dead near them, with no 
 feeling of fear or repugnance, that they might watch over 
 them sure that they, in their turn, would thus be tenderly 
 cared for and cherished long after their dust had mingled 
 with the beloved soil. 
 
 The tall oaken shelves of the library were tightly packed 
 with old books. Many of them had been printed in London 
 early in the seventeenth century. On the fly leaves of some 
 of these were written the names of half a dozen successive 
 owners, with occasionally, quaint comments and reflections 
 of some reader of scribbling propensity. In one corner 
 stood a sword and a couple of lances, memorials of the 
 Colonel's army career. On the wall above the open fire 
 place, hung prints of famous race-horses. Upon the yellow
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 75 
 
 muslin blinds of the windows, were crude bits of landscape, 
 supposed to depict certain scenes at the Manor, which some 
 visitor, who fancied himself an artist, had painted years be 
 fore with rough strokes of green. 
 
 When Lydia appeared in the doorway, the smokers, tilted 
 back comfortably in large, rush-bottomed chairs, were well 
 advanced in enjoyment of the weed. Each had a clay pipe 
 with a long reed stem, and the atmosphere was thick with 
 smoke from fragrant tobacco grown on the estate. Lydia 
 waited, mischievously, for the anathema Uncle Josias would 
 be swift to pronounce, but the old fellow merely grunted and 
 gave a longer pull at his pipe. 
 
 " Come, Basil," she said, with a confident air of proprietor 
 ship, "I'm going to see how you kept your promise to look 
 after things for me." 
 
 Basil rose promptly and emptied his pipe. The Colonel 
 laughingly protested. 
 
 " You might have let him finish his smoke," he said, " it 
 is cruel to cut a fellow off in that way." 
 
 Uncle Josias looked up at the ceiling with a sarcastic air. 
 What did she care ? It was just as he expected breaking 
 in upon them at every whip-stitch. 
 
 " Fill up your pipe again, Basil," said Lydia compas 
 sionately, "I'll wait." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Basil, smiling, " I know you're eager 
 to be off." 
 
 Lydia thanked him with a nod, rather carelessly. She 
 couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been ready to drop 
 anything for her. She took it quite as a matter of course. 
 
 As the door closed behind them, Uncle Josias turned to 
 the Colonel with a knowing air, which was also inquisitorial. 
 
 " They're as fond of each other as ever," he said, " Lydia's 
 almost a woman ; I presume you see how the thing will 
 end ? "
 
 76 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 " I hope I do," replied the Colonel smiling. " There are 
 not many young fellows like Basil." 
 
 It was on the tip of Mr. Plunkett's tongue to say, " No, 
 thank Heaven, there are not ! " but he refrained. His easy 
 going brother-in-law usually suffered him to say what he 
 pleased, but he was infatuated with that solemn owl. It might 
 be unsafe to criticise him. Mr. Plunkett did not like Basil. 
 There was nothing in common between them. The meddle 
 some old bachelor was sociable, chatty, inquisitive, with a 
 keen love of scandal and a biting tongue. The indifference 
 to the petty affairs of his neighbours which Basil always ex 
 hibited was annoying to him. He had been baffled more 
 than once by his reserve. 
 
 But after all, what did it matter? If his brother-in-law 
 wished to give his daughter to a dull, sulky fellow, why 
 should he object ? The sooner Lydia was married and out 
 of the house, the sooner peace and quiet would come again. 
 He would always think her choice a poor one, but if she 
 really cared for Basil, he needn't worry. 
 
 " Damme 1 " he said suddenly to himself, " I'll help on the 
 match ! " He must have a finger in the pie, somehow ; he 
 fancied nothing could go on at the Manor smoothly without 
 his help.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 " WE must first pay Aunt Barbara a visit," said Lydia, as 
 they started down the hall. 
 
 " Aunt Barbara" was Mrs. Cleaves, the housekeeper. She 
 had been a notable figure in the family for half a century or 
 more, and was next in authority to the domestic autocrat 
 Oie Miss. Mrs. Cleaves was the widow of a Manor tenant 
 whose family, as well as her own, had been retainers of the 
 Chestons since the first occupation of the land. " Aunt 
 Barbara's " interests were wholly identified with those of the 
 Manor household. She had no ambitions and scarcely any 
 ideas which were not bounded by the Manor horizon. 
 Her devotion, silent, unobtrusive, yet always alert and 
 active, was rewarded with a consideration which raised 
 her above the level of a servant and almost to the dignity of 
 a friend. In her heart, she was very proud of this distinc 
 tion, and occasionally showed a sense of her importance in 
 her manner towards the negroes and even towards white 
 people whom she considered inferior. She knew the family 
 history by heart and was a bubbling spring of anecdotes, 
 ghost stories, traditions of former occupants of the Manor. 
 Lydia had always been her most eager listener, and the old 
 woman had grown to love her more than even her own flesh 
 and blood, for, blended with her affection, was a feeling of 
 fond admiration for the lovely, impetuous child, who seemed, 
 to her untutored but keen intelligence, the embodiment of 
 those influences which had given the family its special stamp. 
 
 The housekeeper's room was a spacious apartment next 
 to the kitchen, with a brick floor and a large open fireplace. 
 Half-way up the walls extended oak cupboards with shelves 
 
 77
 
 78 A MARYLAND MANOR i 
 
 for china and glass. In one corner was the pantry, with 
 treasures of groceries, pickles and preserves over which the 
 old woman kept vigilant guard. A door in another corner 
 opened upon the stairs descending to the cellars containing 
 wines and liquors and a varied assortment of household 
 supplies, of which she was also the custodian. No slave was 
 expert enough in " takin' things ter eat " they did not con 
 sider this stealing to baffle her, unless, as sometimes 
 happened, her attention was diverted. It was a clever bit 
 of work, even then, if one of them succeeded in making an 
 extra dip into the flour barrel or the tea canister under her 
 nose. 
 
 When Lydia and Basil entered, they found Mrs. Cleaves 
 seated at a table near the open window, through which came 
 puffs of warm fragrant air from the front lawn. Her face, 
 round and rosy as an apple, was framed in bunches of tiny 
 curls of snow-white hair at each temple. A huge check apron, 
 with pleated bib, hid most of her gown of brown bombazine. 
 From a belt about her waist, hung a large bunch of keys, 
 which jingled whenever she moved. A pile of coarse towels 
 lay on the table beside her, and crouched on wooden stools 
 or crickets at her feet, sat a brace of negro girls who were 
 taking their first lesson in sewing. They were awkward 
 young hoydens who had run wild at the Quarter until now, 
 and their souls were in fierce revolt at being subjected to 
 the discipline which Mrs. Gleaves had already begun to 
 enforce with a sharp rap of her scissors, now and then, on 
 their knuckles. Their heads were bent low over their work, 
 and Mrs. Gleaves was gazing down at the woolly topknots 
 with stern disfavour and meditating an early change in their 
 style of hair-dressing, as a prerequisite to converting them 
 into tidy house-servants. It was a style, she considered, 
 which was befitting only to savages, an irritating survival of 
 barbarism, The head was laid off into small squares by
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 79 
 
 dint of persistent combing, and in these plots, the coarse 
 black hair was gathered up into wisps and twisted into horns, 
 tied about with strings, which stood out comically here and 
 there from the skull. The creatures needed but rings in 
 their noses, " Aunt Barbara" thought, to convince one they 
 had just come from Africa. In front of the fireplace, in 
 which some charred logs were smouldering, knelt a negro 
 urchin, with a board before him propped on one knee, on 
 which he was polishing knives with the aid of brick-dust. 
 As he rubbed, he nodded, and occasionally ducking forward, 
 seemed about to tumble into the fire. Mrs. Gleaves kept 
 a watchful eye on him, however, and a warning " Take keer, 
 Hezekiah ! " would cause him to straighten up with a start, 
 just in time. 
 
 At sight of Lydia in the doorway, Mrs. Gleaves rose nimbly, 
 with an exclamation of delight. 
 
 " You haven't forgotten the old woman, after all," she 
 said, seizing both her hands. " You were so long coming, I 
 almost give you up." 
 
 " I was with Mamma," explained Lydia, kissing her. " I 
 have come to you first, after her. I'm so glad to see you, 
 dear Aunt Barbara ! " 
 
 The negro damsels exchanged sly glances and thrust out 
 their tongues. " Dat 'ooman," as they contemptuously des 
 ignated her to each other, a " dear " ! To them, their 
 knuckles still smarting from her taps, she seemed a kind of 
 ogress. 
 
 After chatting for awhile with Mrs. Gleaves, Lydia passed 
 into the kitchen and was greeted with noisy demonstrations 
 by its mistress, Aunt Dinah, an enormously stout old woman 
 with a jovial countenance, black and shining, and little 
 twinkling eyes embedded in fat. 
 
 " Laws, honey," said Dinah heartily, " I'seglad terseeye 
 lookin' so peart. I wuz feared dey'd starve you off dah.
 
 So A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Dey tells me dey only gives you enuff ter peck at in de city. 
 I boun' ye missed my wittels didn't ye now ? " 
 
 " I did indeed, Aunt Dinah 1 " said Lydia laughing. 
 " There's no cooking like yours." 
 
 Aunt Dinah gave a self-satisfied wave of the hand as if 
 inviting Young Miss to look about her. She had heard of 
 her arrival promptly, and had at once set her corps of satel 
 lites to work to " fix up " for the visit she would be sure to 
 pay her. The shelves and tables glittered with an array of 
 highly-polished tin and brass utensils, and the brick floor had 
 been freshly swept. Aunt Dinah wore her best linsey- 
 woolsey gown and her gayest turban. On the hearth before 
 a cavernous fireplace, with the usual equipment of crane^ 
 spits, pot-hooks and hangers, his nose thrust under a huge 
 Dutch oven, lay Rover, dozing after a bountiful repast. Lydia 
 glanced at him and smiled. Dogs were usually excluded 
 rigorously from Aunt Dinah's domain. The indulgence 
 accorded to Rover was meant, Lydia knew, as a special 
 compliment to her. 
 
 From the kitchen, Lydia and Basil proceeded through a yard, 
 roughly paved with stones and shaded by lindens, past the 
 dairy to the stables. The latter, a group of low wooden 
 buildings, stood near the edge of the bank descending to the 
 cove. Lydia waited in the lane while Basil went in search 
 of her riding horse, Knight, whom she had left in his care. 
 
 Basil led him forth with some pride in the fact that he was 
 in fine condition. Every day during Lydia's absence, Basil 
 had seen that he was properly groomed and exercised. His 
 sleek brown coat shone like satin. He reared his delicate 
 head quickly and gave a joyous neigh on seeing his mistress. 
 
 " Thank you so much, Basil 1 " said Lydia, as she stroked 
 the horse's glossy mane, and fed him with lumps of sugar. 
 " We shall have a fine gallop to-morrow, old fellow 1 " she 
 added, looking into Knight's bright, eager eyes.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 81 
 
 A short distance from the stable, in a corner of the old 
 apple orchard, stood a little building of logs with pointed 
 roof of cedar branches. This was Lydia's bird-house, in 
 which were collected specimens of all the birds to be found 
 at the Manor. This, too, had been placed under Basil's 
 charge. 
 
 As Lydia entered, there was a great fluttering of wings 
 and shrill chirps which she interpreted as notes of welcome. 
 
 " They know me, too 1 " she cried, delightedly, passing 
 hurriedly from cage to cage and greeting each occupant 
 with mock formality. All at once, she stopped short, and 
 after a moment's indecision, began to throw open the doors 
 of the cages. " I'm going to let them out," she said, impul 
 sively, "I've learned what captivity means. They, also, 
 shall have their freedom." 
 
 Most of the birds flew off at once and were lost in the 
 leafage of the orchard. Others fluttered uncertainly about 
 her head, as though loth to leave her. One plump, con 
 sequential little sparrow perched himself upon her shoulder 
 and looked inquiringly up into her face as though to ask 
 if she knew what she was doing. A moment later, he flew 
 back to his cage and began contentedly to preen his 
 feathers. Lydia glanced at him with a comical air of dis 
 gust. Evidently, there were birds as well as people who had 
 no spirit, who were perfectly satisfied to stay in cages. 
 
 At the Quarter, Lydia was received in state by old " Aunt 
 Sukey," a withered crone of eighty, who ruled its occupants 
 men, women and children with a heavy hand. Sukey 
 had been Lydia's nurse and professed the most ardent devo 
 tion for her. But she was a diplomatic old creature, and her 
 profuse demonstrations of affection may have been prompted 
 in part, by the fact that Young Miss was a power at " de 
 big house," and a useful intermediary in procuring indul 
 gences and favours. 
 6
 
 82 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Sukey sat enthroned in a large armchair in front of the 
 Quarter door. Grouped about her were a number of 
 women and girls delighted at the chance of lounging away 
 an hour or two while awaiting Young Miss's expected visit. 
 A long-eared hound lay stretched at her feet and a score or 
 more of pickaninnies were playing in the lane. The men 
 and larger boys were at work in the fields. 
 
 " Chillern 1 " cried Sukey, as she saw Lydia and Basil 
 approaching, " whar's de manners I taught ye ? " 
 
 The little negroes, instantly leaving off play, ranged them 
 selves in a compact mass and began to duck their heads 
 and scrape their feet backwards, crying shrilly, with one voice, 
 
 " Sobbun, Miss Lydyer ! Sobbun, Marse Basil ! " 
 
 Lydia called out gaily, " Well, children ! " and paused to 
 exchange greetings with Aunt Sukey. Sukey was voluble in 
 her expressions of delight. " Hit do de old nigger's eyes good 
 ter see you onc't mo'," she declared. But her trouble was 
 wasted. She had confidently expected a gratuity a silver 
 half dollar or quarter but Lydia passed on, without be 
 stowing the coveted coin. " All dat waste o' breff fur nuthin ! " 
 muttered Sukey, sourly. " Ne' mind, do' ; I'll have it frum 
 her fo' de week's out 1 " 
 
 About a hundred yards beyond the Quarter, at the edge of 
 a ravine, stood the overseer's house, a wooden building, 
 painted yellow, with bushes of honeysuckle at each side of 
 the door. Here, Lydia paused for a word with Mrs. Smyrk, 
 the overseer's wife. Mrs. Smyrk had always been an object 
 of solicitude to her, because of her stubborn melancholy. She 
 was a gaunt, sad-eyed woman, who seemed to extract a 
 gloomy pleasure from looking on the dark side of things. 
 Lydia had often laboured zealously to enliven her, with but 
 indifferent results. It was one of her fondest ambitions to 
 bring even a fleeting smile to that woebegone visage. Mrs. 
 Smyrk, to. use her own expression, was " allers down-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 83 
 
 hearted." She never admitted that she was in a more 
 hopeful condition than " middlin' mizzerble." She thanked 
 the " good Lawd " fervently if she was no worse than 
 "ruther po'ly." She belonged, in short, to the apathetic 
 type of " poor whites " the most forlornly shiftless of 
 human beings. 
 
 Mrs. Smyrk happened to be in the front yard. She greeted 
 her visitors mournfully and asked them, as if in duty bound 
 and not at all as if she wished it, to " step in en' tek a 
 cheer." Lydia declined her grudging hospitality, saying she 
 preferred to sit down on a bench beneath a large cherry 
 tree white with blossoms that formed a snowy dome 
 about which bees were humming. 
 
 " How are the children ? " asked Lydia, brightly. 
 
 Mrs. Smyrk shook her head. 
 
 " Fever'n ager," she replied lugubriously. " Seems like 
 they kain't git shet o' chills. Smyrk'll have a big doctor's 
 bill ter pay." 
 
 She made this announcement with, apparently, a certain 
 relish. 
 
 " Nonsense I " said Lydia, " you know that'll be Papa's 
 affair." 
 
 " Hit don't 'pear ter me ter be right " began Mrs. 
 
 Smyrk, following an accustomed form of protest, which was 
 always overcome, but Lydia rising, cut short her demurrer. 
 
 " Well, I hope they'll soon be running about." 
 
 She had a suspicion that they were even now off in the 
 woods or the fields, for the house was strangely quiet, and 
 they were a turbulent, noisy pack. But she had never known 
 them to be without some distressing ailment ; their mother's 
 imagination was tireless in ascribing to them all sorts of ills. 
 
 Lydia turned away with a blithe leave-taking which only 
 deepened the gloom on Mrs. Smyrk's face, and hastened on 
 towards the barn, which stood on an elevation about a fur-
 
 84 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 long away on the other side of the ravine. " The barn " 
 was a group of buildings, including a large brick granary, 
 corn-cribs, and sheds of logs thatched with straw for shel 
 tering cattle. The enclosure was divided into pounds for the 
 live stock, and beyond the granary lay a large threshing- 
 yard which contained great ricks and stacks of straw and hay. 
 The threshing-yard had been a favourite playground for Lydia 
 as a child. There was no amusement more exciting for her 
 than to climb to the top of one of the tall stacks and then 
 slide swiftly down the steep incline to be buried in the 
 fragrant depths of straw at the bottom. She wasn't sure 
 she wouldn't find it delightful, even now. 
 
 When Lydia and Basil reached the spot, they found the 
 cows collected in one of the pounds for milking. Lydia 
 wandered fearlessly among them, in spite of a warning from 
 Cynthy, the dairy-woman, a wiry little negress, that some of 
 them were " wicious, " and paused, now and then, to stroke 
 an old favourite. Cynthy, fearing the results of Young Miss's 
 rashness, beckoned to a negro urchin squatting on the fence 
 and bade him " keep nigh " her. Marse Basil might suffice 
 to protect her, but Cynthy felt that, with Friz to watch over 
 her, she was safe from any possible harm. Friz was an 
 expert in managing cattle. Armed with along leather whip, 
 which he " cracked " with a noise like the report of a pistol, 
 he flitted about among the formidable beasts elusive, un 
 tiring, bold to the verge of audacity, pausing only to inflict 
 a sting, a human hornet that the wildest of them feared. 
 Even the surly old bull struck his colours to Friz and grew 
 meekly docile when the tiny despot approached him, flour 
 ishing his whip. Friz followed Young Miss about with a 
 pompous air of protection. His services, however, were not 
 needed. The cows, without exception, behaved most amia 
 bly. Perhaps they divined that Lydia was their friend. 
 
 The sun had sunk to the surface of the river, which
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 85 
 
 gleamed, a ribbon of silver, in the distance. The scene was 
 full of that peace and serenity which invest even the dullest 
 landscape with a certain charm at the close of the day. 
 Everything seemed to feel the soothing influence of the 
 coming night. The very attitudes of the cattle suggested 
 quiet and repose. In the sunset glow, the reddish walls of 
 the granary contrasted strongly with the pale gold of the 
 straw stacks and the grayish tones of the sheds. 
 
 Lydia's tour of inspection ended here. Her curiosity was 
 slaked for to-day. To-morrow, she would go farther afield, 
 to the tenant houses, the negro cabins scattered over the 
 estate, and so on, day by day, until she had re-explored the 
 whole domain. Ah, how delightful to feel that there was to 
 be no limit to her wanderings that she was here for good ! 
 Thus far, it was all the same. No changes of moment had 
 occurred during her absence. Nor was there any difference 
 in her impressions. It was this she had feared most of all. 
 There was little likelihood of any serious changes in the 
 Manor itself certainly none that were rash or arbitrary. 
 It was a finished place, and the family were so proud of it 
 that any radical alteration would have been regarded as ir 
 reverent. Even her brother, Turlo, impetuous and head 
 strong as he was, would probably hesitate a long time, when 
 he came to be master, to fell an old tree or even to change 
 the course of a fence. But Lydia had been haunted by 
 anxiety as to how it would look to her when she returned. 
 It might be that the house, which she remembered as so big 
 and imposing, would seem but an ordinary, commonplace 
 building. The favourite nooks in the garden and along the 
 cove which had so many tender associations for her might 
 have lost their charm. Even the negroes might lack the 
 characteristics with which her memory had endowed them. 
 Her aunts, anxious to reconcile her to their ways, had sought 
 to temper her recollections, predicting confidently that she
 
 86 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 would be more or less disappointed upon her return. She 
 had resisted passionately the idea of such a change, but nev 
 ertheless, had secretly feared it. What a relief to find that 
 her apprehension was unfounded 1 Her old impressions 
 had been renewed ; if anything, they were stronger, more 
 vivid. 
 
 Returning to the house by way of the garden, Lydia and 
 Basil reached the front lawn just as the sun was shedding 
 its last crimson rays. The long avenue of elms was bathed 
 in reddish mist which gave a purple tinge to their huge gray 
 boles and caused the boldly arching branches to fade away 
 in the distance like the rafters of some vast cathedral shroud 
 ed in a cloud of incense. The noble nave of Nature's ar 
 chitecture was, in truth, at this moment, a sylvan temple 
 radiant in the setting sun. Near a clump of pines at the 
 western boundary of the lawn, some Southdown sheep were 
 grazing under the care of a gray-coated old negro who was 
 leaning lazily against a corner of the graveyard wall. 
 Through the slender, swaying pines, the narrowed reaches 
 of the river flashed in bright glimpses here and there. The 
 moon, now full, had risen, and hung, a globe of luminous 
 pink, in the deep blue of the eastern sky. Lydia drew a 
 long breath. She felt the spot had never before possessed 
 so great a charm. It was touched by a fleeting beauty that 
 might never again present itself to her. 
 
 " Ah, Basil ! " she sighed, " I wonder if you realise how 
 happy I am ! " 
 
 He smiled, not thinking it necessary to answer her. If 
 he did not realise it, who could ? No one else could possibly 
 comprehend her as he did. Had they not always shared 
 their most hidden thoughts and impressions ? From the 
 moment they had left the house, he had responded instinct 
 ively to every change of mood and feeling, as it registered 
 itself upon her sensitive face. He rejoiced for his own sake
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 87 
 
 in her eager interest in everything, her freshened delight in 
 her home ; they seemed a hopeful indication for him. He 
 had noted with special satisfaction her curiosity about 
 certain details of the plantation work. It seemed to him 
 keener, less easily satisfied, than of old ; she asked him 
 many questions of distinctly practical bent. He had no doubt 
 that, at the bottom of her affection for the Manor, lay an 
 undeveloped instinct of utility which was not prosaic, an 
 instinct common among girls who had been reared, as she 
 had been, in the simplicity of country life. The Manor, 
 for her, was the scene of a constantly moving drama, in 
 which, sooner or later, she would become an important 
 figure, as all the women of the family had been. Like them, 
 she would have her part to play to keep its machinery 
 going. She loved the place, not merely because of its as 
 sociations, but because its various activities appealed to an 
 inherited predilection. In time, no doubt, the spirit of the 
 plantation mistress, eager to share in the control of this com 
 plicated mechanism, would awake in her. 
 
 The plantation mistress ! To Basil's mind, there was no 
 finer type of womanhood. To be a plantation mistress, in 
 the truest sense, was to be the source of order, of happiness, 
 of all the refining influences of a patriarchal home. The 
 mistress of a large plantation held in her hands the do 
 mestic control of perhaps a hundred slaves and the comfort, 
 health, well-being of her husband and her children. She 
 was the centre to which everything tended. The slaves 
 looked to her for their slightest wants. They counted con 
 fidently upon her in sickness or sorrow. Her children 
 turned to her for guidance, sympathy, unwearying love. 
 Her husband regarded her as his mentor, indulgent of his 
 faults yet holding before him steadily a fixed standard of 
 purity and self-denial. And all these requirements were 
 fulfilled so often with overflowing measure in a single in-
 
 88 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 dividual, that it is no wonder the attitude of Southern men 
 toward the weaker sex, so called, was generally one of 
 reverence and devotion. Basil simply shared the common 
 feeling of his class. He could think of no nobler, more 
 inspiring vocation for any woman. 
 
 Lydia, it seemed to him, had entered unconsciously upon 
 this path. Gradually, her energies would be enlisted in 
 appropriate forms of usefulness to those about her. Sub 
 jected to the influences to which she seemed already to 
 respond, her character, he did not doubt, would develop, 
 finally, on lines which would bring her even closer, in sym 
 pathies and tastes, to him a planter, heart and soul. Per 
 haps his devotion might appeal to her then, in spite of his 
 deficiencies. Ah, if that could be 1 
 
 Lydia lingered until the glow had quite faded out, and 
 then turned reluctantly towards the house.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THEY found the family gathered in the main body of the 
 hall, awaiting the summons to tea. The hall was divided 
 by quaint flattened archways into three sections. The 
 largest of these formed a square apartment, with a door and 
 windows opening on the rear verandah, which was used as a 
 general living room. One of the smaller arms extended 
 past a broad walnut stairway to the housekeeper's room and 
 the kitchen ; the other led to the front door. The living room 
 was furnished with antique sofas and chairs of mahogany 
 upholstered in dark green leather fastened with brass-headed 
 nails. In one corner, next the stairway, stood a tall clock 
 with a dial plate of brass curiously engraved. There were 
 portraits on the walls of ladies and gentlemen in costumes 
 of different periods of the seventeenth and eighteenth cen 
 turies, some of which were ascribed to Lely or Kneller. 
 
 Lydia halted suddenly as she came into view of the 
 group. It was one she had often pictured in memory dur 
 ing the past few months. No detail was changed. A 
 swinging lamp suspended from the ceiling shed a strong 
 but mellow light upon a spider-legged table at which was 
 seated Ole Miss, busy with some worsted work. She was 
 a resolute looking old lady, tall and strong, with clear-cut 
 features, ruddy cheeks, dark, piercing eyes, and a mass of 
 snowy hair piled high on her shapely head. A few paces 
 from her sat the Colonel and Mr. Plunkett, absorbed in a 
 game of chess. Curled up on a sofa at the end of the room 
 next the library, lay Turlo, a stalwart young fellow, fast 
 asleep after a long run with the hounds. The ex-governess, 
 Miss Twiggs, seated bolt upright at a convenient distance 
 
 89
 
 90 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 from the light, was lost in the last number of Blackwood's 
 Magazine. 
 
 Her stiff, unbending figure looked alien here. One would 
 imagine she must be out of touch with the genial negligence 
 which, apparently, prevailed at the Manor. But Miss 
 Twiggs was a bundle of contradictions. She fancied her 
 self to be staunchly and even aggressively English, in spite 
 of some thirty years of expatriation, and read Blackwood 
 from cover to cover religiously, every month because, in her 
 opinion, it reflected most accurately the militant British 
 spirit. She clung unconsciously to certain habits and man 
 nerisms which, to her mind, were indispensable to a well- 
 conducted British female. Her spectacled pug nose seemed 
 to be always sniffing suspiciously at things. Most persons 
 thought her woodenish, unadaptable, " set " in her ways. 
 In reality, she was a sentimental creature, easily moved by 
 affection, and nervously anxious to conform as far as she 
 could to her environment. Nowhere in the world even in 
 England she often said to herself, were there kinder, more 
 lovable people than the Chestons. They had made her one 
 of themselves. When her usefulness as Lydia's governess 
 had ended, she had not been permitted to leave the Manor, 
 but had been told she must consider it. henceforth, her home. 
 Her shy, timid soul was passionately grateful. She strug 
 gled hard to provide herself with new duties all of them 
 quite superfluous and laboured doggedly at them with true 
 British pertinacity. Ole Miss looked on with grim amuse 
 ment and occasionally invented some trifling task for her 
 out of sheer compassion. 
 
 Dependents like Miss Twiggs and Mr. Plunkett were fa 
 miliar figures in the plantation houses. No one thought the 
 worse of them for being pensioners upon a bounty which ex 
 pected no return. It was an unwritten law of the social sys 
 tem that the impecunious, the improvident, even the un-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 91 
 
 worthy must be taken care of. In every plantation house, 
 there were guests who stayed on and on, from week to week, 
 from month to month, from year to year, and were always 
 treated with the same consideration. The practice had its 
 inconveniences. It was open to criticism as tending to en 
 courage a form of pauperism. But it spread a glow of kind 
 liness over all the relations of life. It encouraged a spirit 
 of mutual helpfulness, of indifference to monied distinctions. 
 The rough edges of social jealousies were worn away by its 
 constant attrition. It was a modified form of communism, 
 not wise perhaps, but very captivating and not without its 
 uses as a softening influence upon an otherwise narrow, self- 
 centred caste. 
 
 " I shall take pity on Uncle Josias, just this once," whis 
 pered Lydia to Basil. " Besides, they look so comfortable 
 one and all it would be a shame to disturb them." 
 
 Turning noiselessly about, she stole back a few paces to 
 the parlour door, and opening it softly, entered. 
 
 A wood-fire was burning brightly, and the dancing flames 
 leaped up the sooty throat of the chimney in writhing shapes 
 of vivid hues. 
 
 " What a beautiful blaze ! " exclaimed Lydia. " There 
 must be some green twigs among the logs. You can't get 
 those tints from anything else. Draw up a chair, Basil. 
 It has grown chilly don't you think so ? How nice to sit 
 and dream by an open fire once more ! Aunts had only 
 stoves in their house, and I used to long so for a real fire." 
 
 Basil placed a large armchair for her close to the hearth, 
 and Lydia nestled down in it with an air of lazy content 
 ment. 
 
 " Now," she said, " we'll have a good long talk about 
 old times." 
 
 It was quite a long talk, but Basil took but little part in 
 it. Lydia had so much to say. Her words flowed on in a
 
 92 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 steady stream of reminiscence. It was delightful for her to 
 unburden herself once more to a sympathetic listener, and 
 Basil seldom interrupted her except with an economical 
 " yes " or " no." Suddenly, Lydia paused, and exclaimed 
 with a laugh, " What a chatterbox I am 1 I have scarcely 
 permitted you to put in a word edgeways. But there were 
 so many things I had to say to you, Basil things that only 
 you would understand 1 " 
 
 " Don't stop," said Basil hastily, " if you knew how much 
 I enjoyed listening to you once more " He checked him 
 self in confusion. Another word, and he might have be 
 trayed his secret. Her artless confidence in his sympathy 
 had been dangerously sweet and alluring. 
 
 " You really missed me then ? " she demanded, pretend 
 ing to be in doubt. 
 
 " Missed you 1 " he exclaimed, involuntarily bending 
 towards her ; " you can't imagine how dreary it was for me." 
 
 " Dreary, here, in the country ? You were not in town ; 
 you didn't have to live with Aunts." 
 
 " ~But}>0u were not here." 
 
 He bent still lower ; his head was near hers ; he laid a 
 hand on the arm of her chair. 
 
 She glanced at him with a feeling half-mischievous, half- 
 curious. 
 
 " Do I count for as much as all that ? " she asked. 
 
 " All that, and more ! " he answered quickly, and yielding 
 to a sudden impulse, he seized the little hand that rested so 
 confidingly near his own, and pressed it to his lips. " I 
 love you, Lydia, with all my soul 1 " 
 
 He had forgotten everything. His fine resolutions, which 
 he had thought so firm, had melted like wax in a flame. He 
 was conscious only of the sweet oval face ; of the dark eyes 
 that glowed so lustrously in the firelight ; of the slim, pliant 
 figure reclining with easy grace in the great armchair. This
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 93 
 
 was not the child-Lydia, but a lovely young woman, uncon 
 sciously provocative, who had carelessly challenged him 
 with a question which had set his passion free. 
 
 Lydia sprang to her feet and snatched her hand away. 
 She stood gazing down at him, white and trembling. Her 
 soul was in a tumult of maidenly recoil, of fierce impatience 
 out of all proportion to Basil's offence. Most girls would 
 have found it easy to excuse him ; their pride would have 
 been flattered, even though they had been quite indifferent 
 to him. Her pride was wounded in its most sensitive spot. 
 The influences which had hitherto shaped her life had de 
 veloped prejudices as well as some strong inclinations un 
 usual in young girls. The interests which absorbed her 
 were actively inimical to the growth of those instincts which 
 blossom forth with the dawn of womanhood in most of her 
 sex. 
 
 From the point of view of the girls at school, she was 
 very backward, decidedly " queer." She was not only un 
 sophisticated and incurious, but actually scornful of their 
 budding love-affairs, their little vanities of person and of 
 dress. When they undertook to talk to her of this or that 
 " fascinating " young man, her mouth showed careless dis 
 dain, her great eyes studied them with chill contempt. The 
 only effect of their confidences was to excite in her a keener 
 sense of the pettiness of their tastes, their ambitions, as con 
 trasted with the strong, virile impulses which stirred her so 
 pleasurably. What was one of their insipid flirtations com 
 pared with the keen enjoyment she had so often felt in a 
 wild gallop after the hounds, the mad plunging of a canoe 
 in a gale ? They actually set her against " beaux " as a 
 class and made her intolerant of the idea of love as they 
 construed it. She was as shy as any nun ; as jealous of her 
 liberty as a young savage. 
 
 No pretty girl can long remain unconscious of the admi-
 
 94 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 ration she excites, but Lydia, from the first, had been more 
 or less impatient of attentions from young men. Few of 
 them seemed to her as interesting as her horse or her dog. 
 She could not bear the thought of their gaining the least in 
 fluence over her. Basil was the only one of them all in 
 whose favour she had made an exception, and much of the 
 confidence she felt in him was due not merely to habit but 
 to the fact that he seemed as indifferent as herself to such 
 nonsense and was not likely ever to annoy her in that way. 
 And now, he had shown himself to be like those others, 
 those smirking dandies, who flattered themselves they might 
 be able to please her ! He had even gone farther than any 
 of them had ever ventured ; he had actually dared to lay 
 hands on her ! He loved her ; that was his excuse. Of 
 course he loved her. Had they not always been fond of 
 each other ? But this was different. Love, to her mind, 
 meant nothing more than strong affection. She felt the 
 presence, in Basil's act, of a rough, importunate force that 
 frightened and incensed her. She would not yield to it. 
 No one should take her captive. And Basil, of all people ! 
 Had he not been the most submissive of her subjects ? 
 
 " I hate you 1 I hate you ! " she said suddenly, with a 
 stamp of her foot. In a flash, she had turned from him and 
 was gone.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 BASIL sat a long time, with bowed head, before the fire, 
 gazing vacantly at the curling flames. Lydia's anger seemed 
 to him perfectly natural. It was precisely what he might 
 have expected. In a moment of folly, he had brought upon 
 himself the very disaster he had dreaded. He suffered, not 
 only from the knowledge that he had shocked and wounded 
 her, but from shame at his weakness. He had fancied him 
 self so strong and at the first moment of temptation, he had 
 succumbed as feebly as any child. Why shouldn't she hate 
 him ? He hated himself. And even if she could bring her 
 self to forgive him, would he not be, henceforth, another in 
 dividual to her ? Her childish confidence in him was gone ; 
 she would at once begin to weigh, to judge, him. He could 
 not bear the thought of meeting her eyes, no longer trustful 
 and affectionate, but critical, speculative, perhaps with a 
 gleam of scorn in them. 
 
 The tea-bell rang, and Basil joined the group in the hall. 
 Lydia was not there. The Colonel told him she had de 
 cided to stay upstairs with her mother. He was glad of her 
 absence ; it gave him a little respite from, the verdict he 
 dreaded to read in her gaze. At the tea table, he bore his 
 part in the conversation but lamely, and breathed a sigh of 
 relief when, at last, after a long political discussion between 
 the Colonel and Mr. Plunkett in the library over their pipes, 
 he was enabled to say good-night and retire to his room. 
 But the night proved a weary vigil for him. His excited 
 brain was crowded with tormenting fancies, and he found it 
 impossible to sleep. He thought of Lydia in all her varying 
 moods and always came back to the one idea that his own 
 
 95
 
 96 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 rashness had cut him off from her irrevocably. At the very 
 moment of his discovery of the nature of his feeling for her, 
 he had flung away his only claim upon her favour. It was 
 barely possible he might have won her, in the absence of 
 any stronger ^ claim, by gradual approaches through the 
 medium of her habitual confidence and affection, but 
 now 
 
 In a fever of restlessness, he rose at daybreak, and dress 
 ing hastily, went down into the garden, hoping to find re 
 freshment in the cool morning air. As it happened, he 
 turned into the avenue of pines which Lydia and he had 
 trod so happily the previous day. There had been a heavy 
 dew, and as the sun crept towards the horizon, crimsoning 
 the eastern sky, the jonquils and violets, blossoming on each 
 side of his path, lifted their petals lazily as though drowsy 
 from deep potations over night. There was a delicious 
 freshness in the damp breath of dawn. Tiny drops of water 
 glittered like diamonds and rubies on the taller blades of 
 grass. The robins hopping about on the lawn seemed to 
 have just come from a bath, so spruce and bright was their 
 red and gray plumage. Profound stillness reigned at first, 
 but it was broken shortly by the crowing of cocks and the 
 lowing of cattle. A vague murmur from the Quarter an 
 nounced that the negroes were astir. 
 
 Basil drew near the house, intending to return to his room 
 and dress for breakfast. The sounds of shutters thrown 
 open, overhead, arrested his steps at the edge of the ver 
 andah. Looking up, he saw Lydia at one of the windows. 
 Fortunately, she was gazing out upon the lawn and did not 
 discover him standing almost beneath her. She had thrown 
 on a dressing-gown and hastened to the window for a glimpse 
 of the fresh morning beauty of the garden. Her richly tint 
 ed hair fell in curly disorder about her shoulders, and her 
 eyes were still heavy with sleep. With elbows resting on
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 97 
 
 the sill, she leaned well out of the window, her slender hands 
 buried in the vagrant tresses which had tumbled about her 
 face. 
 
 The birds were now in full chorus. She listened intently 
 to learn if she could still identify them by their distinguishing 
 notes, as she had been able to do before leaving home. Yes, 
 she remembered them all the steady, monotonous chirp of 
 blackbirds swarming in the Lombardy poplars ; the musical 
 warble of house wrens perched along the roof ; the sweet 
 song, all too brief, of thrushes in distant thickets a song 
 of liquid, refreshing melody, that always reminded her of the 
 murmur of a brook on a hot summer day. Her face bright 
 ened. She was really at home ! A few moments before, 
 she had been dreaming she was still at her Aunts'. 
 
 Basil watched her with a keen sense of loss. He no longer 
 had any part in her enjoyment. If she thought of him, it 
 would be with a feeling of resentment, of alienation. Fear 
 ful of attracting her notice, he stepped noiselessly upon the 
 verandah and entered the house. 
 
 When they encountered each other at the breakfast table, 
 Lydia's manner was shy and constrained. Throughout the 
 meal, she eyed him furtively, but looked hastily away when 
 ever their glances met. Basil was on thorns. He dare not 
 speak to her lest she repulse him curtly even in the presence 
 of others. He recalled the eager desire she had expressed 
 the day before to visit the Indian Spring in quest of arbutus, 
 and thought, with a pang, that she would no longer welcome 
 his companionship on such excursions. They implied an 
 intimacy which, it seemed to him, was impossible, now that 
 he had destroyed her trust in him. If she were merely cool 
 to him instead of being actively hostile was not that more 
 than he had reason to expect ? Fortunately, the others at 
 table were talkative, and no one noticed their mutual em 
 barrassment. When they finally rose, it was a relief to each of 
 7
 
 98 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 them to find themselves at opposite ends of the room. Lydia 
 had started upstairs when Basil reached the hall. 
 
 An hour later, Lydia appeared in the library, where Basil 
 was vainly endeavouring to read a book he had found absorb 
 ing but a few days before. She was in a dark green riding- 
 habit and held a small whip in one hand. She glanced at 
 Basil hesitatingly, and suddenly, seemed to come to a re 
 solve. 
 
 " I am going to church, Basil," she said. " It is a splendid 
 morning for a gallop ; will you come with me ? " 
 
 It was Sunday ; he had forgotten that. He rose, slowly, 
 uncertain whether she was in earnest. Could she have for 
 given him ? Was it possible she meant to ignore what had 
 happened, to admit him to her confidence once more ? 
 
 Hardly that, but affection was stirring in her ; she could 
 not banish the memory of their pleasant companionship ; 
 she was moved by the inclination of habit which contended 
 strongly with her sense of injury. A spice of curiosity also 
 tempted her. The love of which Basil had spoken as if it 
 explained his new relation to her might be worthy of con 
 sideration, after all. She began to feel the fascination of 
 its mystery, its possible danger, and danger always attracted 
 her. It had clearly exerted a powerful influence over him. 
 How else could he, who had always been so sober, so sensi 
 ble, so self-possessed have suddenly turned silly ? Could 
 those moon-sick girls whom she had so often derided be 
 right ? Was there an intoxication in some kinds of love that 
 made people foolish ? Had it been her misfortune to turn 
 Basil's head ? It was a misfortune ; if he wanted her as 
 much as he had seemed to want her, he was doomed to a 
 heavy disappointment. She would never yield to him 
 never I 
 
 Her anger cooled at thought of the grief she might have 
 to cause him poor old Basil ! It would be a kindness to
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR gg 
 
 him so she innocently persuaded herself to find out, if 
 she could, what his real condition was, so that she might be 
 the better able to nip the thing in the bud without hurting him 
 too much. She knew very well how to worm secrets out of 
 him ; he could never hide anything from her. In her igno 
 rance, she had no idea of the motive that really prompted 
 her. It was the passion in his avowal that attracted her 
 most of all. Her scorn of sentiment and romance was but 
 the superficial product of her girlish intolerance. The woman 
 was waking in her, though she did not know it. Her ardent 
 nature had in it depths that she little suspected ; for the first 
 time, they were stirred by an elemental force. She was 
 quivering on the brink of the great discovery, which comes 
 to all women, sooner or later, of the special power, the un- 
 imagined capacities of their sex. 
 
 Basil's hopes, which he had distrusted from the first, faded 
 suddenly when they set out on horseback for church. 
 Lydia did not start with him at once, as she would have 
 done the day before, but waited for the family coach in 
 which Ole Miss, the Colonel, Mr. Plunkett and Miss Twiggs 
 always went to church. Evidently, Basil reasoned, she did 
 not wish to be alone with him. He was confirmed in this 
 belief by the fact that, on the way, she curbed in Knight, 
 so as to keep close to the lumbering coach, and it was only 
 when they fell behind, that she was able to indulge herself 
 in the coveted gallop. The fact was, she was still a trifle 
 shy of Basil and was cautiously feeling her way. Besides, 
 she had no notion of admitting him to favour again too 
 readily ; he must be punished just a little. But Basil 
 feared she meant to set him at a distance, to make him feel 
 that he was reduced to the ranks of a more or less formal 
 acquaintance. It would have been less unkind, he thought, 
 had she avoided him altogether ; he would at least have 
 been spared the bitter disappointment which had followed
 
 ioo A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 so swiftly the offer of pardon she had seemed to hold out 
 to him. 
 
 The coach wound its way slowly through a silent wood 
 which was radiant with the tender beauty of spring. Its 
 misty gray recesses were brightened with the golden tints 
 of the spice bush, the pink of the Judas tree, the red or 
 silvery green of the budding leaves of oaks. At length, 
 the soft notes of the church bell were heard close at hand. 
 The last stroke had just died away, when the coach brought 
 up at the door, and old Csesar, hat in hand, descended from 
 his perch to let down the carpeted steps for Ole Miss. 
 
 Old Winton was one of the earlier colonial churches of 
 which a few still remain in quiet villages or secluded country 
 neighbourhoods of Tidewater Maryland. With their ivy- 
 clad walls of mottled brick and their quaintly shaped, moss- 
 covered roofs, they bear a family resemblance to the old 
 plantation houses, the ancient graveyards, the abandoned 
 roadside inns the only memorials now left of conditions 
 long since obsolete. The church stood in a large enclosure 
 shaded by venerable oaks. In one corner of the church 
 yard, overlooking a smiling valley, nestled the Rectory, a 
 hip-roofed, rambling house of the same red and gray brick, 
 highly glazed, that had been used in building the church. 
 Attached to it was a glebe farm of a hundred acres or more. 
 Beyond it, lining the public road, were a few straggling 
 houses descending a steep hill to a stream. On the banks 
 of the latter, stood a mill weather-boarded with shingles, gray 
 with age, which gave the name Winton Mills to the hamlet. 
 Why the plural was used, no one could tell ; there had been 
 but one mill from time immemorial. 
 
 Basil helped Lydia to alight, and having fastened their 
 horses, escorted her to the family pew. Only Uncle Josias 
 was missing. He had loitered behind at the door, to ex 
 change bits of gossip with his cronies collected in groups
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 101 
 
 on each side of the narrow brick walk and forming a 
 gauntlet through which the worshippers must pass. At 
 these Sunday conferences, Mr. Plunkett obtained material 
 for piquant conversation for the rest of the week. 
 
 Lydia was very devout throughout the service. Religion 
 was no mere abstraction for her. Her belief was vivid, her 
 creed a genuine thing. Had she not been so joyous a young 
 creature, she might easily have become a devotee. She 
 accepted the tenets of her church as they had been taught 
 her with eager faith. They seemed to her very beautiful 
 and real. She was too young yet to analyse, to investigate, 
 to doubt. No serious grief had ever disturbed her ; she 
 had suffered no shock to her unquestioning trust and con 
 fidence in God who had been so good. Basil watched her 
 with a new sense of her simplicity, her utter unconscious 
 ness. More than ever, it seemed to him indelicate to whisper 
 passion to this virginal mind. 
 
 On the way back to the Manor, Lydia again measured 
 Knight's pace by that of the coach, but not so carefully, and 
 once she checked him to a walk, and then set off for a longer 
 gallop than any she had yet permitted herself. After dinner, 
 she turned to Basil instinctively, to accompany her, as had 
 been his habit, to the housekeeper's room for the Sunday 
 afternoon services for the slaves. These were always con 
 ducted by Ole Miss, except when a clergyman, or perhaps 
 the bishop of the diocese, was staying at the Manor. On 
 this occasion, Ole Miss was seated at one end of the room, 
 with Bible and Prayer Book on a table beside her. She 
 wore the dress in which she had appeared at church a 
 heavy black silk, with collar and cuffs of lace, the former 
 fastened by a cameo brooch. On her head, rested an elab 
 orate structure of cambric and ribbons. As she sat thus, 
 stiff and straight, facing a compact assemblage of dusky 
 worshippers, she had a benevolently dominating air. The
 
 102 
 
 negroes all knew it would be unwise to nod or show other 
 signs of inattention in her presence. Nothing escaped her 
 keen, searching eyes. For them, she was the embodiment of 
 vigilant authority, the meter out of punishments, the dis 
 penser of rewards. 
 
 Ole Miss read a chapter from the Bible and then asked 
 the usual questions from the Church Catechism, which were 
 answered by young and old in a quaint sing-song. This was 
 followed by Evening Service, the prayers ending with unctuous 
 " Amens " from the negroes, after which Ole Miss " gave 
 out " several hymns. These were sung with great spirit, even 
 Aunt Sukey and Uncle Ike, the aged story-teller, wit and oracle 
 of the Quarter, joining in with their cracked and piping trebles. 
 There was one hymn that was never omitted, the hymn 
 which, at " Ole Marster," the Judge's, death-bed, had been 
 sung by the slaves assembled to take leave of him. When 
 the familiar strain began, Ole Miss always closed her eyes 
 to hide the moisture that gathered in them, and sometimes, 
 she brushed away a tear. She was not given to emotion. 
 Her sturdy spirit was impatient of weakness in herself or 
 others, and by many, she was regarded as hard and unsym 
 pathetic. In reality, her nature was as strong in its af 
 fections as in its courage and self-will. The negroes feared 
 her, but they loved her as well. They could neither deceive 
 nor disobey her with impunity, but they knew they could 
 count upon her ministrations in suffering or distress. 
 
 When the hymns were ended, Ole Miss delivered a short 
 impromptu homily, and then addressed each member of 
 the group in turn, inquiring into various ailments, com 
 plaints, transgressions. Some were admonished ; others 
 were promised indulgence or help. In all, was renewed the 
 sense of firm, beneficent control. 
 
 Lydia always watched her grandmother admiringly on 
 these occasions. She seemed so strong, so capable, so wise.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 103 
 
 Occasionally, however, she was moved to intercede at the 
 muttered entreaty of some delinquent or to beg some special 
 favour for a wheedling petitioner like old Aunt Sukey. Ole 
 Miss listened with a sternly judicial air, but often ended by 
 granting her request. Even she could not resist Lydia's coax 
 ing. The negroes knew it was the surest road to her favour, 
 but they were shrewd enough to use it sparingly. It was a last 
 resort when all else failed. 
 
 As they left the room, Basil, feeling he had little to gain 
 by staying longer, said, 
 
 " I must go home, Lydia ; good-bye." 
 
 " Must you, really ? " she asked, glancing at him quickly, 
 with a slightly satirical smile she had noted reluctance in 
 his voice. "You forget our visit to the Indian Spring." 
 
 Basil's face lit up with glad surprise. She still wished 
 him to go with her. He was not to be excluded altogether 
 from privileged attendance on her. But why had she soft 
 ened so suddenly ? Had she worked out for herself the 
 problem of his conduct in the parlour, and realised that his 
 rashness implied no violence, no menace, but was, in fact, a 
 dedication of himself to her, a declaration of more absolute 
 fealty ? No ; it were folly to imagine her mind had ripened so 
 quickly. She was still as ignorant as before, no doubt, of the 
 true nature of his feeling for her, and it was probably a mere 
 impulse of generosity, or returning affection, or longing for 
 familiar companionship that had influenced her. But it was a 
 great gain for him. His heart beat rapidly at the thought 
 that she had given him the opportunity of winning back some 
 portion of her trust. 
 
 " Spend another night with us," added Lydia there was 
 a trace of mischief in her voice, but Basil missed it " I 
 would rather go in the morning ; it is always so beautiful, 
 then, at the Spring." 
 
 It had been hard work to bring herself to the point of
 
 104 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 showing him so much f avour,but how was she to satisfy herself 
 if she continued to hold aloof ? And the Indian Spring was 
 precisely the spot she would have chosen, because of its 
 seclusion. Here, she could interrogate him at her leisure, 
 secure from interruption. What a cunning inquisitor she 
 meant to be 1 He should be made to tell her everything 
 without suspecting her purpose. She had not only the con 
 fidence due to uniform success in probing his thoughts, but 
 the faith which lurks in the heart of every woman in her 
 ability to " manage " any member of the clumsier sex. 
 
 Basil accepted her invitation gladly, never doubting that 
 it had been prompted chiefly by a magnanimity which was 
 as sweet to him as it was unexpected.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 WHEN they set out shortly after breakfast next morning, 
 Basil rejoiced to find that Lydia was as bright and as un 
 reserved as she had ever been. She laughed and chatted 
 with him as freely as though no cloud had arisen between 
 them. What a fortunate escape for him ! It seemed little 
 short of marvelous. He would take care not to risk his 
 happiness again. How could he have imagined he was 
 walking straight into the peril he meant to avoid ? 
 
 Their path ran along one side of a field bordering on the 
 banks of the cove. It followed the zigzag line of an old 
 " worm " fence overgrown with locust bushes, briars and 
 trumpet creeper. The latter, in a few months, would deck 
 the fence-row with clusters of bright crimson flowers. The 
 path brought them, at the end of a mile or more, to a deep, 
 wooded ravine from which a small brook flowed into the 
 head waters of the cove. Turning into this ravine, they 
 followed the windings of the stream which carried them 
 deeper and deeper into the Manor woods. At last, rounding 
 a sudden bend of the brook, they came to their destination, 
 the Indian Spring. 
 
 It was a limpid pool at the foot of a great mottled beech, 
 which stood in a cleft of a steep hill-side. Tall elms, from 
 which hung festoons of grapevines and Virginia creeper, 
 formed a natural arbour above the gorge. Loose stones had 
 been used to dam the spring. They were green with moss, 
 and from their crevices sprang tiny ferns. The spring owed 
 its name to the fact that the spot had once been the seat of 
 an Indian tribe. Stone tomahawks and arrow heads, bits
 
 io6 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 of rude pottery and other relics were occasionally turned up 
 in ploughing the adjacent lands. 
 
 The face of the hill was gay with nodding anemones and 
 a prim array of snowy bloodroot, the waxen blossoms still 
 unsheathed. Here and there, patches of olive green among 
 the dead leaves announced the presence of arbutus hiding 
 its pink and white charms coyly under a Quakerish garb. 
 
 Lydia sprang eagerly up the nearest slope and began to 
 pluck the blossoms from their hiding-places. 
 
 " Let's see who will get the finer bouquet, Basil ! " she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 They bent over side by side, their hands often touching 
 as they searched among the leaves. Basil was keenly con 
 scious now of his danger. At times, he could scarce resist 
 the temptation to capture those swift, elusive little hands as 
 they flashed so provokingly near. It was trying to feel her 
 breath upon his cheek, to be so close to her that her lithe 
 figure sometimes brushed against him. Once, she caught 
 him by the shoulder, to save herself from falling and leaned 
 against him, for a moment, with all her weight. It was all 
 he could do to keep from clasping her in his arms. 
 
 Lydia was not thinking of him. The subtle charm of the 
 spot possessed her. Her veins were filled with the glad 
 elixir of spring. Every now and then, she paused in her 
 task and stood erect to drink in the damp fragrance of the 
 earth, the perfume of the arbutus, the freshness of the dew- 
 laden leaves. 
 
 " There, Basil," she exclaimed, at last, holding out to him 
 a huge bunch of arbutus, " see what a lot I've gathered. 
 Why," she added, with a laughing glance at his meagre 
 handful, " you have hardly any. What a lazy fellow ! " 
 
 It was true. He had merely made a show of activity. 
 His real occupation had been watching her. 
 
 Lydia seated herself in a loop of grapevine that hung
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 107 
 
 from one of the elms near the spring and began to cull the 
 choicer sprays. 
 
 " These are for Mamma," she explained. 
 
 Basil, rather shamefacedly, added his contribution to the 
 heap in her lap. He found a convenient seat on a large 
 boulder on the opposite side of the spring, from which he 
 had a good view of her. They were silent for some time. 
 Lydia was too busy to talk, and Basil asked nothing better 
 than to gaze at her as she swung, apparently oblivious of 
 him, to and fro. How delightful it was here beside her, in 
 the great, quiet wood ! The sunlight, filtering through 
 the budding foliage, traced fugitive patterns of light and 
 shade on the web of interlacing roots at their feet. Above 
 and beyond them, stretched the blackish depths of wooded 
 slopes. In the meadow, just below, rose patches of man 
 drake like tiny green umbrellas planted close together in 
 the sod. Farther down, a dense hedge of honeysuckle 
 clambering over a network of green-briar and blackberry 
 bushes screened the stream, but at another point, there was 
 a break in a thicket of alders and magnolias which disclosed a 
 glimpse of steel-gray water touched with rose and changing 
 into a delicate green near the opposite shore. Branch wil 
 lows growing along the margin, drooped their long wands, 
 studded with yellow catkins, close to the glistening current 
 which danced with soft, soothing murmur over a bed of 
 stones. 
 
 Basil's gaze, without his knowing it, grew rapt. Lydia's 
 total unconsciousness intensified his sense of charm. She 
 seemed to him, as she swayed dreamily back and forth, to 
 have a natural, primitive grace in harmony with the wild 
 beauty of the spot. 
 
 Unluckily, Lydia happened to glance at him just as the 
 admiration in his eyes shone keenest. It was the way he 
 had looked at her the other night in the parlour ! She sprang
 
 io8 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 up hastily and stood facing him with a forbidding air. The 
 trial of strength which she had sought was at hand. But it 
 was not as she had intended. He had taken her by surprise 
 again. There had been no time, no opportunity for her to 
 set in motion her insidious plan of attack. It was he who 
 had taken the initiative, putting her on the defensive. She 
 did not doubt that unless she acted quickly, he would be 
 quite capable of repeating the folly that had been so odious 
 to her. Thank goodness, she knew the symptoms in him 
 now, and could check him in time. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, Basil ? " she demanded, 
 shortly. 
 
 " Nothing," he answered, confused. 
 
 " There is something ! " she insisted, " else, why do you 
 stare at me so ? " 
 
 " Forgive me," he said, " I couldn't help it." 
 
 It was of no use ; her beauty mastered him. He had set 
 himself too hard a task of self-repression. 
 
 Lydia tossed her head, impatiently. 
 
 " Couldn't help it ! " she exclaimed ; " how can you be so 
 absurd ? One would think you were a child ! You must 
 help it, if we are to be friends. Understand that, clearly. 
 I never dreamed of such rudeness from you." 
 
 " Rudeness ! " he cried, " surely, Lydia, you know me 
 better. As if I could ever have a thought that was really 
 rude to you 1 Ah, if you could but know how anxious I am 
 not to offend ; how gladly I would do anything to make you 
 happy 1 " 
 
 " You have an odd way of showing it," she retorted, 
 mockingly, but with just a trace of inquisitiveness. She was 
 wondering what explanation he could have to offer. 
 
 " You wouldn't think it odd," said Basil, quick to take 
 advantage of her apparent willingness to listen to him, " if 
 you knew. It only seems odd because you don't under-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 109 
 
 stand." If he could make her understand ! He must en 
 lighten her if there were any way of doing it without offend 
 ing her still more. It was his only hope of placating her, of 
 excusing himself. " It is love, Lydia nothing else but a 
 kind of love that is new to me as to you. Ah, yes, it is rude, 
 but not in the way you mean. It's it's something that grips 
 one and drags him on roughly, whether he will or no. It 
 came upon me first in the canoe : I tried to struggle with 
 it I knew it would startle and annoy you, that it would seem 
 to you impertinent, silly but I failed. It is stronger 
 than I am ; it will break out in spite of everything I can 
 do." 
 
 " Strange ! " she said, puckering her brow with a sagely 
 meditative air, "you never used to feel that way." 
 
 " You are different, so different 1 " he cried. " You have 
 bewitched me, I think." 
 
 " Well 1 " cried Lydia, with an accent of indignation, 
 which a sudden gleam of laughter in her eyes belied, " the 
 idea of trying to shift the blame to me ! A witch, am I ? 
 What next, I wonder ! " 
 
 " I withdraw the obnoxious word," said Basil, smiling. 
 He was beginning to feel somewhat encouraged. " Suppose 
 I say you are fascinating ? And really, you have cast a spell 
 on me." 
 
 Lydia gave him an ironical glance. So, she was fascinat 
 ing ! Why had he not discovered this before ? He might 
 have spared both him and her all this bother. She could 
 have told him, long ago, she didn't want to be " fascinat 
 ing " to him or to anybody else, in the way he meant. There 
 could be no longer any doubt about it ; she had turned 
 his head. What a pity ! Did he love her so very much ? 
 Would he suffer a great deal ? She was dismayed to find 
 herself wishing he would. It wHs a cruel wish, and yet, there 
 was pleasure in it. Pshaw ! Was she also growing silly ?
 
 no A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 What had she to do with this sort of thing ? She felt a sud 
 den flash of anger against Basil for having brought her to 
 such a pass. After all, it meant but one thing the sacrifice 
 of her darling independence. Basil wanted her to marry 
 him that was evident. Marriage meant bondage. She 
 was determined to be always free. What was the use of 
 beating about the bush any longer ? She must bring him to 
 his senses. 
 
 " If you think you can catch me with flattery," she said 
 with a touch of asperity, which she could have wished were 
 more marked, " you are very much mistaken." 
 
 " Flattery ! " exclaimed Basil, his passion breaking through 
 all restraint, " you wouldn't think of flattery, if you could 
 know what I feel. Can't you understand this, Lydia that 
 you are all the world to me ; that there can never be any 
 happiness so great as that I dare not hope for the happiness 
 of knowing you care as much for me ? I thought there was 
 nothing I couldn't do for you. I was wrong. There is one 
 thing I cannot do, and that is, to hide this new feeling 
 which offends you. I meant to hide it. I said to myself 
 I would wait. I am very humble about you, though I have 
 not seemed so. I knew you cared for me, but not in the 
 way I wished. I feared you might never care. My only 
 chance, it seemed to me, lay in a devotion which might 
 gradually win upon you. Some day, it might, I hoped, be 
 given to me to prove that no such love as mine could be 
 found elsewhere a love anticipating your slightest wish, 
 enveloping you with a tenderness that could never tire, 
 denying even itself lest it cause you harm. Fool that I was, 
 I dreamed of guarding you against yourself 1 It was possi 
 ble, I thought, if you discovered my desire, that you might 
 be moved by sympathy, by the affection you had felt for me 
 ever since you were a little child, to give yourself to me rashly, 
 without knowing your own heart. Every consideration
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR in 
 
 urged me to silence self-interest, my sense of honour, and 
 strongest of all, my solicitude for you. Well you know what 
 has happened. I am guilty of all I resolved so firmly not to 
 do. I blurted out the love I meant to conceal. I forgot 
 what was due to you and was conscious only of the mad im 
 pulse that swept me on. I had but one slender chance, as 
 I have said ; it was to wait, to suffer, to strive silently for 
 your approval against any odds, in the hope that the time 
 might come when it would not seem to you so presumptu 
 ous if I asked you to be my wife. I flung that chance 
 away. The utmost I could ask of you, now, is that you 
 bear with me for old friendship's sake ; that, if I seem mad 
 and foolish, you will take pity and say to yourself, 'He 
 can't help it, and he means no harm.' " 
 
 Lydia glanced at him indulgently ; she was tempted to 
 say more. A wave of feeling that was not all compassion 
 swept over her. This kind of love might be silly, but it was 
 not trivial nor tame. There was force in it, a force that gave 
 it dignity, even to her contumelious view. Her heart throbbed 
 strongly in response to Basil's unconscious eloquence. She 
 knew, now, what she had been so curious to learn ; she had 
 gauged the character and intensity of the feeling which had 
 driven him, as he had said, against his will. It was even 
 stronger than she had imagined. And she had inspired it 1 
 She ! A gratified sense of recovered dominion, of a new, 
 more despotic power came to her. Her delicate nostrils 
 quivered ; she threw her little head back proudly. Bear 
 with him ? Why, of course. She need never fear him now. 
 Whenever he looked at her in that way again, she would 
 know he was only offering her renewed submission. Take 
 pity on him ? A dangerous impulse stirred her. Would it 
 be too much to give him what he did not ask, what he had 
 said he no longer had any thought of asking ? Basil had 
 been right in thinking that sympathy might make her rash.
 
 112 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 After all, she did love him dearly. They might be very 
 happy, if 
 
 She started suddenly and glanced at him, with a look of 
 alarm. For a moment, her precious liberty had been in 
 peril ; captivity had seemed no longer so ugly a thing. Was 
 it possible she had been on the point of bending her proud 
 neck to the yoke? How often she had told herself she 
 would never be poor-spirited enough to utter at the 
 altar that hateful promise to obey 1 No : pity it was only 
 pity, of course would never carry her that far. But it 
 might console him to learn that she would have preferred 
 him to anyone else. There could be no harm in telling 
 him that. 
 
 " It wouldn't be so bad to be your wife," she said with 
 innocent gravity, " I couldn't care for anyone more than I 
 care for you I couldn't really. But it is out of the ques 
 tion, Basil. Years ago, I made up my mind I could never 
 marry. I'm not like most girls, as you know. The thought 
 of giving up my liberty has always been insupportable. It 
 would be a mockery for me to promise obedience to any 
 one ; sooner or later, I would rebel. No matter how much 
 I might love you, I would pine for freedom, and even if you 
 tamed me at last, I could never forgive you for clipping my 
 wings. We are ever so much happier as we are you see 
 that, don't you ? " 
 
 To Basil, there was something whimsical yet touching in 
 her words. How little she knew of life and what it might 
 have in store for her 1 A girl of scarce eighteen, with the 
 gift of beauty, of charm which would attract to her shoals 
 of lovers, and " years ago," she had decided never to marry ! 
 A year or two from now, and she, herself, would wonder at 
 her blindness. God grant that her awakening to the sense 
 of her power and its peril might not be rude ! In her 
 ignorant self-confidence, she was unique. What other girl
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 113 
 
 of her age could have so deluded herself with the idea that 
 she was proof against the strongest instinct of her sex ? 
 Happy the man who should know the joy of opening her 
 eyes ! 
 
 He sighed as he thought that if she never cared for any 
 one more than she cared for him, she might actually make 
 good her unconscious boast. She pitied him ; she still 
 loved him, in her way ; he was forgiven. Ought he not to 
 be grateful ? And yet, the fact that she was willing to 
 tolerate the idea of marrying him as something that would 
 have been quite feasible had she not been such a little rebel, 
 awakened wild thoughts. 
 
 " You may change your mind after awhile," he said with 
 forced humour to hide the tumult in him, " if you do, re 
 member I have a prior claim." 
 
 " I shan't forget," she said with a laugh, " and now, 
 we're going to be reasonable, are we not ? " 
 
 " No ! " he answered impetuously, " I can't be reasonable 
 while I am near you. I no longer wish to be reasonable. 
 It has gone too far, Lydia the sight of you makes me 
 drunk!" 
 
 Lydia looked shocked, but in reality, her heart felt a 
 thrill of delight. She had tasted the joy all women feel in 
 the abandon of a passion that will tolerate no compro 
 mises, no evasion. She was glad Basil would persist in his 
 folly. 
 
 Basil saw only the deceptive cloud on her face, and his 
 own face grew downcast. 
 
 " There is one thing I can do, Lydia," he said, rising and 
 gripping the edge of the boulder, as if to steady himself, " if 
 it would make you freer, happier, I can go away. Whether 
 I were ' reasonable ' or not, would make no difference, then. 
 It would be hard for me, but not so hard as to stay here, 
 feeling that my presence was a plague to you." 
 8
 
 ii 4 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 " Go away ! " she cried, startled, " but I would miss you, 
 Basil ! " 
 
 There was a note of pain in her voice that caused his 
 heart to leap. 
 
 She hesitated a moment, and added with shy archness, 
 
 " I'll try to put up with your eccentricities, if you will 
 stay." 
 
 " Lydia ! " he cried, taking an eager step towards her, 
 his face aglow. 
 
 " There no nearer, please ! " she exclaimed hastily, put 
 ting out both hands as if to ward him off. She felt a strong 
 inclination to spring away from him into the woods. But it 
 would never do to let him think she was afraid. " You've 
 given me a headache," she added nervously, " it is tiresome 
 talking of one's self. Leave me for a little while ; I want to 
 be alone. Take this to the house and put it into water for 
 me, won't you ? " She tossed him the bunch of arbutus as 
 she spoke. " I'm going to have a look at the deer." 
 
 She turned on her heel rather precipitately and disap 
 peared in the shrubbery that bordered the brook. 
 
 Basil stood gazing after her for some time, with pain 
 and longing in his eyes. Her avoidance of him, her evident 
 panic convinced him he had been woefully mistaken. She 
 was impressionable, affectionate nothing more. What mad- 
 / ness to have dreamed for an instant that his passion had 
 found some echo in her heart !
 
 THE deer range was a large enclosure of woodland and 
 meadow skirting the edges of a swamp through which the 
 brook ascended gradually to its source. The shade of a 
 labyrinth of tangled shrubbery and trees protected the 
 stream and its many springs in summer and kept its banks 
 luxuriantly green. At frequent intervals, little rills crept 
 slowly through the bog to join the brook, occasionally form 
 ing large, semi-stagnant pools. It was possible to cross the 
 marsh only at certain points where cart-roads had been made 
 of logs on which earth and gravel had been heaped, but one 
 might still follow the course of the stream along rude em 
 bankments at its side which had been thrown up in cutting 
 for it an easy channel to drain the adjacent fields. On the 
 crests of these embankments, ran narrow paths beaten hard 
 by the deer and by foxes, rabbits, opossums and raccoons, 
 which found comparatively safe refuge in the swamp. 
 
 Lydia took the left hand path going up stream. In a few 
 minutes, she came to a road that wound up the face of a 
 slope covered by a grove of fine chestnut trees. This road, 
 she knew, led to a pleasant spot where she had often 
 loitered. Turning into it, she climbed to the crest of the 
 ridge and emerged into a little glade, protected by a hedge 
 of brambles and sassafras bushes, from which sprang, here 
 and there, a noble poplar or beech. Near the centre, stood 
 a knotty black gum of great size spreading a canopy of tiny 
 red leaves which would soon be as lustrously green as those 
 of an oleander. One of its gnarled branches, bent close to 
 the ground, formed a rude armchair in which Lydia seated 
 herself, with a sigh of relief. 
 
 "5
 
 ii6 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 She was really tired not physically but mentally. Her 
 interview with Basil had involved an unaccustomed kind of 
 exercise which had taxed her heavily. She was not used to 
 worrying herself with questions of feeling, of motive. Her 
 life had been almost wholly objective. She had been wont 
 to receive and absorb impressions, not to analyse either her 
 own thoughts and wishes or those of others. She had been 
 forced, for the first time, to think seriously, to grapple with 
 a problem which, while it had interested her deeply, had 
 caused her brain to throb with a sense of hard labour. Here, 
 she could shake off the burden. She was alone in the heart 
 of a sequestered wood, remote from disturbing influences. 
 No one could " bother " her, here, with intrusive claims 
 upon her attention. There were only the trees, the blue sky, 
 the scent of the pines, the furtive watchfulness of a hidden 
 animal life that was as anxious as she to be avoided. The 
 spirit of the woods revived in her with refreshing force. 
 All that had happened between her and Basil faded swiftly 
 into comparative insignificance. The old lawless instincts 
 sprang up again within her, hot and strong. How glad she 
 was she had escaped him, how thankful she had not yielded 
 to her momentary impulse of compassion ! She was still 
 free, free as air. More than ever, she was resolved to re 
 main so. For the moment, she was again but a careless 
 child, exulting in her liberty. 
 
 There was so much here to give her active fancy play. 
 Immediately beneath her, at the foot of the slope, looming 
 darkly through the foliage, lay the swamp, drear and still. 
 To the left, a glimpse was had through a gap in the shrub 
 bery of a bit of " old field," overgrown with sedge and 
 stunted pines, which, like the swamp, was desolate yet allur 
 ing. This lonely waste, once cultivated but long since de 
 serted, was believed by the negroes to be a favourite resort 
 of ghosts. There was not a negro in the neighbourhood
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 117 
 
 who would have approached the spot after nightfall. Even 
 during the day, the " old field " was avoided by the more 
 timorous. 
 
 Lydia amused herself by recalling the various stories of 
 uncanny adventures which the Manor negroes professed to 
 have met with, not only here, but in other portions of 
 the swamp. How she wished she could feel the thrill of 
 some such experience ! But try as she might, she had never 
 been able to see a really satisfactory ghost, although her 
 imagination had played her some odd pranks at times. 
 Here, if anywhere, she might hope to obtain a glimpse of 
 one. This savage solitude, in which she could fancy Nature 
 speaking to her confidentially, in whispers, seemed the very 
 abode of mystery, of shadows, of muffled voices. A dreamy 
 sense of unreality stole upon her. She leaned back against 
 the trunk of the gum, half closing her eyes with a drowsi 
 ness due to the soothing influences of the spot. The only 
 sounds that reached her were such as harmonised with the 
 murmurous quiet all about her the low rustling of deer in 
 neighbouring coverts ; the hoarse cawing of crows from the 
 tops of trees in the swamp ; the faint call of ploughmen to 
 their horses in distant fields ; the monotonous croaking of 
 frogs in the marsh. 
 
 Suddenly, a mischievous fancy seized her. There was a 
 spot in the swamp known as the " marl pit," which she had 
 long been curious about. It was a large pond, made by 
 excavating for marl, which bore an even more sinister rep 
 utation among the negroes than the sedge field. It was 
 said to have no bottom at least none that any plummet had 
 ever sounded and to be capable of sucking into its depths 
 any creature who was rash enough to venture near it. 
 Lydia had often sought to learn its location, but none of 
 the negroes could be induced to tell her, much less to pilot 
 her to it. They always sought to dissuade her by narrating
 
 li8 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 blood-curdling stories of the place stories which had their 
 origin in a single incident, the drowning of a couple of 
 negro boys who had tumbled into the pond while angling 
 for catfish. 
 
 The pool was believed to have been " laid under a spell " 
 by a reputed wizard, an old slave named Manuel, who was 
 held in great dread by ignorant whites as well as blacks. 
 Manuel lived alone in the swamp, in charge of the deer. 
 He never denied to his fellow-slaves that he had " conjured " 
 the marl pit ; on the contrary, he did his utmost to encour 
 age the delusion. The sly old scamp had a practical 
 reason for wishing it to be avoided. It abounded in the 
 choicest catfish, for which he found ready sale in the county 
 town. 
 
 Lydia felt that she had an excellent opportunity, now, to 
 satisfy her curiosity. She was alone ; there was no one to 
 deter or to mislead her. A spice of adventure in the enter 
 prise tempted her strongly, and she was on the point of mov 
 ing when her interest was excited by a doe who had thrust 
 her slender muzzle through a screen of bushes directly in 
 front of her, and was regarding her with a pair of large, 
 soft eyes whose gaze expressed a timid curiosity. Lydia 
 remained perfectly still, and presently, other heads ap 
 peared. At length, the branches parted, and a noble buck, 
 the sultan of the herd, stepped proudly forth into the glade. 
 His subjects followed, one by one, pausing at every few 
 steps to glance about them with a watchful air. 
 
 The peaceful charm of this scene was broken suddenly 
 by the report of a gun close at hand. The deer bounded 
 off in a panic, and Lydia, startled, sprang to her feet. As 
 she did so, a redbird tumbled from the tree overhead to the 
 ground, a few paces from her. It had fallen upon a cluster 
 of white violets, and lay there, staining the snowy blossoms 
 with its blood as it fluttered in its death-throes. There
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 119 
 
 was a rustling noise in a thicket to the right of Lydia, and 
 a moment later, a handsome Irish setter leaped from the 
 bushes. He was followed, almost immediately, by a young 
 man in a hunting suit of drab corduroy, who held in one 
 hand a gun still smoking from the recent discharge. On 
 seeing Lydia, he recoiled with a cry of alarm. 
 
 " Good Heavens, Miss Cheston ! " he exclaimed. " Have 
 I hurt you ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Lydia, recognising Oswald Reeve. She 
 received him with a rebuking air. Of course, he did not 
 know that he was poaching in her father's deer park, where 
 no one was permitted to hunt at this season of the year, but 
 she must challenge him for shooting the poor little redbird, 
 which was not a sportsman's proper game. Besides, he had 
 killed it sitting. Lydia had been carefully instructed by 
 her father in gunning ethics, the cardinal rule of which, in 
 the Colonel's neighbourhood, was strictly prohibitory of the 
 shooting of birds when not on the wing. 
 
 " How could you kill that pretty little creature ? " she 
 demanded. " And sitting, too." 
 
 " It was a mean thing to do," said Oswald, much em 
 barrassed, " but he was such a handsome fellow, I I 
 thought you might like to have his wings for a hat." 
 
 The excuse was a lame one, and a fib besides. He had 
 not thought of Lydia at all, but had fired from a mere chance 
 impulse. Bending over hurriedly, as he spoke, he picked 
 up the bird and offered it to her. Lydia refused it with a 
 gesture of repugnance. " I saw it die," she said with a 
 slight tremor in her voice. 
 
 Oswald confusedly thrust the bird into one of the large 
 pockets of his coat, in the hasty desire to hide it from her, 
 and with a bow which was awkward, for him, turned to 
 leave her. To his surprise, Lydia laid a detaining hand on 
 his arm.
 
 120 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 " You can't get off so easily," she said with a smile, " I 
 take you prisoner for trespassing in our woods. Your punish 
 ment is to be presented to Papa, and thanked for taking such 
 good care of me on the steamer." 
 
 Oswald, flushing with pleasure, signified his acquiescence. 
 Her easy friendliness, so unlocked for under the circum 
 stances, increased his confusion. 
 
 " But I forgot," said Lydia, with a doubtful air, " I was 
 about to go in search of the marl-pit would you mind coming 
 with me ? " 
 
 "Of course not," said Oswald, promptly. He had no 
 idea whither the search might lead him, but he was ready 
 to go anywhere with her the farther the better. 
 
 " I have always longed to find it," she explained, " be 
 cause of the queer stories that are told about it. It is 
 somewhere near, I am sure, and this is such a good chance. 
 It is said to be a dreadful place," she added, with a pretence 
 of seriousness. " The negroes declare it is ' conjured ' ; that 
 people who go too near it are dragged into it by some magic 
 power and drowned." 
 
 " Perhaps its banks are miry," suggested Oswald, laugh 
 ing. He was regaining something of his usual ease. 
 
 " Oh, no ! That is too tame an explanation. There is 
 really an old conjuror living near it, who admits having 
 charmed it. I hope you are not afraid of conjurors." 
 
 She questioned him with a bantering glance. 
 
 " Not the least in the world. I know something of the 
 gentry. There were some East Indian conjurors in London 
 with whom I scraped acquaintance. They were very harm 
 less, I assure you, and were even kind enough to teach me 
 a few of their tricks." 
 
 " You must show them to me 1 " cried Lydia, clapping 
 her hands in delight, " perhaps I can learn them. If I 
 succeed, I'll frighten old Manuel out of his boots. What
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 121 
 
 fun that would be ! He is only a clumsy, every- day sort of 
 conjuror, of course." 
 
 Oswald willingly promised to impart the desired instruc 
 tion, and Lydia, her eyes gleaming with the spirit of adven 
 ture, started off. Retracing her steps down the cart-road to 
 the banks of the brook, she again took the left side going 
 up-stream. They were forced by the narrowness of the path 
 to proceed in Indian file. Lydia led the way, Oswald came 
 next, and the setter, having been cautioned by his master, 
 obediently brought up the rear. 
 
 The swamp became even wilder as they advanced. At 
 places, they had to thread their way through dense thickets 
 or climb over huge, fallen trees, with a perfect abattis of 
 limbs and branches. Frequently, they found it easier to 
 leave the embankment and betake themselves to the marsh. 
 Here, it was necessary to step with the utmost care, and 
 often, to spring from one to another of the little tussocks of 
 earth and matted grass which rose, like tiny islands, from the 
 bog. Sometimes, when the water was sufficiently shallow, 
 they followed the bed of the stream, balancing themselves on 
 slippery stones, or treading small reefs of white sand thickly 
 strewn with glistening mussel shells and pebbles. 
 
 Lydia made light of difficulties that would have daunted 
 many a man. Oswald often glanced at her in wonder and 
 was tempted, more than once, to suggest that, perhaps, they 
 had better turn back. 
 
 They came, at last, to a spot that, he thought, must cer 
 tainly baffle her. It was necessary for them to cross the 
 stream at a point where the water rushed along, a bubbling 
 torrent. A fallen tree offered them an insecure footway. 
 Its trunk did not quite reach to the opposite bank, but hung 
 over the brook, threatening to vibrate dangerously under 
 any considerable weight. Its rounded surface, stripped of 
 the bark and polished by rain, was, evidently, as slippery
 
 122 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 as a huge icicle. Lydia sprang upon it without hesitation 
 and passed over lightly with confident grace. Oswald 
 followed, though not without misgivings, and got over safely, 
 after several dangerous lurches. Lydia, watching him from 
 the opposite bank with maliciously expectant eyes, had almost 
 hoped he would slip off and tumble into the brook. It 
 wouldn't hurt him much, and it would spoil the nattiness of 
 that stylish corduroy suit. He was too " dressed up " to 
 suit her ideas of a sportsman's proper garb. His clothes 
 were glaringly new; they didn't look as if he had ever shot 
 in them before. Could he shoot at all except at sitting 
 birds ? She still felt a touch of resentment towards him for 
 killing the redbird. 
 
 They found themselves, at last, in the heart of the 
 swamp. Its wildness and beauty repaid them for their 
 trouble. Large fungi of many colours variegated the dark 
 surface of the bog. Wild grapevines and other creepers 
 interlaced themselves with many contortions about the 
 trunks and branches of trees. Some of the trees were curi 
 ously dwarfed and misshapen, while others shot up to great 
 heights, their stems as round and straight as the mast of a 
 ship. The turf of the embankment here was a carpet of 
 delicate hues of green, embroidered with wild flowers. 
 Violets of various tints dark purple, pale blue, pure white 
 and several intermediate shades grew thick in the grass. 
 In the clear, tinkling stream, bordered by nodding ferns, 
 tiny fishes darted hither and thither, like flashes from pol 
 ished metal. All sorts of birds were fluttering about in great 
 excitement over the unwonted invasion of their solitude. 
 Now and then, the underbrush stirred from the scuttling 
 away of a fox or a rabbit. Once, Lydia came face to face with 
 a great owl perched on a low bough. It stared at her with 
 round, unblinking eyes and a slight ruffling of its feathers, 
 but did not stir. Squirrels frisked about on every hand.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 123 
 
 There was the greatest abundance of game for Oswald's 
 gun, and the setter grew restive at his master's strange 
 inaction. But Oswald had had enough of shooting for that 
 day after his experience with the redbird and was not at 
 all inclined to brave Lydia's displeasure again. 
 
 A little farther on, they came to a large pond which, Lydia 
 decided, must be the marl pit. Its appearance and sur 
 roundings were certainly of a character to justify, to some 
 extent, its bad reputation. It was black as ink, but reflected 
 with perfect distinctness the overhanging branches of the 
 trees by which it was surrounded. A dense growth of water- 
 lilies floated on its surface. The approach to it from any 
 given point lay through a treacherous morass threaded by 
 rivulets of the same inky water. Nowhere was a spot to be 
 seen which seemed to afford safe footing. No wonder the 
 pond was avoided. Only a person who had mastered the 
 secret of crossing the bog could hope to reach its margin 
 without serious risk of being engulfed. 
 
 As Lydia and Oswald drew near, a long-legged bird, which 
 was slowly patrolling the edge of the pond, uttered a cry of 
 alarm and flew away, disgusted, no doubt, at having been 
 cheated of its intended meal. 
 
 Back of the pond, rose a slope, partly denuded of its 
 timber. In the middle of the cleared space, stood a small 
 hut of logs with a chimney plastered with clay. Lydia and 
 Oswald paused for some minutes, gazing alternately at the 
 marl pit and the cabin which seemed to them almost equally 
 lonesome and forlorn. Presently, the creaking of wheels 
 was heard, and shortly afterwards, there drew up before the 
 door of the hut, a rudely fashioned cart drawn by a stunted 
 little ox. At the side of this diminutive animal, walked or 
 rather shuffled, the locally famous conjuror, " Uncle Manuel." 
 
 Manuel was a hunchback, frightfully deformed. His 
 features were roughly hewn and strangely distorted. One
 
 124 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 leg was bent in the form of a bow and his huge, bony hands 
 had fingers, sinewy and crooked, which seemed to have been 
 fashioned specially for gripping an enemy by the throat. 
 His eyes, small and deep-set, were bright as diamonds, and 
 it was asserted of him that he could subdue the most vicious 
 animal by simply gazing at it. His usual manner was in 
 keeping with his forbidding appearance. Except to those 
 whom he wished to propitiate, it was surly and spiteful. 
 Even when he had a favour to ask, he preferred his request 
 in a sort of snarl which seemed to threaten injury if his pe 
 tition were denied. No one had ever known him to bestow 
 a genuinely friendly glance on any human being. There 
 were some marvellous tales of his skill as a conjuror how, 
 for example, he had caused teacupfuls of rice to burst from 
 the knees of his victims or lizards and frogs to leap from 
 their mouths. Many a negro attributed the most ordinary 
 ailments to his having conceived a grudge against him. 
 
 " Shall we pay him a visit ? " asked Lydia, " you're quite 
 sure you're not afraid ? " 
 
 " He is rather terrifying," said Oswald, " still, if you 
 like, we will risk it." 
 
 It was some little time before they succeeded in finding a 
 path round the marl-pit. At their approach up the slope, 
 the conjuror, who had seated himself in his doorway and 
 was mopping his brow with his ragged coatsleeve, watched 
 them with sour curiosity. He saw at a glance that they 
 were " Quality. " What could they want of him ? They had 
 not come for any incantation or charm. As they drew 
 nearer, he recognised Young Miss and also Oswald who had 
 been pointed out to him the day before in the county town 
 as Lawyer Reeve's son. Rising briskly to his feet, he 
 snatched off his tattered coonskin cap and bowed to the 
 ground, his mouth writhing itself into a grin which exposed 
 long, pointed teeth like the tusks of a boar.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 125 
 
 " Sobbun, Miss Lydyer. Sobbun, Young Marster," he 
 exclaimed, in a curious, half-resentful whine, which was 
 meant to be ingratiating. " You've cum, in co'se, ter bring 
 er leetle change ter po' ole Man'l." 
 
 Oswald laughed and tossed him a silver half-dollar. 
 
 " Taddee, Marster, taddee ! " said Manuel, obsequiously. 
 " My, my, what er well-favoured, kind young gen'1'man I 
 En' leetle Mistus 1 Fo' de Lawd, it warms old Man'l's heart 
 ter see her agin' 1 " 
 
 " You must tell us our fortunes, Uncle Manuel, " said 
 Lydia, " everybody says you are a wonderful conjuror, and 
 know exactly what is going to happen." 
 
 Manuel glanced at her with a well-acted air of surprise. 
 It was all right for the negroes to believe in his magical 
 powers for he drove quite a trade among them as a con 
 juror, besides enjoying the consciousness that he was feared 
 and could wreak his spite on any individual by merely 
 threatening him, but he was chary of admitting to white 
 folks that he ever attempted to exercise such arts. Only 
 the " po' trash " were sufficiently credulous to put any faith 
 in his spells and he always " fought shy " of the " Qual 
 ity " who knew too much and were serenely indifferent to 
 his magic. Besides, the Colonel strongly discountenanced 
 conjuring as tending to the spread of superstition among 
 the negroes, and more than once, had admonished him 
 sharply. To members of the Manor family, Manuel always 
 stoutly asserted his ignorance of even the comparatively 
 harmless practices of fortune-telling. 
 
 " Dah now, leetle Mistus 1 " he exclaimed, flinging up his 
 hands and rolling his eyes in pretended amazement, " whar 
 did you ebber hear sech er tale ez dat ? Somebody must 
 er tole you jes' ter spite me. No, indeed, honey ! No, 
 indeed ! I'ze too ole, en' got too much ter do, ter be 
 fustyin' wid dat kind er bizness,"
 
 126 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 The cool effrontery of this assertion almost took Lydia's 
 breath away. While still a small child too small, in the 
 conjuror's opinion, to " take notice " she had, herself, 
 heard old Manuel threaten various negroes with " spells ". 
 Besides, his sorceries were a matter of common notoriety. 
 She grew indignant at his hardihood in denying the fact 
 to her. Her anger was changed to amusement, however, 
 when, as Manuel continued to proclaim his innocence, 
 muttering, " Me a cunjer doctor ? Did ennybody ebber ? 
 What'll dey be sayin' 'bout me nex', 1 wonder ? " a frog 
 leaped out suddenly from one of the pockets of his patch 
 work coat. With an oath, the old rascal clapped his 
 hands on both his pockets to prevent the escape of other 
 prizes imprisoned there. He had quite forgotten that, in 
 passing through the woods, he had picked up several lizards, 
 frogs and snails for use in frightening negroes with the idea 
 that they were to be used in compounding charms. If 
 Young Miss caught a glimpse of these, she would know he 
 was lying. But he was already undone ; she had seen the 
 frog, and that was evidence enough for her. 
 
 Lydia's eyes danced with merriment. 
 
 " There ! " she exclaimed, " you won't deny, now, that 
 you conjure ! " 
 
 Manuel looked away in surly confusion. He knew there 
 was nothing he could say, after such an ocular demonstration 
 of his guilt, that would have the least effect. 
 
 " Young Miss done sot her mind ter it, now," he said to 
 himself, " en' all out doze (doors) wouldn't budge her." 
 
 " Ef you will have it dat I kin tell fortins, leetle Mistus," 
 he replied, with a dogged air of submission, " I s'pose I'll 
 ha' ter try. Shall I tell Young Marster's, dah, en' your'n 
 tergedder ? " With a knowing leer at Oswald, he exclaimed, 
 " Pears ter me dey tied up close yo' fortin en' his'n in a 
 kink monst'ous like a true luvyer's knot 1 " He paused, and
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 added, with a hoarse, wheezy chuckle, " I seems ter see a 
 weddin' at de big house, sho'ly ! " 
 
 He could not have aimed a shrewder blow. His native 
 cunning told him Lydia would instantly resent such asso 
 ciation with Oswald. He was not deceived by their apparent 
 intimacy. It could be only " skin-deep." He had studied 
 Young Miss from her infancy, and was well aware of the 
 intensity of her social prejudices. Even if this handsome 
 young dandy had made some impression upon her, she would 
 be ashamed of a feeling which would lower her in her own 
 estimation a feeling she dare not confess to her family, 
 her friends. Imagine a Cheston in love with a Reeve ! He 
 was not mistaken. Lydia started, and blushing hotly, gave 
 him a wrathful glance. The impudent old wretch 1 
 
 " There, that is quite enough ! " she said peremptorily, 
 and turning abruptly about, she moved hastily away. 
 
 Oswald was even more annoyed ; he had been placed in 
 a hateful position. 
 
 " Damn you ! " he exclaimed, in a low voice, to Manuel, 
 whose face wore a hypocritical look of surprise, " I've half 
 a mind to give you a hiding 1 " 
 
 He hesitated whether to follow Lydia, but deciding that 
 he could not well do otherwise, started after her with strong 
 misgivings. 
 
 " She is angry, of course," he said to himself bitterly, " at 
 being thought capable of such association with me. 1 " 
 
 Manuel watched the retreating figures with an air of mali 
 cious satisfaction. 
 
 " I knowed dat ud fetch her,'' he muttered, " I 'low she 
 won't come pokin' roun' hyar agin in a hurry, a-bodderin' 
 me." 
 
 The conjuror valued his isolation and independence 
 highly and hated to have his lonely retreat invaded. Be 
 sides, Young Miss had enraged him by extorting the admis-
 
 128 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 sion that he practised " cunjerin." But he had not come 
 off from the encounter unscathed. " She'll tell Marse 
 Bob," he mumbled ruefully, " en' he'll be down on me, like 
 a gale er win'. De fat's in de fire, sho' nuff ! I wish I 
 knew some spell ter lay on her ter keep her quiet, but buried 
 bottles nur a lizard's toe, nuther, wouldn't tech her. Dat 
 kind er thing does de bizness fur niggers en' po' trash, but 
 it don't 'pear ter work wid de quality wurf a cent 1 "
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 OSWALD soon overtook Lydia, and they walked along for 
 some distance in silence. Both were greatly embarrassed. 
 Lydia felt only contempt for Manuel's pretended discovery, 
 but it was exasperating that her desire to be kind to Oswald 
 should have been distorted in such an odious way. What 
 did he think ? Was it possible he attached the least signifi 
 cance to Manuel's imputation ? She would loathe him if he 
 were capable of harbouring the idea that her friendliness was 
 due to any other feeling than her sense of obligation and 
 a touch of sympathy. Was old Reeve's son, to whom she 
 had condescended, not without an effort, so conceited as to 
 imagine he had any special attraction for her ? 
 
 Glancing covertly at him now and then, she soon absolved 
 him. His bearing was anything but confident. She could 
 see that he shared her confusion. No doubt, the conjuror's 
 words had seemed to him merely coarse and impertinent ; 
 the situation was awkward for him as well as for herself. 
 Well they could not go on like this ; one of them must 
 break the ice. 
 
 " We shall be out of the swamp in a little while, now," 
 she said, carelessly. " I'm afraid you find it tiresome." 
 
 " Not at all," answered Oswald, quickly. Her manner 
 reassured him. Whatever she felt, it was evident she cher 
 ished no active animosity. It was plucky of her to face him 
 so promptly, with such a cool, indifferent air. Most girls 
 would have hung back timidly, waiting for him to speak, or 
 else would have rashly sought to cover their self-conscious 
 ness with a nervous volubility. 
 
 They were soon in easy conversation again, and the talk 
 9 I2 9
 
 130 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 drifted to Oswald's experiences abroad. He described his 
 impressions of different countries, especially England, in a 
 light, pleasant vein. Lydia at once grew interested. She had 
 heard a great deal of England from Miss Twiggs, and was 
 curious about the life of the English squires, because of its 
 resemblance to that of their Tidewater congeners. Oswald 
 had stayed at country houses and was easily able to paint 
 picture after picture for her with free, careless touch. He 
 was clever enough to keep his own personality in the back 
 ground, and yet insensibly, she was made to perceive that no 
 social barriers had been raised against him ; that wherever he 
 had gone, he had been received on an equal footing. The 
 fact seemed to her to give him an additional claim upon her. 
 In spite of her prejudices, she could not help recognising the 
 injustice of visiting the social sins of his father upon him. 
 He was cultivated, polished, a gentleman in speech and man 
 ner. What a surprise for her father, who had always as 
 serted so confidently that Reeve's son would return a pre 
 tentious cad ! 
 
 As they neared the house, the first person they encount 
 ered was Basil on his way to look for Lydia. Her prolonged 
 absence had caused him to fear that some accident might 
 have happened. At sight of Oswald, his heart gave a 
 sudden throb. Was Oswald to be the rival he had dreaded ? 
 Notwithstanding his social disadvantages, he might prove 
 formidable. To Basil, even at college, he had seemed to 
 possess a magnetism that attracted both men and women. 
 Basil himself had been affected by it, and now, it seemed to 
 him it had taken a new, more dangerous form. Oswald was 
 no longer merely a handsome boy, but a finished man of the 
 world. It was necessary only to glance at him, as he and 
 Lydia came swiftly across the lawn, conversing with great 
 animation, to note the signs, invisible to any but jealous eyes, 
 of a tender interest in his companion. Evidently, it rested
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 131 
 
 with Lydia alone as to whether this interest should be per 
 mitted ultimately to declare itself. Was it likely she would 
 remain insensible to a personality which must appeal to all 
 the slumbering woman in her ? Her pride was great, but 
 love, he was now ready to believe, might prove the stronger. 
 There could be no doubt of one thing ; he must suffer from 
 the comparison which Lydia had doubtless already begun to 
 make between him and Oswald. How could it be other 
 wise ? Oswald was a woman's man and he was not. Oswald 
 was good-looking, tactful, fluent ; he was homely, ungainly, 
 painfully self-conscious. Precisely where he was sure to 
 blunder, Oswald would be at his best. 
 
 They had so much in common these two. Was it not 
 evident ? Who would not have remarked, at once, that they 
 were younger, brighter, fresher in sympathies and feeling 
 than he ? He felt, as he watched them, that a gulf had 
 opened between Lydia and himself. In a twinkling, Lydia 
 and Oswald had created a sphere of their own from which 
 he was excluded. It was all so natural, so logical a thing 
 that was bound to be when they once came together. They 
 might have been fashioned for each other. Oswald, to Basil's 
 eye, was worthy of her. At college, Basil had fancied the 
 noble-looking boy to be imaginative, sensitive, with pure ideals 
 and proud ambitions. Perhaps, at that time, his outward 
 appearance had been really an index to a certain delicacy of 
 feeling. But Basil, ignorant of his manner of life since he 
 had known him, had no suspicion that his development had 
 taken a direction precisely the Contrary of that to which his 
 boyish inclinations, as he interpreted them, had seemed to 
 tend. He still attributed to him the same wholesome impulses, 
 the same fastidiousness of thought and feeling. How was he 
 to know that this fastidiousness was purely physical ? That 
 Oswald's refinement was that of a voluptuary to whom only 
 that is immoral which is coarse and gross ? In his blindness,
 
 132 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Basil imagined him to be in close sympathy with Lydia at 
 every point. He suffered keenly, at the thought of the idyl 
 of happiness which, perhaps, had already begun for them. 
 
 Lydia greeted Basil laughingly. 
 
 " We have had quite an adventure Mr. Reeve and I " 
 she exclaimed, " I caught him trespassing in the deer park 
 and brought him home to face Papa." 
 
 Basil wondered what would be the outcome of the inter 
 view. To all appearances, Oswald was not at all concerned. 
 Perhaps he had reason to believe that Lydia's influence 
 would be exerted strongly in his favour. 
 
 " Excuse me a moment," said Lydia, when they reached 
 the verandah, " I must find Papa." 
 
 Through an open door as she entered the hall, she spied 
 her father at the sideboard in the dining-room compounding 
 a toddy. This was a work of great nicety and deliberation 
 requiring accurate measurements and careful manipulation, 
 but Lydia burst in impetuously upon the Colonel and flung 
 her arms about him just as he was dipping out an even 
 teaspoonful of crushed sugar from a bowl. 
 
 " Ah, Papa I " she exclaimed, " what do you think ? " 
 
 " I think," said the Colonel, glancing in simulated wrath 
 at the empty teaspoon and the particles of sugar scattered 
 over the sideboard, " I think you might have been a little 
 more careful, seeing what I was about." 
 
 " Oh, you won't mind when you hear what I have to tell 
 you 1 A toddy's nothing to losing me 1 " 
 
 " Losing you ! " exclaimed the Colonel, looking round at 
 her in surprise, " why, what do you mean ? " 
 
 Lydia, in the delight of being once more at home, had 
 forgotten all about the incident on the steamer until re 
 minded of it by meeting Oswald. She now hastily de 
 scribed her adventure with the bull and Oswald's timely 
 rescue,
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 133 
 
 The Colonel, at the close of her story, clasped her in his 
 arms with a shudder. " Thank God, I have you safe ! " he 
 cried. " I must find the young man at once, and thank 
 him." 
 
 " You won't have far to go," said Lydia, laughing, " he 
 is out on the verandah with Basil. I happened to meet him 
 in the woods and brought him home with me." 
 
 " Who is he ? " 
 
 Lydia hesitated, knowing how strong were her father's 
 prejudices. 
 
 " His name is Reeve Oswald Reeve," she said, with a 
 touch of confusion. 
 
 " Oswald Reeve I " exclaimed the Colonel, disconcerted. 
 " That's our Reeve's son." 
 
 " Yes, Papa," said Lydia quickly, " but, of course, you 
 won't let him see you think of that. Remember, he saved 
 me from a dreadful danger. Besides, he is a gentleman at 
 least I think so." 
 
 " And Reeve's son ? " said the Colonel dubiously, " how 
 can he be a gentleman ? But I must thank him ; I owe 
 him a heavy debt, my darling." 
 
 The Colonel went out upon the verandah with strong misgiv 
 ings. He expected to find in Oswald a revised and corrected 
 edition of his father. His advantages of education and of 
 travel had doubtless imparted a certain veneer. But scratch 
 this coat of polish ever so lightly, and very probably, you 
 would find the same vulgar traits and coarse inclinations 
 that were so unpleasantly apparent in his father. It was 
 one of the Colonel's favorite dogmas that there could be no 
 true gentility without good blood. It was his firm con 
 viction that at least four generations were required to make 
 a gentleman. There was a kind of refinement a mere sur 
 face refinement of speech and manner that might be ac 
 quired in a very few years ; but a refinement that would stand
 
 134 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 the usual tests of his class the refinement, in other words, 
 that was instinctive and never at fault was, in his opinion, 
 the exclusive attribute of the " born" gentleman or lady. 
 
 To his great surprise, it was precisely this sort of 
 refinement that Oswald exhibited not only in his bearing 
 but in chance, unconscious indications which showed that it 
 was habitual to him. The Colonel watched him narrowly, 
 noting every point, though his manner gave no indication of 
 his scrutiny. Oswald, indeed, was quite insensible of his ob 
 servation. The Colonel's manner was so pleasantly friendly, 
 so free and natural, that almost immediately, he felt per 
 fectly at ease. What a contrast there was between his host's 
 attitude now and his bearing towards him when, years ago 
 as a child, he had paid a visit to the Manor with his father I 
 Then, also, the Colonel had meant to be kind, but his kind 
 ness had been patronising. Now, there was no trace of 
 condescension. Lydia's assurance on the steamer was being 
 fully justified. None the less, the Colonel continued to be 
 puzzled to account for Oswald's good breeding. 
 
 " Where the devil does he get it from ? " he asked him 
 self again. " Ah, I have it ! " he said at last, with a feeling 
 of relief in the discovery that his pet notion had not been 
 discredited. " His mother was a Frisby no better people 
 in the county. He inherits it from her, of course." 
 
 What a pity he was Reeve's son ! But for that, he might 
 have had a bright future before him. Well, why not strain 
 a point in his favour ? Did he not owe him something ? He 
 was all right on his mother's side, and as for Reeve, there 
 was no occasion for recognising him. " Gad, I'll do it ! " 
 said the Colonel resolutely, feeling that he was making a 
 genuine sacrifice of his prejudices. " The poor fellow will 
 have a hard time of it here unless some one of us takes him 
 by the hand. Yes, I'll stand by him. No doubt, with his 
 sympathies and tastes, he will value my support as the
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 135 
 
 greatest service I could render him. I fancy he will do me 
 credit." 
 
 When Oswald rose to go, the Colonel shook hands heartily 
 with him and assured him he would always be glad to see 
 him at the Manor. 
 
 " Well, Papa," demanded Lydia saucily, when Oswald had 
 departed, " what do you think of him ? Was I wrong in 
 saying he was a gentleman ? " 
 
 " No, of course not," answered the Colonel promptly. 
 " It seemed incredible to me when I thought of Reeve, but I 
 had forgotten his mother was a Frisby. Blood always tells." 
 
 " The good blood, yes, Papa," said Lydia, with a sly 
 glance of mischief, " but how about the bad ? It seems to 
 me there is something wrong with your theory after all. 
 You're fond of saying, ' It's a poor rule that won't work 
 both ways.' " 
 
 " Well, the good blood has got the upper hand in this 
 case," retorted the Colonel, laughing, " at least, I am going 
 to act on that assumption. I've made up my mind to in 
 troduce him to our friends." 
 
 " That is very nice of you," said Lydia warmly, " it's the 
 way I would have chosen to pay my debt to him." 
 
 The Colonel looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. Was 
 he doubtful of the advisability of permitting further associa 
 tion between her and this handsome young fellow who was 
 the grandson of his father's overseer ? Pooh 1 His girl's 
 pride of class was as strong as his own. He could trust her 
 to keep young Reeve at his proper distance. Besides, she 
 was fond of Basil Kent. That was a talisman to keep her 
 from harm. There could be no shadow of doubt, to the 
 Colonel's mind, as to her choice between these two.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 OSWALD was greatly elated when he left the Manor. The 
 Colonel's invitation had set the coveted hall-mark upon 
 him. He had little or nothing to fear, henceforth, from the 
 social prejudices which had seemed so threatening. No one 
 would dream of slighting him after it had become known 
 that he was accepted at the Manor. The Colonel's endorse 
 ment of him socially differentiated him from his father with 
 an emphasis which was not to be mistaken. 
 
 His gratification was all the keener because his surroundings 
 at home had proved, upon actual trial, to be even more dis 
 couraging than he had feared. The new house, just com 
 pleted, which his father exhibited with proud complacency, 
 was hopelessly vulgar. Reeve called it his " mansion " a 
 name which was justified, to some extent, by its size. It 
 was a great, flaring structure of red brick, with numerous 
 balconies, bay windows and other protuberances painted 
 white, and a gingerbread cupola on the mansard roof. Placed 
 in a conspicuous position in the middle of an open lawn on 
 the principal street of the county town, it seemed to Oswald, 
 among the quaint, unambitious buildings of the sleepy little 
 village, like a loudly dressed snob in a company of gen 
 tlemen of severely sober garb and demeanour. Its bad 
 taste was the more offensive because, but for it, the town 
 would have been almost a perfect bit out of the old colonial 
 past. The buildings, with but few exceptions, dated from 
 the middle or the latter part of the eighteenth century, and 
 some of them were even older. There had been scarcely any 
 change at all since the outbreak of the Revolution had 
 
 136
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 137 
 
 arrested growth. There were houses in process of erection 
 then that had never been completed. 
 
 Prior to the Revolution, the town had been a port of 
 entry for vessels engaged in the tobacco trade with England 
 and had enjoyed a really flourishing commerce. It was the 
 point of distribution and supply for plantations for many 
 miles around. The Revolution destroyed its foreign trade, 
 and in a few years, the town, which had fancied itself on the 
 road to becoming a city, sank suddenly to the level of a 
 stagnating village. The respectable mercantile class, with 
 large warehouses and spacious dwellings, dwindled to a few 
 torpid shopkeepers, and many of the buildings lacked oc 
 cupants and were converted gradually to pettier uses. In 
 course of time, in the absence of any growth, the town came 
 to have a finished look, and in contrast with more bustling 
 communities, took on an air of antiquity and quaintness, of 
 almost dreamy indolence and indifference to what was hap 
 pening elsewhere. The stranger could not fail to be im 
 pressed by the unusual size and solidity of most of the build 
 ings square, roomy structures of rough-surfaced brick with 
 very thick walls, arched doorways and porches, and windows 
 with deep embrasures and small panes set in heavy frames. 
 Most of them were surrounded by gardens enclosed by 
 high brick walls and either terraced or sloping to the river. 
 These gardens were mazes of shrubbery and flowers with 
 here and there a fine old tree. The grassy streets made 
 curious turns and windings, bringing one suddenly upon the 
 oddest nooks and corners, and everywhere there was the 
 same drowsy quiet and repose. 
 
 The people were thoroughly in harmony with the in 
 fluences of the place. They had long since outgrown 
 ambition and had no desire for change. Even the shopkeepers 
 took their ease. The competition among them was almost 
 perfunctory. Few of them exerted themselves to attract
 
 138 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 trade or humour a purchaser. The tedium of business routine 
 and of long confinement indoors was lightened by a great 
 variety of expedients. The salesmen dawdled over every 
 bargain for the pleasure of conversation with their customers 
 and frequently enlivened the slow afternoons with a game of 
 cards. In pleasant weather, the shopkeepers spent the greater 
 part of the time gossiping on the courthouse green. 
 
 It might be imagined that a restless, pushing in 
 dividual like Lawyer Reeve would have been a disturbing 
 factor in so leisure-loving a community; that his tireless 
 energy would have proved a distinctly irritating element. It 
 was just the reverse. The townspeople, after all, had a 
 latent spirit of emulation. They liked to fancy they could 
 have been enterprising and progressive had they cared to 
 make the effort. In their eyes, Reeve was the actual em 
 bodiment of their imagined capabilities. He was a kind of 
 human document testifying unmistakably to the fact that 
 there was potentiality among them. They were proud of 
 him as their one modern man. They esteemed him the 
 more because he saved them, one and all, the least neces 
 sity of effort on their own part to prove the truth of their 
 theory. It was so convenient to shift things to his shoulders. 
 He was far from shrinking from the burden and was proud 
 of the fact that he carried it all alone and had, thus far, 
 proved himself equal to any emergency. It was his special 
 boast that, but for him, the town would have stagnated 
 utterly. " It takes me to wake 'em up 1 " he often declared 
 with swelling importance. 
 
 Upon his return from the Manor, Oswald found his father 
 seated on the front verandah. Reeve was arrayed in his eternal 
 suit of black broadcloth which made him look uncomfortably 
 stiff and warm. He was a bulky man, with a round red 
 face, a shock of coarse, iron gray hair, and small, twinkling 
 blue eyes with usually a gleam in them which, at first, gave
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 139 
 
 one the impression of an expansive and kindly nature. His 
 mouth, coarsely cut, expressed rough jollity and good fellow 
 ship, and altogether, he would have been taken for a cheery, 
 generous old man of probably convivial tastes and a rough 
 sort of humour. Such, indeed, he sought to pass for, and 
 usually, he succeeded. But those who knew him well had 
 been taught by bitter experience that his apparent joviality 
 was merely a mask for hardness and cunning. 
 
 His eyes kindled at sight of his son and he cried out 
 with genuine heartiness, 
 
 " Well, what luck, my lad ? " 
 
 Oswald flung his empty gamebag he had thrown away 
 the redbird before leaving the Manor upon the back of a 
 chair and said, 
 
 " That depends upon what you call luck. I got no game. 
 But I had a pleasant visit at the Manor." 
 
 " At the Manor 1 " exclaimed his father in great surprise, 
 half rising from his chair. " What took you there ? " 
 
 " I had the good fortune to render a slight service to 
 Colonel Cheston's daughter on the steamer. We happened 
 to meet to-day in the woods and she insisted on my accom 
 panying her home to be thanked by her father." 
 
 " And the Colonel received you ? " 
 
 " Yes, he received me ; he was really very kind." 
 
 " You mean he treated you like like a gentleman ? " 
 gasped Reeve, scarce able to credit his ears. 
 
 " Like a gentleman ! " said Oswald, sharply. " How should 
 he treat me ? I am a gentleman, I hope." 
 
 "Of course, of course," assented his father, hurriedly. 
 " But I didn't think he'd do it all at once. You must have 
 made a great impression. And the service you rendered 
 his daughter that was a lucky stroke 1 I'd rather she 
 took a fancy to you than the Colonel, even; whatever 
 she wishes is the law for him, and I've a reason for wanting
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 you to stand well with her. You've got a fine start, my boy 
 a devilish fine start ! " 
 
 The lawyer chuckled, and rubbing his hands together, as 
 he always did when pleased, glanced sideways at Oswald 
 approvingly, but with a certain timidity, as if not quite sure 
 that he might not have offended him again. 
 
 " You like her ? " he continued, more boldly, as Oswald 
 made no sign of dissent. " She would suit you for a wife ? " 
 
 Oswald stared at him. What did he mean ? Surely, he 
 was not foolish enough to imagine that he could think seri 
 ously of Lydia Cheston in that light. True, she did not 
 seem so inaccessible since his visit to the Manor : both 
 she and her father had been gracious, but his wife 1 
 
 " It is not a question of what would suit me," he answered, 
 coldly, " why suggest the impossible ? " 
 
 " It is not impossible," said his father, quickly ; " it isn't 
 easy, I admit, but I have a plan. What would you say to 
 being one day not only her husband, but the master of the 
 Manor? In fact, the two things hang together." 
 
 Oswald fancied his father's brain was addled by vain im 
 aginings. 
 
 " I don't understand," he said, impatiently. " The Colonel 
 has a son ; of course, he will inherit the property. It is the 
 rule, I believe, with these Tidewater families." 
 
 " Yes, it is the rule," admitted Reeve, " but he can't in 
 herit. The Colonel doesn't really own the Manor ; it is 
 mortgaged so heavily that, at his death, it would have to be 
 sold. Turlo has only a small farm that the Colonel set aside 
 for him years ago." 
 
 " How would that benefit me," objected Oswald, " even 
 if I were fortunate enough to find favour with Miss Lydia ? " 
 
 " I hold the mortgages," said Reeve, with a click of his 
 strong white teeth like the sudden snapping of a trap, " a 
 little while longer and I shall be able to foreclose if necessary.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 141 
 
 Of course, I would choose a favourable opportunity and buy 
 in the whole estate. It wouldn't come to that, though, if 
 they accepted you. I would even be willing to put up more 
 money for the Colonel, if I knew you were coming into the 
 Manor after awhile. He'd only have to say the word and 
 I'd stop the leaks and set him on his feet again. God bless 
 you, I'd take the best care of him ; for our purposes, his 
 good-will would have to go with the property." 
 
 " You actually think of buying him /" exclaimed Oswald, 
 astonished at his audacity. 
 
 " Does that surprise you ? I have been saving money for 
 years with that very object in view. Ever since you were a 
 mere boy, I have dreamed of this marriage." 
 
 Oswald glanced at his father with new interest. It was a 
 strange idea that he had conceived, and yet, it was logical 
 enough, after all. No one would have suspected a man of 
 his mould of cherishing such a project which had in it an 
 element of imagination ; he was nothing if not practical. 
 But Oswald could readily perceive the underlying motive. 
 It was a kind of vengeance he meant to take for his social 
 suppression, and at the same time, a means of establishing 
 his son firmly in a commanding position. Oswald fancied 
 there was also a curious sort of pride for him, in feeling 
 that he might be able to pose as the regenerator of the 
 Cheston fortunes. He had often heard his father, even 
 when inveighing against the Chestons for their treatment of 
 him, let fall chance expressions about " the family," which 
 indicated a covert admiration and envy not unmixed with a 
 certain sense of proprietorship in its dignity, merely because 
 he had been born on the estate. Perhaps it was, in part, 
 hereditary instinct derived from several generations of 
 Manor overseers who had served the Chestons with habitual 
 fidelity. 
 
 " But you can't be in earnest;" he said, still incredulous.
 
 142 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 " The Manor is a great estate. The Colonel seems to live 
 simply. How could he get so deep into debt ? " 
 
 " Nothing easier for him and many another of his class," 
 said Reeve carelessly. " It's the old story incompetence, 
 extravagance, endorsing paper for any friend who asks him. 
 Besides, the Colonel wasn't meant to be a farmer. He was 
 educated for the army and took the Manor only because 
 his elder brother, Edgar, was disinherited by the Judge, 
 who had discovered that he was a gambler, a spendthrift, 
 and something worse. The Colonel was then a dashing 
 officer and might have risen to high rank. At the Manor, 
 he has merely vegetated, letting things drift. A great place 
 like that, mismanaged, eats up money, especially when it has 
 to support a small army of slaves. He has been borrowing 
 from me for years, and he also owes his brother some 
 twenty thousand dollars." 
 
 " What became of the brother ? " 
 
 " He disappeared immediately after his father's death, 
 carrying off with him a beautiful girl, the daughter of the rector 
 of old Winton, Mr. Magruder. He thought she would inherit 
 a large fortune from her grandfather, but the old man, at first, 
 cut her off to keep the money from Edgar Cheston whom 
 he hated. He afterwards relented, but Edgar did not know 
 this, and his wife died in poverty somewhere out west. 
 Edgar had been left some property by his father, but he 
 imagined it would hardly suffice to satisfy his creditors. As 
 it happened, a surplus remained and the Colonel held it for 
 years in trust, until at last, Edgar was declared by the courts 
 to be legally dead, as he had not been heard from. Then 
 the Colonel borrowed the money with the consent of the 
 other heirs, his mother and sisters. He is absurdly proud 
 in money matters and would insist on repaying it if Edgar 
 ever reappeared." 
 
 " There is no danger of that, I presume,"
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 143 
 
 " On the contrary, there is imminent danger. Edgar 
 Cheston is still living. I met him a week or two ago, by 
 mere accident, in New York. He is hot against his brother. 
 If he takes a hand, the Colonel's ruin will be hastened 
 provided I fail to come to his rescue. You perceive the 
 situation do you not ? His future depends upon me. I 
 can either keep him at the Manor or drive him out. When 
 he realises this, I don't think he would hold out against you, 
 if you could make the running with his daughter." 
 
 Oswald was suddenly conscious of a strong temptation. 
 His father's view of the situation was grossly sordid, but 
 plausible. He doubted if there were any consideration that 
 would induce the Colonel to accept him as the husband of 
 his daughter, but the fear of losing the Manor might bend 
 his pride. If he could win the love of that fascinating 
 creature, the way might be smoothed. His father, with his 
 keen, hard sense, his firm grip of facts, had suddenly made 
 the thing practicable. He did not yet love the girl, but he 
 had found her charming ; it were easy, with but a gleam of 
 hope, to yield himself wholly to the intoxication of her 
 beauty. There was another obstacle, however. He had 
 seen at once that Basil Kent cared for her. He ought not 
 to enter the lists against Basil ; he owed him too much for 
 all he had done at college. It would be basely ungrateful 
 to attempt to snatch his possible happiness from him. His 
 carefully cultivated instinct of gentility revolted at the thought. 
 
 " You have omitted one factor from your calculations," 
 he said to his father. 
 
 " What is that ? " asked Reeve, with a look of surprise. 
 
 " The relation between Miss Cheston and Basil Kent. 
 They seem very fond of each other." 
 
 " Yes, as friends. I don't believe she ever thought of 
 him as a lover he's too serious for her but if she has any 
 such idea in her head, I can kill him off with a word or two."
 
 144 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Again, Oswald looked doubtful. 
 
 " I shall begin to think you are a magician," he said. 
 
 " There is no magic about it. The Colonel is an ardent 
 Secessionist. So is his daughter. In their eyes, one of 
 their own class who differs from them is a renegade, a 
 traitor. I happen to know that Basil is, at heart, an Aboli 
 tionist; I have probed him without his suspecting it. I 
 have only to expose his real opinions to make him obnoxious 
 at the Manor." 
 
 " If Miss Cheston really cared for him, that wouldn't 
 matter." 
 
 " You don't know the Tidewater women ; they are bitter 
 partisans. Besides, the Colonel's daughter is a little 
 prude for all her wildness. She would suffer torture 
 rather than yield to what she would consider an unworthy 
 attachment. Basil would disgrace himself far more effect 
 ually with her in that way than in almost any other. It seems 
 absurd, but it's a fact, nevertheless. It's only another form 
 of the cursed pride with which these people are eaten up." 
 
 " But Basil is my friend," said Oswald, impulsively. He 
 was angry with himself for having listened to his father. 
 " What you propose would be a kind of treachery to him. 
 I am deeply indebted to Basil. At college, he took me by 
 the hand and helped me to form associations which have been 
 of great benefit to me. He could not have been kinder 
 had he been my brother. Shall I repay him by attempting 
 to rob him ? " 
 
 The crafty lawyer gave his son a scrutinising glance. 
 Although Oswald spoke with so much heat, Reeve doubted 
 his sincerity. " He would like to do what he denounces," 
 was his conclusion. Nevertheless, he admired him for his 
 outburst. He was pleased to hear his son utter such high- 
 flown sentiments. Were they not what might have been ex 
 pected of him ? He was a gentleman, and a gentleman
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 145 
 
 must cherish, or seem to cherish, superlative ideas of honour 
 and all that sort of thing. " It is my money that has done 
 this," said Reeve to himself, with the feeling that he was 
 obtaining a handsome return for his outlay. " But I scarcely 
 thought it would have made him so damned particular 1 " 
 
 " Leave Basil tome," he said, reassuringly. "All you 
 need do is to make yourself agreeable to Miss Lydia. 
 There is no harm in that. Suppose she should prefer you 
 to him ? I don't see that you are called upon to sacrifice 
 her happiness as well as your own for his sake. If she 
 married him, he would tire her to death. She's all life and 
 gaiety, with a spice of the devil in her, and he was cut out 
 for a preacher. She couldn't stand him a week ! " 
 
 Oswald made no reply, and Reeve took his silence for 
 consent. The truth was, Oswald found himself in a di 
 lemma. His social ambition, as well as his keen interest 
 in Lydia, inclined him strongly to the programme his 
 father had outlined. His sense of what was " gentlemanly " 
 laid bare to him the ugliness of the scheme. He wavered, 
 irresolute, feeling that very little were needed to make him 
 yield. Was his father right, after all, in his theories about 
 " pushing " him ? Would his activity which he had dreaded 
 prove to be advantageous rather than harmful ? Social con 
 sequence, power, perhaps even happiness actually seemed to 
 lie that way. But the issue was one of honourable conduct, 
 of nicety of feeling in a word, of the gentility he had be 
 lieved himself to possess. He wished to do the other 
 thing the thing that was low and unworthy ; he could not 
 hide from himself the detestable fact. Was his refinement, 
 after all, merely artificial? He felt keen shame at the 
 thought. None the less, he could not bring himself to the 
 point of saying " no." He would leave the matter open ; 
 perhaps the contingencies his father had indicated might 
 not arise. He would continue to be a gentleman if he could. 
 10
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 REEVE'S interview with Edgar Cheston in New York had 
 not been wholly satisfactory to the latter. There were gaps 
 in the lawyer's statement of affairs at the Manor due to his 
 habitual caution and the fear that inconvenient questions 
 might be asked if he said too much which Edgar thought 
 it desirable to fill in for himself. He accordingly set a pri 
 vate inquiry on foot with the view to determining whether 
 it would be worth while to return to the Manor. He would 
 have preferred not to return. He had left home an embit 
 tered man, anxious to cut loose from associations which had 
 become repugnant to him, and resolved never to go back un 
 less he could do so with flying colours. As yet, he had not 
 obtained the means of gratifying this ambition. 
 
 He had seen no reason until now for concerning himself 
 about what was happening at home. His debts, he was 
 sure, had swallowed up all the property his father had left 
 him ; he had the less occasion to seek information on this 
 point because of a lively impression that they amounted to a 
 good deal more. His wife's prospects, bright at first, had 
 been suddenly dissipated by the change in her grandfather's 
 will. Until he met Reeve, he had remained in ignorance of 
 a second change bequeathing her a fortune. As to the fam 
 ily, he was indifferent. Even his mother's affection for him, 
 which had been greater than for any of her other children, 
 laid no claim upon him. He had always been selfish and 
 exacting, and he even cherished a grudge against her for 
 not having used her influence with his father in his behalf 
 with better effect. He had written to no one at home but 
 his brother's wife, and to her only twice, years ago. Since 
 
 146
 
 147 
 
 then, he had preserved an unbroken silence. Fortune had 
 not favoured him in the way he had hoped. A rolling stone 
 until quite recently, he had but just begun to gather moss. 
 Money alone would enable him to rehabilitate himself, and 
 he was still obstinately bent upon not " turning up" at home 
 unless with ample resources at his command. 
 
 He had travelled over the entire continent in pursuit of 
 wealth, with now and then a glimmer of success, but for the 
 most part, in a chronic state of impecuniosity. He was a 
 born gambler, and luck had, upon the whole, been against 
 him. The only real attachment he had ever known had 
 been for the beautiful girl whom he had beguiled into shar 
 ing his flight, with the fear of imprisonment for forgery haunt 
 ing him at every step of his journey towards western wilds, 
 and she had died within a year after their marriage. He 
 might have learned to care for the daughter she had left 
 him, but death robbed him of her, also, when she was still 
 an infant. After that, he grew hardened and reckless until 
 at last he became a finished scamp, a professional ad 
 venturer, all the more dangerous because he preserved the 
 external forms of good breeding which accentuated certain 
 natural gifts. As a young man, he had been very hand 
 some, and time, apparently, had made but little impression 
 upon him. His voice, soft and low, was insinuating, and 
 his manner, especially towards women, was almost caress 
 ing. He had always been insensible to fear, and his bold 
 black eyes looked danger insolently in the face. He never 
 boasted and seldom threatened, but the most daring felt in 
 stinctively he was their superior in courage, and in any com 
 pany of desperadoes, he was sure to be hailed, when he 
 became known, as their natural leader. His personal charm 
 and force were, in fact, extraordinary; had they been ex 
 erted systematically, he might have achieved his object, for 
 his mind was acute and even brilliant, his energy indomitable.
 
 I 4 8 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 But he had one fatal drawback an inherent moral obliq 
 uity which always inclined him to crooked courses and 
 this, together with his mania for gambling, had wrecked 
 him again and again on the very verge of success. He would 
 lie to his best friend if it suited the whim of the moment or 
 some immediate purpose ; even his fellow-rogues found they 
 could not trust him. He had no faith in anything, and 
 looked upon the world as a card table at which every man 
 and every woman was playing a hand with the object of 
 cheating whenever the chance offered. It was a battle of 
 the strongest, the most cunning. His only theory of life 
 was to make the most profitable use of his advantages, to 
 fleece people remorselessly when he could. His victims 
 sometimes turned on him, and more than once, he was 
 brought to bay or forced to flee, leaving behind him a 
 trail of curses and a blackened name. But the name mat 
 tered nothing. For years, his real name had been buried in 
 oblivion, and he could not begin to remember his many 
 aliases. When Reeve met him, he was figuring as Mr. 
 Darcy Montague, agent for a burlesque actress, Miss Ethel 
 Vane, who happened, just then, to be a reigning star at one 
 of the principal theatres in New York. She was a beauti 
 ful young woman as well as a clever actress and drew large 
 houses every night. 
 
 Luck seemed to have turned, at last, in his favour. He 
 had " discovered " Miss Vane, and was sharing her sudden 
 prosperity. His share was even greater than his associates 
 supposed. The actress was completely under his control and 
 took only what he chose to give her. Besides her earnings, 
 he was reaping a rich harvest at cards and at billiards from 
 wealthy men about town who were willing to lose to him in 
 return for his influence with the charming girl. There was 
 a perfect understanding between him and them, none the 
 less binding because it was tacit. Wherever the actress ap-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 149 
 
 peared, men hastened to pay court to her. Few were rash 
 enough to seek an introduction without the means of be 
 stowing costly attentions. They took it for granted that her 
 interest in them must be fanned by presents, pleasure jaunts 
 and dainty suppers. The man who aspires to the favour of 
 an actress of Miss Vane's type, unless he happen to be a 
 celebrity or exceptionally clever, knows in advance that 
 the amusement will be expensive. The great majority of 
 those who swelled Miss Vane's train had no other claim to 
 recognition than the wealth which enabled them to vie with 
 each other in giving her pleasure. 
 
 Upon these, Edgar Cheston did not scruple to levy toll. 
 It was a form of plunder that seemed to him to be almost 
 legitimate by comparison with some of the schemes of robbery 
 to which he had been reduced. It was the more acceptable 
 because he was compelled to give but little in return an 
 introduction to Miss Vane, an occasional supper, graced by 
 the actress's presence, a chat with her in the green room, now 
 and then. These were favours which she had come to regard 
 as part of the business of her calling, but to most of the re 
 cipients, they held out promises of a closer intimacy that, as 
 yet, had not been realised, for the reason that Edgar Cheston 
 had no intention of sharing his influence over her with any 
 one else. The moths fluttered industriously around the candle 
 and merely succeeded in singeing their wings. She was his 
 money-maker, his decoy, and he guarded her vigilantly from 
 any entanglements that might endanger his exclusive pro 
 prietorship. 
 
 One evening, about a week after his meeting with Reeve, 
 Edgar entered the theatre at which Miss Vane was playing. 
 He had just received an answer to his inquiry about affairs 
 at home, and the news had opened up a vista of unimagined 
 possibilities. His active brain deduced from them, with 
 great rapidity, a definite scheme which appealed most strongly
 
 150 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 to his ambition, his cupidity, his long treasured rancoui 
 against his brother for having usurped his place as master 
 of the Manor. His chance had come at last. The Manor 
 might yet be his. It was in his power to make himself rich, 
 not by saving and protracted scheming, but at a single stroke, 
 and to return to Maryland metamorphosed into a respecta- 
 able character, a capitalist, a successful man. The charge of 
 forgery which had compelled his sudden flight, had been 
 " settled " shortly afterwards, through the agency of Reeve, 
 and the memory of his other misdeeds, no doubt, had long 
 since faded. All he needed was the aid of a clever young 
 woman, and none could have been better suited to his pur 
 poses than the actress whom he had, unconsciously, trained 
 for the very role he wished her to play. 
 
 The curtain had just risen when he reached the theatre 
 and seated himself in the box that was always reserved for 
 him. He was in evening dress, and as usual, carefully " got 
 up." No one would have guessed his real age. Of superb 
 physique, he was still, in spite of hardships and excesses, an 
 alert and vigorous-looking man. Only his valet knew that 
 his close-cut black hair owed its color to skilful dyeing, and 
 that many a crease and wrinkle were hidden by cosmetics. 
 Apparently, he was a fresh, healthy man of not more than 
 forty years. His real age was considerably over fifty. 
 
 It was not vanity alone and he valued his personal ap 
 pearance very highly, because it had, almost invariably, com 
 mended him strongly to women that made him wish to look 
 much younger than he was. His make-up was really a dis 
 guise. He still retained a remnant of regard for his family 
 name, his identity as a Cheston, and had always looked to 
 the possibility of resuming his social position. None of his 
 present acquaintances knew him as he was, with hair pre 
 maturely whitened, the broken down, disreputable outcast 
 from the Manor. To them, he was only the well-bred, jovial
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 151 
 
 bon vivant, Darcy Montague. He had but to discard the 
 latter's name, his dyes and his pomades, to sink his fictitious 
 personality and become Edgar Cheston once more with but 
 little risk of discovery. He congratulated himself, now, 
 on his prudence. His counterfeit double could scarcely 
 fail to be of the greatest advantage to him in the prosecution 
 of his fraud. By changing suddenly from make-believe to 
 reality, from a comparatively youthful man to one past middle 
 age, he would be able to carry Ethel off to Maryland with 
 impunity and baffle any inquiry that might be set on foot. 
 He had deceived her, also, as to his age, and had strong 
 reasons for wishing to keep up the fiction with her, but there 
 was no choice. He must let her into his secret, if he was to 
 succeed, and he was ready to make any sacrifice for the end 
 he had in view. 
 
 It seemed to Edgar, as he watched her from his box, that 
 Ethel Vane had never been so fascinating as to-night, the last, 
 he hoped, of her appearance on the stage. The piece was a 
 musical travesty, written for her and cleverly contrived to show 
 her special gifts to the best advantage. She was a versatile 
 mimic, with a demure naturalness which gave to all her 
 impersonations especially those that had a spice of mischief 
 in them a piquant charm. But it was her beauty, her 
 grace, her wonderful freshness and spontaneity that chiefly 
 captivated the house. Her mere presence on the stage 
 gave life and colour to the scene, the action, the words, 
 however tame. To-night, she was radiant ; she carried her 
 audience with her the women as well as the men in 
 delighted suspense, awaiting some new trick or turn of ex 
 pression more subtle than any of the vivid yet delicate 
 touches with which she had practically re-created her part. 
 
 Edgar studied her with a new pride of possession, a 
 keener zest than he had ever felt before in her success, even 
 she had won such an unequivocal triumph at her de'but.
 
 152 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 It was he who had first recognised her powers, who had 
 educated and trained her carefully for this work. But for 
 him, she might have remained unknown, or at any rate, 
 obscure. His thoughts travelled back exultantly to the day 
 when, a child of twelve or thirteen, she had been committed 
 to his care by her father, an English actor, who had been 
 a fellow-adventurer in the west. 
 
 The two men had been attracted to each other by mutual 
 recognition of their social superiority to those about them 
 and the similarity of their fortunes and their traits. Like 
 Edgar, Dick Milbank had once been a gentleman. Like 
 him, also, he was a gambler, a spendthrift, a debauchee. He, 
 too, had left his home under a cloud, and meant never to 
 return unless he could make a fortune. A confiding woman 
 had accompanied him, and she was dead. The two com 
 pared notes, and agreed that life, thus far, had been equally 
 hard on them and much in the same way. They were in 
 perfect accord in the determination to indemnify them 
 selves as best they could, without regard to the means. It 
 was not long before they formed a kind of partnership in 
 preying upon their fellows. Their joint ventures were suffi 
 ciently profitable to bind them more closely together. 
 Neither trusted the other fully, but each felt a greater degree 
 of confidence in his comrade than in anyone else. 
 
 Hence it happened that Milbank, stricken with an illness 
 which he knew to be fatal, placed his daughter in Edgar's 
 charge. " Her mother is dead," he explained, " it is a long 
 way to England, and there is no money in my family or my 
 wife's. What there was, I spent long ago. I have a few 
 thousands in bank. Take them and educate Ethel to be a 
 governess or something else a lady may be. I must trust 
 her to you, Edgar ; there is no one else. Promise me you'll 
 be square about this. Both of us are gentlemen or were 
 gentlemen, once. You won't go back on me ? "
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 153 
 
 Edgar promised readily enough. It would be very con 
 venient to have a " few thousands " to handle for Ethel's 
 education or for other purposes, as events and his necessities 
 might decide. As it happened, he fulfilled his trust to the 
 extent of spending most of the money on Ethel. As the child 
 grew to girlhood, she developed a beauty and charm which, 
 Edgar perceived, might be made to yield a handsome profit 
 on the investment. He educated her with the greatest care, 
 with the deliberate intention of fashioning her for his own 
 selfish purposes. She was given the best masters in lan 
 guages, in music, in painting. Edgar himself taught her to 
 ride, to dance, to fence, and drilled her inexorably in all 
 matters of etiquette and deportment. She became a finished 
 gentlewoman in manner, with the special air of distinction 
 at which he aimed. If he ever had the chance, he meant 
 she should fly at high game. 
 
 The girl gradually fell under the domination of the charm 
 which he was always able to exert when he chose. She did 
 not love him, but she was fascinated by him. She yielded 
 submissively to what seemed to her to be an imperious 
 force. He was her protector, her guardian, her task-master 
 who must be obeyed, whether she wished or not, and there 
 was a judicious mixture of indulgence with tyranny which 
 made her often fancy she was happy. Accustomed to a 
 wandering, hap-hazard life with her father, without the com 
 panionship of women, she found nothing strange in the fact 
 that Edgar permitted no intimacies with others of her sex, 
 and she was conscious of no special loss in her isolation. 
 Thus, she grew up contented in the atmosphere which Edgar 
 had purposely created for her, and knew but few ideas ex 
 cept such as she imbibed from him. She had read a good 
 deal and was well informed, but all her opinions of life, of 
 religion, of morals, had filtered through the medium of his 
 cynical intelligence, and she accepted his judgments as con-
 
 154 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 elusive from the mere force of habit. He had made of her 
 a lovely young heathen who shrank from nothing he deemed 
 it convenient to propose. 
 
 Edgar felt an arrogant confidence in his mastery, which 
 he believed to be complete, of her most secret impulses. 
 She was an instrument on which he could play almost any 
 imaginable tune. And these people before him in the pit 
 fancied she was theirs, in a certain sense ; that she de 
 pended on their favour, their applause. A word from him, 
 and she would vanish forever from their gaze. He was 
 about to speak this word. Glancing down at them ironi 
 cally, he muttered beneath his breath, " Gaze your fill, my 
 friends ; you'll never have another chance." 
 
 After the performance, Edgar accompanied the actress 
 home. She had apartments in a quiet neighbourhood not far 
 from the theatre. These, she had fitted up luxuriously, to suit 
 her own ideas of taste and comfort, creating an atmosphere 
 of elegance which impressed the most sceptical of her visit 
 ors with the feeling that she was really as fastidious and re 
 fined as she seemed to be. Besides the parlour, dining-room 
 and bedroom, there was a small library stocked with stand 
 ard works which gave evidence of use. The leading maga 
 zines and reviews of the day lay scattered on a centre table. 
 The walls of this room and also of the parlour were embel 
 lished with paintings by French artists, now famous, but 
 then, almost unknown. Among them were several exquisite 
 water colours by hapless Leon Bonvin. In one corner of the 
 parlour, a piano stood open, with one of Schubert's songs 
 upon the rack. Miss Vane had the gift of music; her 
 voice, a mezzo soprano, was one of unusual richness and 
 power. 
 
 It was into this room she ushered Edgar, and excusing 
 herself, withdrew to remove her wraps. She took it for 
 granted he would stay for supper. It was his habit to do so
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 155 
 
 almost every night. She was absent but a few minutes, and 
 when she returned, the door of the adjoining room was 
 thrown open by a sedate-looking waiter with the announce 
 ment that supper was served. At a nod from Edgar, the 
 man withdrew, leaving them alone at table. He was used 
 to these intimations ; it was only when the actress had other 
 visitors that he was permitted to remain. As soon as he 
 was safely out of earshot, Edgar exclaimed, 
 
 " I have news for you, my girl ! " 
 
 " Some rich haul ? " asked Ethel, with a laugh and a 
 shrug of her finely rounded shoulders. She imagined he 
 had had a great stroke at cards. It was always a matter of 
 self-congratulation for her when he succeeded in " plucking " 
 some rich fool. She felt, then, that she had played the 
 game well, and it amused her to learn which one of her ad 
 mirers had suffered at his hands, and to gauge the extent of 
 his infatuation for her by the amount he consented to lose. 
 She was never moved to pity for their victims. Pity ! It 
 would be wasted upon them. One and all, they were selfish 
 speculators for her favour. None of them, she saw clearly 
 enough, regarded her as aught but a beautiful toy to be 
 played with and broken and flung away when they tired of 
 it. She had seen the thing done over and over again with 
 other women, and shivered, at times, at the thought that it 
 might ultimately be her fate. There was not a man among 
 them who valued her except for her beauty, her transient 
 charm. All of them looked upon her with greedy, calculat 
 ing eyes, appraising her as they might have appraised any 
 rare animal. Some were fawning, some confident, some 
 insolent, even, but without exception, they seemed to assume 
 that she could be bought ; for them, it was but a question of 
 money and of time. It was clearly her right to amuse her 
 self at their expense, to make them fetch and carry, to guide 
 them skilfully into Edgar's web. Were all men like them ?
 
 i $6 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 She had read of some in books, who were very different, who 
 might have been worth sparing had she ever met them in 
 real life. Her experience made her think they must be 
 either imaginary or so exceptional as to be very rare ; she 
 did not know that Edgar had taken care she should be 
 thrown with only certain types. 
 
 " A richer haul than you can imagine," said Edgar, with 
 more excitement than he cared to show. His hand trembled 
 as he lifted a glass of wine to his lips. " What would you 
 say," he asked, with a touch of anxiety after all, he was 
 not absolutely sure of her acquiescence in his plans " to 
 leaving the stage and becoming a lady ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ! " she said carelessly, leaning back 
 in her chair and clasping her hands behind her shapely 
 head, with its mass of silky, glittering hair, which resembled 
 spun gold. " The stage intoxicates me ; I am never so 
 thoroughly alive as when I am on the boards. It is exhil 
 arating to feel that one rouses people and holds them in 
 constant suspense; it gives one such a sense of power." 
 
 " But a comedy in real life ? Suppose you were playing a 
 part with people actually in earnest for the rest of the 
 cast ? " 
 
 " You don't mean it ! " she exclaimed, throwing herself 
 forward and resting her arms on the table, her blue eyes 
 gleaming. 
 
 " And what if you were playing, not for a few hundreds a 
 night, but for a fortune, an assured position ? " 
 
 " As a lady, you said," she added eagerly. " I am one 
 already, I suppose," she continued, with a touch of irony. 
 " But what does it amount to, if I am never to be recognised ? 
 I suppose you mean I should be introduced to proper people 
 and associate with them as one of themselves not a mere 
 Bohemian, received on sufferance, as now." 
 
 "Precisely. I have found the right setting, the true
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 157 
 
 atmosphere for you. It is an out-of-the-way corner of Mary 
 land, among people who would never suspect your past ; 
 who would be horrified at the discovery that you had been 
 an actress ; who would accept you, unsuspiciously, as their 
 equal. They are very exclusive, very exacting, and more or 
 less refined. They would put you to your trumps, my dear." 
 
 " Delightful 1 " she cried, clapping her hands. " It is easy 
 enough to move an audience by merely repeating some man's 
 words, but to invent the dialogue for yourself, to make it 
 suit this or that individual, to shape the action to a fitting 
 denouement that would be a fine piece of work. And to 
 be really respectable I should enjoy that ; it would be a 
 novel experience for me." 
 
 She spoke without bitterness, with no intention of re 
 proaching him for her social outlawry. He had done the 
 best he could for her, she fancied ; it was not his fault. 
 
 " I think the role would fit you like a glove," said Edgar, 
 greatly pleased at the impression he had made. " It is that 
 of an ingenue, and no one plays that part better. You will 
 have to pose as my daughter. As I have told you, I had 
 but one child, and she died years ago, a baby, but the people 
 in Maryland don't know. No one knows, except two or 
 three persons out West, and they are not likely to turn up. 
 I have just ascertained that the sum of two hundred thousand 
 dollars was bequeathed to my wife by her grandfather in 
 Maryland, and failing her, to our child. You must be that 
 child. The money is in the hands of trustees, including my 
 wife's father a clergyman. If -we can lay hands on it, I 
 may be able to buy my old home, the Manor, which I have 
 often described to you. My brother, I hear, is nearly bank 
 rupt. He owes me money ; it ought not to be difficult to 
 force a sale. Think of me, a sedate country gentleman, 
 and you, the granddaughter of the rector of the parish, and 
 my banker if you please 1 "
 
 158 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 For the first time, the actress looked thoughtful. 
 
 " It might be dangerous," she said. " Isn't it what is 
 called obtaining money under false pretences ? Suppose 
 we were detected ? Neither of us, I fancy, would care to go 
 to jail." 
 
 " No fear of that," said Edgar. " I have thought it all 
 over, and there isn't one chance in a thousand of discovery. 
 It's merely a bit of comedy. Besides, if there should be a 
 leak, the family, for their own sakes, would hush things up ; 
 no outsider will be concerned." 
 
 Ethel tossed her head with a resolute air. If they were 
 not found out, it would make no difference to her what 
 her culpability might be. Edgar had taught her to have no 
 scruples. For her, as for him, life was merely a contest of wits, 
 without regard to what Edgar was pleased to term cant 
 ideas of morality. " At any rate," she said, " it is a pleasanter 
 way of getting money ; I shall have no odious men to entice. 
 But do you really think I am equal to it ? I don't know 
 your people ; I fancy I should have to be very proper." 
 
 " Very proper, indeed ! " said Edgar, with a half-sneering 
 laugh. 
 
 " That, in itself, might be diverting. I have never had 
 the chance to play that part. You are sure I could carry it 
 through ? And am I really lady-like I mean in their 
 way ? " 
 
 " Don't worry about that," said Edgar promptly. " I re 
 member perfectly all the little tricks of speech and deport 
 ment that were considered the correct thing at the Manor 
 in my mother's day. I taught you to be the same kind of 
 lady my sisters were. Your manners are modelled on 
 theirs, though I fancy you would astonish them with some 
 of your views ; they were very devout as young girls." 
 
 "I can't promise to be devout," said Ethel flippantly, "I 
 haven't the figure for it. Somehow, I've always associated
 
 A MARY-LAND MANOR 159 
 
 religion with women who have no waists ; it seems natural to 
 them a kind of refuge from utter insignificance. You've 
 often told me piety was a waste of energy in a pretty girl. 
 It isn't absolutely necessary for me to be devout, is it? " 
 
 " No, it isn't," said Edgar, with a satisfied laugh and a 
 flash of something warmer than mere admiration in his 
 glowing black eyes. She was perfect, this girl a beautiful 
 blonde Delilah, so innocent, so fair to the eye, who mocked 
 at everything he wished her to mock at, who would fly 
 straight for whatever he wanted, like an arrow shot from 
 a bow, without a twinge or a scruple or an inconvenient 
 thought. " You are strong enough as you are," he added. 
 " Still, it would be more prudent to conform to religious as 
 well as other prejudices ; they're a bigoted lot, down there 
 in the country." 
 
 " Well, it's worth trying," said Ethel. " If we fail, I can 
 go back to the stage ; I'm sure of my footing there." 
 
 " We won't fail," said Edgar, decidedly. He was con 
 fident that, with her aid, success was assured. "We will 
 start for Maryland to-morrow," he added, " you, at any rate, 
 will be welcomed with open arms."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 EDGAR gave no notice to the manager of the theatre of 
 Miss Vane's determination to quit the stage. He wished 
 her to vanish utterly, leaving no trace. It might be incon 
 venient if they were followed ; no one at home must be able 
 to obtain a clue which might lead to the discovery of the 
 actress's identity as Dick Milbank's child. His arrange 
 ments were made with the utmost secrecy, and by five 
 o'clock on the following afternoon, he and Ethel were speed 
 ing in an express train south, leaving all their acquaint 
 ances in ignorance of their departure. 
 
 The sudden disappearance of the actress -*as a grievous 
 surpri^, Aot only to the manager of the theatre, who was 
 making a fortune out of the engagement, but to her train of 
 admirers, who excitedly discussed the situation in the lobby 
 of the theatre that night. When it was discovered that 
 Darcy Montague, too, was missing, the opinion became 
 general that he and the actress had been bought off by some 
 millionaire. Each wealthy roue looked suspiciously at his 
 neighbour. Who was the successful man ? Evidently, not 
 one of those present. All of them showed a jealous anger, 
 an eager curiosity too earnest to be feigned. Could it be 
 that the clever rascal, Montague, had duped them all ? 
 Had he made some great coup, which had satisfied his cu 
 pidity and tempted him to run off with the beautiful girl ? 
 After all, who knew the actual relations between them ? He 
 had seemed quite indifferent to the attentions she received, 
 and why should he not be secretly sure of her ? No one could 
 deny he was a brilliant, fascinating fellow, if verging on 
 
 1 60
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 161 
 
 middle age. It was quite possible she really cared for 
 him. This theory seemed the most plausible. It was an 
 irritating one, particularly for the men who had lost large 
 sums to Edgar. They had squandered their money use 
 lessly. The scoundrel had swindled them. The most 
 callous suffered keenly at the thought that not only might 
 they never see the charming actress again, but it was 
 practically certain she had never thought seriously of them, 
 but, all the time, had been laughing with Edgar at their folly. 
 
 They might have found some consolation in the fact, had 
 they known it, that the actress had not left them as willingly 
 as they supposed. As she was about to set out on her 
 journey, Ethel had had a rude awakening. At the last mo 
 ment, Edgar presented himself completely transformed. To 
 her great astonishment, she beheld not the jaunty, black-haired 
 swell whom she had always known apparently robust 
 and active but a much older man. She had known that 
 his youthfulness was due in part to fictitious means, but she 
 was horrified by the reality of his appearance. At first, she 
 thought he had assumed a disguise. When he told her, not 
 without an effort, that she saw him as he really was, a cry of 
 alarm and disgust escaped her. His personal influence 
 vanished instantly. She shrank from him with a feeling of 
 indignation as she remembered the power he had always 
 wielded over her. Had he ever been honest with her ? Was 
 she, too, only one of his dupes ? 
 
 Her eyes flashed dangerously at the thought, and she 
 was on the point of refusing to go farther in his scheme 
 when she reflected that, as he could do nothing without her, 
 she might be able to get the upper hand of him, perhaps to 
 rid herself of him altogether. Upon thinking it over, the 
 night before, his project had grown upon her. There was 
 now a strong incentive to make trial of it. The very fact 
 that he had suddenly become repulsive made a change of 
 ii
 
 162 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 scenes and surroundings seem the more welcome. And if 
 she could gain her freedom ah, that would be worth while ! 
 All at once, she was acutely conscious of her slavery and 
 burning to throw it off. 
 
 It was with great reluctance, however, that she actually 
 started on the journey. The change in Edgar had upset all 
 her calculations. Her zest in the adventure had vanished. 
 Besides, she was afraid of him. If he could trick her so 
 flagrantly once, he might do it again. He had deceived her 
 grossly. How could she ever have been attracted by him 
 had she known him for what he really was a vicious-look 
 ing old man ? She must have recoiled from him at first as 
 she recoiled from him now. She felt the instinctive shrink 
 ing of youth and beauty from physical decay. What a silly 
 fool she had been ! How he must have gloated in secret over 
 the ease with which he had imposed upon her ! She quivered 
 with a sense of outrage. Well, perhaps, her turn would 
 come. 
 
 Edgar was fully conscious of the ugly impression he had 
 made upon her, but he did not suspect the dangerous ten 
 dency of her thoughts. He suffered keenly. It cut him to 
 the quick to feel that he was an object of repugnance to a 
 woman above all to her. That had never happened to him 
 before. Her glance of astonishment, followed by one of dis 
 may, made him feel as well as look his age. All was over, 
 so far as his power to please her was concerned. On the 
 other hand, he had no fear of open revolt. She was safely 
 bound, he fancied, by the ties of habit. Besides, he knew 
 he had roused her ambition. Her interest in the success of 
 their undertaking was scarcely less keen than his own. 
 
 The rector of Winton parish, the Reverend Stephen Ma- 
 gruder, had received a brief, hurried letter from Edgar in 
 forming him of the existence of his granddaughter and ap 
 prising him of their intended visit. So confident had
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 163 
 
 Edgar been of enlisting the actress's aid, that he had has 
 tened to communicate with the Rector as soon as he had con 
 ceived his plan. Mr. Magruder was a benignant old man, 
 whom many trials had only sweetened. He was unsuspicious 
 and tender-hearted, the most guileless, most ingenuous of 
 men. His theology was broadly exculpatory and tolerant. 
 The simplicity of country life had reduced his articles of 
 faith to primitive terms. The fine abstractions of city pulpits 
 seemed to him to have no place here. His parishioners had 
 their faults and follies against which he warned them plainly, 
 but his chief concern was to minister to their daily needs, 
 to contribute, so far as he could, to the sum of the general 
 happiness. He believed in happiness on earth as well as 
 in Heaven not perfect happiness, of course, but a degree 
 of it, varying, in his opinion, according to circumstances, 
 rather than the moral perversity of mankind. He gave large 
 weight to heredity, to environment, to chance, and he liked 
 to think a reprobate might have been a good man, had the 
 conditions been favourable to him. In his lonely drives and 
 walks when making the rounds of his parish, he was often 
 conscious of a mysterious presence in Nature which seemed 
 to him to be the impalpable vesture of God. In it, he found 
 something infinitely broader than his own special creed, and 
 while he preached only what he believed to be the orthodox 
 dogmas, he infused into his sermons, as well as into his life, 
 a loving sympathy with humanity as part of an inscrutable 
 whole, made up of divers elements, which no earthly mind 
 could reconcile or explain. 
 
 There was but one individual in all the world who, he 
 feared, might prove to be irreclaimable, and this man was 
 Edgar Cheston. The bitter sense of personal wrong doubt 
 less influenced even his gentle spirit. He had known Edgar 
 in early boyhood, and even then had been unable, with all 
 his tolerance, to find much good in him. His excesses as
 
 164 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 a young man had often grieved him, and, at length, he suf 
 fered an agonising blow at his hands, when Edgar persuaded 
 his darling child to share his disgrace and hurried her off to 
 her death, beyond the reach of his sympathy and love. He 
 wrestled long with himself before he could be sure he had 
 forgiven, and he had never yet reached the point of complete 
 resignation to his loss. The news that his daughter's child 
 was alive, that she was soon to be with him, seemed to him 
 a special dispensation to requite him, as far as he could be 
 requited, for the loneliness and grief of all these years. He 
 fell on his knees and poured out his heart in gratitude to 
 God. It seemed to him there might be hope of Edgar after 
 all. He felt he could receive him, as he should receive him, 
 kindly. Was he not bringing him an unlooked-for, a pre 
 cious boon ? The day of their arrival was a day of extreme 
 agitation for him. He busied himself eagerly with every de 
 tail of preparation at the Rectory, and as the hour when 
 they might be expected drew near, he seated himself on the 
 front verandah and fixed his eyes on the white line of road 
 beyond the churchyard, where any vehicle must first appear. 
 When dinner was announced, he did not stir. 
 
 Not so his sister, Mrs. Tippett, who had been sitting be 
 side him, placidly knitting. Ever since the death of his 
 wife, many years before, Mrs. Tippett, a childless widow, 
 had been the domestic ruler at the Rectory and her brother's 
 coadjutor in the parish. She was a phlegmatic person, and 
 on this occasion, though secretly disturbed, she did not fail, 
 as usual, to make a satisfactory dinner. Although she 
 sought to convey the impression of being spiritually-minded, 
 she often betrayed a keen regard for creature comforts, and 
 seemed to think it almost irreligious to miss a meal. Like 
 most self-indulgent people, she was usually amiable from 
 the desire to get on easily, with the least friction or effort. 
 Underneath her apparent meekness, however, there was hid-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 165 
 
 den an eager, contriving spirit. She aimed to be the source 
 of activity throughout the parish ; the providence and arbiter 
 of every needy and distracted household ; the acknowledged 
 head of authority and of all efforts to "do good." She 
 was not really soft-hearted, and was seldom moved by poverty 
 or distress to any deep feeling ; it happened, merely, that a 
 meddlesome beneficence was the only means she had of ob 
 taining power and applause. She was naturally despotic, 
 and often insisted on " doing " for people who did not want 
 her help ; occasionally, she even went so far as to dragoon 
 those who did not seem to know what was good for them. 
 
 The news that the Rector's granddaughter was alive and 
 about to make her appearance on the scene affected her un 
 pleasantly. The girl, if she were at all self-assertive, might 
 prove troublesome. Very probably, she would have to yield 
 the control of the household to her. The influence she had 
 wielded so long over her gentle, absent-minded brother, would 
 be disputed. Her great-niece might even take it upon her 
 self to interfere in the parish work. And hardest of all to 
 bear, she would deprive her of a large sum of money. Under 
 the terms of the will bequeathing two hundred thousand 
 dollars to Edgar Cheston's wife, or her child if she left one, 
 the money was to be divided between her (Mrs. Tippett) and 
 her brother at the end of a specified number of years, if it 
 still remained unclaimed. As the period had almost expired, 
 she had felt confident of receiving her share and had amused 
 herself by considering a variety of schemes of sensational 
 charity which the possession of so large a sum would enable 
 her to realise. She had never felt a harder shock than when 
 she was suddenly awakened from her day-dream by the letter 
 from Edgar which her brother handed her with eyes moist 
 with joyful tears. By a great effort, she managed to hide her 
 chagrin and assume a tender air of sympathy with the Rector's 
 delight.
 
 166 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 The sound of carriage wheels was heard at last, and a 
 moment later, an antiquated coach, which the Rector recog 
 nised as belonging to the tavern in the county town, turned 
 in at the gate. 
 
 " They are here, Dorothea ! " he cried, rising hastily, as 
 his sister emerged from the hall door. 
 
 " Compose yourself, Stephen," she said, purring softly, as 
 she paused to smooth with both hands her already sleek 
 gray hair. She always deprecated any excitement ; it was 
 so upsetting. 
 
 As the carriage rolled up to the door, the Rector hastened 
 down the steps, his spare form, slightly bowed, trembling 
 visibly. A tall, white-haired man, erect and strong, with his 
 shoulders thrown well back, sprang out of the carriage and 
 came up the gravelled path to meet him. The Rector knew 
 Edgar Cheston at once. But how changed from the hand 
 some, agile young fellow who had stolen his darling's heart 
 from him ! Vice had set its ugly stamp upon him. The 
 coarsened features, the bold, insolent eyes, the heavily 
 graven lines in the colourless face, spoke only too plainly of 
 prolonged indulgence of the passions. The Rector shrank 
 from him, disillusioned ; it were idle to look for reformation 
 here ; eager as he was to think less harshly of him, he could 
 not hide from himself the sad conviction that Edgar was one 
 who still proclaimed, " Evil, be thou my good ! " 
 
 He forced himself to hold out his hands, and to say, in a 
 broken voice, 
 
 " Welcome, Edgar." 
 
 He was welcome, in spite of all, because his daughter was 
 with him. 
 
 " You have really brought me my dear one's child ? " the 
 Rector added, anxiously. 
 
 Edgar drew back with a look of alarm. What did he 
 mean by " really " ? Could the old man have heard any-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 167 
 
 thing to excite his suspicions ? Of course not. It was only 
 a chance word that meant nothing. The expression of the 
 Rector's face at once reassured him. There was naught but 
 eager longing written there. For answer, Edgar turned to 
 the carriage and gave his hand to Ethel Vane who sprang 
 out lightly and stood gazing at the Rector with a well-acted 
 air of timidity. 
 
 The old clergyman's fine face lit up at sight of the beauti 
 ful girl. Opening his arms, he folded her to his bosom, ex 
 claiming softly, " Ah, my darling, I have longed for you so ! " 
 
 The actress yielded herself to his caresses with something 
 more than a pretence of warmth. She felt intuitively that 
 he was a good man though she knew next to nothing of 
 goodness and had cared very little about it hitherto and 
 that he offered her something she had been an utter stranger 
 to an unselfish sympathy and love that seemed sweet to 
 her, she could hardly have said why. Perhaps, her feeling 
 sprang from the sense of contrast with Edgar Cheston's 
 cold-blooded duplicity so suddenly revealed to her a revela 
 tion that had robbed her of the only kind of affection she had 
 ever known. For the moment, she looked what she wished 
 to be taken for an ingenuous, amiable girl, who Was quite 
 ready to reciprocate his tenderness. Edgar felt like ap 
 plauding her skill. He thought it mere acting, and assured 
 himself he had never seen her do anything better on .the 
 stage. He would not have been so well pleased could he 
 have known that her naturalness of manner was due, in part, 
 to the fact that she was touched. She felt that there was 
 safety even from him with this gentle, loving old man. 
 Old age was not hideous in him ; she found something 
 beautiful in it. 
 
 Judith Cheston, for so we must now call the actress, 
 glanced about her with a keen sense of pleasure. What a 
 quaint, peaceful spot her new home was 1 With its spacious
 
 i68 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 lawn, shaded by great oaks, its old-fashioned garden, from 
 which was wafted the perfume of lilacs through the open 
 doors of the odd, hip-roofed house ; its perfect serenity and 
 quiet, it seemed to her a delightful refuge. The ivy-covered 
 little church, nestled in a clump of the largest oaks, com 
 pleted a picture which appealed not only to her taste but to 
 a latent sensibility which had never before been stirred. 
 She felt that she might be happy here. Happy ! Had she 
 ever been happy ? Years ago, perhaps, when still a careless 
 child. But since she had been able to reason, to observe ? 
 Well, she had certainly enjoyed life. There had always 
 been excitement, variety, the gratification of almost every 
 whim, but there was something she had missed, she knew 
 not what. Perhaps, she would find it here. 
 
 The Rector took her face between his hands and studied 
 it with rapt attention. 
 
 " Yes," he said at last, " there can be no doubt about it ; 
 you are marvellously like your mother, my child." 
 
 Edgar started. Was the old fool mad ? And yet, as he 
 glanced at the actress, he saw that there was a resemblance. 
 She had the same blue eyes, soft and winning ; the same 
 fleecy, golden hair ; the same delicate colouring, with features 
 even more regular, more finely cut than his wife's as he re 
 membered her. What a lucky resemblance for him ! If the 
 Rector ever heard anything to excite his doubts, he would 
 instantly put them away at sight of her face. 
 
 Mr. Magruder forced himself to ask Edgar to stay with 
 him, but the latter declined. 
 
 "I must push on to the Manor," he said, " I shall have 
 to start for Washington to-morrow. Of course," he added, 
 with a covert sneer, " I couldn't go away without seeing 
 the family ; Mother and Bob would never forgive me." 
 
 He shook hands with the Rector and Mrs. Tippett, 
 kissed his supposititious daughter affectionately, and jump-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 169 
 
 ing into the carriage, bade the driver take the road for the 
 Manor. 
 
 " It's all right," he said to himself as he rolled away, 
 " Ethel has hooked him fast enough. What a clever girl 
 she is ! And to think she should actually resemble the 
 parson's daughter. I call that a genuine stroke of luck. 
 And now for my dear brother and his wife. Their day of 
 reckoning has come 1 "
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 WHEN the carriage reached the Manor gate, Edgar bade 
 the driver pause, so that he might look about him. His 
 keen eyes travelled eagerly over the fields which stretched 
 in slight undulations on each side of the avenue of elms 
 towards the house. On every hand, he noted evidences of 
 mismanagement or neglect. The growing wheat was thin, 
 the grass and clover choked with weeds ; the ditches, in 
 some places, scarcely distinguishable ; the fences overgrown 
 with briars. His face lit up suddenly with fierce satisfac 
 tion. " The place is going to the dogs," he muttered, 
 " what a botch Bob has made of things ! " 
 
 It was pleasant for him to fancy it might have been very 
 different had he been the master, as it was intended he 
 should be. At least, he wouldn't have brought the Manor 
 to this. If he knew nothing else, he knew how to farm. 
 " If Father could see it," he exclaimed, " how he would 
 curse his folly in preferring Bob to me I " 
 
 The thought was intensely gratifying. In the Colonel's 
 evident incompetence, he found a kind of justification of 
 himself. He laughed softly, with sardonic humour, as he re 
 flected that, had he remained at the Manor, he might have 
 proved a safer guardian of the property and the family dig 
 nity he the spendthrift, the good-for-nothing, the danger 
 ous rascal, who had been driven forth in disgrace. Even 
 yet, it was not too late. If, with Ethel Vane's aid, he se 
 cured control of the Magruder fortune, he might be enabled 
 to settle down here and become a virtuous member of soci 
 ety. There would no longer be any reason to lie or to 
 cheat, and by taking on the garb of reform, he might succeed 
 
 170
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 171 
 
 in hoodwinking the community into the belief that he was a 
 changed man, and thus attain to influence and power. It 
 was a rather inconvenient ambition for a man of his tastes, 
 yet feasible enough, if he could but curb his cursed inclina 
 tions. " It'll be deuced hard work," he said to himself, 
 peevishly. He was beginning already to regret the occupa 
 tions, the amusements, the stirring games of chance, he had 
 found so exhilarating in the life of cities. The quiet of the 
 country, the tame innocuousness of the daily routine, would 
 be insufferably dull. But there was mischief to be done. 
 It was in his power to throw the family into confusion, to 
 lay violent hands on its household gods, to cast out his 
 brother, to impress the community, by quickly restoring the 
 Manor to its former prosperity, with a conviction of his en 
 ergy and force. After he had done all this, there might be 
 other employment quite as interesting. It was at least worth 
 while to wait and see. In the meantime, he need not lack 
 excitement. He would be hunting the biggest game he had 
 ever stalked ; the stake was larger than any he had ever 
 played for at poker. 
 
 Reassured, he gave the order to drive on. As he neared 
 the house, he found that it, too, had shared the general neg 
 lect. The doors and shutters were almost bare of paint ; 
 the roof, thickly-coated with moss, showed patches of 
 broken shingles ; the verandah floor had rotted away in sev 
 eral places. " Bob ought to be ashamed of himself," he ex 
 claimed, amused at feeling a kind of virtuous indignation ; 
 " I must set the carpenters at work immediately." 
 
 Pompey, the Colonel's body servant, met him at the door. 
 When Edgar told him his name, Pompey, who was a fat, 
 unctuous old negro, grinned from ear to ear, and executed 
 a series of flourishing bows in his most grandiose style. 
 
 " Sobbun Marster ! " he exclaimed, and shuffling side 
 ways, he ushered Edgar into the parlour, Edgar selected
 
 i/2 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 the most inviting chair, and having seated himself, looked 
 about him with a growing sense of familiarity. Everything 
 was worn and faded, but otherwise, just the same as when 
 he had last seen it, more than twenty years before. A host 
 of memories crowded swiftly upon him. They were soft 
 memories, some of them there had been a time when he 
 had not been insensible to gentler impressions and they 
 must have touched a nature less obdurate. But to Edgar, 
 they were almost invisible threads in a web of selfish impul 
 ses, of fierce desires. Seated here, amid these well-known 
 surroundings, it seemed to him as though he had been sud 
 denly restored to a place he had but just quitted ; the years 
 that had fled dwindled almost into nothingness ; he was be 
 ginning all over again, and this time, with loaded dice. The 
 desire to snatch the prize from his brother's grasp grew hot 
 and eager within him. 
 
 The Colonel entered smiling, with outstretched hands. 
 
 " Ah, Edgar," he exclaimed warmly, " I am so glad to see 
 you ! Mr. Magruder was here yesterday, and told us the 
 welcome news of your expected arrival. We had given you 
 up long ago. Your daughter is with you ? " 
 
 " No," said Edgar, rising to meet him, " I left her at the 
 Rectory." 
 
 He was annoyed to find " Bob " so young. Instead of a 
 man weighed down by misfortune, he seemed to be bubbling 
 over with happiness and good humour. It was the easy, 
 careless life he had led, that had held age in check and 
 caused the burden of debt to sit so lightly upon him. It 
 might have been the same with him had he not been cheated 
 of the Manor. The thought added new fuel to his rancour. 
 
 The Colonel was wholly sincere in his greeting. It was 
 easy for him to forget the dark side of Edgar's character, 
 and to see in him once more the brilliant, dominating elder 
 brother whom he had admired and imitated as a boy. In
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 173 
 
 his sanguine way, he imagined that age must necessarily 
 have tempered and improved him. His long, stubborn 
 silence, the indifference it indicated towards his mother, 
 could probably be explained. For the Colonel, his return 
 was a reknitting of old ties. There was genuine joy in his 
 heart a joy that was not affected in the least by the fact 
 that he owed Edgar money. He would rather owe it to him 
 than to anybody else. Was he not his brother? And 
 Edgar's daughter would soon come into possession of a 
 fortune which she would doubtless share with her father. 
 Of course, Edgar wouldn't " press " him for so paltry a sum. 
 
 " Mother will be down soon," he said, " she was taking a 
 nap. Flora, I am sorry to say, is in bed with one of her 
 nervous attacks. Her health is very poor. My boy, Turlo, 
 is off hunting somewhere ; I've sent for Lydia, who is out in 
 the garden. And now, tell me about yourself what have 
 you been doing all this time ? " 
 
 " Not much of anything," said Edgar curtly he did not 
 wish to be questioned about his adventures " I've been 
 wandering about ever since I left the Manor, and have had 
 all sorts of ups and downs." 
 
 " You're in need of money?" asked the Colonel, sym 
 pathetically. He was thinking if he were, he would borrow 
 some from Reeve for him ; Reeve was always ready to lend 
 him. 
 
 " No," said Edgar, adding bluntly, " are you ? " 
 
 "Always, more or less," answered the Colonel noncha 
 lantly, with a laugh ; " I don't know how it is, but I never 
 seem to have enough. By the way, I owe you quite a sum." 
 
 " Yes, Reeve told me." 
 
 The Colonel imagined he had met the lawyer in the county 
 town ; he was ignorant of the meeting in New York ; Reeve 
 had not seen fit to communicate the fact to him. 
 
 " He explained to you that when your property was sold,
 
 1/4 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 there was a balance ? I held it for you for years, and then, 
 having use for it, I borrowed it, with the consent of Mother 
 and the girls. With the interest, it amounts to about twenty 
 thousand dollars. If you want it at once, no doubt I can 
 raise it for you." 
 
 " Don't bother yourself," said Edgar easily, " I'm in no 
 hurry. In fact, I'd prefer you'd let the matter rest, and 
 merely pay me the interest. It's as well invested with you 
 as anywhere else. The Manor has no other incumbrances, 
 has it ? " 
 
 The Colonel shifted nervously in his seat. The question 
 was embarrassing. He did not relish the idea of confessing 
 to the brother to whom he had been preferred that he had 
 mortgaged the Manor. But of course, he would under 
 stand. 
 
 " Yes, it has," he replied, a trifle awkwardly, " I've had to 
 borrow rather heavily from Reeve failures of crops, im 
 provements, security money. In one way or another, I've 
 had rather poor luck." 
 
 " And Reeve holds mortgages ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Edgar knew better than the Colonel, whose recollection of 
 his various borrowings was rather vague, the total amount of 
 the mortgages. He had, in fact, a statement obtained from 
 the court records by the agent he had employed. But he 
 wished to extract the information from his brother ; it was 
 pleasant to cross-examine him ; he fancied he was making 
 him suffer. And, in truth, the Colonel was far from being 
 comfortable. He had been brought face to face, for the 
 first time, with the ugly side of his indebtedness, and he had 
 a dim idea it was larger than he had been in the habit of 
 thinking. He had not expected that Edgar would be so 
 inquisitive. He began to fear he might not understand ; 
 that would be unpleasant,
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 175 
 
 " How would you like me to take up the mortgages ? " 
 asked Edgar, with an effort to seem careless. It was a 
 critical moment for him the turning-point of his brother's 
 fate. If he accepted, he would be in his power ; if he re 
 fused, he might escape him. " My daughter, Judith, will soon 
 have some money to invest I might place it here. You'd 
 rather have her for a creditor, I fancy, than Reeve or any 
 stranger. Whatever happened, then, the Manor would re 
 main in the family." 
 
 Remain in the family ! The Colonel started as if he had 
 been stung. Had it come to that ? Of course not. The 
 Manor was good for twice the amount. But it was very 
 considerate of Edgar. It was the kind of offer a brother 
 should make. He would have done the same thing had 
 their positions been reversed, but he would hardly have ex 
 pected it of Edgar. 
 
 " That's a good suggestion," he said gratefully, " es 
 pecially if your girl and my boy should happen to take a 
 fancy to each other. However, it's a safe investment for her, 
 in any event. With a little better luck, I ought to be able 
 to pull out in a very few years. You'll help me to manage 
 the estate, will you not ? You were bred a farmer, and I was 
 not, and I'm sure you'd soon find out what's wrong. I've done 
 my best, but somehow, I seem to be always going backward." 
 
 " The place doesn't look very flourishing," remarked 
 Edgar, dryly. 
 
 " No, it isn't," assented the Colonel, with a sigh. Then, 
 brightening, he added cheerily, 
 
 " But we'll change all that. Can't you make your home 
 with us ? The Rectory isn't far away, and you could see 
 your daughter every day. I'd like to have the benefit of your 
 presence here." 
 
 Edgar glanced at him doubtfully. Could he be in ear- 
 est ? If he were, what a fool ! He was playing right into his
 
 176 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 hands. All he needed was a footing at the Manor ; once 
 there, he would soon be its master, without having to wait 
 until he could force its sale. But perhaps, Bob wasn't such 
 a fool as he seemed. There might be cunning in his offer. 
 Edgar naturally inclined to this view. He had no faith in 
 his brother's honesty, or indeed in any man's, and was al 
 ways on the alert to detect some hidden motive. Did Bob 
 hope to use him, to fatten on him, to make him the pay 
 master of his extravagance and inefficiency ? He smiled 
 grimly at the thought. It mattered little whether he were 
 fool or knave. Either way, he would beat him. He thought 
 it more prudent, for the present, to temporise. 
 
 "I can't say just yet," he replied, with an air of indecision. 
 " I hardly know where I shall conclude to live. I have to 
 take a trip to Washington, and must start to-morrow. After 
 my return, I may be able to tell you whether I can accept 
 your offer. But so far as the mortgages are concerned, you 
 need give yourself no further anxiety ; we'll arrange it with 
 Reeve, as soon as Judith's affairs are settled. In the mean 
 time, it would be better if you said nothing to him ; he 
 might not wish to relax his grip on the property, and per 
 haps, would give us trouble." 
 
 " Very well," said the Colonel, promptly. He did not share 
 Edgar's apprehension in the least the idea of Reeve pre 
 suming to give trouble ! On the other hand, he had never 
 liked him ; his manners were very objectionable. It would 
 be a relief to get rid of him. 
 
 The conversation was interrupted by Pompey with the 
 announcement that the family doctor, who had just paid a 
 visit to the younger Mrs. Cheston, wished to see the Colonel 
 in the library. 
 
 The Colonel rose, with an anxious look, and begged Edgar 
 to excuse him. " Mother will be with you, presently," he 
 added, " I'll return as soon as I can."
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 177 
 
 The door had scarcely closed behind him when a heavy 
 curtain that divided the long parlour into two rooms was 
 thrust aside, and his wife entered. She had been a hidden 
 auditor of nearly the; whole conversation, and she now came 
 forward, white and trembling. 
 
 Edgar gazed at her in astonishment. Who was she? 
 Some crack-brained guest of the family ? Her anxious face 
 and wild, dark eyes strengthened the impression made by 
 her strange, furtive entrance. He had no suspicion of her 
 identity. What trace was there in this emaciated, gray- 
 haired woman of the vivacious, beautiful girl who had once 
 seemed to him so captivating ? 
 
 " You don't know me, Edgar ! " she exclaimed in a pitiful 
 tone, stopping short. 
 
 " Flora ! " he cried, aghast. Her voice recalled her to 
 him ; it was the one thing of her former self that remained. 
 
 She stood before him, with downcast head, like a prisoner 
 awaiting sentence. There was a heavy reckoning between 
 them. He had wronged her foully, but she had inflicted a 
 savage blow in return. It was she who, knowing of his 
 secret embarrassments, had revealed them to his father, and 
 had thus set on foot an investigation that had resulted in 
 the discovery that he was utterly profligate. The loss of 
 the Manor, the misfortunes that had followed, were all due 
 to her. And she knew that he had discovered the fact, for 
 he had written her, shortly after his departure, and again 
 after his wife's death, telling her he had her to thank, and 
 some day would endeavour to repay her. He was here, no 
 doubt, to exact reparation. The blow she had so long 
 dreaded was about to fall. But how ? What form of tor 
 ture would his vengeance take ? Quivering in every nerve, 
 she nevertheless longed to know the worst. It was the 
 suspense that was hardest to bear. Informed by Phyllis of 
 Edgar's arrival, she had risen from bed and stolen down- 
 
 12
 
 i;8 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 stairs to watch for an opportunity of seeing him alone. She 
 waited in an agony of fear less they should be surprised 
 before she had heard what he had to say. She little dreamed 
 there was a witness of their interview. Phyllis had followed 
 her like a shadow, and was now crouching behind the por 
 tiere, her sullen face alive with fierce curiosity, her black 
 eyes glowing with baleful fire. The woman she hated, the 
 man she had worshipped were face to face at last, and she 
 was there, to hear them. 
 
 " Pardon me," said Edgar, recovering himself quickly 
 and handing her a chair with his suavest bow. " We have 
 both changed with the flight of years." 
 
 She did not sit down, but stood leaning against the back 
 of the chair, weak and faint. 
 
 " Time has not dealt gently with me," she said. 
 
 " Nor with me." His tone was still pleasant, but his eyes 
 flashed dangerously as he added, " On the other hand, it has 
 been wonderfully lenient with Bob ; his lines have evidently 
 been cast in pleasant places," 
 
 " You will not hurt him 1 " she exclaimed. Clasping her 
 hands in entreaty, she added, " Oh Edgar, whatever you may 
 have against me, he is innocent ! He would have scorned to 
 take the least advantage of you. He would even have de 
 fended you to your father against his own interests, had he 
 known. Do with me what you like, but spare him 1 " 
 
 A faint smile curled Edgar's lips. Did she expect him to 
 believe this ? Yes, it seemed so, in spite of all that had hap 
 pened. Apparently, she and her husband were working in 
 concert to " pluck " him. His brother, then, was more knave 
 than fool, and had an enterprising ally in his wife. But 
 she must not suspect that he saw through her game ; it was 
 not yet time for him to show his hand. 
 
 " My dear Flora," he said, with affected surprise, " how 
 strangely you talk 1 Hurt Bob ? Why should I hurt him ?
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 179 
 
 Possibly, you overheard us just now. You did ? Well, you 
 know that I mean to help him. Could I have made him 
 a more brotherly offer ? I propose to forego my claim 
 at least, for the present to take up the mortgages, to make 
 things easy for him, and yet, you ask me not to hurt him ! " 
 
 Mrs. Cheston was not reassured ; on the contrary, her terror 
 grew. His honeyed phrases did not deceive her. To her 
 keen intuition, they meant only that he wished to keep her 
 in the dark. He was veiling some purpose she could not 
 fathom. Her suspense, instead of being ended, was to be 
 prolonged. 
 
 " You are very kind," she stammered, feeling that she must 
 affect to believe him, " I I feared you might hold Robert 
 as well as myself responsible for for all that has happened. 
 I wished to convince you that he had nothing to do with it 
 nothing. As for me, whatever I have done, I have been 
 punished for it already. Can you not see how I must have 
 suffered ? " 
 
 " Why trouble yourself with such fancies, dear Flora ? " 
 asked Edgar, indulgently. " You will fret yourself into a 
 fever about nothing. I assure you I have only the kindest 
 feeling towards you." 
 
 The unhappy woman shivered. How could he have the 
 hardihood to lie to her in this way ? She knew the hatred 
 that must be lurking under his words. He was torturing 
 her far more by his affectation of friendliness than if he had 
 openly vented his wrath upon her, and doubtless, he knew 
 it. 
 
 Footsteps sounded in the hall. With a look of alarm, she 
 turned to leave him. " Don't speak to anyone of having seen 
 me," she murmured hastily, " they think I am ill in bed." 
 
 She groped her way blindly toward the portiere, and 
 Edgar sprang forward to raise it. As he did so, he just 
 grazed Phyllis, who, unable to escape in time, was hiding at
 
 i8o A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 one side, in terror of detection. Fortunately for her, he 
 lifted the other half of the curtain. Mrs. Cheston hurried on, 
 without looking round, and made her escape just as Ole Miss 
 entered the next room. Phyllis stole noiselessly after her. 
 
 Edgar dropped the curtain and turned to meet his mother. 
 
 " That was a bad quarter of an hour for her," he said to 
 himself, with a chuckle. 
 
 It gave him keen pleasure to wring the heart of this 
 woman whom he had once loved, after his fashion. But 
 for her, he might have been in his rightful place the place 
 his brother had filched from him during all the time he 
 had been a homeless wanderer. But for her, he might have 
 grown old easily and slowly. But for her, he need never 
 have become the adventurer, the blackleg, the petty rascal 
 he knew himself to be. And now, he had her in his power. 
 She was weak and prematurely old and wretched. So much 
 the better. He might have feared her had she remained 
 the bright, daring creature who had outwitted him once. 
 Her spirit was broken ; he could do with her whatever he 
 wished. 
 
 Edgar sat up until late in the night regaling the family as 
 sembled in the hall with the recital of his adventures. He 
 was a practised story-teller, and held his audience engrossed 
 with his vivid descriptions of life on the plains. His 
 mother hung upon his words with love beaming in her eyes. 
 Edgar had been her spoiled darling, and not even his long 
 years of silence a silence she had found it hard, at first, to 
 forgive had extinguished the old fondness in her heart. 
 He was the prodigal come back again, repentant and re 
 formed. She put the fullest faith in his professions, and re 
 joiced, with all her soul, that he had come in time to rescue 
 his brother, to save the Manor. More clear-sighted than 
 the Colonel, she had long been anxious about the state of 
 his affairs, and had felt that a stronger hand than his was
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 181 
 
 needed. Edgar seemed strong. At first, she had been con 
 scious of a hardness in him which had grieved her, but this 
 impression gradually yielded to the conviction that his 
 character had merely developed on firmer lines. The rash 
 impetuosity of his youth had been converted into the sober 
 but strongly impelling force of middle age. His forms of 
 expression, at times, were curt and even rough, but that 
 was to be expected of one who had had to fight many hard 
 battles for existence in a wild, lawless land. His energy, 
 however rude it might be, was precisely what was required 
 at the Manor. It supplied the elements lacking in Robert. 
 He had doubtless learned much, especially the value of 
 money. Everything was turning out for the best, after all. 
 Perhaps, had Edgar remained at home, he would not have 
 acquired the qualities she now admired in him. He had 
 been indolent and dissipated and careless ; the easy life at 
 the Manor might have confirmed him in habits of self- 
 indulgence. The hardships he had suffered had cured all 
 that and made a man of him. 
 
 The Colonel's wife was missing from the family group 
 surrounding Edgar. She was near at hand, however, though 
 unseen. Kneeling at the head of the stairs, her thin hands 
 clutching the banisters, she listened eagerly to every word 
 he uttered. The exclamations of interest or amusement 
 from one or the other of his hearers, from time to time, 
 wounded her cruelly. " They believe him," she murmured 
 to herself, trembling with fear and pain. " He has won the 
 confidence of every one of them. And he means to bring 
 misery upon them all even his old mother. Yes, I know 
 it. Oh, why did I ever cross him ? Why did I yield to my 
 mad thirst for revenge ? I had my revenge, and he means 
 to have his, now. I can do nothing to avert it nothing ! "
 
 EDGAR did not wait to note the effect of the actress's first 
 appearance at the Manor. He had but little anxiety on that 
 score. She had conducted herself so cleverly at the Rectory 
 that he was confident she would not fail to make a favourable 
 impression. He had cautioned her as to certain points, and 
 she never needed to be told a thing twice. He departed 
 without any misgivings, and was well on his way towards 
 Washington when Judith and the Rector made their first 
 visit. 
 
 It was the morning after her arrival. The Rector was so 
 proud of her that he wished her father's family to see her 
 without delay. Immediately after breakfast, they set out in 
 his old, yellow-bodied gig drawn by a sleepy, fat gray horse. 
 Mrs. Tippett, prompted by curiosity, had tried to persuade 
 him it was her " place " to introduce her great-niece, but 
 the Rector showed unaccustomed obstinacy, and almost 
 irritably refused to yield. Mrs. Tippett retired at last with 
 rather bad grace. His conduct was unpleasantly signifi 
 cant. It marked, to her mind, the beginning of the end of 
 her petty despotism. 
 
 Judith's welcome was all that she or the Rector, even, 
 could have wished. The Colonel came out to the carriage 
 to greet her, and Ole Miss and Lydia were waiting in the 
 parlour to receive her. Even the Colonel's wife, though ex 
 hausted by the suffering she had undergone throughout the 
 night, insisted on being helped downstairs by Phyllis. 
 She was impelled by an anxious desire to learn what manner 
 of girl Judith was, and whether she was likely to befriend 
 her. Surely if anyone could influence Edgar, it would be 
 
 182
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 183 
 
 his daughter. If she could but win her sympathy ! She 
 did not hope for much, but some softening of Edgar's pur 
 pose, at least, might be gained from her intercession. 
 
 Judith's beauty and grace instantly captivated the impres 
 sionable Colonel. Ole Miss was not so easily subdued. To 
 Judith, she seemed at first a severe old lady, and the self- 
 conscious girl was almost afraid to meet her scrutinising 
 gaze. But after a rather formal greeting, which had enabled 
 her to take her in from head to foot, Ole Miss thawed 
 quickly, and bending over, kissed her. She had satisfied 
 herself that she was worthy of bearing the family name. 
 Lydia took one of Judith's hands and pressed it rather 
 timidly. She was too shy to offer to kiss her. The tall, 
 beautiful creature impressed her with a sense of aloofness. 
 She was unlike most of the girls she had known. There 
 was an air of distinction about her, of confident ease, of 
 familiarity with the great world, showing itself in slight, 
 subtle hints, that made Lydia feel inferior. She feared she 
 might commit some blunder that would expose her rusticity. 
 Though longing to " make friends " at once, she shrank from 
 seeming to presume upon their relationship. Her unwonted 
 humility had in it a spice of pride ; she did not fancy the 
 idea of being rebuffed. Her embarrassment was increased 
 by a side remark of Uncle Josias. " She knows how to be 
 have," he whispered to her, maliciously. " Someone has 
 taught her manners." Miss Twiggs, too, seemed lost in ad 
 miration. It was evident everybody felt as she did. There 
 was a throb of jealous pain in Lydia's heart. All at once, 
 she had been deposed and made insignificant. Her star 
 had paled before that of this beautiful cousin. 
 
 The Colonel's wife came in after the others. Judith, who 
 had been informed by Edgar of their former relations and 
 present attitude towards each other, felt a peculiar sense of 
 interest as she met the gaze of those pleading eyes. Inter-
 
 184 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 preting his story in the light of her new knowledge of him, 
 she read a dark tragedy in them. She did not doubt that 
 this frail, broken woman had suffered cruelly at his hands. 
 She, too, had been deceived and played with perhaps more 
 wantonly than even she had been. She was moved by a 
 strong sense of kinship in their common experience a 
 touch of genuine pity. 
 
 Mrs. Cheston read the pity in her face, and felt a faint 
 glow of hope. She would do her best to make a friend of 
 this girl. 
 
 The warmth and evident sincerity of her reception made 
 it unnecessary for Judith to play a part. Ail she had to do 
 was to accept things as they were and to be herself a 
 lady-like young woman, with the finish of manner which 
 Edgar had been at so much pains to secure. In any fashion 
 able drawing-room, she would have been pronounced what, 
 nowadays, is called "good form." At the Manor, she ex 
 cited a friendly curiosity. She was a specimen of the 
 society of cities which was more or less unfamiliar to so 
 secluded a household. No doubt, she could tell them of 
 fashions, of customs, of social observances which, as yet, 
 had not penetrated to their neighbourhood. She was, for 
 them, an interesting object of study, if not of imitation. On 
 the other hand, they accepted her unquestioningly as one of 
 themselves. With a grateful sense of relief, she fell at 
 once into the place thus offered her as a member of the 
 family. She no longer felt any anxiety, and was thoroughly 
 confident of herself. Her future seemed secure. 
 
 The feeling of security was but brief. Lydia asked her, 
 rather doubtfully, if she wouldn't like to see the garden, and 
 leaving the older people, they strolled for an hour or more 
 along the winding paths or over the broad stretches of 
 velvety turf. Suddenly, Lydia pulled from her belt an old- 
 fashioned watch, and glancing at it, exclaimed :
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 185 
 
 " It is time to give Mamma her medicine ; I had nearly 
 forgotten. Will you excuse me ? I'll be back in a few 
 moments." 
 
 Judith assented, preferring to linger in the garden, and as 
 Lydia hurried away, she turned into a gravelled path that 
 ended at a clump of oaks where she saw a seat. She had 
 taken but a few steps when a tall figure, rounding a large 
 box tree from a by-path, nearly collided with her. It was 
 Turlo Cheston, coming from the stable where he had just 
 left his horse after his customary morning gallop with the 
 hounds. 
 
 " Miss Vane ! " he cried, his handsome, boyish face light 
 ing up. " Is it possible you here 1 " 
 
 Miss Vane ! The name sounded almost strange to her. 
 She had already identified herself so closely with her new 
 life, that her career on the stage was beginning to seem like 
 a dream. Who was this intruder from that other world who 
 had recalled to her so unexpectedly what she wished to for 
 get ? She glanced at him, striving to place him. She could 
 not remember ever to have seen this dark, eager face, with 
 brilliant black eyes, ruddy cheeks, a passionate mouth. He 
 was a striking-looking young fellow ; surely, if she had ever 
 met him, she would not have forgotten him. But then, she 
 had met so many young men. 
 
 She suspected at once that he was another " cousin," the 
 brother of whom Lydia had spoken. 
 
 " You seem to know me," she said, recovering her pres 
 ence of mind and smiling a little constrainedly, " but you 
 don't. I'm Miss Vane no longer; my name is Judith 
 Cheston. And you ? " 
 
 " Turlo Cheston very much at your service," he said 
 laughing, with a low bow. 
 
 "We are cousins, then." 
 
 " I wish I'd known it when I was in New York," he ex-
 
 1 86 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 claimed, a frank admiration showing itself in his eyes, " I 
 wouldn't have been so timid when Jasper Ninian took me 
 behind the scenes." 
 
 She remembered now, though his face was still unfamiliar 
 to her. Jasper Ninian was a rich young dandy who haunted 
 the wings and ogled all the pretty chorus girls. She had 
 known him as one of the most profitable of Mr. Darcy 
 Montague's " friends." One night, she remembered, he had 
 asked leave to present to her a former college chum from 
 the country, and she had been amused by his protege's dif 
 fidence and confusion when she attempted to talk to him. 
 This must be he. What an awkward contretemps ! To be 
 known to one of the family as the former star of burlesque 1 
 All her self-confidence was gone. It was even possible 
 Edgar's fraud might be exposed, and by one of those 
 chances which they had fancied were so remote. But stop 
 they were alone ; no one else knew as yet ; there was 
 still hope. She glanced at Turlo again ; he seemed a raw 
 country youth, and was, probably, unsophisticated. It was 
 easy to see that he admired her ; in fact, she would have 
 taken that for granted. 
 
 " Can you keep a secret ? " she demanded. 
 
 " Yes, for your sake," he answered promptly. 
 
 " It is for my sake. I do not wish anyone here to know 
 I was ever on the stage. Not that I need be ashamed of 
 it ; it was necessary for me to earn a living somehow, and 
 that was the easiest way. But I might be placed in a try 
 ing position ; the family, I fancy, would not care to have it 
 said that one of their number had been an actress." 
 
 " I I'm afraid they wouldn't," confessed Turlo, looking 
 down and scraping the gravel at his feet in sudden embar 
 rassment. 
 
 " Perhaps, you share their prejudices ? " 
 
 "No, indeed, not where you are concerned." He paused.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 187 
 
 and added impulsively, " I never associated you with what 
 Jasper, told me of the life of the stage. When he spoke 
 slightingly of you, I wanted to kick him." 
 
 " You thought me superior to my surroundings ? " said 
 Judith, with a hollow laugh. He was even more unsophisti 
 cated than she had hoped. 
 
 " Yes. Shall I tell you ? I felt the atmosphere was bad : 
 when I saw you in the midst of those men whom I had heard 
 talk at clubs, I knew the life wasn't natural to you; that you 
 must shrink from them ; and I felt so sorry." He did not 
 tell her he had longed to bear her away from their insolent 
 gaze and set her upon a pedestal for his own private wor 
 ship, but she instantly guessed as much. It was evident he 
 had been smitten by her, and there was now a kind of joy 
 ous passion in his gaze. He might become inconvenient 
 this rash, ardent boy, but he was necessary to her, and she 
 must bind him fast. " Do you know what you reminded me 
 of?" he continued, growing bolder. " Of a white flower, 
 such as I have often seen in our swamps, which keeps it 
 self pure in the black mud of a bog." 
 
 " Why, you're quite a poet ! " she exclaimed with a laugh, 
 feeling sure of him now. 
 
 " I'm no poet," he said, flushing. " I say it only because 
 it's true. It seems wonderful that you should be my cousin ; 
 I was afraid you might be some dull, ugly girl." 
 
 " Thanks ! " she said merrily she was quite at her ease 
 once more " I'm so glad you like me. But Jasper Ninian 
 if he were to come here " 
 
 " No fear of that. He has just gone abroad to stay sev 
 eral months. Besides, I'll take good care he doesn't set foot 
 in this neighbourhood.'' 1 
 
 " You really are a kind cousin," she exclaimed, gratefully, 
 " I think we're going to be very good friends." 
 
 He looked at her, thinking what a lucky fellow he was,
 
 188 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 and as he looked, his hopes mounted high. It wouldn't be 
 his fault if they remained only friends. How delightful to 
 know she trusted him ; that he was the only one who knew 
 her secret ! It was a bond between them which he might 
 be able to knit closer, with the happiest results. 
 
 When Lydia returned, she found Judith and Turlo chat 
 ting freely. Had Turlo been a trifle less inflamed, he might 
 have had some qualms about the association of his sister 
 with a girl of Judith's experiences. But he saw only with 
 the eyes of love. Judith must be all she should be because 
 he wished to believe her so. Besides, she was their cousin. 
 That fact would have settled any doubts in his mind. And 
 Lydia, he would have decided, was well able to take care of 
 herself. She was pert enough in calling him to account for 
 any lapses from propriety. 
 
 Judith, who had been attracted to Lydia from the first, 
 decided it might be worth while to cultivate her. If she 
 could make a friend of the sister, as well as of the brother, 
 her position would be all the stronger. She feared she 
 might prove to be difficult. There were contradictions in her 
 that Judith found puzzling. She was friendly, and yet dis 
 tant ; beautiful, but apparently unconscious of the fact ; odd 
 and often abrupt in manner, yet refined a strange mixture 
 of undisciplined impulse and watchful reserve. Judith won 
 dered if she approved of her. She felt rather apprehensive 
 of her judgment. Their standards, no doubt, were widely 
 different. This proudly shy little country girl was, perhaps, 
 a rigorous critic, with primitive, uncompromising ideas which 
 might prove embarrassing. Had they anything in common ? 
 
 Judith led the way to the seat beneath the oaks and set 
 herself to the task of drawing Lydia out. She soon dis 
 covered that her fears were groundless. Lydia responded 
 to her advances with evident pleasure. It was a relief to 
 her to find that Judith did not hold herself superior. She
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 189 
 
 was not formidable, after all, but just a nice, unaffected girl. 
 Lydia warmed to her at once. 
 
 " She's charming," she exclaimed to her father, when they 
 returned to the house, " I feared she mightn't care for me, 
 but she will, I'm sure. I've always wanted a girl friend, 
 and Judith is just the kind I would have chosen. She is 
 lovely in every way, and knows so much more than your 
 little ignoramus 1 " 
 
 Lydia's first step toward intimacy was to bear her off to 
 her own room. It was a quaint little room, over the library 
 wing, with dainty furniture and the atmosphere of delicacy 
 which always invests the sanctuary of an innocent young 
 girl. A corner near the bed was occupied by a small table 
 covered with a snowy cloth on which stood a silver candle 
 stick with a wax taper, flanked by a Bible and a Prayer 
 Book. On the wall above, hung a porcelain miniature of 
 Guide's head of the Saviour crowned with thorns. This was 
 Lydia's altar, at which she said her prayers. It was a holy 
 spot for her ; she never approached it without a stirring of 
 the religious feeling which, in spite of her apparent negli 
 gence, was so deeply rooted in her heart. 
 
 Judith paused at the threshold, half afraid to enter. Her 
 presence seemed a kind of desecration. Innocence was 
 something she had once known, but she had long thought 
 of it indifferently as one of the crudities of childhood, which 
 are discarded as one grows older. True, Lydia was little 
 more than a child, but here, in this room, her purity seemed 
 to be innate, pervasive, enduring ; Judith found herself im 
 agining it might have prevailed against even her temptations. 
 A spasm of pain contracted her features at the thought. 
 She envied this girl ; beside her, she suddenly felt the lack 
 of something she had never valued before. 
 
 Lydia soon began to talk freely of herself, of her various 
 interests and occupations. As she proceeded, Judith's
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 jealousy waxed stronger. Lydia's candid frankness stung 
 her. Evidently, she had nothing to conceal. Her life was 
 not a sham ; no doubt, it had always been genuine, open, 
 free. Judith was conscious of no inclination to be better 
 than she was. Good, for its own sake, would have seemed 
 but tasteless fruit to her, for so Edgar Cheston had taught 
 her. But Lydia's simplicity was something to be desired 
 because it was impossible for her. It stamped her with an 
 independence, a proud fearlessness which she would have 
 liked to feel. " I might have been what she is," she said to 
 herself bitterly, " but for him" Yes she saw it now he 
 had deceived her also in this, belittling and sneering at the 
 innocence which, left to herself, she might have preserved. 
 She had flung it away at his bidding, in careless ignorance 
 of its value. How was she to know ? She had never been 
 taught, as most girls are taught, to cherish it as her most 
 precious treasure the lustrous pearl of a virtuous woman 
 hood to be guarded jealously as something that a single 
 breath of evil would sully. It was only now, in this new 
 atmosphere, that she began to regret the loss of it, and, as 
 yet, it was envy alone that caused her distress. She had not 
 yet wakened to the sense of shame. 
 
 " I must be careful with her," Judith said to herself, with 
 an angry glance at Lydia. She could easily imagine what 
 such a girl would think of her. " She would show no mercy 
 she is of my own sex," she added, cynically. " If she were 
 another Turlo, now " a scornful smile played about her 
 mouth. She had no fear of masculine judgments. Her 
 beauty had always turned the scale. Her confidence was 
 that of a Phryne appealing to what, she had been taught, 
 outweighed all else in the eyes of men. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lydia chattered on, delighted at being able to 
 make a confidante of her lovely cousin. She even told her, 
 with but few reservations, of her relations with Basil Kent
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 191 
 
 and Oswald Reeve. An artless, enthusiastic girl delights in 
 sharing her inmost thoughts with one of her own sex and 
 age, because she hopes to find the kind of sympathy she 
 craves. Lydia saw no reason for not indulging this inclina 
 tion with Judith. Was she not her cousin ? Judith en 
 couraged her, at first, from mere politeness, but in a little 
 while, she began to be interested. Lydia had her " affairs," 
 then ; had she things to hide, after all ? Judith longed to 
 probe her, to put her to the test, in the hope that she might 
 find some blemish in her. She would have rejoiced in the 
 discovery that she was not so candid as she seemed. 
 
 Lydia's references to Basil Kent finally aroused Judith's 
 curiosity. 
 
 " What sort of person is he ? " she asked. 
 
 She was not especially interested in Oswald, whom Lydia 
 had described more particularly. He seemed to her to be a 
 mere lay figure a handsome young man of the world of the 
 kind that had trooped about her in shoals. It was a type 
 that had long since palled upon her. But Basil, from what 
 Lydia had said, might be worth considering. 
 
 " How can I tell you ? " said Lydia, laughing. " Most 
 people think him an oddity. They say he is awkward and 
 solemn and hard to make out. I never found him so but 
 then, we've known each other ever since I was a baby; I 
 suppose I am used to him. However, he has been rather 
 queer of late." She paused and added, with a touch of shy 
 ness, " He bothers me, sometimes that's the truth. I am 
 really fond of him we have always been such friends but 
 he wants something more. Men are very exacting, are they 
 not ? " 
 
 " Very ! " said Judith, with a laugh. She understood. 
 Was Lydia sincere or merely affecting impatience of a lover's 
 attentions ? She decided she could tell more about it when 
 she met Basil Kent.
 
 192 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 As it happened, she met him that afternoon. Basil came 
 to the Manor ostensibly with a message from his father to 
 the Colonel, but really, to see Lydia. Judith did not find 
 him " solemn." He was certainly serious, and at first, rather 
 shy. Judith soon put him at his ease. In a little while, 
 they were talking together as freely as though they had 
 known each other for some time. She managed him with 
 the quiet tact of a woman of experience, questioning him 
 adroitly about this and that, until finally, she hit upon subjects 
 upon which he could talk with no sense of effort. As he 
 talked, she began to grow interested. He was a man unlike 
 any she had ever known. His language was simple and 
 direct, his manner free from affectation, his ideas unusual. 
 His very shyness pleased her, as distinguishing him still 
 more sharply from the kind of men who had always thronged 
 about her the glib, self-confident egotists whom Edgar 
 Cheston had made her flatter and cajole. 
 
 Basil, on his part, found it pleasanter than he could have 
 believed possible to talk with another girl in Lydia's pres 
 ence. It was surprising to find how many interests they 
 had in common. They liked the same books, it seemed ; 
 they were both fond of music, of pictures, of country life. 
 Basil began to think that Judith's kinship to Lydia accounted 
 for the enthusiasm she showed in speaking of outdoor ex 
 ercises ; she must have inherited the instinct from a com 
 mon strain of blood. But she was unlike Lydia in other 
 ways. She was no impetuous child, but a well-balanced, 
 cultivated young woman, who had evidently moved in the 
 best society and travelled extensively. And she found it 
 worth her while to question him, whom women usually 
 treated as a negligible quantity. He was flattered, in spite 
 of his modesty and strong good sense. 
 
 Lydia watched Basil with an air of mischievous amuse 
 ment. What had happened to him ? How wonderfully he
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 193 
 
 was " getting on " ! She had never seem him so animated 
 with any girl but herself. 
 
 " I congratulate you," she said to Judith with a laugh, 
 when he had left them. " You seemed to have no trouble 
 to make him talk." 
 
 " Is that so very difficult ? " asked Judith. " He doesn't 
 strike me as being dull." 
 
 " Oh, no ; but usually with girls, he finds it hard to say 
 anything." 
 
 " Some girls, you mean," suggested Judith. " But with 
 you, he's never at a loss ? " 
 
 " No," said Lydia, blushing, " but that's different ; we've 
 always been well, like brother and sister, you know." 
 
 " But he bothers you sometimes, you said," remarked Judith, 
 carelessly. " You ought to be grateful to me if I'm able to 
 take him off your hands, now and then." 
 
 " It would be so good of you I " laughed Lydia. 
 
 Judith glanced at her, puzzled. She was still unable to 
 determine whether Lydia was really indifferent or not. If 
 she were not, she was very clever. It might be that this 
 " little country girl " was a better actress than herself. 
 '3
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 JUDITH soon found herself to be an object of popular 
 curiosity and attention. People flocked to the Rectory to 
 meet her. The story of Kdgar Cheston's return to the 
 Manor, in prosperous circumstances, after having so long 
 been considered dead, and his daughter's arrival to claim 
 her great-grandfather's fortune just as it was about to pass 
 into the possession of the Rector and Mrs. Tippett, travelled 
 fast through the county and excited the liveliest interest. 
 Invitations poured in upon her. The generous hospitality 
 which was so marked a characteristic of Tidewater life 
 exerted itself prodigally to please her. It seemed as if the 
 chief object of effort at the plantation houses was to " en 
 tertain " somebody, and for the time being, she was every 
 where the guest of honour. The " Quality," apparently, had 
 no serious cares. They were always ready for a fox-hunt, a 
 dance or a dinner. Young and old participated, on such oc 
 casions, with equal zest and vivacity. They were like so many 
 children in their eager pursuit of pleasure, as if nothing else 
 really mattered. 
 
 It was amusing to her to note what an important part 
 " good eating " played in their scheme of enjoyment. A fine 
 dinner was an achievement which seemed to be an object of 
 general felicitation. The table at every house groaned with 
 an embarrassing profusion of viands. Judith was introduced, 
 with obvious pride, to a great variety of dishes which were 
 peculiar to the Tidewater region. She laughingly confessed 
 to the Colonel, one day, that she was in mortal terror of 
 growing fat. " Whenever I go out to dine," she said, " I'm 
 afraid to refuse anything lest I give offence. Everybody 
 
 194
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 19$ 
 
 Seems so bent upon making me eat ; so proud and happy if 
 I have a good appetite ! " 
 
 The plantation customs were a constant source of amuse 
 ment to her. She greatly enjoyed the formal visits she paid 
 to this or that " first family," with its stiff etiquette, its 
 rigid ceremonies, its careful inquiries about her health, her 
 accomplishments, her special tastes. The elaborate gal 
 lantries of the men, the obsolete airs and graces of the 
 women were very diverting. It was really like a play. 
 There was an atmosphere of bland complacency, of settled 
 contentment and repose in these old homes that spoke to her 
 dreamily of generations of special privilege and exemption 
 from disturbing influences. The very clocks had ticked, 
 with the same monotonous regularity, for perhaps a hundred 
 years. The servants were descendants of half a dozen 
 generations of well-trained slaves. Everything ran on in well- 
 worn grooves ; everything would doubtless continue to run 
 on thus, indefinitely, for life here seemed impregnable to the 
 outer world. 
 
 " You were right," she wrote once to Edgar in Washington. 
 " I have never had so interesting a part to play or one that 
 required a nicer art. I am ' put to my trumps,' as you pre 
 dicted. I presume it is the feeling of suspense that keeps 
 me from being ennuye'. I often wonder at myself. The 
 people who knew me on the stage would wonder still more. 
 It would seem absurd to them that I could be content with 
 so humdrum a life. At times, when things are more than 
 usually soporific after these heavy dinners, for example, 
 when people sit about and stare at each other and drone of 
 trivialities I feel like springing up and shocking them with 
 a pirouette or breaking out into one of my naughtiest songs. 
 But the temptation is only momentary. Upon the whole, I 
 like this torpor it is so restful and the people are very 
 amusing. Besides, it is delightful to be respectable. Peir
 
 196 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 haps, it is really my vocation to be a lady after all. On the 
 other hand, there are exciting moments when I find myself 
 about to tumble into pitfalls of prejudices, of strange points 
 of view, of moral affectations which you left out unwisely, as I 
 think from your scheme of education for me. Fortunately, 
 my new friends seem willing to make very liberal allowances, 
 and when, by any accident, I am more than ordinarily 
 audacious of course, I never mean to be their attitude is 
 kindly compassionate, as though saying among themselves, 
 ' Poor thing, she wasn't brought up like us ; how could she 
 be expected to know better ? ' " 
 
 To Judith's great surprise, she discovered that, in spite 
 of their very free habits, there was an almost fanatical intol 
 erance among the Tidewater men, as well as the women, in 
 matters of religion. Fortunately, she made the discovery 
 in time to avoid betrayal of her indifference. Men who 
 drank hard and occasionally slipped out an oath, even in the 
 presence of ladies, would discuss theological questions at the 
 dinner table with the utmost earnestness, and apparently, 
 with actual relish. Scepticism seemed to be an unknown 
 thing. Evidently, it was taken for granted that everyone 
 believed in God ; that no one could presume to doubt the 
 propriety of eternal damnation. 
 
 At first, noting the frequent contrasts between profession 
 and practice, she was inclined to think that many of these 
 zealots must be hypocritical ; but, gradually, she became con 
 vinced that nearly all of them were sincere. Even those 
 who were open backsliders did not seem to question a creed 
 that bore heavily upon them, but accepted it in its entirety 
 without demur, and applied it with unsparing rigour to others. 
 Doubtless, it was a form of bigotry which, inconsistent as it 
 seemed, was, after all, a natural product of narrowing con 
 ditions. These people knew of no other ideas and were 
 wholly ignorant of the many influences which came into play
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 197 
 
 elsewhere influences such, for example, as had directed and 
 controlled her life. 
 
 Her life ! What consternation it would excite among them 
 if they but knew ! The rustic purists who admired her so 
 frankly, who feted her so generously, would they not shrink 
 from her as contaminating if they suspected even a tithe of 
 the truth ? Well, why should she care ? They didn't know. 
 And after all, what was their condemnation to her ? She had 
 long considered herself exempt from accountability to stand 
 ards which had no practical meaning for her, which were 
 incapable of being enforced against her. It were silly to 
 concern herself about delinquencies which were serious only 
 as they might offend these poor, narrow souls. Nevertheless, 
 she began to be disturbed. The absolute confidence of their 
 opinions weighed upon her. At first, she had gone to church 
 and had knelt with the Rector at family prayers without the 
 least scruple, regarding such acts as wholly perfunctory, but 
 one Sunday afternoon, she was made to realise that something 
 more was required. It was " communion " Sunday, and the 
 Rector had noticed with pain that she had not come forward 
 with the other communicants. After dinner, while they 
 were strolling alone together in the garden, he turned to her 
 with an air of grave solicitude. 
 
 " You did not come to communion, my child," he said 
 gently. He imagined merely that she had not felt herself 
 to be in the proper frame of mind, and wondered what tri 
 fling sin she could have upon her conscience. 
 
 She drew back, frightened. It had not occurred to her 
 that he would ask this of her. What answer could she make ? 
 How could she tell him that she had only the vaguest idea 
 of what the communion meant ? She knew it was a rite of 
 peculiar solemnity and one in which she had no claim to 
 share. Mere conformity was one thing ; to take an active 
 part in religious observances, to profess herself a zealous
 
 198 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 believer that was going farther than she liked. But as the 
 Rector's granddaughter, she would be expected to fully share 
 Jiis faith. How was she to escape ? Edgar hadn't thought 
 of this when he proposed the " bit of comedy " for her. Or 
 perhaps he had, and considered it easy. But it wasn't 
 easy. Something within her stirred in revolt. 
 
 " I had no right," she stammered. 
 
 " No right ! " exclaimed the Rector, horrified. " Surely, 
 you can't mean you have never been confirmed?" 
 
 " Confirmed ? What is that ? " she asked, bewildered. 
 She had never heard of the word in its ecclesiastical sense ; 
 she was ignorant even as to whether she had been baptised. 
 Religious instruction was something that neither her father 
 nor Edgar had deemed it necessary to impart. 
 
 The Rector turned away from her with a groan. This was 
 dreadful. He would not have believed it even of Edgar 
 Cheston. It seemed incredible that, himself reared in the 
 Church, he should have permitted his daughter to grow up 
 in ignorance of the most primary facts of religion. And she 
 so brilliant, so well-informed in other things ! No time must 
 be lost in repairing this terrible wrong. Tenderly, pityingly, 
 he expounded to her his simple creed, in full confidence that 
 this was all that was needed to win her to his fold. She 
 listened to him indifferently, at first, feeling it were hardly 
 worth, while. He little knew what unpromising material he 
 was trying to work with ! As he went on, his words became 
 painful to her. His definitions of goodness, of Christian 
 aspiration, of what it was indispensable to believe, of what 
 to reject, brought sharply before her mind the pictures of her 
 past which contrasted most strongly with his ideas. Was it 
 possible she had been so culpable ? She shuddered at his 
 unconscious indictment of her. It seemed to her that she was 
 everything he would wish her not to be. And this was not 
 all ; to satisfy his requirements, she must strive for a barren
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 199 
 
 perfectibility that was not only unattractive but repugnant to 
 her because it exacted impossible sacrifices. Its primary 
 element was truthfulness. The whole structure of the Rector's 
 code was built up about the one central fact of a virtue that 
 her mere presence beside him denied to her. 
 
 How could she be truthful ? That would mean to abandon 
 her imposture, to give up all she had won position, wealth, 
 the esteem which was so grateful to her. There was Basil 
 Kent, for instance. She had come to value this man's friend 
 ship ; was she tamely to suffer the loss of it ? And the 
 Rector himself she was beginning to love him ; must she 
 confess to him that she was a cheat ? No, she couldn't afford 
 it. It would be to surrender material benefits for a mere 
 idea, a shadowy satisfaction of impulses which were absurd 
 in her. It was too ridiculous ! Who was she to be squeamish ? 
 Whatever might be the extenuating circumstances in her 
 ignorance, her youth, the evil tutelage of Edgar Cheston, the 
 fact remained that she was what she was of her own choice : 
 she was simply following the law of her desires. Yes, 
 she would have done it all over again, deliberately, as the 
 only possible means of satisfying her special needs, her 
 longings, her ambition. The Rector had succeeded in making 
 her uncomfortable, but the " conscience " he had talked about 
 she felt no pricks. She laughed in scorn at the thought 
 that any motive other than self-interest could seriously weigh 
 with her. It was annoying to have to deceive people who 
 attached so much importance to their arbitrary moralities 
 that was all 1 
 
 For some weeks, Judith had been thrown a good deal with 
 Basil Kent. Whenever she went to the Manor, he was there, 
 and he came often to the Rectory. Mrs. Tippett one day 
 told her, with a significant smile, that they now saw Basil 
 much more frequently. To her other functions, Mrs. Tippett 
 added that of matchmaker for the parish. She hoped to
 
 200 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 bring about the marriage of Judith and Basil. It would be 
 a convenient solution of her difficulties. With Judith out of 
 the way, she would soon regain her lost dominion over her 
 brother. 
 
 Basil found an increasing pleasure in Judith's companion 
 ship. She appealed to him not only because she was charm 
 ing, but because she seemed to divine his thoughts, to sympa 
 thise with his views, to be congenial to him mentally in a 
 way that not even Lydia had ever been. For the first time in 
 his experience, he was thrown 'with an accomplished woman, 
 young, beautiful, sparkling with wit and humour, who did not 
 shrink from his seriousness, but seemed to find pleasure in it. 
 How could he suspect that he had to do with a clever poseuse 
 whose special business it was to study men, to find out their 
 weak points, and then, fool them to the top of their bent ? 
 She had read him easily, in spite of his strangeness to her. 
 It was evident he was terribly in earnest about things. It 
 would not do to trifle with him as she had trifled with other 
 men ; he would not understand she might easily shock him. 
 It were something new and exciting to try her skill with 
 him. He might prove worthy of her nicest art. At all 
 events, he was sure not to be commonplace ; in his way, he 
 might be amusing. 
 
 It was a kind of flirtation for which she had been intention 
 ally trained. Edgar had anticipated the possibility of as 
 sociation with serious men, and for that reason, had taken 
 pains to give her a broad education. He knew that nothing 
 could add so strong a provocation to her beauty as the 
 ability to converse with them sympathetically, to cater to 
 their intellectual conceit and flatter them with the notion that 
 their minds were attractive to her. These so-called wise men 
 were often such fools ! Judith soon convinced herself that, 
 in Basil's case, this subtle form of flattery would work like a 
 charm. It was, in fact, the more effective with him because
 
 201 
 
 it was distinctly reassuring. It encouraged him to hope 
 that he had been mistaken, after all, in assuming that 
 women were necessarily impatient of qualities in him which 
 were the opposite of those he had envied in men who had so 
 often humbled him in their presence. There was one woman, 
 at any rate, who always welcomed him with a smile ; who 
 talked with him by the hour with no sign of weariness or 
 effort ; who even exhibited curiosity as to his impressions, 
 his opinions of things, and eagerly challenged him to dis 
 cussion. 
 
 Basil had to admit to himself that, at times, she was rather 
 daring ; more than once, she almost took his breath away 
 by her free handling of subjects which no woman had ever 
 ventured to discuss in his presence. Her mental attitude 
 was wholly unlike that of the typical plantation lady. Many 
 of the Tidewater women were bookish ; not a few had 
 literary tastes which found expression chiefly in elaborate 
 epistles to their friends in which wit and fancy clothed 
 themselves in many a quaint, pedantic form. But their in 
 tellectuality kept well within safe bounds ; it never strayed 
 beyond the borders of a circumspect domesticity. Judith 
 seemed to think the mind was untrammelled ; with apparent 
 unconsciousness, she ranged at will over territory which Basil 
 had been taught to look upon as forbidden to her sex. But 
 it was easy to reconcile this with a healthy nature, when he 
 reflected that she had been reared in a different atmosphere : 
 she had doubtless been trained to think independently, to 
 inquire, without regard to conventions which, after all, might 
 be merely local. He had but to look into her eyes, which 
 had the trick of innocence, to convince himself that she was 
 guiltless of intention. 
 
 Judith had soon discovered that he was really enamoured 
 of Lydia. She was too clever to set herself up openly as a 
 rival. A man who is honestly in love is always on his guard
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 against patent coquetry. He is vain of his fidelity and 
 quick to take alarm. She had no idea of exposing herself to 
 the humiliation of avoidance even though it were a sign of 
 weakness in him. Her power lay in presenting herself to 
 him in a character radically different from Lydia's in which 
 her beauty would shine upon him through the medium of 
 friendship, a friendship that might gradually steal upon him, 
 revealing itself at last as something more precious than he 
 had dreamed. Yes, the only way to approach him was on 
 his intellectual side. She had no fear of Lydia there. 
 
 She fully expected to be bored, now and then ; but as she 
 came to know Basil better, she was surprised to find that she 
 wasn't bored at all. He introduced her to a novel set of ideas. 
 It was interesting to hear him profess belief in principles of 
 action which were flatly opposed to all Edgar Cheston had 
 taught her. Unworldliness, from his point of view, was an 
 estimable thing, not a matter for ridicule and avoidance. 
 He really seemed to believe that morality was ordained of 
 God, instead of being, as Edgar had so often explained 
 to her, a mere code of rules invented by society to protect 
 itself against predatory natures like their own. There was 
 a kind of romance for her in his singularity. It seemed un 
 real, the creation of one's fancy, not a substantial thing for 
 every day use. Nevertheless, she believed in him. What 
 might be impossible for others seemed feasible for him. She 
 could imagine him going to any lengths of suffering rather 
 than yield to what he considered wrong. She was often 
 reminded of certain high-flown, impossible characters, as 
 they had seemed to her, in novels, and here was such a char 
 acter in actual life. She doubted whether anyone who knew 
 him perceived that he was an idealist. An " oddity," some 
 people thought him so Lydia had said but they judged him 
 merely from surface indications. He was usually so quiet, 
 so practical, so matter of fact, that probably none suspected
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 203 
 
 that he had a strong vein of poetry in his nature a poetry that 
 exhibited itself to her in sudden flashes when he forgot him 
 self in the glow of some eager expression of his more secret 
 thoughts. She often felt a thrill of triumph when she had 
 worked him up to this point. It was clear she had acquired 
 the power of tempting him to reveal his inner nature to her, 
 of overcoming his diffidence, of making him feel that he ran 
 no risk with her of being thought queer. 
 
 But he was queer. Sometimes, he frightened her. There 
 was no such thing as compromise with him in questions of 
 conduct. He was really a bigot. She often found herself 
 wishing he had not quite so high an opinion of her. Suppose, 
 by any chance, he came to suspect her ? In that case, would 
 not his resentment be as extreme as was his mistaken con 
 fidence in her ? She trembled at his unsparing condem 
 nation of things of which she was especially guilty. She 
 feared his judgment even more than the Rector's. The old 
 man loved her ; his nature was so gentle that he would in 
 stinctively seek to excuse her. Basil was so hardly truthful 
 that he seemed to her likely to be pitiless in exacting veracity 
 of others. Pshaw ! He was but a man ; how could he resist 
 her ? " If I am as fascinating as they say," she murmured 
 to herself, " I shall, sooner or later, bring him to my feet. 
 Once there, he won't mind having been deceived." 
 
 The game was more than merely amusing ; it had begun 
 to absorb her. She wished to win it, now, not to satisfy her 
 vanity, but because she saw dimly shadowed forth a future 
 that excited her ambition. The quality of power in Basil 
 had grown upon her. It was power of which he seemed to 
 be more or less unconscious, and evidently, did not know 
 how to use. She often smiled as she watched him, thinking 
 that, in some things, he was as simple as a child. He 
 needed some one to form him, to bring him out, to put 
 him in touch with influences that would temper his ideas
 
 204 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 and give direction and purpose to his energies. What if 
 she were to take him in hand ? She knew the world, and 
 it was this knowledge he seemed to lack. Why should she 
 not supply it ? Her beauty, her tact, her art in pleasing, 
 her ability to penetrate the motives of average people, her 
 freedom from the illusions which so often blinded him what 
 could be more useful to a man wrapped up, as he was, in all 
 sorts of prejudices and wasting his faculties in idle specula 
 tion ? Yes, she could make something of him ; it would be 
 pleasant to share his success. What mattered it if, in the 
 meantime, he was humbugged for his own good ? He would 
 owe much to her ; he would even have cause to be grateful 
 to her for hiding her past from him. 
 
 Good Heavens 1 Did she care for him so much ? Was she, 
 who had felt herself secure in her indifference to men, in the 
 grasp of a genuine attachment ? Well she did not know ; 
 she could not be sure. Undoubtedly, a new, a vital influence 
 stirred her. Basil's future relation to her had become a 
 matter of grave importance. As yet, he was friendly very 
 friendly nothing more. She had never felt uncertainty of 
 this kind before ; men had invariably made love to her when 
 she so willed it. And what would Edgar Cheston say when he 
 returned from Washington and found her involved in such 
 an affair ? He had been compelled to give her a certain 
 freedom in order that she might serve his ends, but she had 
 reason to doubt whether he would consent to share her 
 with another man. Suppose he proved stubborn what 
 then ? He had but to convey a word or two to Basil to com 
 promise her irretrievably. Well, she could ruin him, and 
 she would. Yes, if he betrayed her, she would not hes 
 itate to pull down the whole structure of their fraud about 
 his ears. Of course, she would be crushed in the ruins 
 but that were better than to be disgraced with Basil. 
 
 And now, she knew. She loved this man 1 She, the
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 205 
 
 scoffer at love ; the gay comedienne who had so often played 
 with passion, with careless lightness born of contempt ; the 
 heartless coquette who had used her beauty only to gratify 
 her vanity and to fill Edgar Cheston's purse ! She loved him 
 because he believed in her ; because he dignified her in her 
 own thoughts, in spite of what she knew of herself, by his 
 implicit confidence ; because he showed her a deference, a 
 respect no other man had ever shown her, with a touch of 
 reverence as though she were some exalted creature far 
 above him ; but above all, because he was so unlike those 
 others so clean-minded, so honest, so true. Ah, if she 
 were but worthy of him ! Well she might have been, had 
 her life been differently shaped. She thought, with a sudden 
 shiver of fear, of what she actually was. Could he ever for 
 give her if he knew ? Even if she brought him to her feet, 
 could she really reconcile him to her past ? Was he capable 
 of a passion that would sweep all before it even his stub 
 born ideas of honour, his hatred of deceit, his absurd re 
 quirement of truthfulness in women ? But to vanquish him 
 in this way would be to degrade him, to rob him of the 
 qualities that most appealed to her, to bring him down to her 
 level. Ah, she loved him ! He must be hers. There was 
 no other course, if she was ever to hold him safe. Could 
 she do it ? Could any woman ? He seemed so strong ! 
 How was she to satisfy herself on this point ? 
 
 One afternoon, she obtained by chance the knowledge she 
 coveted. She and Basil had been strolling in the garden at 
 the Manor, and had sat down on a bench near the gateway 
 at the lower end. In front of them was a rustic bridge 
 spanning a tiny stream, the railings overgrown with honey 
 suckle and climbing roses. To the right, rose a bit of brick 
 wall, old and broken, on which a lizard was lying asleep in 
 the sun. A slight breeze caused a thick clump of canes a 
 few rods away to bend and nod gracefully, and wafted sweet
 
 206 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 odours from a group of tall young locust trees whose foliage 
 was dappled with waving clusters of snowy blossoms. The 
 fickle, variable beauty of early spring, its alternating fits of 
 chilliness and warmth, like the moods of a coquettish girl, 
 had gone, and all its tender promises were now redeemed 
 in the maturer loveliness of a full unfolding of leaf and 
 flower. 
 
 They had been discussing a great masterpiece of fiction 
 which told the story of a man's infatuation for a beautiful 
 but fickle woman for whose sake he repeatedly commits dis 
 graceful actions. Basil admitted the possibility of such a 
 passion, but claimed that, if the man had been strong, he 
 would have combated it the moment it brought him face to 
 face with dishonour. He might have failed again and again, 
 but in the end, he would have won. 
 
 " Are you so sure of that ? " said Judith incredulously, 
 with a touch of impatience. " You don't know women ! " 
 
 Basil glanced at her in surprise. She seemed almost angry 
 with him. What had he said to offend her ? Oh, well no 
 doubt she was a trifle irritated on behalf of her sex : she 
 was rather inclined to assert its power. Perhaps, she was 
 right. In some confusion, he remembered his ignominious 
 collapse when Lydia had unconsciously tempted him. But 
 that was different. No question of disgrace had been in 
 volved ; Lydia could never have led him to dishonour. 
 
 " I admit my ignorance," he said, smiling. " But I can't 
 imagine a man, who is really worthy of the name, succumb 
 ing to a woman, however charming, if he cannot respect her. 
 Of course, I can only speak for myself : if such a passion 
 possessed me, I think I could pluck it out." 
 
 There was a gleam of mockery in Judith's eyes. He only 
 thought so ! She had noticed he had hesitated before re 
 plying. Could it be that he had had some experience that 
 made him doubtful ? At that moment, Lydia passed close to
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 207 
 
 them on her way to the house from the barn. She had seen 
 them, from a distance, but hurried on, without greeting them 
 or looking round. Basil had only a brief glimpse of her as 
 she disappeared behind a hedge, but in that glimpse, Judith 
 surprised a look in his eyes that told her all. She had seen 
 the same look in other men's eyes, and knew what it meant. 
 He was weak as water with this girl ! He had thought of 
 her when he had hesitated. He had felt he might not be 
 able to resist her. Yes, there was a flaw in the armour of his 
 conceit, and Judith thought she knew how to reach it. 
 
 If Lydia could gain such power over him, it ought not to 
 be difficult for her. What was Lydia but a pretty, wilful, un 
 formed girl, while she- Of course, his feeling for Lydia, 
 
 however strong it might be, could be but evanescent. He 
 was charmed by her wildness, her grace, her piquant beauty, 
 but it was absurd to suppose that he would not weary of her 
 ignorance, her caprices, her incapacity to share his more 
 serious thoughts, to give him the kind of sympathy which she, 
 Judith, was giving him, v/hich was plainly becoming more 
 and more grateful to him. She even felt like thanking 
 Lydia. Had she not been the means of proving to her that 
 Basil was weak precisely as she wished him to be ? Now 
 that she was sure of this, she could go forward resolutely. 
 The issue could not 'be doubtful as between Lydia and her, 
 even if Lydia were not indifferent. Let Lydia be ever so 
 clever, she had not her experience, her fertility of expedient, 
 the subtlety she had learned in a school of intrigue, of strat 
 agem, of searching analysis of the weaknesses of men. " He 
 shall prefer me to that chit 1 " she said to herself, with an 
 insolent sense of power. 
 
 Lydia had been tempted to pause on seeing Judith and 
 Basil, but something in their manner caused her to change 
 her mind. They seemed strangely absorbed. She moved 
 on towards the house, with a strong feeling of disquiet.
 
 2o8 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Could it be that they were closer friends than she had im 
 agined ? The idea annoyed her. Yet why should she care ? 
 Ought she not, in fact, to be glad ? She had told Judith that 
 Basil " bothered " her, and she had been quite sincere at the 
 time. But she hadn't expected this. It was one thing to 
 be relieved, now and then, of an affection that was incon 
 venient, that put forth embarrassing claims ; it was quite 
 another thing a thing she did not relish to face the pos 
 sibility of Judith's substitution for herself as the object of 
 Basil's exclusive devotion. The sudden sight of them, in a 
 moment of what seemed to be peculiar intimacy, caused her 
 to feel that she had been summarily set aside. What was 
 she to think of Basil's ardent professions ? He had boasted 
 
 of a love for her that would stand any test, yet now And 
 
 she had hinted to Judith that he cared a good deal ! Her 
 cheeks burned at the thought. 
 
 Oswald Reeve, who was now a regular visitor at the 
 Manor, happened to make his appearance that afternoon. 
 Lydia received him with a cordiality that was almost effu 
 sive. He was the more welcome because Judith and Basil 
 were in the parlor, conversing together with the same hateful 
 air of intimacy. She talked to Oswald with feverish anima 
 tion. It was consoling to be able to show Basil there was 
 some one even if he were Reeve's son who still found her 
 interesting. As for Judith, the dear cousin whom she had 
 thought so charming well, she could conceive the possibility 
 of an active dislike of her, if she really meant to monopolise 
 Basil.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 LYDIA grew more and more restless as time wore on, and 
 Basil, apparently, continued to be preoccupied with Judith. 
 The worst of it was she couldn't be quite sure he really pre 
 ferred Judith. Now and then, he would look at her or speak 
 in a way that made her fancy he might still care for her. 
 The uncertainty was very trying. If he and Judith loved 
 each other, why didn't they say so ? There was no reason 
 for secrecy that she could see. It would be such a relief to 
 know it was all over and settled. She would not admit to 
 herself it was any special concern of hers, and yet, she felt 
 cross, dissatisfied, almost unhappy. 
 
 Her sense of irritation became acute during a sailing ex 
 pedition down the river which the Colonel had organised as 
 one of several entertainments in honor of his niece. It was 
 a bright May morning, and when the start was made from 
 the wharf in the cove, some twenty boats were in line, with 
 the Colonel's canoe in the lead. There was a fresh breeze 
 wafting the fragrant scent of wild-grape blossoms from the 
 high wooded banks of the opposite shore. The surface of 
 the cove was but slightly ruffled, but when its mouth was 
 reached, the river showed an angry face. White-caps were 
 breaking in all directions, and sea-gulls flitted hither and 
 thither like flakes of foam tossed up from the surf. The 
 saucy little canoes plunged bravely into the surging waters 
 and sped gaily on under shortened sail. 
 
 Judith was in the Colonel's boat. She sat in the stern 
 
 near the tiller with Basil who was steering. Lydia was in 
 
 the bow of the next canoe with Oswald Reeve. Judith and 
 
 Basil were almost under her eyes as the one canoe followed 
 
 14 209
 
 210 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 close in the wake of the other. She watched them anxiously, 
 with an uneasy sense of expectation, and found it hard work 
 to keep up a lively conversation with Oswald. Judith and 
 Basil chatted pleasantly together: to Lydia's sharpened 
 perception, they seemed to be having a provokingly good 
 time. Basil never once looked round at her. After awhile, 
 she heard Judith say, 
 
 " I would like to learn how to steer, Mr. Kent. It seems 
 easy. Won't you teach me ? " 
 
 "Why, of course," said Basil, promptly. " But it isn't so 
 very easy to manage a canoe," he added, laughing. 
 
 As briefly as he could, he explained the mysteries of sail 
 and centreboard and tiller, and then proceeded to give her 
 a practical lesson by guiding her hand to the right place on 
 the helm and showing her how to work it. Judith seemed 
 to find the trial difficult. She made so many mistakes that 
 Basil was kept busy seizing the tiller, and with it her hand, 
 to hold the canoe reasonably true to its course. It seemed 
 to Lydia that he did this oftener than was really necessary, 
 and once, when his hand remained, clasping Judith's much 
 longer than usual, an angry flush dyed her cheeks. Yielding 
 to a hasty impulse, she cried out sharply, 
 
 "Be careful, Basil ; you'll upset the boat ! " 
 
 Basil did not heed her. Her warning was, in fact, super 
 fluous : there was not the slightest danger, and he would 
 only have laughed at her. But as it happened, he had not 
 heard her. Judith caught the words distinctly enough, and 
 glanced at Basil. He gave no sign, and her heart beat more 
 quickly. Had she succeeded so soon in making him deaf 
 to Lydia's voice, or at least, inattentive ? It really seemed 
 so. Lydia, herself, had no doubt at all on the subject. " He 
 has ears and eyes only for Judith, now," she said to herself, 
 with a keen sense of mortification. Turning to Oswald, she 
 began to talk volubly. He was not indifferent. Far from
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 211 
 
 it. He listened eagerly, rejoicing in what he naturally con 
 strued as something more than mere friendliness. 
 
 An hour's run brought the boats to a small island on which 
 stood a serried growth of tall, straight pines. Here, the party 
 disembarked for luncheon. While awaiting the roasting of 
 oysters and other preparations, the company broke up into 
 groups and strolled along the beach or through the miniature 
 forest, thickly strewn with pine cones and needles, with 
 here and there a ragged stretch of coarse marsh grass and 
 myrtle bushes. 
 
 Lydia's face clouded when she saw Basil set out with Judith. 
 Without a word of apology, she turned abruptly from Oswald, 
 and hurried off to her father. The Colonel was busy giving 
 orders to a group of negroes about building a fire. " Aunt 
 Dinah" stood near at hand, waiting to roast a heap of 
 oysters that had just been taken from the water. With her 
 head thrown back and her arms akimbo, she was staring 
 mutinously at " Marse Jose," as Mr. Josias Plunkett was 
 called by the negroes, who had just given her minute in 
 structions on the subject. " Marse Jose " was a fastidious 
 epicure and considered himself an expert in cookery. He 
 had long been Dinah's pet aversion, because of his propen 
 sity for meddling in " de kitchen." As if he could teach her 
 anything! She sniffed at him now, contemptuously, and 
 but for " Ole Marster's " presence, would have voiced her 
 temper in language objurgatory and by no means choice. 
 As it was, she contented herself with muttering " Dat man's 
 a pes'. Phayroah's plagues kain't hold a candle ter him. 
 Some day, I'll pin a dishcloth to his coat-tails I boun' I 
 will ! " 
 
 Oswald was disconcerted at first by Lydia's sudden de 
 sertion of him. Had he offended her ? He could think of 
 nothing he had done. Besides, she would have taken issue 
 with him on the spot. She was too frank and outspoken to
 
 212 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 hide her displeasure. Most probably, something had sud 
 denly attracted her attention, and she had left him hastily, 
 without thinking to excuse herself. He was convinced that 
 this was the true explanation when, a moment later, she re 
 joined him and proposed, with an unembarrassed air, that 
 they take a stroll up the beach. 
 
 The fact was that, at the moment, he was little more than 
 a convenient makeshift to her. Her thoughts were busy 
 with Judith and Basil. What were they saying to each 
 other, as they wandered, yonder, through the hidden depths 
 of the wood? The episode in the canoe had brought 
 sharply home to her the idea that Basil did love her cousin. 
 Perhaps, he was telling her so ! She lent an inattentive ear 
 to Oswald who exerted himself industriously to entertain 
 her. Unconsciously, she had encouraged Oswald, of late, to 
 fancy that his father's notion that she might learn to care 
 for him in spite of his social disadvantages was not so im 
 probable as it had seemed. He was the more inclined to in 
 terpret her increasing cordiality towards him in this light 
 because of his deepening interest in her. The charm 
 she had exerted from the first grew stronger and stronger 
 with their growing intimacy. He had fully made up his 
 mind by this time that she was beautiful very beautiful 
 with a fascination that defied analysis, and for that reason, 
 perhaps, allured him the more. He did not hesitate to ad 
 mit to himself that he was in love. It was the first time, in 
 a long series of affairs, that he had been quite sure. He 
 had never been able to reconcile himself to the thought of 
 devoting himself to any one woman there were so many 
 who were charming. But with Lydia, it seemed to him, he 
 could be content. 
 
 A blast from a huge tin horn, blown with great energy by 
 Dinah, summoned the wanderers to luncheon. A cloth had 
 been spread on a bit of greensward in the shade of the pines.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 213 
 
 The guests seated themselves about it, and the meal began 
 amid a lively hum of voices. An eagle, poised high in air 
 above the spot, watched the proceedings with some curi 
 osity, no doubt, as to the meaning of so unaccustomed a 
 scene on the lonely little island which scarcely ever knew 
 any human occupant save an occasional fisherman. 
 
 The oysters proved to have been roasted " just right," and 
 many expressions of commendation were heard among the 
 guests. " Marse Jose" beamed with satisfaction, and several 
 times glanced complacently at the Colonel as though to 
 say, "It's all my work; what would you do without me, I 
 wonder ! " 
 
 The Colonel had never been in a brighter, more jovial 
 humour. He was, indeed, as usually happened on such 
 occasions, the life and soul of the feast. For each of his 
 guests, he had a pleasant word or two which seemed to have 
 a special appropriateness and value. His choicest jokes and 
 stories were produced in due succession, and he was always 
 on the alert to help any one who seemed at a loss in express 
 ing an idea with the words that were needed ; or, if it were 
 a desperate case, with a quotation, more or less pertinent 
 but always stimulating and reassuring, from one of his fa 
 vourite poets. 
 
 It had been the fashion in the Colonel's youth for young 
 gentlemen to commit verses to memory in order to be able to 
 touch a sentimental chord in the breast of some captivating 
 fair one at critical stages of a flirtation. Poetry was part of 
 the social equipment of every well-bred young planter, and 
 the Colonel had amassed quite a store of extracts from Pope, 
 Moore, Byron and others which now did duty in almost 
 every conceivable situation. It was really a privilege to see the 
 Colonel, with his hand on his heart, in the act of reciting in 
 sonorous voice and with great impressiveness to an abashed 
 but highly flattered young lady, or perhaps, a withered but
 
 214 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 still romantic old maid he was quite impartial in distributing 
 his attentions some couplet from " Lalla Rookh " or " Don 
 Juan." 
 
 After the luncheon, an hour or two was spent in talking, 
 card-playing and flirting in the shady nooks of the wood. 
 The company then re-embarked, and the boats started again 
 towards the mouth of the river. The wind was still favour 
 able and somewhat stronger, and the little vessels, with 
 their spread of canvas apparently out of all proportion to 
 their size, sped on at a brisker gait, dipping gracefully, now 
 and then, until their sails almost touched the water. The 
 sweet notes of a guitar, accompanying an old-fashioned air 
 from one of the boats, or the rich roll of a stirring chorus 
 blended not inharmoniously with the low humming of the wind 
 through the rigging and the swish of the water against the 
 sharp prows as they clove it, whirling long lines of foam to 
 each side. 
 
 It was nearly sunset when the outlet to the bay was 
 'reached. As the canoes swung round, in obedience to the 
 Colonel's order to put about, they faced a broad expanse of 
 water, bounded apparently by a curving line of green shore, 
 which seemed a lake of molten silver streaked with jets of 
 flame from the sunset blaze. The wind had fallen ; there 
 was only a gentle swell from the bay, and the heaving bosom 
 of the river showed a variety of tints like those of shot 
 silk from ruddy rose to lilac-gray. A fleet of oyster ves 
 sels, a mile or more away, had hoisted lights which twinkled 
 like fireflies in a soft blue haze. 
 
 As the wind was now dead ahead, the canoes were forced 
 to take long tacks, and their progress was slow. But no one 
 complained. Even Mr. Plunkett, impatient to get back to 
 the Manor for his evening pipe and game of chess, was 
 soothed into a more or less grudging acquiescence by the 
 soft, gliding motion through a balmy atmosphere radiant with
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 215 
 
 the magic beauty of sky and water at the close of a cloudless 
 day. At a bend in the river, a ruined windmill on a distant 
 bluff loomed suddenly forth against the sky, its crumbling 
 tower and great, blackened yards thrown into sharp relief 
 by a brilliant background of crimson and gold. At the base 
 of the bluff, groups of cattle stood knee-deep in water or 
 cropped the succulent marsh grass along the shore. A little 
 farther on, the canoes glided like phantoms past a gloomy 
 hollow shaded by a grove of rugged oaks which seemed to 
 brood in sympathy with the melancholy of the spot. 
 
 The moon had risen when the party reached the Manor. 
 Its amber light flooded the open spaces of the garden and 
 cast its sheltered recesses into denser shade. The old house 
 twinkled at every window with lights, and the merry notes of 
 a riddle greeted the returning guests with the strains of a jig. 
 The young people instinctively quickened their steps, and on 
 their arrival at the house, did but scant justice to the bounti 
 ful supper that awaited them, so eager were they for the 
 dance. The parlours had been thrown into one and lit up 
 brilliantly with wax candles in sconces on the walls. The 
 floor had been scrubbed and polished until it shone like a 
 mirror. 
 
 The Colonel opened the ball by leading out Judith. Ole 
 Miss followed next with Basil, her dark eyes shining with 
 genuine enjoyment. It was her habit always to dance the 
 first quadrille, and to remain throughout the festivities, keep 
 ing a watchful eye upon the proprieties as well as upon the 
 social exigencies of the occasion. There was no need of 
 chaperones with her at hand, and many a " wall-flower " 
 was grateful to her for harpooning a partner at a critical 
 moment. As for the young men, they were always ready to 
 do her bidding not because they liked it, but because it had 
 become second nature to them. They had been brought up 
 in the fear of Ole Miss, and disobedience would have seemed
 
 216 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 to them a kind of social enormity. The giddiest damsel was 
 more or less in awe of her, and the boldest flirtations with 
 ered swiftly under her gaze. 
 
 Oswald Reeve succeeded in anticipating half a dozen 
 young fellows who pressed forward eagerly to secure Lydia 
 for the dance, and bore her off, with a glow of triumph, to 
 their place in the set. She might have preferred some one 
 else, he argued, had she chosen ; it would have been easy 
 for her to find an excuse. It was clear she was not unwilling 
 to distinguish him thus publicly at a gathering of people of 
 her own class. He was not alone in this opinion. Basil 
 shared it, and the discomfited applicants grumbled among 
 themselves at Lydia's strange failure, as it seemed to them, 
 to recognise the superiority of their claims over even the 
 prior invitation of " old Reeve's " son. The fellow was get 
 ting above himself. True ; he had the Colonel's endorse 
 ment, but he ought to know enough to keep his dis 
 tance. 
 
 Oswald soon perceived the hostility he had excited, and 
 set to work cautiously to allay it. It would not do to make 
 enemies unnecessarily. He had had his moment of success, 
 and it had been very pleasant : he could afford to pay for 
 it with little courtesies which might go far towards strength 
 ening his position. For the greater part of the evening, he 
 devoted himself industriously to the young ladies who were 
 least sought after. Their mothers watched him with approv 
 ing eyes, and finally, pronounced judicially among themselves 
 in his favour. 
 
 " Who would ever have imagined him to be Reeve's 
 son ? " asked a haughty dame with four homely daughters 
 whom Oswald had led out, one after the other, for a dance. 
 " His manners are perfect. After all, his mother was a 
 Frisby ! " 
 
 From the lawn 'outside, a group of negroes watched the
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 217 
 
 scene indoors, their woolly heads clustered about the open 
 windows. It was one of their cherished privileges thus to 
 look on at a dance and comment, not always inaudibly, upon 
 the appearance of this or that individual or the various 
 episodes that excited their interest. 
 
 " Hit takes Ole Marster ter fling er foot ! " exclaimed 
 Aunt Sukey who had been a famous dancer in her youth 
 and was regarded as an authority on the subject. She made 
 the assertion in an oracular tone while the Colonel, with the 
 quaint flourishes of the old school, was executing an elabo 
 rate pas seul before his partner, preparatory to " turning 
 corners." 
 
 " Dat hit do, Aunt Suke," assented a young negro beau 
 who, however, affected a more modern style, " he monst'ous 
 limber, Ole Marster is, en' no mistake. But dat kind er 
 dancin's too old-timey. People don't fling dereselves roun' 
 regardlus now-er-days. Look at Marse Turlo, dah, steppin' 
 so nice en' easy en' quiet he's in de fashun." 
 
 " Marse Turlo ! " cried Aunt Sukey contemptuously. 
 " Go 'long, boy ! I don't call dat rale dancin' ; hit's only 
 jes' walkin' roun'." 
 
 The negro fiddlers presently struck up a livelier tune a 
 tune with which all the dusky spectators were familiar. One 
 of the latter, intoxicated by the seductive strains, began 
 to pat juba and to sing softly in accompaniment to the 
 violins. By degrees, the whole assemblage yielded to the 
 infection. A subdued hum, a rhythmic swaying of their 
 bodies testified to keen enjoyment of the melody. It was the 
 nearest approach to actual participation in the merriment 
 within which they might venture to permit themselves. 
 
 Basil Kent kept aloof from Lydia. Her manner towards 
 him, since their return, had been markedly cool and distant. 
 She seemed to be in high spirits, and he thought sadly that 
 his presence at her side would only serve to cast a damper
 
 2i8 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 upon her. He continued, therefore, to devote himself to 
 Judith whom he rescued several times from the assiduities 
 very tiresome to her of Turlo Cheston. Towards the 
 close of the evening, however, Basil went up to Lydia and 
 asked her for the next dance. He fancied she could scarcely 
 refuse him one dance, if only for old friendship's sake. 
 
 Lydia drew back with a hostile air. 
 
 " All my dances were engaged long ago," she said, 
 stiffly. 
 
 Basil turned from her hastily. It was evident she meant 
 to repulse him ; perhaps, to break with him definitely. He 
 was not to be permitted to approach her, even as a 
 friend. Why? Her manner towards Oswald seemed to 
 furnish an almost explicit answer. Oswald loved her that 
 was clear ; very probably she was interested in him. What 
 ever her feeling for Oswald might be, it was at least of 
 such a nature as to exclude him, Basil, from her favour. 
 How could he guess that she was piqued and seeking to 
 punish him for _his tardiness ? It would have seemed to 
 him absurd that she could be jealous of Judith. They 
 were merely friends. He was utterly unconscious that an 
 other meaning might be attached to their evident intimacy. 
 His love for Lydia was so supreme a fact to him a fact he 
 had made so plain to her and had not concealed from Judith 
 that the idea of being suspected of infidelity had not 
 occurred to him for a moment. Besides, he was used to 
 being believed, and Lydia, of all others, could never doubt 
 his word. Almost any other man would have seen his dan 
 ger ; he knew so little of women that he felt perfectly safe. 
 Instinctively, he drifted again to Judith who brightened at 
 his approach. He felt that she was sure to be kind to him. 
 He craved her sympathy ; there is no consolation sweeter to 
 a man rebuffed by one woman, than the tender graciousness 
 of another especially if she happen to be charming.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 219 
 
 There was a suspicious moisture in Lydia's eyes as they 
 followed him ; they were quivering with unshed tears. 
 
 " How quick he was to go back to Judith ! " she said to 
 herself, indignantly. "Of course, he asked me only because 
 he thought he must. If he had really wanted it, he wouldn't 
 have taken ' no,' but would have begged me a little 1 "
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 WHEN Lydia awoke next morning after a restless night, 
 she was vaguely conscious of impending trouble. She felt 
 a strange disinclination to get up, and was strongly tempted 
 to turn over in bed in the hope of going to sleep again. 
 What it was she had to face, she could not imagine, but 
 she shrank instinctively from beginning the day. Usually, 
 when she awoke, it was from the dreamless slumber of vigor 
 ous youth, with an eager desire to be up and doing. Surely, 
 life at the Manor had not lost its charm. Of course not ; she 
 was merely tired from dancing late into the night. The sun 
 had risen ; the rest of the household were astir ; she must not 
 loiter. With a sudden effort, she raised herself on one el 
 bow, thrust a small white foot out from the bedclothes, and 
 then fell back, irresolute, on her pillow. 
 
 Her head ached. She was even more tired than she had 
 thought. What a bother it would be to dress, even though 
 she had Chloe, her maid, to help her. She flung back the 
 tresses which had fallen in disorder about her warmly flushed 
 cheeks with a gesture of impatience at the thought of Chloe. 
 She did not want her ; her presence would only annoy her ; 
 she wished to be alone. Ordinarily, Chloe was most wel 
 come, for Lydia liked her to wait upon her, but to-day, she 
 was actually quivering with repugnance at the thought of her 
 intrusion. Chloe was sure to discover there was something 
 wrong with her. Perhaps, she would conceive some odious 
 idea. Lydia was half inclined to lock the door against her, 
 but before she could reach a decision, Chloe tapped lightly, 
 and without waiting for permission, entered the room. 
 
 Chloe was a pretty quadroon, slight and graceful, with del- 
 
 220
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 221 
 
 icate features, large, sloe-black eyes, a laughing mouth, and 
 a pure olive complexion warmly flushed with rose. She had 
 a shy, startled air that reminded one of some wild creature. 
 She had been Lydia's special attendant since their earliest 
 childhood, and was passionately fond of Young Miss. There 
 was a strong bond of sympathy between them in their im 
 patience of control and their common love of the woods, 
 the open air, the space and freedom of the fields which, in 
 Chloe, took the form of a passion for running off now and 
 then and wandering at will. The girl was known among 
 the slaves as " Runaway Chloe " from this propensity, which 
 had doubtless been inherited, her mother and grandmother 
 having exhibited the same trait which nothing could subdue. 
 It was not an uncommon trait among the negroes, and was 
 often distinctly marked in certain families. It did not seem 
 to be due so much to a desire to escape from bondage per 
 manently for it rarely happened that this particular class 
 of runaways continued their flight for any great distance 
 as to an uncontrollable thirst for temporary freedom and the 
 lawless life of the woods. It was often the case, as with 
 Chloe, that the fugitives fled from those they loved best. 
 Chloe, for example, was never so happy as when with Young 
 Miss, and yet, when the " fit," as the negroes called it, came 
 upon her, she forgot Young Miss completely, and was off, in 
 a flash, to the woods. As far back as she could remember, 
 Lydia had imagined she understood her, and had sympa 
 thised with her. As a tiny child, she had braved her grand 
 mother's wrath one day by releasing Chloe from a closet in 
 which Ole Miss had confined her in punishment for running 
 off, and ever after that, the grateful girl had been her willing 
 slave. 
 
 On entering the room, Chloe greeted Young Miss brightly, 
 and set at once about the preparations for her morning task. 
 The question was decided for her, Lydia said to herself
 
 222 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 she must get up. Springing out of bed, she hastened into an 
 adjoining room, where Chloe had made ready her customary 
 morning bath. The bath refreshed her ; she returned to 
 Chloe, bright and smiling. But, as the girl flitted about her, 
 deft and noiseless, she began to grow nervous and irritable. 
 Chloe annoyed her inexpressibly. Lydia bit her lip with 
 vexation, and tears started to her eyes. It was only by a 
 great effort that she compelled herself to sit down and sub 
 mit to Chloe 's light, skilful touch as she combed and ar 
 ranged her hair. Until now, she had always enjoyed this 
 process, which affected her with a drowsy sense of comfort, 
 but this morning, it seemed as if every muscle of her body 
 tingled with impatience. 
 
 Chloe lingered lovingly over her work. There was noth 
 ing she liked so well as to " fix " Young Miss's hair. It 
 was such beautiful hair so long, so thick, so fine, so rich in 
 colour. Lydia was seated near a window. A sunbeam, 
 stealing through the half-open shutter and touching the 
 wavy coil which Chloe was building up on the proudly poised 
 head with infinite care, imparted to it a warm, luminous tint. 
 Chloe uttered a soft sigh of admiration. She glanced down 
 at the lovely face, and a tender smile lit up her own charm 
 ing countenance. Her touch became, unconsciously, even 
 softer, more caressing. Young Miss was so beautiful! 
 Chloe's heart swelled with jealous love and pride. " No 
 man is good enough for her," she murmured beneath her 
 breath. A little wren hopped in at the open window from 
 his bower in a climbing rose that reached the eaves, and 
 perching himself on the sill, looked on at the scene with the 
 wisely critical but appreciative air of a connoisseur inspecting 
 a masterpiece. Chloe nodded at him gaily as though to say, 
 " You admire her, too ; you are a gentleman of taste, my 
 little man ! " 
 
 To Chief's amazement, Young Miss suddenly sprang to
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 223 
 
 her feet and pushed her away almost roughly, crying in a 
 vehement tone, " I can stand this no longer ; you worry me, 
 Chloe. Leave me leave me, I say, this instant. " 
 
 Bewildered at having been repulsed so rudely at the very 
 moment when her heart was overflowing with love for her 
 mistress, Chloe bowed her head humbly and without a word, 
 left the room. Outside the door, she burst into tears. 
 What could have come over Young Miss ? She had never 
 known her to act so strangely. 
 
 Lydia was quite as much perplexed. She knew she was 
 capricious, unreasonable, out of sorts, but why ? Was she 
 ill ? Absurd ! What, then, was the matter ? She looked 
 at herself gravely in the glass, as if to find an answer in 
 her face, and was startled by its look of pain. She was suf 
 fering from something that was obscure yet poignant ; some 
 thing that lay hidden deep within her, that seemed to be 
 gripping her very heart. What could it be ? It was Basil ! 
 The discovery flashed upon her suddenly, and with it, came 
 the vivid sense of her impressions of the previous day and 
 night. Even his old affection for her seemed dead. A few 
 weeks ago, she would merely have been sorry. Of course, it 
 would have been a great grief to her, but not this pain. Was it 
 because of a foolish jealousy of Judith, or something more ? 
 She looked hastily away from the mirror, dreading the gaze of 
 her own eyes. Ashamed of her weakness, she told herself, 
 angrily, she would cease to think of him. The effort actually 
 changed the current of her thoughts for the moment to 
 Chloe. She had been very rough with her. The poor 
 girl loved her, and she had driven her from her. No doubt, 
 she was suffering cruelly. She must find her at once and 
 beg her to forgive her. 
 
 Without waiting to complete her toilette, Lydia started off 
 instantly in search of Chloe. She was not to be found 
 in the house or the kitchen. Dinah informed her she
 
 224 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 had gone towards the dairy. Lydia hurriedly crossed the 
 kitchen yard and descended a rude stairway of stones to the 
 bottom of a ravine through which ran a tiny stream. This 
 fed the dairy, a small brick building with a paved area in 
 front, in one corner of which was a spring bricked up from 
 the bottom. On a three-legged stool beside the spring, sat 
 Cynthy, the dairy woman, smoking a corn-cob pipe, which 
 she instantly hid, at sight of Young Miss, in the ample folds 
 of her striped cotton gown. Cynthy was an inveterate 
 smoker in secret, but she was ashamed of the habit, and 
 would never permit herself to be caught in the act by any 
 of the " fam'ly, " if she could help it. 
 
 Lydia nodded a curt good-morning in reponse to her 
 salaam, and hurrying into the dairy, found Chloe busy 
 printing butter. With her sleeves rolled up, displaying a 
 pair of shapely, dimpled arms, she was in the act of pat 
 ting a ladle-full of butter into proper shape on the wooden 
 print which bore the Manor emblem a sheaf of wheat. 
 
 Lydia's sudden entrance startled Chloe. The latter im 
 agined Young Miss was still angry with her, and had fol 
 lowed her with some unfriendly intention. Lydia's evident 
 excitement helped to strengthen Chloe's conviction. In her 
 distress and agitation, she let the butter print and paddle 
 fall to the floor, and clasped her hands with a gesture of 
 appeal. 
 
 " I didn't mean to be awk'ard, little Mistus," she ex 
 claimed, imploringly. " Don't scold me no mo' ; I can't 
 bear it iromyou." 
 
 11 1 haven't come to scold you, you goose, but to ask your 
 pardon," said Lydia quickly. She was anxious to get 
 through with her task as soon as possible. It was anything 
 but pleasant. She hated to apologise to any one, and Chloe 
 was her maid. There was the pride of race as well as 
 of class underlying her repugnance. She was a faulty
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 225 
 
 young creature at best, and of all her defects, her pride 
 which had no real vanity in it, was perhaps the most deeply 
 rooted, the most ebullient. Her look was almost fierce, and 
 Chloe grew really frightened. There was no telling what 
 Young Miss mightn't do. 
 
 " Well, " cried Lydia imperiously, with a stamp of her foot, 
 " are you going to forgive me or not ? Must I stand here 
 all day ? " 
 
 " If if you really want me," stammered Chloe, " I'll do 
 anything you say, little Mistus. But it ain't worth while 
 axin' pardin uv me." 
 
 " But I do ask you ! " 
 
 Chloe's face brightened ; she was beginning to perceive 
 that Lydia was repentant and meant what she said. 
 
 " I know'd you didn't mean to hurt me," she murmured, 
 softly. 
 
 " Then you forgive me ? Thank you, Chloe." 
 
 She turned sharply on her heel as she spoke, and hastened 
 back to her room. She was in a kind of fever. Now that 
 she had finished with Chloe, she fell to questioning herself 
 again, and try as she would to banish him from her thoughts, 
 she could not help reverting to the change in Basil. Per 
 haps, it was her own fault. It was barely possible she had 
 discouraged him by her coldness. It might even be that she 
 had driven him to seek sympathy of Judith. Could she 
 call him back to her ? There must be something left of the 
 feeling he had professed that day at the spring. What if 
 she made some slight advances ? They had often had their 
 little tiffs, and she had never hesitated to offer to " make 
 up " when she felt herself to be in the wrong. It was dif 
 ferent, now, and her pride rebelled at the thought of seem 
 ing to contend with Judith for him. And yet 
 
 Well, it would do no harm to ask him to escort her to a 
 fox hunt to which they were invited for the following day. 
 15
 
 226 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Acting on the impulse without much reflection, she sat 
 down and penned him a hasty note. It was brief and rather 
 cool. There was nothing in it, she argued, that committed 
 her, and yet, if he accepted, there would be at least an oppor 
 tunity for her to hint to him she was not really obdurate 
 provided he showed the least inclination to be friends again. 
 It all depended on him. " He can't expect me to go down 
 on my knees to him," she said, with a haughty toss of her 
 head, half repenting her invitation. 
 
 Her note found Basil plunged in gloom. He had gone 
 home disheartened. He might have known it ; what was he 
 compared with Oswald ? He must face the reality he had 
 dreaded. But when he read her summons, his spirits rose. 
 She cared a little for him still. Reflection soon sobered 
 him. Lydia was generous ; very probably, she felt some 
 compunction for her harshness of the night before, and was 
 seeking to atone for it. Doubtless, this was all. His mod 
 esty made him a stubborn pessimist ; he could not have 
 believed it possible that happiness was more nearly within 
 his reach than it had ever been before. 
 
 The sun had just risen when he reached the Manor next 
 morning. Lydia was on the front verandah, awaiting him. 
 Her horse, Knight, had already been brought from the 
 stable. He was standing at the edge of the verandah, 
 ready for her to mount. Every now and then, he looked 
 round at her eagerly, champing his bit, as if asking why 
 they didn't start. 
 
 Lydia greeted Basil rather negligently ; she was anxious 
 not to show him too much favour. There was even a touch 
 of hostility, Basil fancied, in her manner as she stood lean 
 ing, with careless grace, against one of the verandah pillars ; 
 her eyes gleamed threateningly from beneath the peaked 
 vizor of her riding cap. 
 
 Basil helped her to mount, and they set off in a canter.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 227 
 
 For several miles, they exchanged scarcely more than half a 
 dozen words. Each laid the blame upon the other. " He 
 doesn't care to talk to me," said Lydia to herself, bitterly. 
 " He'd be glib enough with Judith." " If I were Oswald," 
 thought Basil, " she would be rattling along gaily." The 
 two were wholly at cross-purposes ; each was held in check 
 by a growing conviction of the other's indifference. Instead 
 of closing, the rift between them was widening through the 
 very means Lydia had employed in the hope of winning 
 Basil back to her. " I might have spared myself my pains," 
 she said, beneath her breath, with an angry glance at him. 
 His silence mortified her ; apparently, he hadn't the least 
 desire to please her. It was clear to Basil, on the other 
 hand, that her summons meant nothing more than a grudg 
 ing effort to make amends. 
 
 Both of them felt relieved when they reached the rendez 
 vous for the hunt the residence, some five miles distant, of 
 Captain Montgomery Bludsoe, a noted fox-hunter. Judith, 
 attended by Turlo, had already arrived, and the party was 
 now complete. Grouped together in the middle of the front 
 lawn, the company awaited the word from the Captain who 
 officiated, by common consent, as master of the hunt. The 
 mounts were all blooded animals of famous hunting stock. 
 A pack of hounds, held in leash by an old negro, were leaping 
 and yelping joyously in anticipation of the sport. 
 
 Captain Bludsoe was a ruddy, grizzled old fellow of great 
 stature and proportionate bulk. Seated on a raw-boned but 
 powerful sorrel mare, he rode from point to point, giving 
 orders in loud, curt tones to half a dozen negroes who 
 were busy with the preparations for the start examining 
 bridles, tightening girths, testing stirrup straps so that there 
 should be no mishaps to the riders during the hunt. The 
 Captain's appearance and get-up were in keeping with the 
 general aspect of his home that is to say, decidedly batter-
 
 228 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 ed and down at the heel. His dress was rough and careless ; 
 his manners quite as much so except when he addressed a 
 lady. Towards the fair sex, he was always clumsily def 
 erential, and the oaths with which, even in their presence, 
 he could not refrain from interlarding his remarks, were the 
 choicest in his vocabulary. 
 
 The house in which he had kept bachelor's hall for at 
 least half a century, was a dilapidated wooden structure, 
 originally painted yellow, but now a dingy gray. The lawn 
 was a dismal waste, overgrown with briars and weeds. The 
 entire estate had a forlorn, uncared-for appearance, and the 
 name the Captain had bestowed upon it " Mount Misery " 
 seemed not inappropriate. In point of fact, however, 
 there was no jollier, more hospitable establishment in the 
 neighbourhood. The Captain kept open house for his friends, 
 and the neglected condition of the place was due to his 
 passionate absorption in the pleasures of the chase ; of cock- 
 fighting, horse-racing, card-playing and kindred diversions. 
 In his younger days, he had been a noted duellist, and even 
 now, though verging upon seventy years of age, he would 
 have "gone out " upon the smallest provocation. 
 
 The Captain at length gave the word, and hounds and 
 horses started off together. On reaching a wood which 
 skirted the edge of the cultivated land, the hounds scented 
 a fox, and soon, the silent arches of the forest rang with 
 their baying. The fox, hard pressed, abandoned the wood 
 and made for the open towards the river where he had his 
 earth in the face of a bluff. Following close behind him, 
 his pursuers found themselves in one of the pasture fields 
 of the Manor. Except for a fence, there was an unbroken 
 stretch before them to the river bank. Basil and Oswald 
 had now gone to the front, neck and neck, with Lydia not 
 far behind. The rest of the party were some distance away, 
 strung out for a quarter of a mile or more. Basil and
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 229 
 
 Oswald soon gained on Lydia who pulled in Knight, wish 
 ing to leave them the finish. It was a close race be 
 tween them. First one, then the other was slightly ahead. 
 Suddenly, the fence rose before them. It was a high 
 worm fence with a deep ditch on the farther side. In 
 stinctively, Oswald checked his horse ; he took it for 
 granted Basil would halt to remove a rail or two the leap 
 was too dangerous. But Basil's blood was up. The excite 
 ment of the chase had roused in him a spirit of recklessness 
 against which he had been struggling ever since he had 
 begun to fear that Lydia was learning to care for Oswald. 
 It was foolish, of course, but he could not repress a fierce 
 desire to beat Oswald. The fire that burned beneath his 
 usually quiet demeanour burst forth in a flame. His face 
 was alight with eagerness ; his gray eyes gleamed. He took 
 the leap without pausing, and landed safe on the other side. 
 In a moment, he had left Oswald hopelessly behind. 
 
 Oswald fancied Lydia was still near at hand ; he did not 
 wish her to think him timid. What Basil had done, he could 
 do. Putting spurs to his horse, he braced himself for the 
 spring. The gallant brute responded grandly, but he had 
 lost his momentum. His heels just failed to clear the 
 top rail, and stumbling, he tumbled headlong into the 
 ditch, breaking his neck and burying his rider beneath 
 him. 
 
 Basil continued on his way, ignorant that Oswald had at 
 tempted to follow. He succeeded in capturing the fox and 
 turned back in triumph yet somewhat ashamed of himself 
 for having yielded to what he now felt to be a hasty impulse, 
 a bit of rashness that might have resulted in disaster. On 
 nearing the fence, he found the whole party assembled in a 
 group about a figure lying prone on the grass. Greatly 
 alarmed, he urged his tired horse into a gallop, and coming 
 up, saw that the fallen rider was Oswald. One of the hunts-
 
 230 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 men, a physician, was bending over him with a grave, 
 anxious air. 
 
 " Two ribs broken," he said, "there seems, also, to be 
 a serious fracture of the leg, and he may be hurt inter 
 nally." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " murmured a low voice, almost at Basil's 
 elbow. He looked round quickly, and saw Lydia gazing 
 down at Oswald. She was very pale, and tears glistened in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " She loves him ! " Basil said to himself, with a groan.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 WHEN Oswald recovered consciousness, he found himself 
 in one of the guest chambers at the Manor. The physician 
 was at his bedside waiting to question him. Near by, stood 
 the Colonel, his kindly face clouded ; he feared the worst 
 for his prote'ge. It was too bad so fine a young fellow 
 should be smashed up in this way. But Oswald's answers 
 to the surgeon's interrogatories were reassuring, and the 
 Colonel's face brightened as the Doctor exclaimed, 
 
 " You have got off better than I hoped. With good luck 
 and good nursing, you'll pull through all right." 
 
 " I can promise him good nursing," said the Colonel 
 cheerily, " my mother's a famous hand at that, as you know, 
 Doctor. We mean to keep you here," he added, with a nod 
 to Oswald, " until you are strong enough for another hunt. 
 But no more leaps like that." 
 
 Oswald flushed with pleasure. How delightful to be an 
 invalid here near Lydia all the time ; the object, doubtless, 
 of solicitous interest on her part, with many opportunities 
 for seeing her alone ! The accident was really a piece of 
 luck. He could well afford a few broken bones in exchange 
 for the rare good fortune of living for a month or more on 
 terms of intimacy at the Manor. 
 
 Weeks passed, by no means tediously, with punctual min 
 istrations by Ole Miss, frequent visits from the Colonel, 
 Mr. Plunkett and Turlo, and a daily message of inquiry from 
 Lydia. At last, Oswald grew strong enough to hobble about 
 the house and grounds with the aid of a cane. Lydia, re 
 membering his conduct on the steamer, devoted herself to 
 him assiduously. Basil, who called frequently to assure 
 
 231
 
 232 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 himself of Oswald's continued improvement, found in her 
 untiring attentions strong confirmation of his fears. Judith 
 encouraged his delusion. Her manner towards him was 
 tenderly sympathetic, as though she wished to condole with 
 him. To Lydia, she always spoke of Basil with a cool air 
 of appropriation, as if he now belonged exclusively to her. 
 Lydia was disheartened, and suffered from a keen sense of 
 inferiority. It was not Judith's beauty, nor her charm of 
 manner, nor even the tact with which she managed Basil 
 that made her seem to Lydia so formidable. These were 
 dangerous enough, to be sure, but they were weapons she 
 might hope to parry. What troubled her most of all was 
 the fact that Judith knew so much more than she did, and 
 could talk to Basil of an infinite variety of things of which 
 she, Lydia, had scarcely even heard. She was not only 
 clever, but, to Lydia's mind, an adept in kinds of knowledge 
 which, she fancied, would appeal most strongly to him. 
 Basil had always been a good deal more studious than she 
 liked; she had often teased him to leave a book. Of 
 course, when he and Judith set off on one of their intellec 
 tual excursions together, he was in the seventh heaven ! 
 And she was left behind, smarting with a bitter sense of ex 
 clusion. What wonder Basil preferred Judith to her ? How 
 ignorant, how stupid she must seem to him, now 1 
 
 " And yet, I don't think I am naturally a dunce," said the 
 poor child to herself with a spark of her old pride which had 
 greatly diminished of late. 
 
 With the hope of raising herself from so ignominious a 
 state, she appealed to Miss Twiggs to assist her in a course 
 of reading. Nothing could have been more agreeable to 
 that conscientious person who was distressed at finding so 
 little to do. At Lydia's suggestion, they began with Shake 
 speare's plays. She had noticed that Judith was very 
 strong in Shakespeare. In the course of her education
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 233 
 
 as an actress, Judith had studied Shakespearian roles, but 
 Lydia, of course, had no suspicion of this fact. 
 
 Lydia found it terribly hard work at first. The narrative 
 interested her deeply, but the definitions of words, the 
 analyses of sentences to which Miss Twiggs held her relent 
 lessly were so tedious. " I feel," she declared one day, "as 
 if I were pulling a beautiful flower to pieces." There were 
 times when the task became almost insupportable ; when 
 she could scarcely resist the impulse to fling down her book 
 and start off for a gallop on Knight or a ramble in the 
 fragrant woods. A bit of blue sky seen from her window, 
 the song of a bird, the music of the wind in the trees any 
 one of a hundred sights and sounds inviting her forth filled 
 her with a wild longing to escape the self-imposed drudgery, 
 but she always set her little teeth hard together and contin 
 ued to peg away, doggedly bent on catching up with Judith 
 in Shakespeare, at least. But it was dreadfully tire 
 some and slow. Would she ever catch up ? 
 
 Lydia's attentions greatly stimulated Oswald's hopes for 
 a time. He discovered at last, however, that he had made 
 little if any progress with her beyond a merely friendly re 
 lation. She continued to be most kind and solicitous of his 
 comfort, reading or chatting with him under the trees by 
 the hour and playing checkers, chess or backgammon with 
 exemplary patience. Oswald found it delightful to be min 
 istered to and amused by her, but her very friendliness, free 
 from all embarrassment or reserve, acted as a check upon 
 him. He began to fear that she thought of him only as a 
 pleasant companion. 
 
 There was a change, too, in her manner that caused him 
 serious uneasiness. The gay impetuousness, which had 
 been so marked a characteristic of her bearing in the earlier 
 days of their acquaintance, had vanished. She had become 
 strangely gentle and subdued. At times, he even imagined
 
 234 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 she was sad she who had been so gay and laughter-loving 
 and once or twice, he was almost sure that her eyes were 
 wet with tears. What had caused the change ? An inci 
 dent of the closing days of his stay supplied an unlooked- 
 for answer to his question. 
 
 Oswald had some literary taste, of the dilettante kind, and 
 was particularly fond of delving among old records and 
 family papers. No occupation had a greater charm for 
 him than that of building up, bit by bit, from material 
 obtained in this way, a picture of the long-buried past. The 
 Colonel, discovering his penchant, suggested that there 
 might be much to interest him in the " lumber room " in 
 the garret, where a quantity of old documents were stored. 
 Oswald found the " lumber room " a fascinating spot, and 
 fell into the habit of spending an hour or two there every day. 
 
 It was a very large room, covering nearly the entire floor 
 space of the main building. The steeply slanting roof 
 showed its rafters and the sheathing of shingles untouched 
 by paint. The large dormer windows looked out upon a 
 zigzag line of roofs, thickly coated with moss, and upon 
 chimneys of various heights and dimensions. Huge locust 
 trees waved their scraggy branches almost against the win 
 dow panes, and Lombardy poplars reared their shining green 
 leafage above the tallest of the chimneys. A circular win 
 dow in the front gable commanded a view of the lane, with its 
 avenue of elms ; a square window, at the opposite end of 
 the room, afforded glimpses of the garden, the Quarter, the 
 overseer's house, with the cove in the distance. 
 
 Oswald seated himself one afternoon in an old armchair 
 of colonial pattern, upholstered in faded red velvet, in one of 
 the dormer recesses, and was soon absorbed in examining a 
 package of letters which revealed a touching romance of the 
 Cheston family during the Protestant Revolution of 1689. 
 The floor in front of him was strewn with a great variety of
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 235 
 
 objects bits of rare China ; broken articles of furniture ; 
 old, worm-eaten books ; piles of yellow title-deeds, mortgages, 
 letters ; heaps of laces, silks and velvets, the remains of 
 clothing which had adorned the person of some beau or 
 belle of the family in olden days. From rusty nails driven 
 into one of the rafters, hung three suits of military uniform, 
 each representing a period of army service. One of them 
 was the scarlet and buff of the Maryland " macaronis " dur 
 ing the Revolution. Another was the militia colonel's regi 
 mentals worn by our Colonel's father, the Judge, in the War 
 of 1812. The third, of much more modern pattern, was the 
 dragoon suit which the Colonel himself had donned upon 
 his promotion to a captaincy at the close of the last cam 
 paign against Osceola, the noted Seminole chief. 
 
 There was scarcely an object in the room which did not 
 possess some interest for Oswald in the associations it 
 suggested. The silks and velvets and laces, for example, 
 called up vividly the scenes of colonial times the stately 
 minuets in the parlours downstairs ; the formal water parties 
 in large bateaux, propelled by negro oarsmen, which were 
 also used in making visits of ceremony at neighbouring plan 
 tations ; the foppish audiences in the tiny theatre of quaint 
 old Annapolis, the provincial capital, which was visited fre 
 quently by strolling players ; the groups of brilliant youths 
 and maidens moving with slow, measured tread over the 
 lawn or along the shady, fragrant paths of the garden. But 
 the chief interest for him lay in the collection of letters, and 
 as he slowly deciphered the faded characters which told the 
 romance upon which he had stumbled, he was brought close 
 in sympathy to the poor ghosts who, in the flesh, had traced 
 the lines which had secured to them a chance resurrection. 
 How plainly they were brought to life again by their un 
 conscious disclosures 1 A single sentence, in some instances, 
 presented an individuality with all its distinguishing traits
 
 236 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 its weaknesses, its faults, its prejudices, or perhaps, its worthy, 
 lovable qualities in clear outline. So real were some of 
 the images, limned with a naively graphic power, that 
 Oswald almost fancied he could see the originals before 
 him. He drifted away into a state of abstraction, and at 
 a slight noise in a distant part of the room, started nerv 
 ously, as though a ghostly hand had touched him. 
 
 Glancing round, he beheld, not a ghost, but Lydia stand 
 ing at the gable window which looked down upon the gar 
 den. Evidently, she had not seen him. Seated in the re 
 cess, he was concealed from anyone entering the room. 
 Oswald rose, intending to make his presence known. As he 
 did so, he was startled by a sob. He advanced towards 
 her slowly, thinking to give her time to hide the traces of 
 her tears. At the sound of his footsteps, Lydia turned 
 hastily, making no effort to conceal the fact that she was 
 weeping. In her eyes, there was a gleam of joy, as of sun 
 shine struggling through a cloud. The moment she saw 
 Oswald, the light died out of them, and she hung her head 
 with a look of acute disappointment. 
 
 " Oh it is you, Mr. Reeve ? " she murmured, scarcely know 
 ing what she said, " I thought it was Basil." 
 
 Oswald halted abruptly, and stood gazing at her with a 
 look of blank consternation. Her words, interpreting her 
 sudden change of countenance, threw a vivid light on the 
 situation. It was impossible for him to mistake their mean 
 ing. He knew, as well as if she had told him, that she 
 would have welcomed Basil in a manner very different from 
 her greeting to him. When she had looked around, it had 
 been in the eager confidence that he was Basil : her evident 
 disappointment was a crushing blow to his hopes. Why 
 had she mistaken him for Basil ? Could it be that she had 
 expected to meet Basil here, and had burst into tears be 
 cause he had failed to keep the appointment ?
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 237 
 
 Oswald, of course, could not guess that Lydia had come 
 to the " lumber room " merely because it was associated in 
 her mind with pleasant memories of Basil. Here, as a child, 
 she had spent many a happy hour with him, rummaging 
 among the contents of the trunks or reading the old let 
 ters and weaving quaint fancies out of them. The very 
 atmosphere of the garret recalled to her delightful im 
 pressions during the hours they had thus spent together. 
 The close, musty, yet not unpleasant smell of the place ; 
 the sunbeams which fell athwart the rafters in golden 
 shafts which sparkled with tiny particles of dust ; the bees 
 and wasps buzzing against the window panes ; the swallows 
 flitting about the chimneys outside all helped to bring the 
 past before her in a mellower light and to intensify the 
 vague, undefinable romance of her associations with the 
 spot. The feeling that, perhaps, it was all ended; that 
 Basil was no longer a factor in her life ; that he had ceased 
 to take any interest in her, affected her with a keener sense 
 of pain. A convulsive tremor shook her ; her eyes were 
 suddenly flooded with tears. 
 
 On hearing Oswald move from his post, her heart had 
 throbbed wildly from the conviction that Basil must have 
 followed her from the hall where she had left him talking 
 with Judith. Why should he leave Judith and follow her, 
 especially to this spot so dear to both of them once, if not 
 to say something to her in which Judith had no part ? Could 
 it be that he still thought of her, after all ? It was a rude 
 awakening when she recognised Oswald, whose frequent 
 visits to the " lumber room " she had quite forgotten. She 
 stood with bowed head, ashamed of having shown her 
 secret distress to him. She was spared the greater pain of 
 knowing that he suspected its cause. 
 
 Oswald murmured some lame excuse, and hurried from 
 the room. Evidently, she cared for Basil, but was her grief
 
 238 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 due to love or merely to wounded affection and pique ? 
 Of course, she was jealous of Judith. Oswald had seen 
 that clearly enough for some days. No doubt, that was the 
 reason she had turned to him. What an idiot he had been ! 
 But not half such an idiot as Basil. What could the fellow 
 be thinking of to spend so much of his time with Judith ? 
 He had watched him closely, hoping to find that he had lost 
 his heart to her. Nothing of the kind ; there was never a 
 symptom of love. When Lydia came near him, passion 
 leaped into his eyes. How simple of Basil to imagine that 
 he and Judith could be such friends without exciting Lydia's 
 resentment. And Judith herself did he think he was 
 going to escape from her unscathed ? Oswald knew her 
 type ; she was sure to make things lively for Basil, some 
 day. Perhaps, she had consciously irritated Lydia women 
 had a way of doing such things and made her fancy she 
 was more interested in Basil than she really was. Well, it 
 was in his power to learn the state of her heart. He 
 had but to force from Basil an avowal of the political opinions 
 which his father attributed to him. That would be a con 
 clusive test. If Lydia did not love him, she would break 
 with him at once. If she did love him, she would condone 
 his offence, for it would be a very grave offence in her eyes 
 to array himself on the other side. Her political prejudices, 
 as Oswald had learned, were as intense as his father had 
 asserted, and when a woman's prejudices are silent, her 
 passion speaks. In any event, he would discredit Basil 
 with her family ; if his father was not mistaken, he might 
 make it impossible for her, even if she loved him, to have 
 any further intercourse with him. 
 
 Yes, he must sacrifice Basil. There was no hope for him 
 so long as she was free to indulge even her affection for her 
 old companion. He must drive Basil wholly from the range 
 of her sympathy, her interest. It was possible she would
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 239 
 
 then listen to him. He was as keenly conscious as at first 
 of the meanness of such conduct towards the friend who was- 
 still kind to him, who of late, as formerly at college, had 
 helped him socially ; but had it been infamous instead of 
 merely ungrateful and shabby, he would, perhaps, have per 
 sisted in it. He loved this girl with a passion that surprised 
 him. All the artificialities of thought and feeling which he 
 had cultivated so sedulously disappeared in her presence, 
 and he felt the impulses only of the natural man. The coat 
 ing of gentility had peeled off utterly ; he stood revealed to 
 himself as his father's son might be expected to be, a man 
 to whom nothing not gratitude, nor honour, nor even love 
 itself appealed so strongly as desire.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 OSWALD'S father was bitterly chagrined when he learned of 
 the episode in the garret. He had been a daily visitor at 
 the Manor since the accident, and of late, had grown very 
 confident as to Lydia's feeling for Oswald. He often saw 
 them together, and her manner towards Oswald seemed to the 
 observant lawyer, skilled in reading human motives and im 
 pulses, to be distinctly encouraging. Even more significant, 
 to his mind, was her treatment of himself. She was no 
 longer cold and formal as she had always been, to his great 
 annoyance, but friendly, kind and almost cordial, just as 
 though she had come to regard him in the light of a prob 
 able father-in-law. He often exulted in the thought that he 
 might soon be able to call the capricious little aristocrat, who 
 held her head so high and yet could be so sweet and gracious, 
 his daughter. What a triumph to be able to say to her, " My 
 dear, I own the Manor ; it is my wedding present to you and 
 Oswald ! " He had never been so hopeful of reaching his 
 goal. The Colonel, as well as Lydia, was kind to him. His 
 manner was no longer patronising ; for the first time in their 
 intercourse, he treated him as his equal. How could he 
 guess that Oswald's misfortune had leveled distinctions for 
 both the Colonel and his daughter; that they were con 
 siderate of him merely for his son's sake ? It was a delight 
 to him to be at the Manor, to look about him with the sense 
 of coming proprietorship, to feel that he would soon be vir 
 tually master there. 
 
 At first, he insisted that Oswald must be mistaken ; it 
 wasn't possible Lydia preferred so dull a fellow as Basil. 
 
 240
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 241 
 
 When, at length, he was forced to yield to his son's reason 
 ing and admit that there might be something in it, he began 
 to feel vicious. Had she been trifling with him all this time ? 
 It was intolerable to think she might have been merely mock 
 ing him and laughing in her sleeve. And yet, it would be 
 only what her class had always done. He had so often been 
 their butt when they were not using him. He would show 
 her his power ! If she really cared for Basil, so much the 
 worse for her. Unless his shrewdness was utterly at fault, 
 he would raise a barrier between them which even love 
 could not overstep. He would compromise Basil in the 
 eyes of her family, of her friends, and even in her own eyes. 
 His apostasy, as she would regard it, meant ineffable dis 
 grace. It would make her love, if it existed, a cause of re 
 proach and pain. She would never be able to think of Basil 
 save with shame at her weakness. 
 
 A more urgent motive strengthened his purpose. It was 
 of the first importance to him, pecuniarily, to prevent Basil 
 from marrying the Colonel's daughter. If he became the 
 Colonel's son-in-law, Basil would undoubtedly look closely 
 into the Manor affairs, and that meant the discovery of the 
 lawyer's long series of peculations. Exposure would not 
 only render him liable for a large amount of money, but 
 would ruin him in the community. Other doubtful transac 
 tions might be brought to light, and criminal proceedings, 
 even, might be instituted against him. Breaches of trust, 
 spoliation of widows and orphans, sharp practices on unsus 
 picious clients are things that may be covered up by success 
 but are apt to crop out inconveniently when suspicion is once 
 excited. Reeve had never thought of Basil as a possible ob 
 stacle in his designs upon the Manor ; he had been accus 
 tomed to consider him harmless inasmuch as, during all 
 these years, he had never caused him any trouble with the 
 Colonel. He was a new element in his problem, and one 
 16
 
 242 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 that must be eliminated at any cost. It was a matter of self- 
 preservation, perhaps, to suppress him at once. 
 
 The opportunity only was lacking, and this was soon pro 
 vided by a dinner which the Colonel gave to some of the 
 officers of his battalion of militia. Thus far, the battalion 
 had not played the part in the contest which, for nearly 
 three months, had been raging between the North and the 
 South, that the Colonel had hoped for. Tidewater Maryland 
 was remote from the theatre of military operations ; it was 
 only along the Potomac that any glimpses of the struggle 
 were obtained, and these were not of actual conflicts but 
 merely of the movements of troops. The upland region of the 
 State was destined to be the scene of sanguinary battle, but 
 almost the whole of the Tidewater region remained undis 
 turbed by more than the dull reverberation of war. Apart 
 from all the excitement, the bustle, the fury of men in the 
 death-grip of bloody combat on its borders, it preserved its 
 characteristic quiet ruffled only by the alternating hopes and 
 fears of those who were roused to active interest in the 
 struggle. Men who shared the Colonel's prejudices and 
 felt the flame of enthusiasm grew impatient. They could 
 do nothing here ; their hands were tied. The movement to 
 take Maryland out of the Union had failed ; every corner 
 of the State was occupied by Northern troops. Why not go 
 South and help their brethren there ? Perhaps, if the Con 
 federacy triumphed, Maryland might yet be torn from the 
 stubborn grasp of the North. One by one, at first, and 
 then in groups, the members of the battalion dropped out of 
 its ranks, and made their way clandestinely across the Po 
 tomac. It was necessary to keep their destination secret in 
 order to avoid arrest and perhaps long imprisonment by the 
 Union authorities. From many points along the Chesapeake, 
 surreptitious communication with the Confederate lines was 
 maintained by means of craft professedly engaged in the
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 243 
 
 innocent occupation of fishing or carrying grain. There was 
 an element of mystery and danger in " going South " which, 
 of itself, attracted adventurous spirits. In a little while, the 
 migration had become general, and at last, but a remnant of 
 the Colonel's command was left. It was high time, in his 
 opinion, to formally disband. A dinner to those of his of 
 ficers who remained seemed to him the most practicable and 
 fitting means of effecting this and wishing them all god 
 speed. It was no longer safe to hold open meetings; the 
 whole battalion was the object of well-founded suspicion on 
 the part of the " Yankee " commander of the neighbourhood 
 who showed an unpleasant eagerness to nab Southern sym 
 pathisers. 
 
 The Colonel had meant to be among the first to leave. 
 He had known Lee and " Joe " Johnston as cadets at West 
 Point, and either of those generals would recommend him 
 for a good command. But his affairs must be set in order, 
 and when this was done to his satisfaction, he encountered 
 the stubborn opposition of his wife. Mrs. Cheston went 
 into a fit of hysterics when he broached the subject, and 
 for some days, she lay desperately ill. When she recovered, 
 she pleaded with him so pitifully not to leave her that the 
 Colonel was at his wits' end. She gave him no peace until 
 he promised not to go without her consent, and he was 
 forced to see his battalion melt away while he remained in 
 active at home. 
 
 The dinner was one of the most ambitious entertainments 
 that had ever been given at the Manor, and Aunt Dinah 
 surpassed all previous achievements of her art as a cook. 
 While waiting for dinner to be announced, the guests strolled 
 about on the lawn or along the paths of the garden, or sat 
 in the shade of the larger trees, sipping juleps and toddies 
 and discussing the latest war news, the weather and the crops. 
 On a table on the front verandah, stood a huge bowl of
 
 244 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 whisky punch which Mr. Plunkett had mixed, and hospitably 
 urged every one to taste, setting the example himself rather 
 oftener than was judicious. 
 
 It was a delightful summer afternoon, cool and fresh, with 
 a fine breeze from the river. The declining sun, glinting on 
 the lichen-covered boles of the ancient elms and lindens, im 
 parted to them a softness of texture like that of velvet. In 
 a near-by field, the wheat was being reaped, and now and 
 then, there broke in upon the hum of conversation on the 
 lawn a mellow chant from the negro cradlers, some twenty 
 in all, as, moving with even step, they swept the ripened 
 grain with a single flash of their blades. 
 
 It was nearly sunset when the dinner began. The shutters 
 of the dining-room had been closed, and the large apartment, 
 wainscoted in oak, was lit up with candles in large cande 
 labra of solid silver, said to be of Queen Anne's time, which 
 were placed at intervals along the centre and at the four 
 corners of the table. On the snowy damask, glittered a fine 
 array of old India china, cut-glass and silver the latter of 
 many ancient patterns. Half a dozen negro urchins stood 
 at certain distances apart, waving long brushes of peacock 
 feathers to drive off flies. The major domo, Pompey, suave 
 and deft, stood at the Colonel's elbow ready to respond in a 
 moment to the slightest word or gesture of his master, 
 keeping a close watch, all the while, on his staff of 
 waiters. 
 
 The Colonel sat at one end of the table, Mr. Plunkett at the 
 other. The latter might have been mistaken for the host, if 
 conclusions were drawn from his manner, which was one of 
 great dignity and self-importance. He flattered himself, 
 indeed, that he did the honours on such occasions with 
 much greater impressiveness and tact than his brother-in-law. 
 The Colonel always submitted amiably to his petty usur 
 pations. They seemed to afford him so much enjoyment
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 245 
 
 and detracted nothing, in the Colonel's opinion, from his 
 own dignity. Everybody knew Josias. 
 
 The absence of monied distinctions in Tidewater society 
 was strongly emphasised in the appearance of some of the 
 Colonel's guests. With the exception of Reeve and his son, 
 all of them belonged by right of birth to the plantation 
 caste, but a stranger might have doubted their pretensions 
 if he had judged them by the homely or threadbare garb of 
 not a few members of the company. The most impecunious 
 looking among them, however, exhibited an ease and self- 
 confidence which stamped them unmistakably. There was 
 a certain pathos in the critical air with which some of these, 
 whose cellars had long been empty, passed judgment on 
 the wine. As though used to sipping the choicest port or 
 madeira every day, they would hold their glasses up to the 
 light to examine the colour, or would inhale the fragrance 
 slowly, to determine whether it had the right bouquet. A 
 rubicund, white-moustached old gentleman, with impressive 
 dignity of bearing, who ranked next to the Colonel in the 
 county in social importance, conversed most affably, without 
 a trace of condescension (condescension, indeed 1 ) with 
 " Headlong " Jack Frisby, who hadn't an acre that wasn't 
 mortgaged for all it would carry ; whose clothing was patched 
 and darned in many places, and yet conducted himself with 
 perfect sang-froid. Jack belonged to one of the " very first 
 families," and this fact was never lost sight of or ignored 
 by his neighbours merely because he happened to be poor. 
 He was welcomed cordially at every entertainment, and not 
 the proudest of his hosts ever dreamed of feeling compro 
 mised by his scarecrow appearance. 
 
 The Colonel, bland and courteous, kept up an easy con 
 versation with his guests, with a watchful eye upon the 
 mechanism of the dinner, even to the snuffing of the candles. 
 This duty was discharged by Pompey, who, though provided
 
 246 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 with a pair of brass extinguishers, preferred to use his fin 
 gers which were apparently fireproof. 
 
 Reeve had been included among the Colonel's guests, 
 partly because of his activity and zeal as a Secessionist, but 
 chiefly from the fact that he was Oswald's father. Though 
 greatly flattered, he felt uncomfortable. He could see in 
 the glances of some of the company that his presence was 
 regarded as of doubtful propriety. The Colonel himself was 
 by no means sure that he had acted up to his principles in 
 inviting him, but he quieted his scruples with the reflection 
 that the dinner was a semi-public affair which did not exact 
 the nicest distinctions. 
 
 The lawyer bore up under what was, for him, a very hard 
 trial, with sulky impassiveness, bent upon accomplishing the 
 object he had in view. He had secured a seat next to 
 Captain Bludsoe, with Basil opposite. He intended to use 
 the choleric Captain as his catspaw. Oswald sat on the 
 other side of Captain Bludsoe with whom he endeavoured to 
 chat unconcernedly. Every now and then, he would steal a 
 glance at Basil, flushing guiltily whenever he happened to 
 meet his eye. 
 
 Reeve kept a decanter of wine or brandy constantly at 
 Captain Bludsoe's elbow, and slily filled his glass more than 
 once. The Captain was a seasoned toper, but owing to the 
 lawyer's adroitness and persistence, he was beguiled into 
 taking more than he regarded as a safe allowance. To 
 wards the close of the dinner, he had become quite tipsy 
 enough for Reeve's purpose. He had just swallowed a stiff 
 dram of brandy when the lawyer said to him in a low 
 voice, 
 
 " Did you know we had an Abolitionist among us ? " 
 
 The Captain started as though something had pricked 
 him. Wheeling round in his chair, he glared at Reeve with 
 blood-shot eyes.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 247 
 
 " An Abolitionist here" he muttered thickly, " nonsense, 
 man you must be dreaming 1 " 
 
 " Have you noticed young Kent ? " demanded Reeve, 
 nodding towards Basil. " He hasn't drunk a single 
 toast." 
 
 " What does that signify ? " said the Captain shortly. He 
 liked Basil, and he did not like Reeve. " He's not a drink 
 ing man, sir. I will answer for him ! " 
 
 His eyes questioned Reeve pugnaciously. Nothing would 
 have pleased him better than a duel with the lawyer, against 
 whom he had a grudge of 'long standing, growing out of 
 certain pecuniary transactions, but of course the fellow 
 wouldn't fight. How could it be expected of him when 
 gentlemen no longer resorted to the code ? 
 
 It was true that Basil had ignored all the toasts which, 
 without exception, had been pronouncedly Secessionist. He 
 was used to hearing such sentiments at the Colonel's dinner 
 table, and accepted them as a matter of course. It was only 
 of late that his convictions had taken shape, and it was with 
 great reluctance that he had been forced to the conclusion 
 that slavery was irreconcilable with the spirit of the age, 
 a growing anachronism. Notwithstanding his decision of 
 character, he had the faculty, inconvenient at times, of see 
 ing two sides to a question, and his natural diffidence 
 had caused him to feel that, perhaps, he was mistaken 
 in having adopted views so radically at variance with 
 those of all his friends. He was reassured, somewhat, by 
 the knowledge that his father, a student and thinker, dis 
 approved of slavery, but his mind had continued to be dis 
 turbed by doubts, and he had hesitated to express his dissent 
 from the general opinion. 
 
 After all, it seemed to him, a good deal might be said in 
 favour of slavery in its practical workings. There might be 
 isolated cases of cruelty and oppression, but as a rule, the
 
 248 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 negroes seemed light-hearted and happy. Was not their con 
 dition, upon the whole, much better than it would have been 
 as roaming savages in Africa exposed to the tyranny of far 
 worse forms of servitude or to the horrors of tribal wars, 
 of tortures, of cannibalism ? Had they not, in the mass, 
 been gainers by the transfer of their forefathers to the heart 
 of a civilised country ? Were they not being gradually 
 educated and raised to a higher level ? Compulsion, from 
 his observation of the negro character, was absolutely neces 
 sary to train them to habits of industry, sobriety and good 
 order. It was the only kind of improvement for which, as 
 yet, they were fitted as a race. Suppose the compulsion 
 were removed ? Would they not relapse into idleness and 
 barbarism almost immediately ? If emancipated suddenly, 
 might they not drift into a state of antagonism to all law 
 which would make them a dangerous element ? 
 
 Basil's instincts and sympathies were largely those of his 
 class. He could not think without pain of the destruction 
 of the rural aristocracy which must follow the abolition of 
 slavery. That aristocracy, with all its faults and follies, had 
 undoubtedly diffused a disciplining and refining force. On 
 the whole, it had showed itself disinterested and patriotic. 
 With little to gain and much to lose by separation from Eng 
 land, whose authority in the colonies was most favourable to 
 its permanence and growth, it had generously led in the 
 struggle for colonial independence. Since the Revolution, 
 it had been foremost in asserting the national dignity. From 
 its ranks, the state and federal legislatures had been re 
 cruited with men of more or less culture and of reasonably 
 liberal views, whose integrity was incorruptible. Abolish 
 this aristocracy, and there would be substituted the coarser 
 conditions of a rural society which had no fixed standard in 
 the example of a superior class the selfish greed of small 
 land-owners ; the competition of a thousand petty interests
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 249 
 
 struggling for supremacy ; the domination of the ignorant 
 farmer, the grasping merchant, the tricky lawyer. Basil 
 shrank from such a prospect. 
 
 But the question at issue went deeper than this. It was, 
 reduced to its simplest terms, a question of the rights of 
 man. Freedom, to his mind, was the natural privilege of 
 every human being. No considerations of mere expediency 
 could justify holding one's fellow-creatures in bondage, or 
 trading in human flesh and blood as one would trade in 
 horses and cattle. The world had got beyond that. The 
 conditions of modern progress might be destructive of much 
 that was worth preserving, but they tended irresistibly to 
 wards a gentler humanity. Slavery was the one great ob 
 stacle in its path ; the last stronghold, as it seemed to him, 
 of despotic power. 
 
 Reeve was somewhat taken aback by Captain Bludsoe's 
 incredulity, but he was not to be baffled. 
 
 " Have you ever heard him utter a word in favour of slavery 
 or secession ? " he demanded. 
 
 " It's absurd, I tell you ! " growled the Captain. " You 
 forget that Basil Kent belongs to one of our oldest 
 families ! " 
 
 Basil's social position was, in the Captain's eyes, conclu 
 sive evidence of his political orthodoxy. It seemed incon 
 ceivable, to the Captain, that a Southern gentleman could 
 be an Abolitionist in other words, a foe to the conditions 
 on which his class depended for its existence. 
 
 "You may be right," said Reeve, with a confident smile, 
 " but it is easy to settle the matter ; just ask him to join you 
 in a toast to the Southern cause." 
 
 " By God, I will I " spluttered the Captain, furious at the 
 lawyer's pertinacity, which was all the more offensive to him 
 because he resented having to touch elbows with such a 
 common fellow. " Basil, lad," he called out across the table,
 
 250 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 in a hoarse bellow that startled everybody, " I want you to 
 drink a toast with me 1 " 
 
 Basil looked round in surprise. He saw at once that the 
 Captain was intoxicated, and imagining his proposal to have 
 been prompted by a mere tipsy whim, he decided to humour 
 him. The Captain was apt to be obstreperous when in 
 flamed with liquor, and Basil wanted to save the Colonel 
 the annoyance of one of the old fire-eater's outbreaks. 
 
 " Why, certainly, Captain," he answered, in a pleasant 
 tone. Filling his glass from the nearest decanter of sherry, 
 he waited without the ghost of a suspicion of the mine that 
 had been laid for him. 
 
 The Captain poured out half a tumblerful of brandy, and 
 flourishing the glass, exclaimed, 
 
 " Success to the Confederacy, confusion to the Yankees ! " 
 
 To the astonishment of everyone save Reeve and his son, 
 Basil set down the glass he had raised to his lips, and said, 
 " I cannot drink that toast."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 BASIL was pale ; his voice trembled. He was fully con 
 scious of the gravity of his decision. The Captain's chal 
 lenge had illuminated the situation for him. He had seen, in a 
 flash, where his duty lay. The convictions which had been 
 forming slowly for months leaped, all at once, into vigorous 
 life. Now that he knew what he really thought and felt, 
 evasion or concealment had become impossible for him 
 impossible because dishonest. 
 
 He had no illusions as to the consequences of his refusal. 
 It was an act which cut asunder, at one stroke, all his dearest 
 ties. It left him isolated, a general mark for hostility and 
 contempt. Few, if any, would understand his motives. 
 Even those who might give him credit for being sincere 
 would regard him only as a foolish fanatic. He well knew 
 the nature of the prejudices he must encounter. They were 
 not unnatural prejudices, in his opinion. On the contrary, 
 they were the ordinary, logical product of local conditions. 
 Their very reasonableness, from the point of view of those 
 who held them, made them all the more formidable. No 
 one could be persuaded to admit that he, as one of them 
 selves, could offer any justification for his course. 
 
 In a moment, a frost had fallen upon the company which, 
 until now, had been thoroughly jovial. The faces gazing at 
 him were either incredulous or angry. In the eyes of 
 some, he read incipient scorn. From this assemblage, no 
 indulgence might be expected ; from its verdict, there could 
 be no appeal. It was a representative gathering, and its 
 opinion would be the general opinion. Every type of the 
 dominating class was to be found in it, and every shade of 
 
 251
 
 252 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 inherited prejudice was embodied in these different types. 
 The student of heredity would have been interested in study 
 ing the various faces. They were individualised so strongly 
 that it would have been possible to determine at least, with 
 plausible probability the particular strain of ancestry which 
 each represented. There were dignified old gentlemen with 
 shaven faces of stern, ascetic cast, who might have descended 
 from the Puritan Commissioners, Bennett and Lloyd. Side 
 by side with them, in convivial intimacy, sat gaunt, sallow- 
 visaged individuals, keen of eye, with the flowing locks and 
 long, peaked beards of King Charles's cavaliers. The merry, 
 roystering qualities of the Restoration squires showed them 
 selves in the jolly, devil-may-care visages of reckless, fox 
 hunting youths like Turlo. The grim but not pleasure-hat 
 ing characteristics of the sturdy yeoman stock which contrib 
 uted the bulk of Lord Baltimore's colonists were visible in 
 the coarser visages of half-a-dozen tough old chaps, like 
 Captain Bludsoe, who sat sipping their wine or whisky and 
 water with a deliberate, meditative enjoyment. 
 
 Basil comprehended perfectly what was passing in the 
 minds of nearly all. Save Oswald and his father perhaps, 
 there was not one of them who was capable of considering 
 the question as even debatable. Oswald, having had the 
 advantages of a liberal education and of travel, might be 
 expected to take a broader view. The lawyer, free from the 
 prejudices of caste, and at heart, resentfully opposed to 
 them, might sympathise secretly, but ever ready to " trim," 
 he would take care not to let his sympathy appear. All the 
 others, even those most friendly to him including, of course, 
 the Colonel would look upon him as a pervert from princi 
 ples which were part of the religion of his section and his 
 class. Even those who had doubts on the subject of slavery 
 and not a fe\v of the planters inclined to some scheme of 
 gradual emancipation would be incensed against him for ad-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 253 
 
 vocating immediate abolition, a thing abhorrent to the most 
 liberal slaveholder as involving a sudden and ruinous sacri 
 fice of so much of his vested capital, his property in slaves. 
 As one man, they would cast him out. They were friends 
 no longer, but enemies who would assail him at every point. 
 
 And Lydia! A sharp pang shot through him at the 
 thought that he had done the one thing she would most 
 bitterly resent, and must become for her, also, an object of 
 dislike, perhaps of loathing. How could she fail to despise 
 him, as others would despise him ? Intensely prejudiced as 
 she was in favour of her father's opinions, she would inevitably 
 exchange her present feeling of indifference for one of active 
 contempt. That were hard to bear. He had been striving, 
 ever since the conviction that she loved Oswald had forced 
 itself upon him at the fox-hunt, to accustom himself to the 
 dreary fact that, henceforth, he could be nothing to her, but 
 he recoiled from the thought of her scorn. 
 
 For a moment, his sense of duty and his inclination 
 wrestled desperately for the mastery. He might even yet 
 draw back and make some excuse for his refusal. It need 
 not even be plausible ; his friends would be glad to welcome 
 him again to the fold, however clumsily he recanted. A 
 flush of shame followed his momentary weakness. He 
 could not palter with the truth. If it broke his heart, he 
 must not equivocate. He knew that if he failed now, he could 
 never hold up his head again. That were worse than the 
 loss of all he was risking. He might be able to bear the 
 contempt of others yes, even Lydia's knowing it was 
 unmerited ; he could not bear his own contempt the secret 
 knowledge of a moral cowardice that would always cling to 
 him ; that would clutch his heart-strings with its slimy fangs 
 whenever he thought of this moment, and poison every 
 breath he drew. He could never escape the horrible thing, 
 never 1 Let come what would, he must save himself from
 
 254 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 that. His brow cleared : his resolution was taken. He 
 lifted his head, and a touch of colour shone in his cheeks. 
 
 " You must excuse me, Captain," he said in a strong, 
 even tone, speaking slowly. " The Union our fathers fought 
 for seems to me a sacred thing. Secession and slavery are 
 both, in my opinion, morally wrong. Until now, my con 
 victions have been more or less vague, but you forced the 
 issue upon me ; the fact that I had to meet it revealed to me 
 my true state of mind. Believe me, I do not lightly oppose 
 my views to those of all my friends ; I would gladly have 
 kept silent, but in refusing to drink your toast, I am com 
 pelled to explain." 
 
 No one spoke for some moments. Astonishment held 
 every one dumb. Captain Bludsoe was the first to break 
 the silence. Staring blankly at Basil, he sank back help 
 lessly in his chair, muttering, 
 
 " That damned pettifogger wasn't lying. A gentleman 
 turned Abolitionist ? What the devil are we coming to ? I 
 have lived too long ! " 
 
 The Colonel gazed at Basil with blended pain and com 
 passion. He had suffered a cruel blow. Basil the young 
 fellow he had admired, had loved so fondly, whom he would 
 have chosen of all others as the husband of his darling girl 1 
 He had known he was lax in some of his opinions, but this 
 was out of all reason ; it couldn't be. Springing from his 
 seat, as Basil turned from the table, he seized him by the 
 shoulder, and said, in a hurried whisper, 
 
 " Don't leave us in this way, my boy. You were nettled 
 by old Bludsoe and didn't mean what you said. It's impos 
 sible, of course, that you, who are one of us, should be 
 really an Abolitionist. If you will go, wait for me in the 
 library where we may have a quiet talk. It won't take me 
 long to clear your head." 
 
 "It is useless. Colonel," said Basil with a sigh, deeply
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 255 
 
 touched by his old friend's kindness. " My mind is made up. 
 The lines have been drawn ; I must take one side or the 
 other ; it is impossible for me to remain neutral. You, of all 
 men, would never advise me to trifle with my convictions. 
 Would to Heaven I could 'be persuaded, but discussion 
 would only be painful for both of us. Try to think of me 
 kindly. I am leaving what I most love and value. Good 
 bye." 
 
 The Colonel wrung his hand, and turned from him with a 
 look of acute distress. " The boy is mad mad 1 " he ex 
 claimed. 
 
 As Basil hurried from the room, Reeve leaned over, 
 behind Captain Bludsoe's chair, and whispered to Oswald, 
 
 " Well, what did I tell you ? Basil Kent will never darken 
 these doors again." 
 
 Oswald did not reply. He hated his father at that moment, 
 himself even more. But he did not repent what had been 
 done at his instigation ; he had got rid of his only rival ; the 
 way was clear. 
 
 In the hall, Basil encountered Lydia and Judith. He saw 
 at once that they knew what had happened. Their inform 
 ant was Mr. Plunkett, who, with the zeal of the inveterate 
 gossip, had hastened out a moment before to spread the 
 news of Basil's surprising defection. 
 
 Lydia was standing in a dark corner of the hall, and con 
 sequently, Basil did not observe that she stretched out both 
 hands, as though to stop him, as he hastened past. The 
 brief glimpse he caught of her face gave him merely the im 
 pression of a pair of mournful eyes gleaming in a countenance, 
 half in shadow, that seemed to him set and stern. She pit 
 ied him, perhaps, but she condemned him inexorably. The 
 words, " Ah, Basil ! " uttered in a soft voice, but as he 
 imagined, with an accent of reproach, caused him an addi 
 tional twinge.
 
 256 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 How could he guess that the effect on her had been pre 
 cisely the opposite of what he supposed ? That, so far from 
 meaning to rebuke him, she longed to express her admira 
 tion of his courage, but was restrained by timidity arising 
 from her mistaken idea of his attitude towards her ? De 
 spite her prejudices, her whole nature thrilled with a proud 
 perception of the intrepidity of his course. He had acted 
 s she would have wished to act, in his place. Her dauntless 
 spirit took fire at the thought. What mattered it if he was 
 wrong ? He Ueved himself to be right, and had been 
 brave enougL %re himself without regard to conse 
 
 quences, t, sn-w, or rather, thought she knew all it must 
 have cost him, yet he hnd not flinched. In the hasty view 
 she had had of h;. ,..:.; res drawn with pain, she had seen 
 how the struggle must "-a" >.urf 1 -m. All the woman in her 
 stirred at the sight. Her c:>.- in-ru ; sc v/as one of sympathy 
 and compassion. She lon & *o console him, to pour the 
 balm of affection such affecti' : as only a woman bestows, 
 unquestioning, ungrudging, infinitely tender upon his 
 wounds. Affection ! That was not enough ; she felt that 
 she could give him her very soul. Never again could she 
 think of him lightly or even tamely ; his familiar figure, 
 which had been one of the commonplaces of her daily life, 
 had suddenly become heroic. Her ardent nature was awake 
 at last ; it burned with the flame of a passion akin to his own. 
 
 Basil passed her without pausing he dreaded further re 
 proaches from her and Lydia's heart sank. He cared no 
 longer for her sympathy. He was quite indifferent to her 
 opinion, whether good or bad. 
 
 It was otherwise with Judith. As he drew near her, he 
 slackened his steps, and when she put out her hands, he did 
 not ignore them, but clasped them eagerly. 
 
 " I have heard all," Judith exclaimed. " You have been 
 very brave."
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 257 
 
 Lydia gazed at them, in helpless pain. She longed to cry 
 out, " I, too, think you have been brave, and I love you, 
 Basil ! " But he had turned from her to Judith ; she would 
 have permitted herself to be torn with pincers rather than 
 utter a word. 
 
 " I did nothing more than my duty," said Basil, " I won't 
 pretend it was easy, but I claim no credit for it ; it was 
 forced upon me. Indeed, I am to blame for not having 
 spoken before. I must confess the consequences frightened 
 me. You see I am not so valiant, after all. It is consoling 
 to me to find there is at least one of my friends who thinks 
 none the worse of me ; I thank you from my heart." 
 
 He continued to hold her hands while he was speaking, 
 and Lydia could see that he was gazing gratefully, lovingly, 
 as it seemed to her, into Judith's eyes. 
 
 " No, he does not care for me at all," she groaned. " He 
 never felt for me what he feels for Judith." 
 
 Sick at heart, dreading to see more, Lydia turned hastily 
 away and fled to her room. A revolution had been wrought 
 in her. She had learned at last what it was to love and to 
 suffer. From a child, she had become, in one moment, a 
 woman. Life had ceased to be for her an idyl ; she com 
 prehended its seriousness, its possibilities of pain. She 
 flung herself upon her bed in an agony of tears. He was 
 lost to her lost. And he might have been hers, hers for 
 ever, but for her childish folly ! Her punishment was more 
 than she could bear. All her soul was in revolt at the 
 cruelty of it. She glanced, through her tears, at her little 
 altar and wondered whether, if she knelt there and prayed, 
 she would find relief. No : God was no longer good to her ; 
 He had permitted this to happen ; He did not concern Him 
 self about her. She must wrestle with her grief, alone. 
 She would wrestle with it. Where was her pride ? Spring 
 ing to her feet, she angrily brushed away her tears. As she 
 17
 
 258 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 did so, her gaze happened to rest upon a little picture, tacked 
 to the wall, that Basil had given her years before. It was a 
 picture of an Italian peasant boy, with daisies in his cap, 
 whose dark eyes, Basil had told her, reminded him of hers. 
 She stood looking at it for some time. He must have loved 
 her, then. It was consoling, at first, to dwell upon this 
 thought, but when she reflected that he loved her no longer, 
 her misery returned with added force. A fierce cry of pain 
 escaped her, and seizing the picture, she tore it from its 
 place, intending to destroy it. The next moment, with a 
 sudden change of impulse, she kissed it passionately, and 
 pressed it to her heart.
 
 CHAPTER XXV' 
 
 BASIL was one of those who fight best when the odds are 
 greatest. There was a reserved power in him which came 
 into play only when he found himself in serious trouble. 
 He could not have explained why it was, but in any grave 
 emergency, he was conscious always of a strengthening of 
 his purpose. Unknown to himself, he had acquired the 
 discipline which qualifies a man to lead forlorn hopes. The 
 hard training he had had, almost from boyhood, in his 
 efforts to cope with the disorder in his father's affairs, had 
 developed in him a kind of alacrity in facing difficulties and 
 hastening to grapple with them. The situation had often 
 seemed desperate ; he had pressed on, not with any clear 
 hope of winning, but with a stern, almost eager determina 
 tion to spend himself to the uttermost in the effort. There 
 was a sacrificial spirit in him a spirit that often caused his 
 inclinations, his personal interests to shrivel and look small. 
 The call of duty rang for him a clarion note, drowning even 
 the passionate cry of his heart. For such a man, fidelity to 
 duty is measured only by his capacity to endure. 
 
 Basil's power of endurance was now subjected to an in 
 comparably harder test than any it had ever known. All 
 that he had accomplished hitherto, seemed child's play be 
 side the ordeal he was called upon to undergo. But his 
 spirit rose with a growing sense of combativeness as the 
 prospect darkened, and his thoughts were busy with the 
 difficulties he had to meet and how best to cope with them. 
 Grief gripped his heart with remorseless hand as he rode 
 swiftly homeward ; in spite of the pain, he fixed his mind 
 resolutely on the future and the line of action he ought to 
 
 259
 
 2<5o A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 take. First of all, his father's slaves must be freed. His 
 father had always been inclined to manumission, and now 
 that he, Basil, had declared himself, it should be no longer 
 delayed. It was the logical consequence of his avowal. He 
 would stultify himself if he failed to urge it. Equally bind 
 ing, it seemed to him, was the moral obligation of at once 
 taking arms for the Union. If it were criminal to destroy 
 the Union, ought he not to offer to defend it ? He might 
 find himself arrayed, sword in hand, against his friends. It 
 would be a terrible situation, but he must face even that. 
 
 He smiled sadly, with a grim sense of humour, at the 
 thought that his course would be justified even from the 
 " States' Rights " point of view. Maryland was still a 
 member of the Union ; in fighting for the Union, therefore, 
 he would be fighting for his state. He was more consist 
 ent, according to their own reasoning, than his Secessionist 
 friends. 
 
 On reaching home, he sought his father in his study where 
 he found him seated at a table piled high with books. Mr. 
 Kent was writing on a large sheet of unruled paper slowly 
 with a quill pen, forming every character with laborious 
 pains. He was very fastidious on this point. A blur on a 
 page of manuscript, the indistinctness of a letter offended 
 his eye ; he had the true scholar's love of accuracy even in 
 the smallest details. A strong light from a large lamp fell 
 full upon his face which, though sallow and wrinkled, pos 
 sessed a singular charm, a spiritual beauty. It was the face 
 of a dreamer as well as a student, and in the large, earnest 
 brown eyes, there was a brooding wistf ulness, as if they were 
 constantly searching for and never finding the ideal. 
 
 Though living almost wholly in his books, Mr. Kent was 
 not without a deep and tender interest in all that affected 
 his son and his friend, the Colonel. His sympathies were 
 the more acute from being confined to so narrow a spbere.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 261 
 
 The outer world was, for him, a restless dream ; his world 
 lay within the four walls of his study. He derived great 
 pleasure from Basil's daily visits. It was delightful to know 
 that he had such a resolute, strong young fellow to lean 
 upon, and one, too, who understood and respected his need 
 of seclusion. 
 
 " Well, my son," he said, looking up from his work with a 
 smile as Basil entered, and speaking in a softly modulated 
 voice whose musical tones carried with them a suggestion of 
 cultured ease one never hears such voices in coarse or 
 impetuously busy men " you had, of course, a pleasant day 
 at the Manor?" 
 
 " No, father," said Basil with a sigh, taking a seat at his 
 side, " it was the saddest day I ever spent." 
 
 As briefly as he could, he described what had happened. 
 
 Mr. Kent stroked his thin brown beard with a thoughtful 
 air. He did not appear to be surprised, but was evidently 
 grieved. 
 
 " It must have been very hard," he said, in a sympathetic 
 tone. " And yet, you could not have done otherwise. Of 
 course, you know I share your opinions." 
 
 He was rather proud of the fact that his approval had an 
 appreciable value. Although a book-worm and a solitary, 
 Mr. Kent was not without his weight in the community due 
 chiefly to his reputation for learning. There was profound 
 respect for literary acquirements among the planters. Most 
 of them were college bred ; not a few dabbled in com 
 position for their favourite newspapers; even the more 
 ignorant envied those who could quote scraps of Greek or 
 Latin. Mr. Kent was a prolific writer of essays on a great 
 variety of subjects, not only for the county newspaper but 
 for journals in Baltimore and Philadelphia. His style was 
 ornate, sonorous ; with a liberal garnishing of classical 
 phrases. His opinions were usually sound, but this was a
 
 262 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 fact of minor importance ; what most impressed his readers 
 was the erudition he displayed. Though timid by nature, 
 he was a fierce controversialist on paper ; his power of 
 invective was greatly admired. His son was more discrimi 
 nating. He attached importance to his ideas because, as a 
 rule, they were liberal, with a strong dash of originality, and 
 supported by a clever marshalling of facts. Mr. Kent never 
 took anything for granted ; he was imaginative, speculative, 
 but a passionate searcher after truth. There was intimate 
 sympathy between father and son. 
 
 " Yes," answered Basil, " I was quite sure of that ; the 
 knowledge helped me." 
 
 "We must free our slaves," said his father, after a slight 
 pause. " It is not a new thought to me, as you know ; I have 
 often weighed it, and it has caused me many a troubled hour. 
 My father had the same doubts. If the truth were known, 
 they have been shared by every slaveholder of ordinary in 
 telligence and heart." Mr. Kent took a worn, yellow paper 
 from a pile of old documents lying before him. " Here is a 
 letter written by your grandfather to a friend in Virginia as 
 long ago as 1807," he continued, unfolding the sheet and 
 disclosing a page of fine handwriting, somewhat faded but 
 still distinct. " I have read it often, and only this afternoon, 
 I came upon it again. It reflects my own views so accu 
 rately that I will read a passage from it. You will perceive 
 that your dislike of slavery is inherited. Your grand 
 father owned many more slaves than you and I own now, 
 and this is what he wrote to a fellow slaveholder on the 
 other side of the Potomac : ' The political Horizon is as 
 suming an appearance very unpleasant indeed ; the late 
 papers give reason to fear that the proceedings of the British 
 Admirals have been authorised by their Government and 
 that this forms the commencement of a premeditated attack. 
 Britain is menacing us on the one hand and Spain on the
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 263 
 
 other, and the accursed system of slavery, which I detest 
 with all my soul, which every day is becoming more exe 
 crable to me, has given us an internal Enemy, which, in the 
 event of a War, might be equally dangerous with either.' 
 Language could scarcely be stronger than this ; yet ' detest 
 ing ' slavery, which was becoming more ' execrable' to him 
 every day, my father made provision in his will for manumit 
 ting but few of his slaves. Why ? For the same reason that 
 I have continued to hold them. He saw, as I have seen, 
 that our whole social fabric rested upon slavery as its foun 
 dation. Only a general movement could effect a safe and 
 equable reform. Individual movements might work injury 
 to society and even do harm to the slaves themselves. We 
 deemed it wiser to wait until the public conscience was 
 stirred, and in the meantime, to mitigate the evils of slavery 
 as best we might. Perhaps, we were mistaken, but the time 
 we waited for has come. Slavery is doomed in Maryland, 
 at least. We shall but anticipate a general emancipation. I 
 am glad I waited for you to do what I dared not undertake, 
 for not until now would we have been able to provide for the 
 maintenance of our people as freemen. To have sent them 
 forth as beggars, would have been a doubtful kindness in 
 deed." 
 
 " Yes," said Basil, " the estate is rid of incumbrances, 
 and we have a considerable sum in bank. I think we could 
 spare each family a bit of land and a cabin." 
 
 " Thanks to you, my son," said Mr. Kent warmly. " In 
 enabling me to right a great wrong, you have made my old 
 age happy. To give a hundred human beings freedom, and 
 not freedom merely, but the means of support 1 What 
 greater happiness could there be ? And this happiness will 
 be yours and mine to-morrow but yours, first of all, for 
 you shall tell them." 
 
 " There is another thing, father," said Basil, hesitating.
 
 264 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 He knew he was about to inflict a blow. " I must leave 
 you ; I have determined to seek a commission in the army." 
 
 " The army ! " said Mr. Kent, startled. 
 
 " Yes," said Basil, steadily. " Is it not my duty ? I have 
 youth and strength : ought they not to be given to the 
 cause I have espoused ? Would you have me remain in 
 active here while others, weaker than I, are fighting for their 
 opinions ? If I fight against my friends, is that my fault ? 
 Would I not feel dishonoured if they should prevail without 
 my having struck a blow ? Would they not have real cause 
 to despise me, then ? Besides, I am so unhappy here. You 
 cannot imagine how I suffer. To live among those I have 
 loved and honoured, feeling that they look askance at me, 
 could there be greater misery? Away from them, in the 
 stirring life of the army, I might, at times, be able to for- 
 get." 
 
 " You are right, my son," said Mr. Kent, sadly. " It is a 
 bitter choice ; God be merciful and send you back to me 1 " 
 
 Early next morning, Basil sent an order to the Quarter for 
 the negroes to assemble on the front lawn. After breakfast, 
 he went out doors to smoke his pipe and await their com 
 ing. He seated himself on a wooden bench in a quadrangle 
 formed by the walls of the house and a low fence of lattice 
 work over which clambered honeysuckle in great luxuriance. 
 The front of the house, with its long main building and 
 projecting wings, defined three sides of the quadrangle a 
 spacious green court planted with roses. Some of these 
 climbed over the walls to the roof, waving clusters of fra 
 grant blossoms before the windows. The house was said to 
 have been planned by one of the Lords Baltimore for a 
 kinsman to whom he had granted the land and from whom 
 the Kents were descended. His lordship would seem, from 
 the size of the structure, to have been a person of liberal 
 views at least, in matters of architecture. The great
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 265 
 
 building, painted white and prominently placed on a knoll 
 overlooking the river, might have been mistaken by stran 
 gers viewing it from a distance for some public edifice of 
 marble. 
 
 The grounds, unlike those at the Manor, were almost bare 
 of shrubbery and trees. There were a few gnarled locusts 
 on the lawn, an immense horse-chestnut at the gate, and 
 immediately in front of the house, two decapitated poplars 
 whose trunks were hidden by ivy which fell in waving drap 
 ery of vine and leaves from the tops. The even sweep of 
 the lawn was broken on the south by a ravine which 
 widened into a meadow of several acres, with a small lake 
 shaded by weeping willows of great size whose drooping 
 branches touched the water. Near the head of the lake, 
 some projecting stumps formed tiny islands, and from the 
 soil at their roots, sprang wild rose-bushes loaded with 
 dainty pink blossoms. From the back of the house, a broad 
 expanse of open land, with an orchard of fruit trees on one 
 side and a rambling garden on the other, sloped gently 
 down to the river. 
 
 While waiting for the negroes, Basil glanced about him 
 with a feeling of keen regret. It was hard to have to tear 
 himself away from his home. He loved it not only from 
 inherited instinct and from long association, but because he 
 had won it, so to speak, for himself. At one time, his father 
 had been in imminent danger of losing the property ; but 
 Basil, after years of patient labour, had succeeded in clearing 
 off the load of debt and even in accumulating a fund in re 
 serve. During the years he had thus worked on, alternately 
 hoping and fearing, he had acquired a deep and intimate 
 love of the place, which had struck its roots, as it seemed to 
 him, into the very soil. Does not one always cherish a 
 peculiar attachment for anything one has saved and made 
 his own ? Basil's feeling was the stronger from the sense of
 
 266 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 honest pride in his success. It was due solely to him that 
 the name of Kent was still associated with the place, as it 
 had always been. Sometimes, glancing up at the family 
 portraits in the hall, he thought, with a glow of pleasure, 
 that the eyes of his forefathers looked down upon him grate 
 fully for what he had done. 
 
 And now, he was about to leave it all, perhaps forever. 
 He gave a deep sigh at the thought of the hard, immitigable 
 fate that was driving him from everything he held most dear ; 
 but as the negroes began to make their appearance on the 
 lawn, he roused himself to the loyal performance of the 
 duties that had laid their iron grasp upon him. 
 
 The slaves soon gathered in front of the quadrangle. 
 They numbered nearly a hundred individuals, including a 
 dozen or more pickaninnies who had followed the procession 
 from the Quarter in order to see what was " gwine ter hap 
 pen." The older negroes were also very curious. They 
 had no suspicion of " Marse Basil's " real reason for sum 
 moning them. The general impression was that some seri 
 ous fault had been committed by one of their number, and 
 that " Marster " was about to make an investigation. They 
 questioned each other cautiously in the vain effort to dis 
 cover the identity of the imaginary culprit. 
 
 When the last straggler had taken his place in the ranks, 
 Basil advanced to the quadrangle gate and stepped upon a 
 large stone, used as a carriage block, so that all . might see 
 him. The negroes, who had been chattering volubly, sub 
 sided at once into quiet and attention. 
 
 When Basil, in a few words, had explained that they were 
 free, and that each family was to have a house and lot, the 
 negroes burst into a shout of joy. They had been happy 
 enough as slaves under " Marse Basil's " strict but kindly 
 rule, but freedom seemed to them to hold out delightful pos 
 sibilities of ease, of idleness, of independence. " Give God
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 267 
 
 de glory 1 " screeched a withered crone. The whole assem 
 blage took up the cry, and shouted, with one accord, " Give 
 God de glory 1 " 
 
 Some of the older negroes pressed forward to testify their 
 gratitude to " Marse Basil," and as he offered them his 
 hand, saying, " I am going away to the war, good-bye," they 
 grasped it, one after the other, murmuring some homely 
 phrase of greeting and farewell. Old Bantam, the patriarch 
 of the Quarter, raised his trembling hands, and said, " May 
 de good Lawd shine upon yo' face fur ebbcr mo', Young 
 Marse ! " Others exclaimed, " God bless yer, Marse Basil 
 don't forgit er po' ole nigger," or "Good luck ter you, Young 
 Marse, en' ef dar's enny lovin' thing I kin do, you knows 
 whar ter find it." 
 
 Basil's nurse in childhood, Melindy, a short, chunky dame, 
 waited until the last, and then waddled up to him with an 
 air of great importance. Her eyes twinkled with delight, 
 and when she had clasped his hand in her toil-roughened 
 palms, she hesitated a moment, as though half afraid, and 
 then, with a sudden dive, imprinted a kiss upon it. With a 
 sidelong glance about her to see that no one observed the 
 act it would lose its potency if not done secretly she 
 slipped into Basil's hand a tiny bag of black silk. 
 
 " Dat's er cunjered bag, honey," she whispered, in an 
 awe-stricken tone, " Ole Man'l chawmed it fur me. Hang 
 it roun' yo' neck fur Ole Nuss's sake. Hit'll bring yer 
 good luck sho', en ' send de bullets flyin' wide o' de 
 mark." 
 
 Basil humoured her by accepting her talisman. He knew 
 he would distress her sorely if he refused it ; it were quite 
 hopeless to attempt to convince her of the inefficacy of the 
 treasured " chawm." Melindy uttered an exclamation of 
 relief, and in a strange singsong, broke forth into the quaint 
 invocation
 
 268 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 " May yer fus' days be yer wus', 
 Yer las' days yer bes', 
 En' Heav'n may it be yer place uv res' 1 " 
 
 Convinced that " Marse Basil " was now proof against ill- 
 fortune, Melindy bobbed her best curtsey, and wheeling 
 about, marched off to her companions with her turbaned 
 head thrown proudly back and her black face shining with 
 triumph. " He wuz my nuss child 1 " she exclaimed, exult- 
 ingly ; " but, fo' de Lawd, when I toted him in dese arms, I 
 never 'spected he'd some day give us our freejum 1 "
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 Now that the die was cast, Basil was eager to get away 
 with the least loss of time. Every day's delay meant added 
 anxiety for him lest he be brought into contact with his 
 former friends. The Colonel paid several visits to Basil's 
 father in the hope of enlisting his aid in " bringing Basil to 
 his senses," but Mr. Kent stood firm. On these occasions, 
 Basil succeeded in avoiding the Colonel. He knew that noth 
 ing would come of a meeting but added pain. Within a week, 
 he had arranged his affairs, and was ready to start. He was 
 spared the sorrow of many leave-takings. There was but a 
 single house the Rectory at which he felt he would be 
 really welcome. Even the Colonel had expressed himself 
 with some bitterness when Mr. Kent told him of Basil's 
 determination to take up arms for the " Yankee " cause. 
 It was hard for Basil to pass the Manor on the road to the 
 Rectory and not stop at the gate. As he rode slowly by 
 and turned in his saddle to take a last look at the spot which 
 was hallowed by so many tender memories, the consciousness 
 of all he had had to give up was brought home to him with 
 sudden acuteness. Was he Quixotic ? Perhaps. And yet, 
 he could not have acted differently. Honour held him fast. 
 There was no other way. He rode on past the Manor with 
 set face and a keener pain at his heart. 
 
 Judith was at home with the Rector, in the latter's study, 
 writing a sermon from his dictation. She often did this in 
 order to spare his eyes which had troubled him of late. 
 It was a strange occupation for the brilliant stage beauty, 
 and she was fully conscious of the irony of it, but what did 
 it matter, if she helped the good old man who was so tenderly 
 
 269
 
 2/0 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 kind ? The sermon happened to be an elaborate defence of 
 slavery reinforced by various Biblical quotations. The 
 Rector was an ardent Secessionist. He had originally been 
 a Federalist, and was reputed to have owed his selection by 
 the vestry, some fifty years before, to this fact. At any rate, 
 Judge Cheston, representing the vestry, had written to the 
 Bishop asking him to recommend a good Federalist, and 
 the Bishop had nominated Mr. Magruder. The latter's 
 predecessor had been " a warm Democrat," and had given 
 great offence to his chief parishioners who, with scarcely 
 an exception, were staunch Federalists. The Judge frankly 
 told the Bishop, of whose sympathy he seems to have been 
 quite sure, that the good churchmen of the parish pre 
 ferred a Federalist for the reason that, if the new Rector 
 were pious and sensible, " the circumstance of his being 
 a Democrat" would "give strength and countenance to a 
 bad cause." From the Federalist ranks, the Rector had 
 passed into those of the Whigs, but when, after the down 
 fall of the latter, the sectional issue became acute, he was 
 converted into a radical " States' Rights " and pro-slavery 
 man. As he greeted Basil, the idea occurred to him to read 
 his sermon to him. If anything could move him, that ought 
 to do so ; its reasoning, in the Rector's opinion, was unan 
 swerable. On reflection, however, he decided to have a 
 little talk with him ; perhaps he could accomplish more by 
 persuasion. 
 
 To his great surprise, as soon as he broached the subject, 
 Judith took up the cudgels in Basil's behalf and strongly 
 defended his course. 
 
 " Dear me," the Rector exclaimed, in mock consterna 
 tion, " I had no idea I was harbouring a Yankee emissary." 
 
 He rose as he spoke, and hurried to the door in pretended 
 anxiety to escape Judith's onslaught. 
 
 " I have to make a visit to a sick parishioner this after-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 271 
 
 noon," he added, on the threshold. " Stay, Basil, until my 
 return ; I have some arguments still left in my ammunition 
 chest that Judith won't find it so easy to demolish." 
 
 There was innocent artifice in his sudden flight. He had 
 got the idea into his head that Basil might be in love with 
 Judith. It seemed impossible, indeed, that it could be 
 otherwise she was so charming. He hoped she might have 
 learned to care for him ; he had a high opinion of Basil. 
 Her sudden warmth in Basil's defence confirmed his suspi 
 cions. Perhaps, if he left them alone together, they might 
 come to an understanding. So he hurried off, feeling rather 
 guilty ; could it be that he had actually turned match-maker 
 in his old age ? Well, his conduct was anything but digni 
 fied and might be said to savour of deceit, but for Judith's 
 sake, to secure her happiness, he might, perhaps, be excused ; 
 the temptation was great. 
 
 " I came to say good-bye," said Basil, as the Rector left 
 them. " I'm going away to enter the army." 
 1 Judith sprang up, terrified. To enter the army 1 She 
 might have known it. This man was sure to be consistent 
 and follow an idea to its logical end. He was harder, less 
 malleable than she had hoped. His awkward downrightness 
 had become more and more apparent to her of late. At 
 times, it had checked and even paralysed her. She was 
 beginning to fear she had overrated her power with him, or 
 could it be that Lydia, after all, was stronger than she ? He 
 had shown himself quite insensible to her blandishments. He 
 had seemed to take no heed of her boldest coquetries. She 
 was still only his friend ! She felt, as she gazed into this 
 quiet, resolute face, that it were useless to seek to dissuade 
 him. All that she could do was to acquiesce and wish him 
 a safe return. But suppose he did not return ? He would 
 never know what she felt. He must know ! She could not 
 bear the thought of his leaving her without some inkling of
 
 272 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 the truth. If he carried away but a germ of suspicion, it 
 might ripen into tenderness at last. 
 
 She sat down again, striving vainly to collect her thoughts, 
 to form some plan. She questioned him mechanically as to 
 when he was to leave, where he was going, what his purposes 
 were, and suggested that he seek the aid of Edgar Cheston, 
 who had written her he had some influence in Washington, 
 in his effort to obtain a commission. His answers fell 
 vaguely on her ears ; she found it difficult to fix her atten 
 tion. All the while, the thought was ringing in her brain, 
 what could she do to enlighten him without losing his con 
 fidence, his esteem ? If she had but more time ! She was 
 almost tempted to risk all, to fling herself into his arms and 
 proclaim the love and longing that were torturing her. No, 
 he would only pity and despise her. She couldn't bear 
 that. She dared not even indulge herself in an incautious 
 glance, a rash word, an informing gesture. She must sit 
 mute as to what was vital to her, and babble of indifferent 
 things. 
 
 When the Rector returned, he was disappointed to find 
 that, apparently, his stratagem had had no results ; there 
 was no indication in the manner of either Judith or Basil of 
 what he had hoped for. Basil rose to go, but Mr. Magruder 
 insisted upon his remaining for the night. After supper, he 
 held him in earnest discussion until Judith finally rose and 
 withdrew to her room on the plea of a headache. She had 
 lingered merely in the hope that some chance word might 
 give her a clue ; some accident might come to her aid. 
 Nothing had happened ; she was at her wits' end, baffled, 
 desperate, bitterly contemptuous of herself for having failed 
 so miserably. 
 
 The Rector found it impossible to change Basil's resolution, 
 and when his obstinate young friend rose at last to say 
 good-night, he shook his head mournfully, and exclaimed,
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 273 
 
 " It was that Northern college that brought you to this. 
 I always told your father he was making a mistake in send 
 ing you to Harvard." 
 
 " But my father thinks as I do," said Basil, amused. 
 
 " Oh, that is easily accounted for ! " retorted the Rector, 
 with a shrug of his shoulders. " He spent many years at the 
 North and was thoroughly inoculated with the Abolitionist 
 virus. I have always thought it a misfortune for Southern 
 men to go North at all." 
 
 Judith had not gone to bed. She was sitting in her room, 
 partly undressed, and had thrown a dressing gown about 
 her. Why she waited, she did not know. There was no 
 hope of seeing Basil again that night. He would soon be 
 in bed and dreaming of Lydia perhaps. If she could only 
 think of something she could do. There was nothing, she 
 told herself fiercely, that she would not do, no trick she 
 would not practise upon him, if it offered the slightest chance 
 of bringing her closer to him without exposing her to the 
 danger of a repulse. But none suggested itself that was 
 not instantly rejected as impracticable. She was fatally 
 hampered by the dread of making some false move that would 
 separate her from him forever. 
 
 At last, she heard Basil's step upon the stairs. It drew 
 nearer, and then died away as he entered his room on the 
 other side of the hall. He was there so near her, yet so 
 remote. Ah, had she but the power to compel him I Furi 
 ous with the sense of her impotence, she rose and paced 
 restlessly up and down the room. What a beautiful crea 
 ture she was as she moved with swift, impetuous step to and 
 fro, her finely modelled figure showing its graceful lines under 
 the loose, flowing robe ; her sunny hair tossed in a glitter 
 ing mass about her shoulders ; her lovely face aflame with 
 pain and passion. 
 
 Presently, she paused near the door. It was ajar, and 
 18
 
 274 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 through the crack, she saw that Basil's door was partly open. 
 Looking again, she saw Basil himself; he was seated at 
 a window, smoking. Stretching out her rounded arms, 
 which were bare to the elbows, the loose sleeves having 
 fallen back, she seemed to beckon him to her, and stood 
 gazing at him with a look of invitation it would have been 
 hard to resist. But he did not see her, he did not feel her 
 presence palpitating with entreaty. She was about to turn 
 away, with a sob, when a light shone suddenly in her violet 
 eyes and gave them the brilliancy of sapphires. " I have 
 found a way the only way 1 " she said, with a catch in her 
 breath. " He knows I walk in my sleep ; I have often told 
 him so. I may say things in a pretended trance that I 
 would not dare to utter if he thought I knew. He may dis 
 cover the cheat, but I don't think he will. He believes in 
 me so thoroughly that I would have to be clumsy, indeed, to 
 excite his suspicions." 
 
 It was merely a bit of acting. She had often succeeded 
 in far more difficult tasks on the stage. She had but 
 to summon to her aid the simplest elements of her art. 
 Nevertheless, she hesitated. It was no longer fear that 
 restrained her, but an instinct of repulsion which surprised 
 her. An inconvenient scrupulousness had been born in her, 
 without her knowledge. A month or two ago, she would 
 have done the thing lightly, without the least compunction, 
 careless of everything but the quick fulfilment of her object. 
 Now, she recoiled from the thought of adding to her load of 
 deceit, of profiting by a stratagem inconsistent with the char 
 acter she had assumed, which every day was growing more 
 real. The Rector's influence ; her association with Basil ; 
 the new standards of conduct to which she had had to con 
 form with daily iteration, had gradually won upon her in 
 spite of the conviction that she could not afford to yield 
 to them. There were times when she almost believed in
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 275 
 
 Judith Cheston, as others believed in her; when she lost 
 all sense of hypocrisy, and was moved by impulses which 
 she would have derided in what, she imagined, was her true 
 character that of Ethel Vane. 
 
 When she came to herself after these accidental lapses, 
 she always laughed. Of course, it was only the histrionic 
 instinct in her 1 How often she had lost herself in the same 
 way in some absorbing part I There was not the ghost of 
 a suspicion, in her mind, of the truth. She would have been 
 amazed and frightened could she have guessed that she was 
 passing through one of those obscure psychological processes 
 which gradually transform a nature into something quite 
 different from what it believes itself to be ; that she was ac 
 tually becoming sensitive not merely to what others thought 
 of her but to what she thought of herself ; that her soul, in 
 other words, was seeking to break its bonds, to escape from 
 the narrow prison into which it had been cast, and to rise to 
 a purer atmosphere, in spite of the fetters that must always 
 clog it. 
 
 It was this feeling that was active in her now. She shrank, 
 with a sense of disgust, from the gross indelicacy of an act 
 that must have been impossible for a real Judith Cheston ; 
 that is to say, a lady, brought up in the atmosphere of the 
 Rectory, the Manor the kind of woman that Basil rever 
 enced in her. Reverenced ! She tossed her head and laughed, 
 as she was wont to do, at such awakenings, but with bitter 
 derision of herself, a fierce throb of pain. What else was 
 there for her ? To suffer the long agony of awaiting his 
 return, if he ever returned ? No : rather than that, she 
 would plunge even deeper into the mire. Yes, better failure 
 and detection by him. At least, he would know of her love. 
 Whatever he might think of her, he could never again be 
 indifferent ; it was the barren dreariness of his ignorance 
 she could not face.'
 
 276 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 A bit of acting ? It was much more than that. A trifling 
 part in itself, it was true, but an experiment of supreme 
 importance for her. It was not the mere applause of a crowd 
 she would be playing for, but the only chance of happiness 
 that remained to her. Fail ? She could not fail. On the 
 one hand, there was hope of new life, of the birth of a great 
 joy ; on the other, death that is to say, the slow dissolution 
 of all her dreams. With such an issue at stake, what mat 
 tered shame to her ? She would bury the black memory of 
 it in her heart where she had hidden so many evil things ; 
 none should ever know. She would make him help her to 
 forget. 
 
 Fearful lest she should waver, she swept quickly across 
 the hall ; then paused a moment to collect herself, and throw 
 ing open the door, advanced with slow, mechanical step into 
 Basil's room. Her manner was automatic, her eyes fixed on 
 vacancy ; she seemed to see nothing, but walked straight on, 
 as though obstacles did not exist. 
 
 Basil heard her, and looked up, startled. In a moment, 
 he saw what seemed to be the truth ; she was walking in her 
 sleep. Uncertain what to do, he rose hastily, and waited. 
 Perhaps she would turn before reaching him, and go back 
 to her room. But she still came on. A moment more, and 
 her arms were about his neck, her head buried on his 
 shoulder. Instinctively, he placed an arm about her to 
 support her. She quivered at his touch. He felt her heart 
 beating rapidly against him. He did not doubt for a mo 
 ment that she was fast asleep. But why had she come to 
 him ? What was the meaning of her unconscious abandon ? 
 Could it be that she cherished a warmer feeling for him 
 than he had imagined ? No ; that were absurd. If Lydia, 
 with the affection of years in his favour, could be as insensible 
 to him as she had proved to be, was it likely that such a 
 woman as Judith would ever be more than friendly ? He
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 277 
 
 was not brilliant, nor cultivated, nor handsome, and a man 
 to win her love, he was sure, must be all of these. He must 
 guide her back to her room, if he could. He fervently prayed 
 he might succeed in doing it without waking her, so that she 
 would not be exposed to the mortification of learning what 
 she had done. But before he could make the attempt, she 
 began to speak. 
 
 " You do love me, Basil ! " she exclaimed, in a hoarse, 
 quivering voice. " Thank God, you told me before it was too 
 late 1 I feared you would go away without speaking ; that 
 you didn't care for me, enough. It was terrible ; do you 
 know I came near breaking down and begging you for a 
 word ? Yes, I craved even your pity ! " 
 
 Her arms tightened ; she drew his head slightly down to 
 wards her, as if to kiss him. 
 
 Basil gazed at her in astonishment, not unmixed with a 
 sudden sense of attraction. Even though he believed her 
 to be unconscious, he felt the thrill of what seemed to be 
 an impetuous surrender of herself to him. She was very 
 beautiful. For the first time, he was fully sensible of her 
 physical charm. He was ashamed of the feeling it seemed 
 a gross infidelity to Lydia. Was he so fickle ? No ; that 
 could not be, but he was human. How could he have resist 
 ed such loveliness rejoicing in his imagined passion ? He 
 had been taken by surprise ; he was off his guard. For a 
 moment, his senses were held captive ; he felt a stormy 
 impulse to press her to him. The temptation passed as he 
 looked down at her white, set face. She did not know ; she 
 was irresponsible. It was as though he held an innocent, 
 thoughtless child in his arms. But her words could it be, 
 after all, that they expressed a latent inclination unknown, 
 in her conscious moments, to herself ? Was it possible she 
 had unwittingly exposed to him the secret places of her 
 heart ? A wave of ardent gratitude swept over him at the
 
 278 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 thought. Ought he not to be proud and glad, to feel himself 
 supremely honoured, if even for a moment, she bestowed 
 upon him a feeling tenderer than any he had ever known ? 
 But he must not think of this ; he must act. The situation 
 must not be prolonged ; it would not be fair to her. He 
 ought to lose no time in persuading her, if possible, to 
 return to her room. 
 
 " Come with me, Judith," he said softly, wondering 
 whether she would hear and understand. 
 
 " Willingly," she answered, looking up at him and smil 
 ing dreamily, with half closed eyes, " to the end of the 
 world ! " 
 
 Supporting her with his arm, he led her slowly to the door. 
 They were barely outside his room, when a step was heard. 
 It was the Rector coming upstairs. At that moment, Judith, 
 shivering, seemed to awake. Looking round her with a 
 startled air, she exclaimed, " Where am I ? What has 
 happened? " But she made no effort to release herself. 
 On the contrary, she hung upon him more heavily, as if 
 trusting herself entirely to him. 
 
 The Rector's step grew nearer. Basil was in an agony of 
 fear. What should he do ? The Rector would be upon 
 them before Judith could escape. What would he think 
 when he saw her in his arms ? But one thing of course. 
 How could he doubt they loved each other ? And Judith ? 
 She was awake, and she still clung to him. The fact touched 
 him with the sense of an instinctive appeal. He must shield 
 her, whatever might be the consequence to him. 
 
 " Something of great importance to me has happened, 
 Judith," he said, quickly. " I have discovered that I cannot 
 go away without asking you to be my wife." 
 
 " But I do not understand," said Judith, nervously the 
 strain was telling on her " just now, I dreamed " 
 
 " That I cared for you ? It was not a dream. Am I
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 279 
 
 presumptuous ? Would it be possible for you to be some 
 thing more than a friend to me ? " 
 
 " Are you in earnest, Basil ? " she demanded, trembling. 
 
 " Never more so," he answered gravely, " how I wish I 
 had more to offer ! As you know, I have wasted my sub 
 stance on on some one else. You see, I do not pretend. I 
 am a shipwrecked man a beggared castaway, abandoned 
 by those who are dearest to me. But you have not deserted 
 me you still give me sympathy, approval, help. If I could 
 carry away with me the assurance that they would always be 
 mine, that I might look forward to returning some day to 
 claim you for the rest of our lives, I would feel myself to be 
 a fortunate man. I have at least this to offer a devotion 
 that would strive untiringly to make you happy." 
 
 Judith shrank from him ever so slightly. It was not mere 
 devotion she craved, and yet, it was more far more than 
 she had dared to hope for. He was ready to link his life to 
 hers. As she looked at him, wondering, she saw he was 
 almost eager. He was, in fact, strongly moved. True, as 
 he had intimated with unnecessary candour, he did not love 
 her; but he had caught the infection of her beauty, her 
 charm, her tender graciousness, and he found himself, for 
 the moment, imagining he might learn to love her. Amid 
 the wreckage of his hopes, the thought was really alluring. 
 She had understood and sympathised with him as no other 
 woman had ever done ; she had given him a confidence in 
 himself which had, hitherto, been painfully lacking in pres 
 ence of her sex ; she Was the only individual, besides his 
 father, who had applauded his course and sought to stimu 
 late his courage. He would never be lonely with her at his 
 side. His future brightened at the thought. 
 
 And to make her happy what duty, if she loved him, 
 could be more urgent, more binding ? She was so far be 
 yond his deserts that it seemed an impertinence in him to
 
 280 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 consider it a duty, a thing requiring effort. And yet he 
 could not hide from himself the fact that it would not be 
 easy to free himself from those dreams of another kind of 
 happiness which still haunted him yes, even now, in her 
 presence. A truce to dreams ! Who was he a battered 
 derelict to hesitate between the royal gift she offered him 
 and the mere memory of something, indescribably rare and 
 precious though it was, that could never be his ? He ought 
 to go down on his knees and thank her for having taken 
 pity on him. And she had said she craved his pity. Pity 
 for what ? For having been so rash, so prodigal, so undis- 
 criminating, as to prefer him to other men ? He actually 
 felt for her, at the moment, a kind of passion the passion 
 of a tenderness, born of her wonderful generosity to him, 
 such as often moves a fine nature like his to its depths. 
 She had asked him, anxiously, if he were in earnest. Well, 
 if he ever faltered, she should not know it. Any sacrifice 
 should be easy for her sake. If it were necessary to re 
 assure her, he must even be prepared to simulate a feeling re 
 sponsive to all her demands. He might have to do that if 
 she exacted too much before he had effectually disciplined 
 himself. There were limits to veracity that seemed per 
 missible even obligatory in such a case. 
 
 His exaltation caused Judith's heart to leap with hope. 
 Unwittingly, she had touched the very chords in his nature 
 which would vibrate most sensitively in unison with her 
 needs. She had appealed to his chivalry, his compassion, 
 his sense of gratitude, his craving for sympathy ; she might 
 hope to fan these into a steady flame of love. For one 
 glorious moment, she had been conscious of an impulse of 
 passion in him ; but she did not deceive herself it was 
 only a spark which she had accidentally struck from the 
 baser ore. His integrity was her real reliance. He had 
 pledged himself to her, he would try to love her. She
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 281 
 
 smiled bleakly at the thought that it would be a point of 
 honour with him. The very quality in him she had dreaded 
 would make in her favour. 
 
 " If I could make you happy 1 " she whispered, hiding her 
 face on his breast. How she wished she could feel the 
 modesty she feigned. For his sake, she wanted to be what 
 she seemed. She was really confused, and even timorous. 
 The complete success of her daring manoeuvre frightened 
 her. He must not see her face, just yet ; it seemed to her 
 he must read her thoughts in it. It was not enough to have 
 deceived him ; she must keep him blind. After this, he 
 would hate her if he ever learned the truth. 
 
 The Rector had reached the top of the stairs. He was 
 holding a candle above his head to light his uncertain steps. 
 In its flickering glow, he beheld Judith and Basil but dimly 
 at first. Coming closer, he perceived that they stood wait 
 ing for him, Basil's arm clasped close around Judith's waist. 
 The ambiguity of their position here, at this hour, with 
 Judith in dishabille, did not strike him. He saw only that 
 his hopes had been realised ; that they had come to an un 
 derstanding. 
 
 " Can you give her to a Yankee, sir ? " asked Basil, forc 
 ing a smile. 
 
 Tears came into the Rector's eyes ; he could scarcely 
 speak. 
 
 " If she were not a partisan of yours already," he said at 
 last, with an attempt at humour, " I might hope she would 
 help me to convert you, yet." 
 
 Judith left Basil's side and hastened to him. 
 
 " You do not refuse him, grandfather ? " she asked, giving 
 him a grateful kiss, " I am a happy woman 1 " 
 
 " God grant you may ever be, my darling 1 " said the 
 Rector, embracing her tenderly. 
 
 With a softly murmured "good-night," Judith turned and
 
 282 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 hastened to her room ; she was nearly spent. On the 
 threshold, she paused and threw a glance of mingled love 
 and gratitude at Basil. " Good-night," she repeated, inclin 
 ing her head to him, almost humbly. 
 
 " Good-night," he said. 
 
 Safe in her room, Judith flung herself exhausted into a 
 chair. " The best piece of acting I ever did I " she ex 
 claimed, with a harsh, discordant laugh. " And it was good 
 because it was not all acting, either. I felt what I seemed 
 to him to dream. I have known what it is to live ! " For a 
 moment, she was confident, happy ; then, her fears returned. 
 " He must never know," she murmured. His simple faith 
 in her a faith which had accepted her subterfuge at once, 
 without a trace of doubt or even scrutiny, as something that 
 must necessarily be real awakened new aspirations in her. 
 Ah, if she could but keep him as he was unsuspecting, rev. 
 erent of her, untouched by her shame ! He would always 
 be true to her if he never knew. She would be true to him, 
 in so far as she could. It was impossible to wipe out the 
 past, to throw off her disguise ; but if loving service, counting 
 no sacrifice or cost, could absolve her, she might hope some 
 day to feel that she had atoned to him for her deceit. The 
 light by which she would steer her course would be what he 
 wished, what he believed in and respected. That should be 
 the only law for her. Deep down in her heart, lay the hope 
 that she might be able, in spite of all, to prove herself not 
 wholly unworthy of him. She could even imagine the pos 
 sibility of becoming, not good as the world defined good 
 ness she could never be that but responsive to his im 
 pulses, his ideals, the sharer of even his sterner views of 
 duty, because they were his.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 As yet, Oswald Reeve had had no opportunity of learn 
 ing the effect on Lydia of Basil's avowal at the dinner. 
 Burning with impatience, he nevertheless restrained himself. 
 It would not be in good taste, he thought, to call at the 
 Manor immediately. Basil had been an intimate in the 
 household, and doubtless, the whole family was in grief over 
 the loss of one for whom all had felt strong affection. But 
 while he waited, news came to him of Basil's engagement to 
 Judith Cheston. What a lucky change in the situation 1 It 
 seemed almost providential. Surely, this was his oppor 
 tunity. Even if Lydia loved Basil, she must turn from him, 
 now, in resentment at his open transfer of allegiance to an 
 other, and listen, if only from pique, to his (Oswald's) 
 suit. 
 
 Greatly encouraged, he set out for the Manor on the after 
 noon of the day of Basil's departure for Washington to apply 
 for a commission. Lydia was at home so the servant told 
 him at the door, adding that she was somewhere in the garden. 
 Oswald went in search of her, and soon found her under a 
 great linden near a grape arbour at the back of the house. 
 She was seated in a rustic chair, an elbow resting on one 
 of the arms, her hand supporting her head which drooped 
 rather wearily. A book lay open in her lap, but her thoughts 
 were far away from its pages. As it happened, Oswald 
 could not have found her at a more inauspicious moment. 
 Judith had just left her, after telling her of her engagement 
 to Basil, and she was suffering acutely. 
 
 She was suffering the more because she was suffering 
 dumbly, and knew that she must continue to suffer thus, to 
 
 283
 
 284 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 the end. Hers was a grief that could be confided to no one. 
 She might not even whisper it to the air, scarce even ac 
 knowledge it to herself. Her maidenly pride bade her deny 
 it, beat it down, refuse it harbour in her most secret thoughts. 
 Grieve for one who was pledged to another ? The mere idea 
 was shameful, intolerable. She had looked Judith calmly in 
 the eye and had congratulated her without a tremor. To 
 every one else, she must exhibit the same indifference. She 
 would hate herself if any one suspected her secret. 
 
 She had not seen Oswald coming, and when he spoke to her, 
 she was taken by Surprise. Annoyed, she rose and returned 
 his greeting with an air that was chill and almost sullen. 
 Why was he here to force her to smile and be polite when 
 her aching heart craved solitude and silence ? But recollect 
 ing herself and the courtesy due him, she pointed to an 
 empty chair, and said with a feeble effort at gaiety : 
 
 " You bring me pleasant news, I trust, Mr. Reeve. I am 
 terribly blue; only disagreeable things have happened of 
 late." 
 
 Neither her manner nor her words were encouraging, and 
 Oswald's hopes sank. But it was too late to draw back. 
 
 " I am very sorry I have no pleasant news," he said, watch, 
 ing her closely. " We have both lost a friend at least, 
 for a time ; Basil Kent left this morning to join the Union 
 Army." 
 
 He expected she would show either lively resentment or 
 keen distress. To his astonishment, her face lit up, her dark 
 eyes glowed, and she exclaimed, 
 
 " I am so glad of that ! It was the only thing for 
 him to do. He has the courage of his convictions. I 
 honour him for going ; he is a noble fellow. Ah, that I were 
 a man that I, too, might fight for the cause I believe to be 
 just ! " 
 
 She loved Basil ! There could no longer be any doubt of
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 285 
 
 that. There was a fire in her eyes which told of admiration 
 outweighing prejudice, scorning all littleness of thought or 
 feeling, and breaking impetuously through the trammels of 
 prudence and a woman's instinctive reserve. But did she 
 know of Basil's engagement to Judith ? A glimmer of hope 
 remained. He had yet to gauge the nature of her pride. 
 
 " You have heard of his engagement to your cousin ? " 
 
 The question was a cruel one for Lydia, but she faced him 
 bravely. 
 
 " Yes, Judith left me but a moment ago. He will be a for 
 tunate man if " here her voice broke a little, in spite of 
 her efforts to control it " if he ever returns. Judith is a 
 charming girl. She is not only very beautiful, as you know, 
 but lovely in every way, and wonderfully clever." 
 
 Oswald gazed at her in mute surprise. What a brave, gener 
 ous creature she was ! It was clear to him, now, that the 
 quality in her which had impressed him from the first with 
 the sense of impassable distance between them was a native 
 loftiness of soul which hated all meanness or evasion. This 
 girl was not afraid to look truth in the eye, even though it 
 might stab her. She was immeasurably above him. There 
 could be no real sympathy between them. Her spirit 
 climbed fearlessly to heights he could never hope to 
 scale. 
 
 He did not wish to scale them. He coveted her beauty, 
 her charm, her wayward temper, even, which added the spice 
 of uncertainty to his passion, but he felt he would never be 
 able to follow her in her more intimate thoughts and im 
 pulses. How could he ? Did he not know himself to be a 
 mere pretender ? Truthfulness, loyalty, gratitude had he 
 not convinced himself that they were but empty words for 
 him in any real crisis ? The only use he could make of 
 them was the superficial one of social convention : they were 
 virtues which, of course, he must seem to cherish as badges
 
 286 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 of gentility ; but there was the bitter consciousness that they 
 had no power in him against the coarse desires of the flesh. 
 He could admire her proud sincerity with a keen feeling of 
 envy the worst of it was, he was sensitive to fine impres 
 sions but in the daily association of married life, it might 
 be inconvenient. He would never rise above the level of 
 material ease and self-indulgence. Even if she cared for 
 him, she must have found this out some day, and then 
 
 He was seized with a sudden sense of fear. He could 
 never face her 1 How she would despise him ! What must 
 be her hatred if, by any chance, she discovered it was he 
 who had driven the man she loved away from her and into 
 the arms of another 1 And he had gained nothing by it. 
 On the contrary, he had hurt himself. His treachery had 
 served only to raise Basil in her esteem, to confirm her 
 in an unselfish devotion to him and to make him conscious of 
 how contemptible he must seem to her. Even if she never 
 knew him for what he was, there was in her something that 
 must always elude him, and in himself a grossness which 
 would infallibly shock and repel her. None the less, he 
 wanted her. She was so rare a creature 1 As he looked at 
 her, his passion flamed up, smothering his sense of guilt, his 
 doubts, his dread of her ultimate perceptions. For the time 
 being, he might possess her. So long as her ignorance 
 lasted, she would be his. Ah, what joy to hold captive this 
 ardent spirit breathing infinite scorn of what he knew lay 
 dormant in him 1 
 
 " When are you going South, Mr. Reeve ? " asked Lydia, 
 with a faint show of interest. She did not really care; 
 nothing mattered much, now. 
 
 The question stung Oswald. He had professed himself an 
 ardent Secessionist, in the hope of winning favour with her, 
 and since his recovery, he had spoken frequently of his in 
 tention to join the Confederate army. No doubt, she was
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR "287 
 
 mentally contrasting his tardiness with Basil's promptness. 
 It was clear she was utterly indifferent to him. She even 
 seemed inclined to chide him for loitering at her side. What 
 chance had he with a girl who could thus coolly remind him 
 that he was pledged to a duty which might mean death ? 
 His idle fancies were swept away by her words. 
 
 " To-morrow," he said, stiffening suddenly. It was all 
 over ; he might as well go. It would be a way of gaining 
 some credit with her. " I came to say good-bye." 
 
 Lydia gave him her hand ; it trembled slightly. There 
 was a suppressed feeling in his voice which affected her pain 
 fully. A wounded heart is acutely sympathethic. Could it 
 be that he cared for some one ? She reflected a moment. 
 He had not been particularly attentive to any one but her 
 self, and it had never seemed to her that he was very much 
 in earnest. She had known that he liked to be with her, to 
 talk to her, and at times, she had even suspected he might 
 admire her, more or less. But that he cherished a deeper 
 feeling, she had never dreamed. No hint of it had been 
 conveyed by his manner, which, from prudential motives, had 
 always been carefully guarded. She had thought of him 
 only as a pleasant trifler, a friend who had certain claims 
 upon her, whom she had found entertaining and easy to en 
 tertain. It was for this reason she had accepted his atten 
 tions carelessly, and even, in moments of anger at Basil, had 
 turned to him with a confident feeling of impunity. Perhaps, 
 there was latent in her mind, all the time, the sense of the 
 social difference between them. In spite of her strong liking 
 for him, it would have seemed improbable to her that he could 
 ever think seriously of asking her to be his wife. After all, 
 he was his father's son. But whatever the cause, it was 
 evident he had met with some disappointment that had made 
 him unhappy. A sudden pity welled into her eyes ; for the 
 moment, they were almost tender.
 
 288 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 " Good-bye, Mr. Reeve," she said, in her gentlest voice. 
 
 Oswald took the hand she held out to him and clasped it 
 mechanically. It was not thus he had hoped it might be 
 given him merely in token of farewell. Her compassion 
 hurt him. It seemed to him to emphasise the absurdity of 
 his hopes, the finality of their parting. 
 
 " Good-bye," he said, and dropping her hand, he bowed 
 and left her. 
 
 Lydia watched him mournfully until he had disappeared 
 within the house. She glanced about her at the bright mid 
 summer beauty of the garden, feeling even more miserable 
 and forlorn than before. Why was life so lovely and yet so 
 sad ? It was all a strange puzzle. She had once been so 
 keenly alive to the charm of the quaint old garden, but now, 
 she derived no pleasure from it. There was only a dull feel 
 ing of apathy. And yet, it almost seemed as though it 
 were trying to look its best to rouse her. Seldom had she 
 beheld it in a brighter setting. The sun, blood-red, was 
 sinking in a mass of violet cloud whose edges were tipped 
 with silver. In a clear open space above, a fleecy fragment 
 was caught up in graceful folds, as of delicate lace. Fireflies 
 twinkled among the box-trees and trailed their flash-lights over 
 the smooth turf at her feet. A polished horseshoe, hanging 
 by a nail from the gray trunk of the linden, caught the red 
 rays of the sun and glowed like a monster ruby. The grass 
 was already damp with dew, and the air was perfumed with 
 a cool,delicious fragrance, with a faint scent of clover blossoms. 
 Here and there, a gaudy butterfly flitted, pausing at some 
 flower to take a last sip before turning in for the night. 
 Suddenly, a whip-poor-will, perched on the roof of the veran 
 dah, sounded its shrill, plaintive note. It seemed to her 
 to voice her grief, to ease her heart a little. She was grate 
 ful to the bird. There was something sad in Nature too, 
 after all ; it wasn't quite insensible to her anguish. The
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 289 
 
 whip-poor-will uttered for her the rebellious cry of her heart 
 against fate. 
 
 Oswald hurried away from the Manor, driven by a fierce 
 eagerness to plunge into some kind of rashness, he knew not 
 what. He was willing enough to go South, now there 
 would be plenty of distraction there but if only something 
 would happen on the way ! He dug his spurs into his 
 horse and drove him on furiously, almost hoping he would 
 run away with him and beat his head against a tree or fling 
 him into a ditch. At a sudden turn in the road, he nearly 
 ran into Turlo Cheston, who, mounted on a fiery hunter, was 
 riding quite as recklessly. 
 
 Turlo pulled up, turned, and came back to Oswald, who had 
 also checked his horse. 
 
 " What the deuce is the matter ? " demanded Turlo, rolling 
 heavily in his saddle it was evident, at once, to Oswald, 
 that he was more than half drunk. " You were riding like 
 mad, and look as if you had the Devil behind you I " 
 
 " I have just been at the Manor to say good-bye," an 
 swered Oswald, " I am going South." 
 
 " Are you though ? " said Turlo, his eyes gleaming, " I'm 
 about to start myself; we might go together." 
 
 He had a shrewd suspicion of what had happened to 
 Oswald. For some time, he had seen quite clearly that 
 Oswald was heels over head in love with Lydia, and he 
 made no doubt that he had tried his luck and failed. Of 
 course, he had failed. He liked Oswald well enough, but 
 what could the fellow expect ? How absurd to suppose that 
 Lydia could care for him ! He was handsome, agreeable, 
 everything a girl could wish for, but he was a Reeve. 
 The idea of his marrying a Cheston, especially Lydia, the 
 proudest girl alive ! None the less, he pitied Oswald. He 
 knew only too well what he must be suffering, for he, him 
 self, was suffering in precisely the same way. His beautiful
 
 290 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 cousin, Judith, had just jilted him yes, jilted him, that 
 was the word for it in the most cold-blooded manner. Turlo 
 swore a great oath at the thought. She had led him on to 
 think she cared for him, had used him to protect herself from 
 gossiping tongues, and then, when quite sure of her own hap 
 piness, had given him the mitten. He harboured no thoughts 
 of revenge against her. Her secret was as safe with him as 
 it had ever been he was a gentleman, and he loved her 
 but her treatment of him was hard to bear. He had gone 
 to her that day, full of hope, to ask her to be his wife, and 
 she, radiant with happiness, had informed him, quite non 
 chalantly, that she had just engaged herself to Basil Kent. 
 Oh, curse the luck 1 He was ready for anything wild. He 
 had spent several hours at a tavern drinking hard, with no 
 other result than to inflame his wrath. He was ripe for any 
 mad adventure. Go South ? The very thing. There, men 
 were fighting, and riot reigned. He longed to be in the 
 midst of it. He would cut, slash, tear things to pieces, 
 and perhaps, be smashed by a cannon ball in the glorious 
 chaos. 
 
 " I'm with you, old fellow ! " he cried, his face aflame. 
 " Say the word ! " 
 
 Oswald gazed at him with sudden sympathy he under 
 stood. Turlo's admiration for Judith had been open, undis 
 guised from the first. 
 
 "He, too, has been hit hard," he said to himself. "We 
 both seek the same thing ; we are comrades in misfortune. 
 And then, he is Lydia's brother." 
 
 " I shall be very glad to have you," he said to Turlo, who 
 seized his hand and shook it hard. 
 
 Next morning, they set out together.
 
 EDGAR CHESTON was still in Washington, and seemed, from 
 the tenor of his occasional letters to Judith, to be absorbed in 
 political affairs. She had begun to hope that he had found 
 a field for his energies which might prove more attractive 
 than even the Manor. He had always loved power and the 
 exercise of his talent for controlling men ; what more prob 
 able than that he would be tempted to enter the political 
 arena where great opportunities were now presenting them 
 selves to unscrupulous and daring spirits, such as his, in the 
 demoralisation that had already resulted from the war ? If 
 this happened, he would be likely to leave her unmolested. 
 In any event, he was interested in strengthening her position ; 
 he would still need money. He might even be made to see 
 that her marriage to Basil was perhaps the surest means of 
 protecting both him and herself from possible disclosures. 
 As the wife of a man of Basil's character and social standing, 
 she would be doubly intrenched. 
 
 She was mistaken in attributing to Edgar any ambition 
 other than that of obtaining possession of the Manor. 
 Nothing seemed to him worth striving for, compared with 
 the satisfaction of regaining what he had lost ; of revenging 
 himself upon those who had made him suffer ; of becoming 
 what he had been meant to be the head of the family in 
 spite of all. There was still alive in him a kind of pride 
 a perverted form of the family instinct which invested the 
 mere position of Master of the Manor with a consequence, 
 an authority, a subtle, peculiar influence that he coveted 
 with all his soul. He had felt the savour of it as the ac 
 knowledged heir ; there was no incense like it, for him. He 
 
 291
 
 292 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 lingered in Washington only because he was seeking there 
 the means of ensuring the success of his plans. He had 
 seen, from the first, that Maryland would probably remain 
 in the Union if not voluntarily, then under compulsion. 
 It was clear to him that the North would not permit the with 
 drawal of a State that offered the only road to the Federal 
 capital,and he did not doubt its power of coercion. He meant 
 to be on the winning side : he might need help. The people 
 with whom he would have to deal at home were all Seces 
 sionists; if it became necessary to put pressure upon 
 some of them that slippery rascal, Reeve, for example it 
 would be very convenient to have the Government at his 
 back. It were easy to work in the dark. Nobody at home 
 need know. In any event, it was important to make himself 
 safe from molestation ; if he were not known to be loyal, 
 some meddling provost marshal or spy might cause him 
 trouble just at the moment when any interruption would be 
 most embarrassing. No : he was not wasting his time in Wash 
 ington he was making a distinct impression in official cir 
 cles ; more than one member of the Cabinet had listened at 
 tentively to his views as a "border State" man. 
 
 There was another motive for his return which neither 
 he nor Judith suspected. His interest in her was deeper 
 than either of them knew. Judith, indeed, was inclined to 
 think it almost wholly mercenary. There had been a time 
 when she had accepted it for something else. She had 
 even flattered herself with the idea that he really cared for 
 her in a way, and very strongly. Her beauty, she was sure, 
 had power over him ; there were symptoms of hot jealousy 
 now and then. But when he revealed himself as an old man, 
 exposing all his ugliness to her, she concluded she had exag 
 gerated his feeling. It was merely sensual and subordinate. 
 At any rate, whatever it was, it had not been strong enough 
 to deter him. It was evident he valued what she could
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 293 
 
 obtain for him more highly than he valued her. The thought 
 gave her great comfort. If she could but make him see that 
 it was to his interest, he might even be amiable about Basil. 
 She little dreamed that his feeling for her had only been 
 smothered for awhile by a more engrossing passion ; that it 
 needed but the spark of jealousy to set it aflame. 
 
 A few days after Basil's departure, she was roused from 
 her illusions with a roughness that startled her. A brief 
 note from Edgar informed her that he had returned from 
 Washington and was at the Manor. It ended with a sum 
 mons to her to meet him in a sheltered place behind the 
 church. " I have something to say to you privately," he 
 added, " we must not be overheard. No house is safe 
 especially the Rectory, with that prying Tippett woman 
 about." 
 
 What did his sudden reappearance mean? Perhaps 
 Basil, who was now in Washington, had told him of their 
 engagement, and he had hastened back to put his veto upon 
 it, to reassert his control. Was he afraid she would throw 
 him over ? Could it be that he did care ; that he was 
 jealous of Basil ? Fool as if she could ever be the same 
 to him ! She shuddered at the thought that if he had con 
 ceived so absurd an idea, he might have found some means 
 of injuring her with Basil she knew how clever he was in 
 sowing the seeds of suspicion without compromising himself. 
 It would be a difficult task for him to discredit her and still 
 maintain the fiction of being her father, but it seemed to her 
 he might be capable of even that. As the hour he had set 
 for the interview drew near, she hastened to the appointed 
 rendezvous in a fever of anxiety. 
 
 The spot was well chosen for secrecy a quiet corner of 
 the churchyard screened by the walls of the church and a 
 tall hedge of cedar. A moment after her arrival, Edgar 
 appeared, forcing his way through a narrow gap in the
 
 294 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 hedge. He was carefully dressed as usual, and seemed in a 
 pleasant humour. 
 
 " Punctual to the minute," he exclaimed, glancing at his 
 watch. " Well done for a woman." 
 
 He took her hand and offered to kiss her, but she drew 
 back quickly, with a gesture of repugnance. He affected 
 to be amused, but his eyes gleamed angrily. 
 
 " What, not one kiss for your Father ? Well as you 
 please. But really, you are cruel. I never saw you look 
 better. Your life here agrees with you, my dear. Posi 
 tively, you are more beautiful than ever. It is quite evident 
 you haven't been bored. From what I saw of young Kent 
 in Washington, I wouldn't have imagined him to be so en 
 tertaining." 
 
 Judith winced ; her fears were not unfounded. Basil had 
 spoken to him. What had he said to Basil ? What was he 
 about to say to her ? 
 
 " You won't interfere ? " she demanded fiercely, " I 
 love him 1 " 
 
 " Indeed 1 " said Edgar, with a sneering laugh, " that's a 
 naive confession." 
 
 11 You think me incapable of loving ? " she said, bitterly. 
 " You fancy you did your work so well that I am wholly 
 perverted ? I ought to be you did your best to form me 
 on your own model but there is a touch of natural feel 
 ing in me, still ; you didn't succeed in making me wholly bad 
 and artificial like yourself." 
 
 " I had no reason to complain of your lack of natural 
 feeling for me," he said, insolently she had cut him to the 
 quick. 
 
 " I wouldn't boast of that, if I were you," she retorted, 
 " You know very well that you imposed upon me ; that you 
 took a base advantage of my ignorance. Of course, I was 
 attracted by you oh, you were very clever ! I never saw a
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 295 
 
 more deceptive make-up on the stage. And how artfully 
 you humoured me, how adroit you were in making me think 
 myself fortunate a girl who could do anything she chose, 
 who could set aside all ordinary rules, whose only law was 
 to please herself and you 1 You little dreamed what you 
 were doing when you placed me among good people. They 
 have opened my eyes. I know, now, what I owe you. I 
 shall never forgive you never ! " 
 
 " Oh, very well ! " said Edgar, affecting to make light 
 of it, " I'll try to worry along. But really, you do owe me 
 something for having brought you here ; I seem to have 
 let you in for a good thing. I must confess I would 
 have hesitated had I known the use you would make of 
 your opportunities. It may play the deuce with my 
 plans ! " 
 
 In spite of his pretence of indifference, he was alarmed. 
 It was evident his influence was seriously threatened. She 
 would not have been so bitter against him if she were not 
 enamoured of Kent. It was true as she had said that 
 he had fallen short of complete success in " forming " her. 
 That would have been disappointing enough in itself, but 
 this was worse to find that she was mutinous, that some 
 thing had wakened in her a dangerous spirit of resistance. 
 He had never counted upon this. He thought he had 
 tamed her and made her docile to his lightest wish, and lo ! 
 she had turned upon him. Had he blundered, after all, in 
 choosing her for his confederate ? 
 
 When Basil Kent had come to him in Washington and 
 asked his consent to his marriage with his daughter, he had 
 almost laughed in his face. Of course, she was fooling this 
 guileless young countryman. His daughter ! If the fellow 
 knew ! What was her game, he had instantly asked himself. 
 That she had some practical end in view, or, perhaps, was 
 merely amusing herself, he did not doubt. He had hastened
 
 296 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 to her to satisfy himself of the real state of things, and to 
 warn her against committing any imprudence. And she had 
 the audacity to talk to him of love. She was actually in 
 earnest. She, who had been his puppet. He was torn 
 with jealousy the furious jealousy of an old man, who 
 knows he has no chance against a young lover. Her beauty 
 had intoxicated him, long ago, and abusing his influence 
 over her without the smallest compunction, he had moulded 
 her so cunningly to his passion, persuading her that most 
 men were but replicas of himself and there was nothing 
 better to look for, that he had believed her incapable of 
 caring seriously for any one else even though she ceased to 
 care for him. It maddened him to think another man might 
 possess her. Until now, he had not realised how strong a 
 hold she had upon him ; there was in his mind so confident 
 a sense of mastery, that it had been easy to convince him 
 self she could never wholly escape him. She might dislike 
 him, but she would obey. Like a well-trained animal, she 
 would come at his whistle. There had been brutal pleasure 
 for him in the thought. To lose her altogether, to know 
 that some one else had power over her a kind of power he 
 had never enjoyed this brought to him a sudden, fierce 
 perception of the fact that he wanted her for herself, not 
 merely because she was useful to him. For the moment, he 
 could conceive the possibility of letting everything else go if 
 he might but retain his hold upon her. 
 
 What folly ! It was but an idle whim, of course. He must 
 shake it off. He was amazed and even disgusted with him 
 self. What give way to precisely the same sort of weakness 
 he had ridiculed in her ? Was it possible he, too, was 
 guilty of a form of that stupid obsession called love ? Fudge ! 
 He was too old a bird for such nonsense ; there were seri 
 ous interests at stake. It was merely an impulse of admi 
 ration he had always been so damned susceptible which
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 297 
 
 he could easily gratify elsewhere. There were other women 
 as beautiful, who would not be indifferent to him. He could 
 no longer deceive her, but it would be easy to resume the 
 disguise of middle age and play the same trick over again 
 with women who did not know him. And yet, as she con 
 fronted him, superb in her wrath, he was inflamed by the 
 desire to seize her in his arms, to press her lovely head down 
 by sheer force upon his shoulder, to tell her he would never 
 give her up. 
 
 " You really seem to have a fancy for that clod hopper," 
 he said, with a vicious snarl, " what is it you find in him ? " 
 
 " Everything I failed to find in you," she exclaimed hotly, 
 resenting the slur on Basil. 
 
 " He must possess some phenomenal qualities." 
 
 " They are summed up in a few words : He is an honest 
 man." 
 
 " And you are an honest woman ? " 
 
 Outraged, she flashed upon him a murderous glance. The 
 wretch to ask this question of her whom he had degraded ! 
 She felt as if some loathsome reptile had reared itself in her 
 path. The words, the look, the man himself were all abom 
 inable. The worst of it was, he had a kind of right to 
 taunt her. Had she not obeyed him indifferently, without a 
 struggle ? And he had spared her in nothing nothing ! 
 Who was she, he might well ask her, to place herself at the 
 side of a man like Basil Kent, to claim his love, t his confi 
 dence ? No, she could never cleanse herself from the stain 
 this monster had put upon her, or even forget it so long as 
 he lived and could remind her of it. 
 
 " Take care ! " she cried, " you may go too far 1 " 
 
 There was hatred in her eyes, and he saw it. For the 
 moment, she frightened him. He had lost her that was 
 clear. He must not lose the Magruder fortune or the 
 Manor. He might lose both unless he pacified her. Without
 
 298 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 her, he could do little or nothing. It was hard,, but he must 
 give her her head. 
 
 " I begin to believe your forte is tragedy, after all," he 
 said, with a clumsy effort at his former negligence, " how 
 ever, there is really no occasion for playing heroics with me. 
 What difference does it make what you are, or what I know, 
 provided your future husband doesn't know, and need never 
 know, if you are prudent ? It happens that I am the only 
 individual who could supply him with definite information. 
 You have been useful to me ; you can be more so. It is 
 true I don't relish your sudden fancy, but it seems to have 
 taken such hold on you that the only thing for me to do is 
 to try and reconcile myself to it. Of course, you must make 
 it worth the effort." 
 
 Judith's eyes flashed joy. He had not betrayed her to 
 Basil yet. He still wanted something else more eagerly 
 than he wanted her, in spite of the fierce outburst of jealousy 
 which had so astonished and shaken her. If she could pur 
 chase even comparative freedom from him for the time 
 being, complete deliverance might, some day, come. What 
 ever happened to her, at least this thing was precious that 
 Basil should not know. Let him name his conditions ! 
 There was no price she would not pay for silence, save only 
 the renewal of the hateful intimacy which, for a moment, he 
 had seemed about to demand. 
 
 " You have been prudent, I hope ? " asked Edgar sud 
 denly, struck by the thought that she might have confided 
 something to Basil. " You have told him nothing ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Good I You might easily have wrecked yourself with him 
 with a word. My brother tells me he is the ' soul of honour.' " 
 Edgar's lip curled derisively. " That means he'd never 
 pardon an indiscretion in a woman." 
 
 " What do you want of me ? " she asked, impatiently.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 299 
 
 " Oh, very little ! " he said, with a shrug of the shoulders, 
 " I merely wish to be reassured. I feared you might have 
 lost your head. I know something of these infatuations in 
 women. They often blind them to facts. It was necessary 
 to remind you. We are still indispensable to each other 
 that is all I seek to make clear to you. You admit it, don't 
 you ? I may take it for granted I may still count upon your 
 help ; that you will do nothing to prevent me from winning 
 the stake we started out to play for ? You've changed so 
 much I hope you haven't any foolish scruples on that 
 point." 
 
 " None at all," she said, curtly. What a relief to know 
 that it was merely a question of money I The Magruder 
 fortune was now a matter of indifference to her. "You 
 mean the inheritance ? " she asked, with an air of contempt. 
 " You are welcome to the whole of it." 
 
 " Thanks," said Edgar dryly, " that would hardly do. 
 Your future husband might think me grasping. Half of it 
 will serve my purpose just as well. It would look better if 
 we took an equal share. Perhaps, I might claim as much 
 in right of my wife." 
 
 " As you will," she answered carelessly, " I fancy I shall 
 have earned my share. There is nothing else ? " 
 
 " Nothing except the inconvenience I may possibly cause 
 some of your new friends. You'll not mind that ? " 
 
 " If I do, I shan't object. I ask but one thing of you 
 silence ; you have promised me that. Be sure I shall hold 
 you to your word." 
 
 " Well, we understand each other. Our treaty is renewed, 
 for mutual defence ? It is merely a question, now, of keep 
 ing up appearances. This is the last time, I hope, we shall 
 have to hold a secret conference; it is always dangerous. 
 A word overheard might ruin all." 
 
 What a shock for him had he known that he was even
 
 300 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 then being overheard! The eavesdropper was the very 
 person he had feared Mrs. Tippett. She had accidentally 
 entered the church some minutes before, and hearing voices 
 outside, had cautiously opened the vestry door, and peering 
 through the crack, had discovered Edgar and Judith in close 
 conversation. Only fragments of sentences reached her, for 
 they had been careful to draw away some distance from the 
 church and were speaking in lower tones than at first. But 
 she had gleaned enough to rouse her suspicions. A bargain 
 had been concluded between them for the division of the 
 money. Each of them was to have half in other words, the 
 share she would have received, had Judith never appeared 
 to claim the whole. What did this mean ? And Edgar so 
 Judith reminded him had promised silence ; immediately 
 afterwards, he had spoken of a treaty " for mutual defence." 
 Why should such a compact be made between father and 
 daughter ? Clearly, there was something wrong. How un 
 fortunate she had arrived so late and had heard so little 1 
 She waited anxiously, hoping to hear more, but Judith 
 merely said, " I shall take care, - for my own sake, not to 
 compromise you ; I won't forget my lines ! " Edgar nodded, 
 as if pleased, and then, they parted with perfunctory good 
 byes, Judith going one way, Edgar another. There was a 
 dark mystery here what was the key to it ? Mrs. Tippett 
 racked her brain for a plausible theory. Evidently, there 
 was rascality at bottom. They wouldn't have met thus 
 clandestinely unless Edgar had some object to gain that 
 wouldn't bear the light. Was it possible there was a flaw 
 in Judith's title to the inheritance ? Mrs. Tippett's heart 
 beat quickly at the thought. She would wait and watch. 
 The girl was sly she had suspected it for some time and 
 was sure of it now but she had great faith in her own 
 cleverness. She had never yet known a secret to baffle her 
 in the long run. And this time, she would leave no stone
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 301 
 
 unturned. Was it not her duty ? Had not her whole life 
 been dedicated to the uprooting of evil and to "doing 
 good " ? A fortune might be at stake. If she could rescue 
 it from so notorious a loose liver as Edgar Cheston and con 
 vert it to worthy purposes, would she not be culpable if she 
 neglected any means ? Full of righteous zeal, she started at 
 once upon her inquisition, like a hound upon the trail.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 EDGAR conducted himself most amiably at the Manor. It 
 was essential, at first, to win general confidence in order that 
 he might obtain the fullest mastery of affairs. There was 
 plenty of time, for certain formalities must be complied 
 with before the Magruder inheritance could pass fully into 
 Judith's hands. Until the money was actually in his posses 
 sion, he could take no decisive step. Meanwhile, he could 
 well afford to be ingratiating. He wished to lead his brother 
 on to further extravagances so that he would compromise 
 himself irretrievably, and if he could delude the other 
 members of the household by affecting to be kindly and well- 
 disposed, it would be easy to make them unwitting accom 
 plices of his schemes. He was afraid of his mother's acute- 
 ness and took special pains to please her. As to the 
 Colonel's wife, he had no apprehensions. He knew she mis 
 trusted him, but she could do nothing against him without 
 endangering herself. 
 
 In a little while, he seemed to have identified himself 
 completely with his brother's interests. His one object, to 
 all appearances, was to repair the family fortunes ; to restore 
 to the Manor its old prosperity. He professed to his mother 
 the intention to transfer his claim upon the property ulti 
 mately to his nephew. Turlo, so that the latter might succeed 
 to the estate unencumbered by it. " Judith is amply pro 
 vided for," he explained, " and of course, I am anxious that 
 the Manor should be held in the family name. Turlo will 
 probably marry soon. His children will found the family 
 anew." His wish seemed a natural one to old Mrs. Cheston, 
 and was most gratifying to the Colonel. It was in accord 
 
 302
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 303 
 
 with a deeply-rooted instinct of the plantation class an in 
 stinct which explains the tenacity which the old families of 
 Tidewater Maryland exhibit, even in these days of disinte 
 gration and decay, in clinging to their homes. 
 
 So strong was the feeling of local attachment and 
 family pride that, when an old homestead was on the 
 point of passing into alien hands, some member was often 
 to be found occasionally among far distant shoots to come 
 to the rescue in order to " keep it in the family." It was 
 not uncommon to hear of sons who had wandered off in 
 search of fortune returning, when fortune had been secured, 
 to prop or renew the falling house. In many instances, men 
 turned aside from professional or business occupations to 
 take upon themselves the burden of extricating from debt an 
 estate which had fallen into incapable hands.'' The feeling 
 of family obligation was stronger than the craving for indi 
 vidual success. The love of the " old place " eclipsed the 
 allurements of fortune and renown. To rehabilitate it and 
 establish it once more on a firm foundation was a work of 
 blended love and pride more tempting than anything the 
 world had to offer. It was but natural that Ole Miss and the 
 Colonel should imagine Edgar to be actuated solely by these 
 motives. The truant had, in their eyes, merely returned to 
 do his traditional duty. 
 
 The Colonel placed himself unreservedly in Edgar's hands, 
 with a feeling of grateful confidence and relief. Edgar, he 
 argued, knew just what ought to be done, and had the power 
 as well as the inclination to do it. When Edgar proposed 
 to advance further sums for repairs to the buildings and 
 improvement of the land, he accepted the offer without hesi 
 tation. The additional burden of debt he was assuming 
 gave him no concern. Why should it ? Edgar was inter 
 ested, almost as much as himself, in " building up " the 
 estate for Turlo. It would have seemed absurd to him that
 
 304 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 any influence hostile to himself or to Turlo could be work 
 ing in Edgar's mind. 
 
 There was but one person in the household who was not 
 deceived. The Colonel's wife could not conquer her dread 
 of Edgar. Every now and then, it was quickened by chance 
 indications in his manner, an incautious word or two, a 
 swift, inquisitive glance. When they happened to be alone 
 together, he was always mockingly deferential, and some 
 times, even tender. She was sure he meditated some cruel 
 form of revenge, yet nothing happened. Week after week 
 of suspense crept slowly by, and still, Edgar gave no sign. 
 Meanwhile, his influence over the Colonel grew apace, and 
 she could do nothing to put her husband on his guard. How 
 could she convince him her mistrust of his brother was 
 anything more than a nervous caprice ? He would make 
 light of her fears unless she told him their cause, and it was 
 precisely this she was passionately anxious to conceal. 
 
 Little by little, Edgar absorbed the management of the 
 property into his hands. He no longer took the trouble to 
 pretend to consult the Colonel, though he talked farming 
 with him for form's sake and because he wished to avoid 
 political discussions. It was almost impossible to extract 
 an opinion from him upon public affairs. The Colonel 
 chafed a little at his lack of interest in what, for him, was 
 the absorbing topic, but attributed it to his preoccupation in 
 the business of the estate. 
 
 The time for action arrived at last. Within a few months, 
 the Colonel's indebtedness had become so great that his 
 bankruptcy was assured, provided the slaves, who repre 
 sented his working capital, could be taken from him. This 
 had become a comparatively easy task. An encampment of 
 Union troops had been established in the neighbourhood, and 
 negroes were flocking to it from all parts of the country. 
 The idea had spread among them that not only would
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 305 
 
 freedom be secured to them by the military arm, but the 
 federal government would provide for all their bodily wants. 
 The prospect offered a tempting bait. The slaves deserted 
 the plantations in droves. 
 
 Edgar set to work through the agency of Smyrk, the over 
 seer, who, wishing to propitiate the new master, had become 
 his eager ally. Smyrk employed a negro preacher to second 
 his efforts. At first, they found it uphill work. The Manor 
 slaves were thoroughly contented. " Ole Marse " had 
 always been kind and indulgent, their work was light, and 
 they were sure of good clothes and a profuse abundance of 
 victuals at the Quarter. Besides, they derived a certain 
 pride from the fact that they were " Manor niggers." The 
 slaves had their own social lines, determined by the position 
 of their owners. The Cheston slaves held first rank among 
 the " quality " negroes of the neighbourhood, and were loath 
 to relinquish this distinction. Attachment to their old home 
 and to the family also acted as a strong deterrent. 
 
 The preacher returned to Smyrk, discouraged. 
 
 " I kaint budge 'em," he said. " Dey 'pears ter make no 
 'count o' de Guvment. ' Ole Marse en' Ole Miss is good 
 enough guvment fur us,' dey sez. ' We ain't so sho' uv dat 
 udder guvment you talks erbout. Hit mought be better, en' 
 hit mought be wuss.' " 
 
 "You'll ha' ter skeer 'em," said the cunning overseer with 
 a wink. " Tell 'em the Colonel's deep in debt, en' they'll ha' 
 ter be sold. That'll fetch 'em." 
 
 The preacher returned to the Quarter with this tale. It 
 worked like magic. The negroes knew " Ole Marse " was 
 in debt. What more probable than that he would be com 
 pelled to sell them perhaps " to Georgia," as selling them 
 for transfer to the far Southern States was called among the 
 s\aves. They did not know that the war rendered this im 
 practicable. It was a peril, immediate and real for them, at 
 20
 
 306 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 which the boldest shuddered. The Maryland negro had in fact, 
 a peculiar horror of being " sold to Georgia." It was seldom 
 done by the more humane planters, and then, only as a pun 
 ishment for serious offences. It meant to be torn from 
 family and friends and dragged away to what was believed 
 to be a much harder form of servitude, to conditions all the 
 more dreaded because unknown. 
 
 A panic took possession of the Manor negroes at the mere 
 suggestion. Only old Caesar, Dinah, Phyllis and the Colonel's 
 " body servant," Pompey, held out against the general scare. 
 They did not believe in the danger, they said, and even if it 
 existed, they wouldn't leave " Marster " until compelled. 
 All the others hurried off as soon as darkness came to shroud 
 their movements. Even Chloe's love for Young Miss was 
 not proof against a temptation appealing equally to her fears 
 and her passion for running away. 
 
 The blow was a heavy one for the Colonel. His pecuni 
 ary loss scarcely affected him at all, but the absence of the 
 familiar figures about him caused him cruel pain. He had 
 looked upon his slaves as being, in a certain sense, his chil 
 dren even the oldest among them,whom he always addressed 
 as " Uncle " and " Aunty." Like children, they were help 
 less creatures whom he must provide for, instruct, rebuke 
 or indulge. Many of them had been companions of his boy 
 hood with whom he had played and hunted. Others had 
 been the nurses or out-of-door preceptors of his early child 
 hood to whose quaint stories he had often listened with 
 rapt attention. The great majority had grown up under his 
 eye. A thousand homely impressions endeared them to 
 him. Their apparently voluntary desertion wounded him all 
 the more keenly because he had no suspicion of any inciting 
 cause. Old Caesar, who informed him of their flight, con 
 siderately withheld from him the fact that his apprehended ruin 
 was the animating motive. An instinctive sense of delicacy
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 restrained the old negro. It was not for him to tell " Mars- 
 ter " that the real state of his affairs was better known to his 
 slaves than to himself. He wished to spare both his feeling 
 of security and his pride. It might be that the disaster 
 would be averted, though Caesar had begun to suspect 
 " Marse Edgar." If it was not averted, it would make itself 
 known soon enough. At any rate, it should not be his hand 
 that struck down the one being he loved above all others, 
 whom he had dandled on his knee as a child. 
 
 The Colonel had no thought of attempting to induce the 
 negroes to return. If, after all his care and kindness, they 
 could desert him of their own choice as he imagined they 
 had done, it would be an idle task. If they came home dis 
 appointed, he would receive them kindly, and care for them 
 as before, but he had no hope of that. A few stragglers 
 might appear some day, but never again would he see them 
 all in their accustomed places. The mere novelty of freedom 
 would tempt them far, and they would soon be scattered, 
 wandering hither and thither at the mercy of wind and 
 weather. The utmost he could do was to send word by 
 Csesar that the Quarter stood open for them whenever they 
 chose to come back. 
 
 Sad at heart, he walked down to the Quarter at nightfall, 
 hoping against hope that some had returned. The building 
 was empty. Tears glistened in his eyes at the sight of it, a 
 shadowy mass in the darkness from which came no sound. 
 Usually, at this hour, it was gay with lights and laughter, but 
 now, for the first time in its history, it was silent and de 
 serted. It was as though Death had entered, to abide there. 
 And death, indeed, was there death to the Old Order which 
 the Colonel so passionately loved.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 REEVE was disagreeably surprised by Edgar's pretended 
 devotion to the family interests. It had been his firm con 
 viction that he would promptly exact the payment of the 
 money due him from the Colonel. Apparently, he was 
 neither grasping nor revengeful, but inclined to help his 
 brother. Reeve concluded that age had tempered him and 
 he had settled down at last into a quiet respectability at the 
 Manor, relieved by occasional visits to Baltimore where, 
 the lawyer suspected, he indemnified himself by going on a 
 spree. He knew the black sheep among the " Quality " 
 so well ! There was a latent pride even in the most depraved 
 of them that sometimes converted men who had been prod 
 igal in their youth into steady home lovers in their old age. 
 At first, Edgar's activity in the management of affairs at the 
 Manor caused Reeve no little apprehension. If he took it 
 into his head to pry into the accounts, he might discover 
 facts which would enable him to bring ugly charges against 
 him. Edgar was much too shrewd not to draw conclusions 
 that might be very damaging. Reeve regretted, now, that 
 the Colonel's obtuseness had tempted him to indulge his 
 greed rather recklessly. Then, too, Edgar might advise 
 retrenchment, and if he managed economically, he might 
 baffle him in his designs upon the property. 
 
 But Edgar did nothing of the kind. On the contrary, he 
 led his brother on to greater expenditure. Reeve chuckled 
 at each new extravagance ; it was another step towards the 
 Colonel's downfall. Unconsciously, he fancied, Edgar was 
 playing into his hands. In course of time, he was completely 
 reassured, as Edgar gave no sign of suspecting him. Evi- 
 
 308
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 309 
 
 dently, he had not thought of sifting the accounts. It would 
 soon be possible, now, to foreclose. He had no fear of 
 Edgar's bidding against him at the sale, for he had satisfied 
 himself he could not command any large amount of money. 
 The Magruder inheritance had been left in trust, and Edgar's 
 daughter could not touch the principal. At most, she could 
 control only the income, some ten or twelve thousand dollars 
 a year a trifle compared with the sum that would be re 
 quired to outbid him for the purchase of the Manor. He 
 was quite serene on this point, for he, himself, had drawn 
 the will. 
 
 One afternoon, late in the autumn, Reeve was seated in 
 his office looking over the papers which contained the history 
 of his dealings with the Colonel in order to refresh his 
 memory before deciding finally upon his course of proce 
 dure. He still wished to avoid an open break with the 
 Colonel. If only Oswald were at hand 1 It was possible, 
 when disaster overtook her father, that that haughty little 
 piece would be more willing to listen to him. But Oswald 
 was far away in the South he knew not where. He might 
 be wounded or even dead no, he would not admit to him 
 self that this was possible. It would be too cruel. What 
 folly in the boy to rush into danger merely because of a girl's 
 caprice ! He had begged him to go abroad again, but he 
 had refused on the plea that she would think him a coward. 
 Ah, well, he would have all straight for him when he came 
 home; he would fix things so that Oswald would be 
 able to present himself to her as the future master of the 
 Manor a very different individual in her eyes from the 
 young fellow she had treated so shabbily. His dream, he 
 tried to persuade himself, might be realised after all. At 
 any rate, once in possession of the Manor, he would hold it, 
 not as his own, but in trust for Oswald, so that he might 
 have another chance with the girl. Of course, he would not
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 disturb the family ; they should continue to live there 
 at a nominal rent, and they would be forced to admit that 
 he knew how to behave with some delicacy 1 
 
 Reeve's office was illustrative of the man's curious pride. 
 It was a mere wooden shanty, so old and crazy that it seemed 
 on the point of tumbling down. People thought it odd he 
 should have built so grand a residence and yet continued to 
 transact business in this hovel. He clung to it because its 
 very meanness tickled his vanity. It was eloquent, to his 
 mind, of all he had accomplished. If his " mansion" showed 
 the height to which he had risen, his office revealed the 
 depths from which he had lifted himself by his own efforts. 
 He would not even permit the furniture to be changed. It 
 was old and ricketty a few oak chairs ; a tall desk, covered 
 with green baize, splashed with ink, and a large table, all 
 whittled and carved by waiting clients who had sought to 
 relieve their tedium with jackknife exercise. Rough pine 
 shelves held a somewhat meagre collection of law books. It 
 was one of Reeve's boasts that he carried his law in his 
 head. He felt more at ease here than in his luxurious home. 
 The atmosphere was better suited to his tastes. Here, he 
 could be his real self the rough and ready man of affairs, 
 respectful to some clients, familiar with others, with no fear 
 of violating social proprieties. 
 
 Reeve was interrupted in his examination of the Manor 
 papers by a tap on the door, and a moment later, Edgar 
 Cheston entered, 
 
 " How are you, Reeve ? " he asked, with a careless nod. 
 
 The lawyer rose quickly, and greeted him with his usual 
 air of obsequiousness. He imagined Edgar had got into 
 deep water in his efforts to manage his brother's affairs and 
 had come to ask him to help him out. He was not unwil 
 ling, if there was profit in it. Cupidity was still strong in 
 him. He was one of those rich men who are never quite
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 311 
 
 rich enough; besides, he thoroughly enjoyed the sense of 
 having got the better of a clever opponent in a bargain. 
 
 " What can I do for you ? " he asked solicitously, when 
 Edgar was seated. 
 
 " I came about those mortgages on the Manor," said 
 Edgar. 
 
 " Yes ? " said Reeve, inquiringly. He assumed that 
 Edgar was about to ask whether more money could be bor 
 rowed. 
 
 " I've decided to take them off your hands." 
 
 Edgar had arranged the matter without trouble with the 
 Colonel, who was, in fact, delighted when he proposed to 
 take the mortgages himself instead of having them trans 
 ferred to Judith, telling him he meant to make Turlo his 
 heir. Edgar had not yet made up his mind whether to con 
 tent himself with the virtual possession of the Manor which 
 the ownership of the mortgages would give him, or to become 
 the actual purchaser at public sale. The former course 
 would be easier and create less stir. If his brother " turned 
 rusty," he could have recourse to the more drastic measure 
 of foreclosure and ejection. 
 
 Reeve glanced at him incredulously. What could he 
 mean ? Was he trying a poor joke with him ? 
 
 " I suppose you know they amount to a considerable 
 sum," he remarked. 
 
 "Oh, yes." Edgar smiled pleasantly. "But that's all 
 right ; I have the money." 
 
 Reeve drew back, staggered. Of course, it was merely a 
 " bluff." He fancied he knew the extent of Edgar's re 
 sources quite as well as he did. 
 
 " You thought you'd tied up the Magruder bequest," con 
 tinued Edgar, with a lazy air of amusement. " Well, the best 
 lawyers sometimes make mistakes. There was a flaw in the 
 will. The trustees have decided that my daughter is en-
 
 312 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 titled to the principal. In fact, they have conveyed it to 
 her. She has divided with me. I can command something 
 over a hundred thousand dollars when I need it. My 
 brother consents to the transfer. You only want your 
 money. I am ready to pay it." 
 
 Reeve turned livid. Was the prize for which he had 
 struggled and schemed and waited so patiently to be wrested 
 from him just at the moment it seemed about to fall into his 
 hands ? Had Edgar told the truth ? Was it possible he had 
 committed so fatal a blunder in preparing the Magruder 
 will ? It seemed incredible. Never before had the validity 
 of a document drawn by him been disputed. His accuracy 
 in such matters was proverbial in half a dozen counties. 
 Had he, so skilful in digging pitfalls for other people, un 
 consciously dug one for himself ? The idea was maddening. 
 But even if Edgar had the money, he might not be able to 
 outbid him. He could not compel him to give up the mort 
 gages. He would not give them up ! If he could do noth 
 ing else, he could at least humiliate the Chestons by com 
 pelling a public auction of the Manor. His square, power 
 ful jaws hardened suddenly, and his lips closed tight with 
 obstinate resolve. 
 
 " The mortgages are not for sale," he snapped out. 
 
 "Perhaps not to any one but me," assented Edgar, 
 easily. " You don't think I shall allow you to proceed to a 
 foreclosure, do you? And why should you? Of course, 
 you have no idea of buying the Manor." 
 
 The sneer exasperated Reeve. It meant, to his mind, that 
 he was supposed to be incapable of harbouring so presump 
 tuous a notion. 
 
 " Why shouldn't I ? " he demanded. " Suppose I wanted it 
 for my son ? " 
 
 " Absurd 1 " said Edgar, with a careless wave of the hand, 
 " you must be out of your wits to think of such a thing.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 313 
 
 Your son master of the Manor ? You are a clear-headed, 
 clever fellow, Reeve. Now, put it to yourself. Would it not 
 be ridiculous for you or your son to attempt to play the part 
 of a big landed proprietor ? To step into the shoes of my 
 family, who have been rooted at the Manor for two hundred 
 years? You know this community and its prejudices. 
 Everybody would be shocked at your audacity. As to your 
 son, you would simply blast his career. People, I am told, 
 have been kind to him, owing to my brother's endorsement ; 
 the most exclusive have taken him up. Of course, they 
 would drop him like a hot potato." 
 
 Edgar's words were so many drops of caustic to Reeve. 
 They ate into his old wounds and caused them to smart 
 afresh. He felt as if he had been branded over again with 
 the stigma of social inferiority, and that the same detestable 
 mark had been placed upon his son to whom he had looked 
 so confidently for redemption. He was conscious again, and 
 more acutely than ever, of the hopelessness of combating 
 the hateful class domination which Edgar's easy insolence 
 so coolly asserted. These Chestons, somehow, had a way 
 of making him feel that nothing he could do would ever 
 change their attitude of careless condescension. If he could 
 but crush them ! Well, they would be humbled a bit by 
 having the Manor put up to the highest bidder. If he had 
 had any doubts or scruples, Edgar's cutting speech would 
 have effectually dissipated them. It was now open war be 
 tween them. Rather than be beaten, he would spend every 
 dollar he had. 
 
 " I'll take the chances ! " he cried, hoarse with passion. 
 " If I win, I'll show the world I am too strong for you. The 
 plain people will be on my side. Your kind will jeer at me, 
 of course ; they've always done it. I was a fool ever to 
 think of earning their approval. I meant to let your brother 
 down easy ; now, I'll smash him. He'll have you to thank
 
 3H A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 for that. You might have had a friend in me ; you pre 
 ferred to drive me into the other camp. There are plenty of 
 people only waiting for a leader to rebel. They've been 
 kept down for generations, but they've never relished it, and 
 I know how to stir 'em up. How do you like my motto 
 ' new blood against the old ' ? Oh, it'll take I " 
 
 " So that's your game now ? " said Edgar imperturbably, 
 " my dear fellow, the time isn't ripe. It might work a few 
 years from now ; at present, you couldn't rally more than a few 
 hungry paupers to your side. Chaos is coming, but it hasn't 
 come. Of course, the North will win ; it has the weight 
 of numbers, of money, of great industrial forces. When its 
 victory is assured, our order will crumble to pieces and your 
 crowd will come to the front, but for the moment, we are in 
 tact. You would merely beat your head against a wall. 
 Come be reasonable. I'm not spoiling for a fight ; how 
 ever, I warn you, if we come to blows, you may be sorry. 
 I've had a good many tussles in my time, but I always took 
 care to be well armed, and you see I am still alive." 
 
 " I'm riot without a weapon or two, myself," growled Reeve, 
 uneasy but dogged. Edgar's unruffled confidence was be 
 ginning to tell on him. 
 
 " Enough of this ! " said Edgar, wheeling round in his 
 chair, and speaking, for the first time, in sharp, curt tones. 
 " I offer you the full value of the mortgages ; you refuse. 
 Very good. Now, listen to me. I prefer to settle this matter 
 amicably because I hate bother. You choose to fight. You 
 think you might baffle me by forcing the sale of the Manor and 
 bidding against me. That wouldn't suit me at all ; I'm not 
 inclined to waste my money. You won't listen to reason ; I 
 must use other means. Well, you are a Secessionist, a 
 leading Secessionist, a marked man. Of course, I know 
 you've been active only because you wish to court pop 
 ularity ; in reality, you don't care a button which side
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 315 
 
 wins. But the federal authorities think otherwise : they re 
 gard you as likely to be troublesome. At any rate, I am 
 so informed. They've begun to make arrests about here. 
 You've been spared, so far, because of the influence you are 
 able to exert you best know how. No doubt, you think 
 yourself safe. So you are, as long as I keep silent. I have 
 but to say the word, and you'll be landed in Fort McHenry 
 to-morrow. Have you any fancy for that ? " 
 
 " You! " cried Reeve, with a taunting laugh. " Why you 
 are the Colonel's brother I If I'm a marked man, what is 
 he ? Didn't he send a whole battalion South." 
 
 " He answers for himself," said Edgar, coolly. " As for me, 
 I happen to be the secret agent of the War Department here. 
 The provost marshal gets his instructions from me." 
 
 So that was what Edgar had been doing in Washington ! 
 Reeve bounded from his seat, aghast. He saw that he was 
 in a trap. He had met his match. If Edgar hadn't lied, 
 and the game had become too desperate for that, he had 
 him cornered. If he threw him into prison, he might be 
 ruined. Who could tell what would happen if he were not 
 at hand to defend his interests ? The investigation of his af 
 fairs he had such good reason to dread might be set on foot, 
 and disgrace would follow. He must preserve his liberty at 
 any cost. If he could only remain free, he might find some 
 opportunity of delivering a counter stroke. He panted at 
 the thought of possibly hurting Edgar. Even now, he could 
 not restrain himself. 
 
 " Your brother knows you are a paid informer ? " he de 
 manded, with a malicious glance. 
 
 Edgar paled slightly. The blow had struck home. 
 
 " I'm not paid," he said, recovering himself quickly, and 
 with almost the same sneering negligence as before, " at least, 
 in money. Power is all I ask. It is such a convenient thing 
 to have in times like these, especially when one has to deal
 
 316 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 with an obstinate fellow like you. No ; my brother doesn't 
 know, and I don't intend he shall, for the present. Silence 
 for silence, Reeve ; I think we understand each other. How 
 about the mortgages, now ? " 
 
 " We'll talk about them when I'm sure you have the pow 
 ers you claim." 
 
 " And run the risk of being jailed in the meantime ? Our 
 methods are rather summary, you know. However, write to 
 Washington, if you like : I'll wait a few days ; it is really 
 immaterial to me. You'll find I'm pretty well known at the 
 Departments. They think a great deal of me, I assure you. 
 You see, they need men of my stamp in the border States, 
 where the issue is doubtful. They put a high value on an 
 agent of some nerve who knows the people and their prej 
 udices. Practically, they've given me carte blanche." 
 
 " Take the mortgages ! " gasped Reeve, choking with 
 fury. It was like giving up his heart's blood, but he knew 
 Edgar had the whip-hand of him. It was of no use it 
 might be ruinous to persist. He longed to strangle Edgar. 
 He was the only man who had ever got the better of him. 
 After all, these aristocrats were really the stronger. They 
 ruled of right ; that is to say, the only right he recognised 
 superior force. Even in cunning, they could beat him when 
 they set their minds to it. Damn them, one and all 1
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE Colonel was at Edgar's mercy. The sale of every 
 acre of his land, of every article of personal property would 
 barely suffice to pay his debts. Every claim against him was 
 in Edgar's hands. This fact, however, so far from causing 
 him uneasiness, was most reassuring. His confidence in his 
 brother was unbounded, not only because he was his brother, 
 but also because Edgar still pretended to treat their interests 
 as identical. The Colonel rested, secure and contented, in 
 the idea that they were partners in a kind of joint ownership 
 of the property, with reversion to his son. 
 
 Edgar permitted him this pleasant illusion a little longer. 
 There were certain details he had yet to arrange. On the plea 
 of business necessity, he left the Manor and took up his resi 
 dence in the county town in order that he might be able 
 to act more freely. Hardened though he was, he could not 
 bring himself to give the final blow in his mother's presence. 
 All the old affection she had lavished on him as a boy seemed, 
 recently, to have revived. She looked to him, with perfect 
 confidence, to do the right thing. In her opinion, he had 
 fully redeemed himself ; she leaned on him proudly, as the 
 mainstay of the family. She had not been wrong in preferring 
 him as the brightest and strongest of her children the one 
 most nearly akin to herself. The true metal in him was com 
 ing out 1 Her attitude towards him affected Edgar, in spite of 
 himself. He was surprised, and actually somewhat pleased 
 to find himself capable of the weakness of hesitating to de 
 stroy the fiction which made her so happy. He relished the 
 flattery of it. It was too bad he had to open the old lady's
 
 3i8 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 eyes. He shrank from the thought of meeting their in 
 dignant sorrow and scorn. Well, he would avoid her, if he 
 could. 
 
 The flight of the slaves had brought about important 
 changes at the Manor. In so large an establishment, con 
 ducted without regard to economy, a staff of trained servants 
 was indispensable to the maintenance of the usual comfort. 
 The house itself had been designed with unconscious reli 
 ance upon the permanence of slavery. Its straggling ground- 
 plan, with the principal living and sleeping rooms separated 
 from the kitchen and the servants' rooms by a long series of 
 halls and passages and stairways, obviously pre-supposed the 
 continued command of a corps of slaves, big and little, to 
 provide quick and easy communication from one end of the 
 building to the other. Even the more modest of these old 
 plantation houses would strike despair into the soul of the 
 modern house-wife, accustomed to the utmost concentration 
 of arrangement and to labour-saving devices of every kind. 
 
 The working force of the plantation was now reduced to 
 four negroes. The housekeeper, Mrs. Cleaves, had been 
 seized with a severe attack of rheumatism which kept her 
 in bed, and Ole Miss took her place. The old lady would 
 permit no one to help her. Her spirit rose to the occa 
 sion. She was deeply incensed against the slaves who had 
 absconded. For half a century, she had toiled to make them 
 happy, and this was how they repaid her. " I will show 
 the ungrateful creatures," she exclaimed with flashing eyes, 
 " that I can do without them much better than they can 
 do without me" Caesar was engrossed with outdoor work. 
 The whole burden of responsibility fell upon him. Smyrk, 
 the overseer, feeling himself to be a privileged person owing 
 to his confidential relation to Edgar, made the merest pretence 
 of working, and dawdled about, with his hands in his pockets, 
 sneering at Caesar's efforts, with the aid of Pompey, to keep
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 319 
 
 the farm affairs going. Dinah, who was very skilful with 
 the hoe, relieved Caesar, to some extent, of the care of the 
 vegetable garden, and the old man made shift to attend to 
 the horses and cattle, besides performing a prodigious amount 
 of labour in the fields. Some of his negro acquaintances 
 ridiculed him for toiling so hard for " white people " when 
 he might, if he chose, enjoy the luxury of being as idle as 
 themselves. At all such remarks, Caesar would draw him 
 self up and retort with an air of great dignity, " What you 
 take me fur, ennyhow ? Ole Marster (the Colonel's father) 
 en' Marse Robert's allers tuk de bes' keer uv me, en' now 
 de fam'ly needs me mos', you think I'se gwine ter set down 
 en' see 'em suffer? I ain't dat kind ! Please God, I'll do 
 my level bes' ter keep things movin'." 
 
 Faithful old Caesar ! But for him, matters must have gone 
 ill, indeed, at the Manor. Oddly enough, the mainstays of 
 the establishment, but recently the scene of busy activity 
 and animation, were now an aged negro, who had been 
 regarded as incapacitated for heavy work, and an inex 
 perienced young girl. For Lydia, heretofore so careless, 
 had taken upon herself the chief burden of the domestic 
 duties. It had been found impossible to replace the run 
 aways with hired labour. The whole negro population was 
 demoralised by its sudden emancipation. All were eager to 
 avail themselves of the novel, inestimable privilege of do 
 ing nothing. The one idea among them was that they were 
 henceforth to live without work, their simplest wants supplied 
 by the Government. Few of them could be induced to 
 labour, even for money ; " taking service " seemed to them 
 like going back into slavery. Pompey and Phyllis were the 
 only house-servants, and the greater part of Phyllis's time was 
 spent in ministering to the comfort of the Colonel's invalid 
 wife. Lydia assumed the duties of a maid of all work. Miss 
 Twiggs assisted her as well as she could, but she was weak
 
 320 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 and awkward, and accomplished but little. Lydia had caused 
 her grandmother some concern, of late, by her impatience 
 of occupations that kept her indoors occupations which, in 
 Ole Miss's opinion, now that she was a young lady, were 
 essential to her proper equipment as a plantation mis 
 tress. Naturally, Ole Miss was greatly pleased when she 
 began to exhibit an interest in household affairs, and re 
 sponded most affably to her appeals for instruction on this or 
 that point. With a good deal of self-complacence, she attrib 
 uted the sudden change to the fact that Lydia had some of 
 her blood in her veins. It is more likely that the pres 
 sure of circumstances brought out the practical side of 
 Lydia's character. She knew that she was young and 
 strong, and it seemed to her only fair that she should exert 
 herself to the utmost to save the older members of the family 
 inconvenience and trouble. It was surprising how much she 
 managed to accomplish in the course of a day. Every 
 morning, she swept and dusted the principal living rooms and 
 the hall, fed the poultry, assisted Phyllis with the work in 
 the dairy, and if Dinah had permitted, would have had a 
 hand in the cooking. 
 
 At times, she succeeded in giving Dinah a little help, on 
 the pretext of " learning how," but it was not often that she 
 was enabled to hoodwink the old negress who was greatly 
 scandalised at seeing Young Miss " a wuckin' like enny po' 
 trash." Frequently, when Lydia presented herself in the 
 kitchen, clothed in her working garb an old woollen gown ; 
 a stiffly starched white apron, and a jaunty cap of snowy 
 muslin to protect her curly masses of hair from dust, the 
 whole imparting a piquant trimness and daintiness to her 
 beauty old Dinah would sail towards her, with skirts out 
 spread, crying, " Shoo, honey, shoo ! " as though she were 
 driving away an intrusive chicken. " I ain't gwine ter have 
 yer pickin' roun' in hyar, a spilin' yer pritty han's en' com-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 321 
 
 plexshun. How off'n hez I got ter tell yer dat ? " Never 
 theless, Dinah was very proud of Young Miss's activity and 
 almost as much gratified as was Ole Miss herself. " She 
 kin turn her han' to ennything," she asserted one day, 
 with a grin of delight, to Ole Miss, " I b'lieve in my soul 
 she'll soon be ez peart er ebber you wuz, Mistus." 
 
 Lydia's conduct was by no means exceptional. It found 
 a parallel in many a Southern home. Thousands of daintily 
 nurtured girls and women, who had been reared in luxury, 
 with scarcely a want unsatisfied and with troops of slaves to do 
 their bidding, were suddenly called upon to undergo priva 
 tions and drudgery of the most menial kind. Most of them 
 applied themselves bravely to their unwelcome tasks, and 
 the courage, the devotion, the patient endurance of the 
 women of the South should occupy a prominent place in the 
 story of the great social catastrophe which followed the 
 downfall of slavery. 
 
 Lydia had, of course, her moments of doubt and discour 
 agement, when the task with which she had charged herself 
 that of keeping the ordinary machinery of the household 
 in motion, pretending, all the while, a cheerfulness she could 
 not feel seemed almost impossible for her. She had her 
 own secret grief to battle with, but no one would have sus 
 pected, from her ordinary manner, the poignant suffering 
 that was lacerating her heart. She was always blithe and 
 bright-eyed, and sometimes, even gay. Hers was the pre 
 cious faculty, peculiar to her sex, of masking her emotions 
 in loving deception of those who were dependent on her for 
 the stimulus of a brave and cheerful spirit. It was a disci 
 pline for her, hard but serviceable the ministry of suffering 
 she had needed. The true woman in her was being de 
 veloped. The wayward child was fast becoming the patient, 
 loving devotee of duty. 
 
 Old Caesar watched her with critical interest. He had 
 21
 
 322 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 always loved her, in spite of himself, but of late, he had 
 been inclined to carp at her more than ever. It had seemed 
 to him she was becoming more and more careless and in 
 different. Knowing, as he did, that " Marster's " affairs 
 were in a bad way, he secretly resented her attitude. To 
 him, it seemed almost criminal. " She wants steadying 
 Young Miss does," he often said to himself, with a solemn 
 shake of the head. Of course, she didn't know, but she was 
 a young woman, now, and in Caesar's opinion, it was high 
 time for her to take a hand. Was she going to be like 
 her mother who had never shown the slightest inclina 
 tion to assume any of the duties of her position ? That 
 would be too bad. Caesar was, above all, a utilitarian ; 
 he had but little appreciation of beauty or grace or charm 
 unless it served some practical end. For instance, he had 
 always cherished an open contempt for flowers. They 
 seemed to him to be worthless, and the labour he ex 
 pended on them was, in his opinion, thrown away. If they 
 blossomed on vegetables that were good to eat, that was an 
 other matter ; one might even admire them, then. It was 
 always a relief to him to turn from pruning an evergreen or 
 a rose-bush, to hoeing in the kitchen garden. There was 
 some sense in that. A wild flower, however beautiful, was, 
 for him, but a weed. And so with Young Miss. Her 
 beauty pleased him, but it had no real value so he tried to 
 persuade himself except as it might contribute to her safe 
 establishment in life. If she failed to use it to " ketch " a 
 good husband, it would be wasted. He was really anxious 
 about her, and he had begun to think seriously of giving her 
 a piece of his mind. 
 
 But now, all was changed. She had waked up suddenly. 
 He marked the successive stages of her development with a 
 satisfaction which, at times, he was even constrained to ex 
 press. He took care, however, to be sparing of approval.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 323 
 
 It was so easy to spoil anybody by too much praise. Lydia 
 listened to him demurely, but with secret pride. Even his 
 admonitions were gratifying to her. Never before, had he 
 seemed to think it worth while to do more than grumble. 
 Now, he found something in her to help and approve. He 
 was only an old negro, but his sympathy was precious. It 
 reassured her and stimulated her to greater effort. Blended 
 with her old affection, was a deeper feeling a feeling of 
 genuine admiration and respect. His rugged fidelity un 
 assuming and wholly unselfish touched her even more 
 nearly than his increasing amiability to her. She was proud 
 and grateful at having won his approval. It was something 
 rare and sincere. Dear, cross-grained, sulky Uncle Caesar ! 
 He should never want for anything so long as she lived.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THERE was but one thing lacking to complete Edgar's 
 satisfaction at the course of affairs, and that seemed, at the 
 first glance, unimportant. The greater part of the Manor 
 tract was now within his grasp, but there was a farm of some 
 two hundred acres that might escape him. It had not been 
 included in the mortgages, and when Turlo had come of age, 
 his father had conveyed it to him. It was the only bit of 
 land still unencumbered, and the Colonel, moved by a chance 
 impulse, had, one day, decided to secure it to his son. 
 Perhaps, for the moment, he had a vague presentiment of 
 trouble. Being Turlo's property, it could not be made 
 liable for the Colonel's debts. This worried Edgar. He 
 coveted this piece of land. Without it, the Manor was in 
 complete. It happened, also, that as a young man, he had 
 been given the farm to manage in order that he might prepare 
 himself for his future duties at the Manor. He had lost it 
 with the rest by the change in his father's will, and he could 
 not reconcile himself to the idea of not getting it back again. 
 
 Besides, if Turlo returned from the South, and took up his 
 residence there, he would always be a thorn in his side. 
 Edgar had conceived the notion of making his brother depend 
 ent upon him. That would be even more satisfactory than to 
 turn him out of doors. To hold him in his power, to make 
 him feel that he had no other resource, to see him cringe to him 
 it was really an enticing prospect which fed his vanity, as 
 well as his thirst for revenge. He might be disappointed if 
 Turlo had a home to offer his father. It was quite likely 
 " Bob " would balk at the humiliating terms he meant to 5m- 
 
 3 2 4
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 325 
 
 pose ; if he did, it would be easy for him to take refuge at 
 Turlo's farm. The more he thought of it, the more Edgar 
 relished the idea of cutting him off from his only means of es 
 cape. What punishment could be greater for both " Bob " and 
 his wife than to be compelled to remain at the Manor, fed and 
 clothed by his bounty ? And it fitted in so nicely with his 
 desire to throw dust in the eyes of the community. People, 
 generally, would think him kind. 
 
 He was not unwilling to buy the farm, and even to pay a 
 fair price for it, but it was impossible to reach Turlo. He 
 made repeated attempts to ascertain his whereabouts in the 
 South, but could learn nothing of him. Perhaps, he was 
 dead. At last, the matter became urgent. He had now 
 perfected his plans, and it seemed to him important that he 
 should act without further delay. He might not be able to 
 hold Reeve in check indefinitely. If his influence at Wash 
 ington should wane, and in politics, anything might happen, 
 Reeve might be able to wriggle out of the net he had woven 
 about him. There was a way to accomplish his object, but it 
 was not without danger. His nephew was a " rebel in arms " ; 
 consequently, his property was liable to confiscation. He 
 could bring this about without much trouble, but if his agency 
 were ever discovered, the county would become too hot to 
 hold him. He had no desire to excite local prejudices ; on 
 the contrary, he coveted influence and applause. It would not 
 be so well worth while to become the master of the Manor 
 unless he could enjoy the prestige which had always pertained 
 to that position. It was partly for this reason, as well as to 
 avoid discrediting himself with the Colonel, that he had so 
 carefully concealed his employment by the Government 
 which had good reasons of its own for helping him to guard 
 the secret. But time was pressing, and he finally decided to 
 run the risk. 
 
 The necessary steps were speedily taken. Through the
 
 326 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 agency of his official subordinates, Edgar brought a formal 
 complaint against his nephew, without appearing in the 
 affair. The facts were clear, and easily established. An 
 order was promptly issued for the sale of the farm by the 
 United States marshal. At this sale, there were no bidders 
 except Edgar. The gentlemen of the neighbourhood who 
 might have competed for the generous satisfaction of 
 " buying in " the property for Turlo, abstained on seeing 
 Edgar. They had no doubt he was acting in the interest of 
 his nephew. The farm was knocked down to him for a 
 nominal sum. The Colonel, who had taken it for granted 
 that political malice was at the bottom of the outrage, as 
 he regarded it, had begged Edgar to do him this kindness, 
 so that the farm might be saved for Turlo. When he learned 
 from Caesar, whom he had despatched to the scene to bring 
 him the earliest intelligence, that " Marse Edgar " had suc 
 ceeded in buying the place for a song, his heart swelled 
 with gratitude to his brother. Mounting a horse, he rode 
 off in haste to thank him ; he could not rest until he had 
 done so. 
 
 Edgar was already on his way to the Manor, rejoicing at 
 the neatness with which the thing had worked. All his 
 plans, in fact, had moved with the smoothness of clockwork. 
 There hadn't been a single hitch. He complimented himself 
 on the skill and finesse with which he had carried out a 
 complicated and delicate scheme. He had deceived some of 
 the most astute officials of the Government and used them 
 to serve his private ends. He had successfully skirted a 
 serious peril with Judith. He had vanquished that cunning 
 rogue, Reeve, at his own game. To hoodwink his brother 
 was, of course, a mere bagatelle. And now, the course was 
 clear ; he was about to know the joy of open mastery at last. 
 The thought intoxicated him. He had meant to enlighten 
 his brother gradually ; to keep up, for a time, the pretence
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 327 
 
 of friendliness so that there should be no sudden explosion 
 which might damage him in the public mind. But he feared 
 he could not restrain himself. He felt a fierce desire to show 
 his hand to his brother and shatter his hopes. He had 
 waited so long ! 
 
 At a sharp turn in the road, he came suddenly face to face 
 with the Colonel, who reined up at once. 
 
 " You bought the farm," he cried, " thank you so much, 
 Edgar." 
 
 " You've nothing to thank me for," said Edgar, shortly. 
 He was irritated by " Bob's " effusiveness. 
 
 " Well, I thank you for Turlo," said the Colonel, so pre 
 occupied that he did not notice the change in his manner. 
 
 " Turlo has nothing to thank me for, either," retorted 
 Edgar, with a harsh laugh. He had decided to have it out 
 with " Bob." He could bear his nauseous gratitude no 
 longer. 
 
 The Colonel glanced at him in surprise. What was the 
 matter with him ? 
 
 " Why, what do you mean ? " he asked, the joy dying sud 
 denly out of his face. He was conscious of vague anxiety. 
 
 " I've changed my mind about Turlo that's all," said 
 Edgar, carelessly. " The fact is, I heard some things about 
 him to-day that set me to thinking. People tell me he is an 
 idle fellow, with very little brains, and reckless. Very prob 
 ably, he would make a botch of things. I mean that the 
 property shall stay in the family. Upon the whole, I think 
 I had better marry." 
 
 The Colonel gazed at him, stupefied. Had he heard 
 aright ? Or was Edgar mad ? 
 
 " You intend to take Turlo's farm ? " he gasped. 
 
 " Why not ? I paid my own money for it." 
 
 " But it was unfair that sale. And you told me you 
 would buy it for him."
 
 328 A MARYLAND MANOR. 
 
 " I tell you, now, I've changed my mind." 
 
 The Colonel groaned. Edgar must be mad. 
 
 " But the Manor ? " he asked anxiously, " what about 
 that ? " 
 
 " Didn't I say I might marry ? But you may remain, 
 if you like." 
 
 " Good God ! " cried the Colonel, his brain reeling, 
 " you said you meant to leave it to Turlo." 
 
 "Yes, I said so. Again, I tell you I've changed my 
 mind." 
 
 " But that is impossible, Edgar : it was a promise." 
 
 "My father promised it to me," retorted Edgar, bitingly. 
 " He changed his mind, and gave it to you. I'm not without 
 a family precedent, you see." 
 
 " You would make a beggar of me 1 " 
 
 " That's only what I was when you stepped into my 
 shoes. I am kinder than you were I offer you a home." 
 
 The truth dawned suddenly on the Colonel. It was a 
 fearful revelation. Edgar had never forgiven him for having 
 supplanted him. He saw him, for the first time, as he really 
 was revengeful, implacable, malignant. His brother had 
 purposely wrought his ruin. But for him, he might, perhaps, 
 have extricated himself. Now, his case was hopeless. No ; 
 Edgar was not mad : incredible as it seemed, he was a 
 scoundrel. The Colonel's usually ruddy face grew white. 
 
 " I don't know you, sir ! " he said suddenly, drawing him 
 self up in his saddle. " We are strangers you understand. 
 Take alms from you share your home ? I would sooner 
 starve. Of course, you will foreclose the mortgages ; there 
 will be the form of a sale, I presume. It is all cut-and-dried, 
 no doubt, like your purchase of Turlo's farm. The moment 
 you become its actual owner, I shall leave the Manor, never 
 to cross its threshold again." 
 
 As he spoke, he turned his horse's head, struck his spurs
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 329 
 
 into him sharply, and galloped off. Edgar gazed after him 
 with a look of intense vexation. The interview had been too 
 brief, and " Bob " had not taken it as he had hoped. He 
 had wanted to worry him, to taunt him with his incom 
 petence, his futility; to make him feel his utter helplessness ; 
 to thrust upon him the bitter fact that his future hung 
 wholly upon his (Edgar's) will. He had expected him to 
 plead with him, to humble himself, and at last, to accept 
 any conditions he might impose with the pitiful gratitude of 
 a broken man. But he had cut him short, refused his offer, 
 spurned him as no longer worthy of notice. Edgar ground 
 his teeth in rage. 
 
 " I'll make him smart for this," he exclaimed. "I'll sell 
 him out ; I will, by God I " 
 
 The Colonel rode on in a kind of fury. The Manor had 
 been stolen from him and by his brother. He shuddered 
 at the thought of Edgar's baseness. What more natural 
 than that he should have trusted him ? He had been so fair- 
 spoken, so affectionate, so kind, and all the time, he was 
 getting him into his toils. He had been glad to get out of 
 Reeve's hands, though Reeve had always been most obliging, 
 because he had thought he would be so much safer and more 
 comfortable in his brother's. And now, he was ruined. 
 Reeve wouldn't have let him come to this : he would have 
 known when to stop him. The thing was monstrous. What 
 a blow for his mother who was wrapped up in Edgar ! 
 
 To the feeling of indignation and outrage, succeeded 
 gradually one of deep dejection. Edgar was not alone to 
 blame. He, himself, had been most culpable. He saw 
 this, now. He ought never to have gotten so deep into 
 debt. He had drifted on, thinking it would all come 
 right, but he must have been weak, incompetent He 
 sighed wearily. It was impossible for him to tell precisely 
 in what he had been deficient. He had never been con-
 
 330 A MARYLAND MANOR ; 
 
 sciously extravagant. Was it a fault in him that he had 
 *' endorsed " too freely for his friends No gentleman 
 could well refuse. Then, there was his mother's dower, the 
 annuities to his sisters. Well, it was all a sad bungle. " I 
 ought never to have left the army," he said to himself, with 
 a groan. " Thank God for one thing ! " he added, with a 
 sigh of relief ; " I've always wanted to help people, not to 
 hurt them." 
 
 As he drew near the Manor, the consciousness of failure 
 weighed more heavily upon him. He had lost the old place ! 
 What would people say of him ? Would they not judge him 
 harshly ? Might not even the dear ones who must share his 
 ruin condemn him in their hearts ? How could he look his 
 mother, his wife, his daughter in the face ? It was a bitter 
 thought for a man who had always had a naively good 
 opinion of himself. 
 
 At the gate, he checked his horse and gazed sadly about 
 him. The sun had set in a bank of clouds, aglow with tints 
 of red and saffron, which were massed about an open bit of 
 sky, of a pale greenish hue. Against this vivid background, 
 the house showed almost black ; it lay in shadow, silent, in 
 animate, funereal. To the Colonel, in his despondency, it 
 was as though its inmates had already departed, taking 
 away with them its soul. The impression was heightened 
 by the contrast between its sombre tones and the brightness 
 of the scene all about it. The fading afterglow still lingered 
 on the lawn, the fields, the distant woods, gay with autumn 
 colours, which encircled the great expanse of cultivated 
 land. 
 
 Smothering a cry of anguish, the broken-hearted man rode 
 slowly down the lane. The drooping branches of the elms 
 swayed dolorously above him as he passed. His old pointer, 
 crouching on the front verandah, whined with irritating per 
 sistence as he dismounted at the door.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 331 
 
 Anxious to hide his distress from the other members of 
 the family, he hastened to the library. Here, he paced the 
 floor for some time, struggling hard to regain his composure. 
 Now and then, he glanced out of the window at the grave 
 yard. How quiet and peaceful it looked 1 Ah, if he were 
 only lying there ! Even Edgar would not begrudge him his 
 six feet of earth, the only bit of the soil so dear to him that 
 he could now call his own. He was a failure : the convic 
 tion forced itself upon him, despite his strenuous efforts to 
 find excuses for himself. How could he bear the revelation of 
 the fact to others ? He had been a man of so much conse 
 quence ; a man to whom everybody deferred. People, now, 
 might justly say he had been a humbug all along a vain, 
 weak creature who deserved all he got. His importance had 
 collapsed like an air bubble. He was of no earthly use ; he 
 would only be a drag upon the family, henceforth. His 
 mother's dower was secure ; he could trust her to take care 
 of his wife and daughter. It would be impossible for him 
 to live upon her money. Yes, it would be well for all of 
 them if he were dead. They would grieve at first, but after 
 awhile, they would be consoled by the thought that it was 
 better for him than to live on, a broken, disgraced man, a 
 shuffling old beggar ! 
 
 The Colonel shuddered, and hastening to a brass-mounted 
 cabinet, he took from it a case of duelling pistols. Lifting 
 one of them, he balanced it in his hand, examining it 
 curiously. They were weapons, handed down from father 
 to son, which had served the family well in many a crisis 
 when its honour was in peril. Were they about to do their 
 last duty now ? Yes, it was a solution of everything. There 
 could be no exposure after this. His brother, too, would be 
 saved from the obloquy he must otherwise bring upon him 
 self, and therefore, upon the family name. How easy and 
 simple it seemed ! A ball in the temple from this gleaming
 
 332 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 barrel, and he would be at rest. Whatever might have been 
 his follies, death would wipe them out. 
 
 There was a click of the door-latch, and Lydia entered 
 the room. At sight of the pistol, she sprang to her father's 
 side, with a cry of alarm. 
 
 " What is the matter, Papa ? " she demanded, anxiously. 
 
 She had no suspicion of what was passing in his mind, but 
 imagined some danger threatened him. Or perhaps, he was 
 thinking again of going South. He had seemed very rest 
 less, of late, and she had secretly rejoiced at a severe attack 
 of gout which had made it impossible for him to travel. 
 Even her mother's influence, she feared, might not be suffi 
 cient to restrain him much longer. 
 
 " There is nothing the matter, little girl," said the Colonel, 
 trying to look careless. He placed the pistols on a table 
 before him, as he spoke. " I merely wished to see if these 
 were in order." 
 
 " Ah, I know 1 " she exclaimed, shaking a finger at him 
 playfully, though her heart was full. " You were thinking 
 of stealing away from us. It won't do, Papa: we need 
 you here. How could we possibly get along without 
 you ? " 
 
 Her words would have seemed to him almost ironical a 
 moment before ; now, they suffused his heart with love and 
 hope. His " little girl " would stand by him, whatever 
 happened. She would never reproach him by even so much 
 as a glance. Her love, he knew, was staunch, undoubting. 
 For her, he would still be what he had always been. And 
 the others, too, his wife, his mother how could he have 
 imagined that his death would be a gain to them ? Lydia 
 was right. They needed him because they loved him. Was 
 he a coward to desert them ? No ! For their sakes, he must 
 live, and bear. 
 
 " I won't ' steal away,' my darling," he said, with a wistful
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 333 
 
 smile. " You were right ; I was thinking of it. But the 
 temptation has passed. I promise to remain." 
 
 " It's hard for you, I know, Papa," said Lydia, twining 
 her arms about him and kissing him fondly. " Oh, thank you 
 so much ! " 
 
 Without knowing it, she was thanking him for consenting 
 to live. Unconsciously, she had, perhaps, saved his life. 
 Had she entered but a moment later, she might have found 
 him stretched upon the floor, the smoking pistol clenched in 
 his hand.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THE Colonel and Lydia left the library together. In the 
 hall, they met Ole Miss. She had heard of the Colonel's re 
 turn and was seeking him to learn the particulars of Edgar's 
 purchase of the farm. 
 
 " He really succeeded in buying it for Turlo ? " she ex 
 claimed. 
 
 The Colonel was anxious to spare her. He resolved to 
 put the best possible construction upon Edgar's conduct, to 
 affect even to regard it as justifiable and almost reasonable. 
 It would hurt her, no matter how much he tried to soften 
 it. There was no escape from the fact that Edgar had acted 
 disingenuously, to say the least. But if possible, he must 
 hide from her the full extent of his treachery she was so 
 fond of him. 
 
 " Yes, he bought it," he said hesitatingly, " but he seems 
 to think he'd better keep it. He is doubtful whether Turlo 
 is fit to manage it." 
 
 " What has that to do with it?" demanded Ole Miss, 
 brusquely. " It's Turlo's property : .of course, the confisca 
 tion has no validity for us. Edgar may advise him, but keep it 
 from him why, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Edgar is the actual owner," the Colonel replied, evasively. 
 "It seems people have convinced him that Turlo is wild and 
 and unreliable." 
 
 " And you assented ? " There was a touch of temper in 
 Ole Miss's voice. " I'm surprised at both of you, Robert 
 at Edgar for suggesting such a thing, and you for permitting 
 your son to be set aside because of gossip. Turlo is wild, 
 but so was Edgar, himself, years ago. Time will cure that, 
 
 334
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 335 
 
 in the one case as in the other. If Edgar thinks Turlo is 
 unfit to manage his own property, he may take it into his 
 head he ought not to have the Manor." 
 
 " He has said so," remarked the Colonel, quietly. He saw 
 his task might be difficult and nerved himself to seem com 
 posed. It would not do to let his mother suspect his agita 
 tion. " I can't deny the Manor would be saier in Edgar's 
 hands," he added. 
 
 Ole Miss gazed at him in bewilderment. Was he in 
 earnest ? 
 
 " And after Edgar, what ? " she asked, incredulously. 
 " Does he mean to leave the Manor to Judith a woman ? " 
 
 " He talks of marrying," said the Colonel. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " cried Ole Miss, thunderstruck. " What, 
 then, is to become of you ? " 
 
 "I don't know." The Colonel looked away from her 
 guiltily. He knew if he met her searching glance, she would 
 read his secret. " I haven't yet decided what I shall do." 
 
 " This is folly," she said, drawing a quick breath. " You 
 must have misunderstood him. He could never have meant he 
 would take the Manor from you. No doubt, he spoke hastily, 
 under a false impression about Turlo." 
 
 " I thought so at first, but he soon convinced me he had 
 made up his mind." 
 
 Strong though she was, the old lady began to tremble, and 
 her eyes filled with tears. If this were true, Edgar must be 
 demented. Dispossess his brother ? Why that would be to 
 break up the family, to put them out of doors 1 And if he 
 really meant to keep Turlo's farm, he would deprive them of 
 their only refuge. It was too horrible for belief. There 
 must be some explanation which would at least be plausible. 
 How absurd of Edgar, at his age, to think of marrying again I 
 It was evident there was something wrong with him. She 
 would see him as soon as possible ; the matter must be
 
 336 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 cleared up at once. If his mind was really unhinged, the 
 sooner he was placed under medical treatment, the better. 
 Unless he were taken in hand without delay, some catastrophe 
 might happen. 
 
 " Where is Edgar ? " she asked abruptly. 
 
 " I left him on the road ; he has probably gone home." 
 
 " Tell Caesar to get the carriage for me ; I shall go and 
 see him." 
 
 The Colonel saw that he must be more explicit. An inter 
 view between his mother and Edgar, in his present temper, 
 might be disastrous. He could hardly fail to reveal his true 
 character to her. The horror of such a discovery might be 
 too much for her. It was still possible to hide a part of the 
 truth, provided he could dissuade her. But he did not wish 
 Lydia to hear what might pass between them. He meant to 
 take the blame upon himself, as far as he could, and thus to 
 shield Edgar. He must shield him, at any cost, for his 
 mother's sake. It would not hurt her so much to learn of 
 his folly ; at worst, it was not disgraceful, nor would it come 
 to her as a shock. No doubt, she had seen it all along. Be 
 sides, she had never loved him as she loved Edgar. But it 
 was enough to invite her condemnation ; he could not bear 
 to humiliate himself before his child. 
 
 " Go to your mother, my dear," he said, turning to her and 
 laying a hand caressingly upon her shoulder. " Tell her 
 what I've said, as gently as you can. I'll come up presently 
 and explain all to her. It mustn't be broken to her suddenly, 
 and I'm afraid she might hear it from some one else who 
 wouldn't be so careful as you are sure to be." 
 
 Lydia's eyes were brave, though wet with tears. She 
 divined the truth ; her father was ruined ! A sudden terror 
 chilled her. Was that why he had taken the pistol from its 
 case ? No, no 1 She'wouldn't permit herself to harbour the 
 dreadful thought. He loved them all too much for that.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 337 
 
 " I've reached the end, Mother," the Colonel said slowly, 
 when Lydia had left them. He handed her a chair, and 
 the old lady sank down into it mechanically, watching him 
 the while with wide-open, anxious eyes. 
 
 " The fact is," he continued, with a sudden gulp, " I've 
 mismanaged things, somehow. Edgar regards himself as a 
 kind of trustee for the family. He thinks he ought to take 
 the Manor and start afresh. It may seem a little hard, but 
 it's reasonable enough, from his point of view. And you 
 know, it is what has been done in other families. It isn't 
 the first time one branch has been set aside for another and 
 a stronger. Edgar says, and very justly, that he was thrust 
 out for me ; that I had my chance, and he has proved him 
 self more'capable." 
 
 Ole Miss gave a low moan. The truth burst upon her. 
 Edgar was selfish, cruel, perfidious, and Robert was pleading 
 for him. Why ? To spare her, of course. Edgar had lied 
 to her that was evident. He had been deceiving her 
 throughout. She had thought his father hard on him ; he 
 had been only just. Yes, he had been more clear-sighted 
 than she. Her maternal weakness had misled her. She 
 had wasted her fondness on the son who was unworthy, and 
 had given only what was left to the son who, whatever his 
 faults might be, had never failed in tenderness to her and 
 had always shown himself to be a genuine, upright man. 
 Her heart smote her as she saw him standing there before 
 her, with bowed head, as if awaiting her verdict. No doubt, 
 she had always seemed cold to him, this noble-hearted son 
 who thus abased himself in order that she might not suffer. 
 It hurt her to think he could imagine she would be only too 
 ready to find excuses for her favourite, Edgar, and to accept 
 his suggestion that he, Robert, was chiefly to blame. 
 
 " Robert I " she cried, rising hastily and stretching out her 
 arms. He sprang towards her, startled, and .she hugged him 
 12
 
 338 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 to her breast with a swift, protecting gesture, as though he 
 were a child again whom she must shield, and petted him 
 fondly, with trembling hands. 
 
 He understood her : there was no need for further words. 
 She knew the truth he had tried so hard to hide. For the 
 first time, he felt that her love flowed out to him in full, im 
 petuous current. It gave him a new sense of dignity, of 
 courage. Misfortune had brought him the blessing he had 
 so often craved. Her tone, as she uttered the one word 
 " Robert," had told him he was now her only son.
 
 THE Colonel had another ordeal before him. He must 
 confess his shortcomings to his wife. He had no fear of re 
 proaches from her. She had always deferred to him with a 
 mute, unquestioning regard ; a timid humility. He might not 
 have been so self-confident in the past had she been at all as 
 sertive or critical. Even the most modest of men may become 
 conceited if they are dieted constantly on a woman's homage. 
 It was all the harder for him to make a clean breast of it 
 now that he knew his wife had placed an absurdly high 
 estimate upon him. He must destroy her illusion and 
 make her suffer. For years, it had been his constant care 
 to humour her fancies, to guard her against the smallest anx 
 iety, to suppress every possible cause of agitation or worry. 
 On the other hand, he could not bear to be any longer the 
 object of her unsuspecting flattery. It seemed impossible 
 for him to take her hand in his, to look into her eyes, to ac 
 cept her fond caresses, knowing himself, as he appeared to 
 her, to be a sham. 
 
 He entered her room on tiptoe, as was his habit. She had 
 a nervous dread of noises, and the Colonel had trained him 
 self to move softly in her presence ; to moderate his usually 
 loud, hearty tones ; to steer carefully about among the 
 furniture in the nearly always darkened chamber. He in 
 variably muttered an oath beneath his breath at his clumsi 
 ness whenever, by any mischance, he knocked over some ob 
 ject or stumbled against a chair. 
 
 He found his wife half buried among cushions in a great 
 easy chair before a bright open fire. Lydia, seated at her 
 
 339
 
 340 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 side, was holding one of her hands. Mrs. Cheston was 
 pressing the other convulsively against her heart. Her face 
 was tense with fear ; her dark eyes alert and strangely 
 bright, like those of a hunted animal. As her husband en 
 tered, she shuddered and glanced at him quickly, with an ap 
 prehensive look. Lydia, on seeing her father, disengaged 
 her hand and stole away. She fancied they would wish to 
 be alone. The Colonel took the seat she had occupied, and 
 drew it closer to his wife. 
 
 " Lydia tells me Edgar means to take the Manor from 
 you," said Mrs. Cheston, faintly. 
 
 Yes I'm afraid he will." 
 
 " I knew he would." 
 
 Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. The words were 
 uttered slowly, hesitatingly, but with a certain emphasis, as 
 though to convince her husband. 
 
 The Colonel gazed at her in surprise. How had she 
 known ? No one else had suspected Edgar's intention, nor 
 had she ever hinted such an idea to him. 
 
 " You did wrong to trust him," she added. " You were 
 always too confiding." 
 
 The Colonel rubbed his eyes. Was he awake or dream 
 ing ? It seemed she could find some fault in him. 
 
 " Edgar is so different from you," she continued, wearily. 
 " Of course, you couldn't understand him. He moved in 
 the dark you, in the open. He meant to have the Manor, 
 all along. Besides, he has hated you for years. I ought to 
 have warned you, but I hoped he'd never return. When he 
 did come, I was afraid." 
 
 She turned her head away from him, and gazed fixedly 
 into the fire. 
 
 " But why should he hate me ? " asked the Colonel, his 
 curiosity getting the better, for the moment, of his wonder 
 at her revelations.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 341 
 
 " Because he thought you induced your father to disin 
 herit him in your favour." 
 
 " How absurd 1 " cried the Colonel, almost angrily. " You 
 know I didn't want to take the place ; that I consented only 
 from a sense of duty and because Edgar had behaved well, 
 rather badly." 
 
 " Yes, I know, but Edgar doesn't. He really thinks he 
 has a grievance against you. He has said, I believe, that 
 there was a conspiracy to ruin him with your father. Some 
 one undoubtedly exposed him to the Judge. He thinks it 
 was you or some one in your interest." 
 
 " But this is too much I " exclaimed the Colonel. " I can 
 understand his feeling sore against me for a time, but to 
 charge me with stealing the Manor from him ! And in such 
 an underhand way. As if I could have said anything to 
 father against him behind his back. Nothing could have 
 tempted me to hold the Manor with such a cloud on my title : 
 he ought to know that." 
 
 " He couldn't believe it ; such scruples would be incom 
 prehensible to him." 
 
 There was a bitterness in her tone which should have 
 caught the Colonel's attention, but he was absorbed by his 
 thoughts. He understood, now, the springs of Edgar's ac 
 tions, which had seemed so inexplicable. He had de 
 nounced his brother to himself as a scoundrel ; it seemed 
 that Edgar thought much the same of him 1 
 
 " But how did you discover all this ? " His tone was mere 
 ly inquisitive ; it was evident he saw nothing suspicious in 
 the fact that she was so surprisingly well informed. " You 
 must have found it out quite recently ; otherwise, you would 
 have told me. You would never have permitted me to rest 
 under so base an imputation." 
 
 " I'm not so sure," she answered, with a flicker of spirit. 
 " I knew the charge was groundless. No one who knew you
 
 342 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 could attach the least importance to it. It would have hurt 
 you to hear it and you'd have been capable of offering to 
 give up the Manor. Now, it doesn't matter : I felt I ought 
 to make the situation clear to you." 
 
 " Give up the Manor ? Of course, I'd have given it 
 up!" 
 
 " To a man like Edgar ? Yes I believe you would. You 
 never stop to think of consequences when your pride is in 
 volved, or you fancy honour calls you. You would strip your 
 self of everything in a sudden impulse of generosity. I don't 
 believe there was ever a man so blind to his own interests, 
 so rashly improvident, so nobly unselfish. That is why I 
 adore you, Robert 1 " 
 
 The Colonel stared at her, amazed. He forgot she had 
 not yet answered his question. It was immaterial to him, 
 now, as to how she had gained her knowledge of Edgar's 
 opinions. He could think only of the astonishing fact that 
 she had not loved him ignorantly, after all, but had known 
 him better than he had known himself. And she loved him 
 so she had said -because of her knowledge. The very 
 weaknesses with which he had reproached himself as the cause 
 of their ruin had actually endeared him to her. What a 
 strange puzzle women were ! He drew a long breath of re 
 lief. He would have no confession to make to her. Deeply 
 moved, he leaned over suddenly, to kiss her. 
 
 " Don't 1 " she cried, shrinking away from him with a look 
 of distress, almost of terror. 
 
 He sprang up alarmed, fearing she was about to have a 
 spasm. He saw she was trembling like a leaf. 
 
 "Leave me," she murmured, sitting bolt upright and 
 clutching the arms of the chair, " please leave me, at 
 once 1 " 
 
 The Colonel, hardly knowing what to do, called out 
 ' Phyllis 1 " Perhaps she would be able to help him.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 343 
 
 The mulatto, who was suspiciously near she had, in fact, 
 been listening at the door entered noiselessly from the ad 
 joining room. 
 
 " Shall I send for the Doctor ? " asked the Colonel, in an 
 anxious whisper, drawing her aside. Mrs. Cheston followed 
 them suspiciously with her eyes ; what were they whispering 
 about ? 
 
 " No, sah," answered Phyllis, " jes ' leave her alone wid 
 me ; I'll fetch her roun'." 
 
 The Colonel, always obedient to his wife's slightest wish, 
 hurried from the room, but did not go far. Outside in the 
 hall, he paced up and down restlessly, awaiting a reassuring 
 word from Phyllis. 
 
 " My God, what shall I do ? " groaned Mrs. Cheston, cover 
 ing her face with her hands. " I can't tell him ! " 
 
 " What ails yer ? " asked Phyllis, almost roughly. She 
 knew well enough. Had she watched her mistress, year 
 after year, for nothing ? How often she had seen her writhe 
 under her husband's unsuspecting tenderness, stung by the 
 desire to confess her guilt towards him, and forced by the 
 fear of consequences to suppress it ! Had the time come at 
 last ? Phyllis feared she might still hesitate ; she longed to 
 choke her into confession. She wanted but one thing, now 
 the exquisite vengeance of seeing her mistress, this deli 
 cate fine lady whom she hated with the gathering bitterness 
 of years of subjection to her petulant whims, her capri 
 cious tyranny, humiliate herself before the man who believed 
 her to be a kind of saint, in spite of her frequent fits of tem 
 per, as Phyllis chose to regard her seizures. 
 
 "I'm afraid of him," answered Mrs. Cheston, with a 
 shiver. 
 
 Phyllis gave a slight start ; there was a gleam of fierce joy 
 in her sombre eyes. Miss Flor' had never shown the slight 
 est inclination to confide in her. On the contrary, she had
 
 344 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 always held her at a distance, jealously guarding herself 
 against betrayal. It was evident she was desperate. 
 
 "Who? Marster?" she asked, with insidious softness. 
 " Why he wouldn't hurt nobody least uv all you." 
 
 " He'd never forgive me." 
 
 " You want ter tell him somethin' ? " Phyllis's voice was 
 almost purring. If she could only beguile her into doing it ! 
 It were almost too much to hope that she might have a hand 
 in bringing about the exposure. She had often racked her 
 brain, of late, for some means of enlightening the Colonel. 
 Marse Edgar had disappointed her. For some reason, he 
 seemed inclined to keep his brother in the dark about his 
 wife. But Marster must know. She could not bear the 
 thought of being cheated of the special vengeance she had 
 cherished for herself. Was not this her opportunity ? To 
 make her mistress the means of her own undoing by leading 
 her gently up to the point of betraying herself that would 
 be grand ! She waited in breathless suspense. 
 
 " It is killing me," groaned Mrs. Cheston. " I've had to 
 bear it all alone so many years." 
 
 "Tell him, then," said Phyllis, encouragingly. "Git it 
 off'n yo' mind. Whatever it is, it kain't be enny wuss than 
 what you're sufferin' now. En' you'd breathe easier, en' 
 mebbe, sleep." 
 
 "He'd despise me I couldn't stand that. You don't 
 know, Phyllis. If you did, you wouldn't urge me." 
 
 " Mebbe not." There was a ring of irony in her voice, 
 though she strove hard to make it tender. " But, mistus, he 
 might find out fur hisse'f. As he left me, he whispered, 
 ' She's actin' very quarely, Phyllis.' He's thinkin' about 
 you, Marster is. It would be harder still fur you ef some 
 one else tole him." A devilish thought came suddenly to 
 her. Bending close to her mistress, she muttered in her ear, 
 " He's close outside de do' ; p'r'aps, he's heerd you."
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 345 
 
 Mrs. Cheston leaped to her feet, white as death, and fixed 
 her eyes in terror on the door. 
 
 "You are right," she exclaimed, breathlessly. "Bring 
 him to me. I mustn't lose a moment. If he is to hear it, 
 he must hear it from me and at once. I thought there 
 couldn't be anything worse than- for me to tell him but 
 there is ; it would be to have him suspect me." 
 
 Phyllis turned away from her quickly. She was just in 
 time to hide the exultation in her face. The thing was as 
 good as done. 
 
 "Marsterl " she cried, in a choking voice. The Colonel 
 hurried into the room as she left it only to hide behind the 
 nearest door. 
 
 " You are better, my dear," he said cheerily, rejoiced to 
 find his wife standing. 
 
 She did not answer him, but burst forth impetuously, in a 
 loud, harsh voice, fearful lest her resolution fail : 
 
 " It was I who told your father 1 I loved Edgar ; he pro 
 fessed to love me, and I learned his secrets. He jilted me 
 for Judith Magruder. I married you from pique, ambition, 
 what you will and then exposed him so that you might 
 have the Manor. Cast me off if you will I deserve it. 
 But know this I soon learned to love you. That is why I 
 couldn't tell you. It has eaten into my heart this dreadful 
 secret. Even now, I couldn't have told you, if I hadn't 
 feared you might have begun to suspect." 
 
 The Colonel was stunned ; but only for a moment. He 
 fancied he understood his wife was overwrought ; it was an 
 hallucination that had suddenly seized her. He glanced at 
 her pityingly, his eyes full of love, reproaching himself for 
 having excited her. Mrs. Cheston was so sure of his con 
 demnation that she waited only for some exclamation of 
 anger or of scorn. He said nothing, being so bewildered, at 
 first, that he did not know what to say. The suspense was
 
 346 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 too much for her. She swayed suddenly, and would have 
 fallen, had he not thrown his arms about her. 
 
 " There, my dear," he said gently, as he let her sink into 
 her chair, " rest quiet for awhile. You mustn't bother your 
 head with such fancies." 
 
 " You don't believe me ? " she gasped. " It's all true 
 every word 1 " 
 
 " And if it were," he asked, taking both her hands in his 
 and pressing them, " what difference would that make ? It 
 happened years ago. I knew you cared for Edgar when you 
 were a mere girl. It was wrong of you to tell father with 
 out consulting me, but I understand. Now listen to me : 
 I'm sure you really loved me, from the first. It may be con 
 ceit in me " he smiled, a trifle sadly " but you've given me 
 cause enough to be vain. No wife could have been more of 
 a flatterer 1 Do you suppose I'm so ungrateful as to forget 
 all that ? It's impossible for me to doubt your love, and 
 isn't that sufficient for me? Edgar has hurt us enough; 
 don't let him come between us, at this late day. Why, we're 
 almost an old couple, my dear 1 And we have trouble to 
 face together." He stooped again to kiss her, and this time, 
 she did not shrink from him. Phyllis was right, she said to 
 herself, with a great sigh of thankfulness: she breathed 
 easily, now ; she might be able to sleep ! Her husband's 
 arms were supporting her ; her tired head rested on his 
 shoulder. " I always knew you were good," she whispered 
 timidly, " but I I little dreamed how good how generous." 
 
 He was not generous in the least, the Colonel said to him 
 self ; it was easy for him to do what he had done, for he was 
 still quite sure she had exaggerated her fault. Besides, if 
 she had sinned, she had suffered, and he loved her. 
 
 Phyllis had heard every word, and knew that her daring 
 ruse had failed. It had served only to bring husband and 
 wife closer together, to make her mistress happy I She had
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 347 
 
 been baffled, after all, by Marster's softness. Grinding 
 her teeth in fury, she shook her clenched fist at the uncon 
 scious Colonel. 
 
 "Oh, you fool, you idjitl " she hissed, "you ought ter 
 tromple her 1 "
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THERE was a solemn consultation that evening between 
 Miss Twiggs and Mr. Plunkett, in a corner of the hall, after 
 tea. They had heard from Ole Miss of the disaster that 
 had overtaken the Colonel, and both being pensioners on 
 his bounty, they had been drawn together by mutual recog 
 nition of the fact that they ought to take some action. 
 Neither liked the other, and only the sense of their common 
 status in the household, could have brought them into any 
 possible sympathy or co-operation. Miss Twiggs, who was 
 usually mild in her judgments, had long ago reluctantly 
 come to the conclusion that Mr. Plunkett was a selfish, 
 cynical, mischief-making old bachelor, whose only utility 
 was that of discipline for one's patience. Mr. Plunkett 
 anathematised Miss Twiggs as a silly old maid who couldn't 
 even play a game of chess without bothering him with ab 
 surdly irrelevant questions. They never quarrelled openly, 
 but they often sparred at each other with more or less 
 malice. 
 
 Each was now intensely curious as to what the other meant 
 to do. If Miss Twiggs deemed it to be her duty to leave 
 the Manor, Mr. Plunkett was afraid he, too, would have to 
 go. It would hardly be decent of him not to make the 
 offer. She was so infernally conscientious that woman ! 
 It wouldn't really make any difference whether either of 
 them left or not. They couldn't help the Colonel by doing 
 so. He had lost the Manor, anyhow. The whole family, 
 except, perhaps, Ole Miss, would have to vacate after the 
 sale which seemed inevitable. In the meantime, what 
 did it matter if there were one or two mouths less to 
 
 348
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 349 
 
 feed? For his part, he hated the idea of giving up- 
 his snug berth until the very last minute. Miss Twiggs 
 was curious for a different reason. She was wonder 
 ing whether Mr. Plunkett were capable of the smallest 
 scrap of generosity. As for herself, she had fully made up 
 her mind as to her course of action. Not only would she 
 instantly relieve the family of the burden of supporting 
 her, slight though it was, but all she had in the world she 
 would place at the Colonel's disposal. It wasn't much, but 
 it might help. As to her own future, that was nothing. She 
 had been blessed with many years of happiness and tender 
 affection at the Manor ; if she could give ever so little in 
 return, it would be easy to suffer any privation. If no one 
 would take her in or give her work, well there was the 
 almshouse. She had often visited it with Ole Miss, who was 
 one of the managers. It was by no means a bad place. On 
 the contrary, it had points in its favour. It had once been 
 the home of a wealthy family, and was a great brick man 
 sion, in the midst of a fine grove of trees, with a pleasant 
 view of the river. The rooms were large and airy, and so 
 clean. She might be very comfortable there. Disgrace ? 
 It would be hard to be treated as a pauper, but what mat 
 tered even that, if she could help those who had been so 
 good to her, in their hour of distress ? 
 
 No ; she had no serious concern for herself, but she was 
 nervously anxious about Mr. Plunkett. Could he be in 
 duced to do the proper thing, or would he simply draw into 
 the shell of his selfishness and wound the Colonel by his in 
 gratitude ? She had an inspiration that frightened her, at 
 first. The zeal of the missionary was born in her. What a 
 fine stroke it would be to convert him to her way of thinking, 
 to persuade him to add his hoard to hers 1 She knew he had 
 a small annuity, and he must have saved nearly all of it, for 
 no one had ever known him to spend anything considerable ;
 
 350 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 his parsimony was proverbial. His clothes, his cigars, his 
 medicines everything he needed were supplied by the 
 Colonel. Even his doctor's bills were included in the family 
 account. Besides, he need have no fear of the future ; he 
 had plenty of relatives and friends who would feel it to be 
 their duty, if not their pleasure, to care for him. But it was 
 a formidable undertaking to make him see things as she saw 
 them. He had so little sentiment. Ah, if she but knew 
 how to reach him ! It was so unfortunate he didn't like her, 
 and was accustomed to sneer at her opinions. She wished, 
 now, she had made some effort to ingratiate herself with 
 him, to humour his prejudices. People would have talked, to 
 be sure, and they might even have laughed at her for setting 
 her cap at him. Nothing was more trying to her than to be 
 teased in that way she had always been painfully modest, 
 shrinking sensitively from any but the most formal contact 
 with the ruder sex but she could have borne that, also, had 
 she but known what was to happen. 
 
 The conversation did not begin auspiciously. At first, 
 Mr. Plunkett seemed to be engrossed with the probable effect 
 of the catastrophe upon his own fortunes, and to commiser 
 ate himself far more than the Colonel. 
 
 " You'll stay till after the sale," he said, eyeing her sternly. 
 He wished to anticipate any possible suggestions from her. 
 He had an idea he could cow her into acquiescence if he took 
 strong ground at the outset she was such a weak, fluttering 
 creature 1 
 
 The crisis was upon her. Miss Twiggs drew herself up 
 stiffly, feeling very nervous. 
 
 " No ; I shall leave to-morrow." 
 
 " But that's nonsense ! " he said, tartly. Her prompt 
 answer was altogether too decided. What if she should 
 prove obstinate ? Weak people sometimes were. " It won't 
 make the least difference to them."
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 351 
 
 " But it makes a great deal of difference to me." There 
 was a faint touch of colour in her withered cheeks, and her 
 bunches of corkscrew curls trembled perceptibly. " Do you 
 think I could eat their bread another day after knowing 
 they're ruined ? " 
 
 " I don't see why you should look at it in that way," he 
 said, sullenly. " At any rate, you needn't be so cock-sure 
 about it ! " 
 
 " Of course, you don't think of staying ? " 
 
 She was actually forcing his hand. Her temerity sur 
 prised her. Perhaps, after all, she was not such a coward 
 as she had feared. 
 
 Mr. Plunkett gave a little gasp. Her question seemed to 
 him audacious. He tried to parry the blow, but she followed 
 it up with a dash and energy that quite took his breath away. 
 
 " They've been so kind to us," she exclaimed, eagerly. 
 " Neither you nor I could do less than show our anxiety not 
 to be a tax upon them. You see that, don't you ? We 
 ought to do more ; we ought to help them." 
 
 " Help them ? How ? " he demanded, wondering what 
 she could be driving at. 
 
 " With every penny we can scrape together." She had 
 taken the dreaded leap, and felt quite elated. '' I've put by 
 some money thanks to their generosity. You must have 
 done the same thing. All these years, we have lived here 
 comfortable, well cared for, happy. Who knows ? If we 
 give him our savings, perhaps they may enable the Colonel 
 to tide over the difficulty. At least, we would have done 
 all we could. Do they not deserve it of us ? " 
 
 Mr. Plunkett was inclined to pinch himself to make sure 
 he wasn't dreaming. Was the woman daft ? Give up his 
 carefully hoarded savings money he had accumulated, 
 dollar by dollar, with infinite pains and labour, as a modest 
 provision for his old age ? And she ? Could she be in
 
 352 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 earnest in proposing to beggar herself, now, when she was 
 about to be cast out upon the world ? What folly I He 
 ought, perhaps, to oppose her for her own sake but that 
 was not so important. What concerned him was that her 
 rashness would compromise him. The Colonel might think 
 he ought to imitate her, or at least, would expect some kind 
 of offer. Hang the idiot ! He had always known she was 
 foolish, but he had never imagined her freaks would have 
 any grave significance for him. But this was serious. He 
 couldn't afford to have the Colonel think him ungrateful or 
 mean, and he might seem to be both by contrast with Miss 
 Twiggs, if she persisted in her purpose. 
 
 It was in her power to put him in an awkward position, 
 not only with the Colonel, but before the whole community. 
 By ignoring the claim upon him which she had so unexpect 
 edly threatened to create by her example, he might damage 
 himself irretrievably in the estimation of those whose good 
 opinion he valued, more or less, and expose himself to rebuffs 
 from the persons whom he counted upon to offer him hospi 
 tality. He had always flattered himself that he was a privi 
 leged character ; a person whose opinions carried weight ; a 
 recognised authority upon questions of propriety. He shrank 
 from the prospect of being suddenly deposed, of becoming 
 himself the subject of the kind of comment and criticism he 
 had always bestowed so freely, with the smug satisfaction of 
 feeling himself exempt from reprisal. There were plenty of 
 people who would be only too glad to pounce upon him. 
 Oh, no ; he couldn't stand that I 
 
 But perhaps, he could dissuade her. He saw she must 
 be managed cautiously ; it was evident she had wrought 
 herself up to the pitch of hysterical enthusiasm. It wouldn't 
 do to oppose her openly. 
 
 " Your suggestion does you honour," he said, mildly. It 
 was desperately hard for him to control himself, to take an
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 353 
 
 indulgent tone with her ; he wished he could snub her, as 
 he had so often done, and brush her aside as wholly incon 
 sequential. " I'd be glad to join you if I thought it were 
 any use. What we could offer the Colonel would be merely 
 a drop in the bucket. It wouldn't affect the result one way 
 or the other." 
 
 Miss Twiggs glanced at him almost gratefully. He was 
 not unimpressionable ! She had expected him to scout her 
 proposal; he actually seemed to think it not unreason 
 able. 
 
 " You miss the point," she said, insistently. It was some 
 thing new for her to be pertinacious ; she was conscious of 
 a certain enjoyment of the novel sensation. " We don't 
 know yet that our help would be useless ; we ought at 
 least to make the effort. Besides, you forget if the Colonel 
 has to leave the Manor, he may be penniless. Don't you 
 see that even a comparatively small sum of money might, 
 in that event, be of great importance to him ? It would save 
 him from the humiliation of having to apply to his friends." 
 
 Mr. Plunkett squirmed. She was forcing him from his 
 last position ! 
 
 " He wouldn't take it," he muttered, desperately. 
 
 " That's for him to decide. He ought to take it because, 
 after all, it's partly his. How could we ever have saved the 
 greater portion of it but for his liberality ? No two people 
 in all the world have a better right to ask it of him. It 
 ought to be easier for him to accept it from us than to 
 borrow, knowing he no longer has any security to offer. 
 He has always shared freely with us ; how can he refuse us 
 the privilege of sharing with him ? It's clear to you, now, 
 is it not ? " 
 
 Yes, it was altogether too clear. Mr. Plunkett was con 
 scious of a sudden feeling of embarrassment. If he refused, 
 she would despise him. Her opinions had always been a 
 23
 
 354 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 matter of indifference to him, but now After all, the risk was 
 not great. He was almost sure the Colonel would decline 
 such an offer. He was not the sort of man to take back 
 what he had given especially when it was the little all of 
 two dependents. Miss Twiggs was palpably bent on doing 
 the thing ; if he held off, she was capable of making a fuss 
 about it and tattling to his discredit. 
 
 " Have your way," he growled, " I'm ready." 
 
 Miss Twiggs gave a muffled cry of delight. She had ac 
 tually won 1 
 
 " Oh, thank you so much I " she exclaimed, effusively. 
 What a victory for her ! Glancing towards the other end of 
 the hall, she saw the Colonel seated at a table, his hands 
 resting idly on the arms of his chair, his head bowed ; he 
 was apparently lost in thought. This was their opportu 
 nity, Miss Twiggs decided. She rose trembling, her heart 
 beating fast. 
 
 "Shall we speak to him, now?" she asked. "It would 
 be better if we went together." 
 
 " No ; you go first," said Mr. Plunkett roughly, " it's 
 your doing 1 " 
 
 It would be some satisfaction for him to make her bear the 
 brunt of the interview. Besides, the Colonel's answer to 
 her would post him as to what he must do. If he as 
 sented, there would be no escape ; if he refused, he might 
 repeat Miss Twiggs's offer with the pleasant sense of impu 
 nity, and even urge it upon him. 
 
 Miss Twiggs gazed at him in dismay ; she dreaded to ap 
 proach the Colonel alone; it would have been so much 
 easier with Mr. Plunkett as an auxiliary. But in spite of 
 his refusal, she did not falter. She would dare anything 
 she who had always been so timid. 
 
 " Very well," she quavered, and turning away from him, 
 she started on her errand.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 355 
 
 The Colonel looked up at the sound of her rustling skirts. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Twiggs," he said kindly, rising to give her a 
 chair, " you know what has happened ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said, dropping unconsciously into the chair, 
 and picking nervously at some flounces on her dress. " I 
 wish to beg a great favour of you." 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked, considerately. He was think 
 ing sadly, it was no longer in his power to grant favours. 
 
 Miss Twiggs hesitated. How would he take it ? Would 
 he be offended ? 
 
 " I I have saved a little money," she stammered, con 
 fusedly. " Would you mind accepting it as as a loan ? I 
 thought it might be of some help to you in your trouble." 
 
 The Colonel's eyes kindled. This weak, helpless creature 
 was offering him her all ! 
 
 " My dear Miss Twiggs," he said, taking both her hands 
 in his and pressing them warmly, " I always knew you loved 
 us ; if I could have doubted your devotion, it would be 
 clear to me now. I can't take your money yet. It wouldn't 
 help me, I assure you. But after the sale, I may need a 
 little at first. If I do, I promise to call upon you. Will 
 that do ? " 
 
 He knew he was really conferring a favour, and not a 
 small one, either, in her eyes. She showed in her agitation 
 the sense of what it must cost him to consent to take money 
 from her. 
 
 She rose, supremely happy, yet anxious to get away. The 
 less she said the better a little more, and she would have 
 burst into tears : they understood each other ; that was 
 enough. 
 
 " It will have to do," she said reluctantly, as she turned 
 away, " but I wish you'd take it now." 
 
 The Colonel bowed, and made no answer. What 
 she wished was out of the question, of course ; he would
 
 356 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 never touch a penny of her pittance, if he could help it. 
 On the other hand, he had given his word ; if reduced to 
 extremities, he would compel himself to apply to her. It 
 would be hard, but not so hard as to solicit aid from others, 
 now that he had no means of repaying. It would make her 
 proud and happy he could be quite sure of that. 
 
 Mr. Plunkett was greatly provoked when he saw Miss 
 Twiggs flit suddenly away without returning to tell him what 
 the Colonel had said. They had spoken in lowered tones, 
 and he had been unable to catch a single word. What did 
 she mean by leaving him in the lurch in this way ? Oh, of 
 course he might have expected it she had broken down 
 and made a mess of it. Her nerve had failed her at the crit 
 ical moment. Yet, he wasn't sure ; she might have gone 
 through with it. Had the Colonel accepted or refused ? 
 Well, he must take his chances. If Miss Twiggs hadn't 
 made the offer, she would do it sooner or later. In the 
 meantime, he would reap all the greater credit if he were 
 the first to broach the subject. 
 
 The Colonel, who was about to retire to his bedroom, 
 looked round in some surprise, as his brother-in-law ap 
 proached. He saw at once that Mr. Plunkett was greatly 
 disturbed. He waited, wondering whether Josias was going 
 to reproach him ; he was capable of it. 
 
 " A word with you, Robert," he said, in a quick, jerky 
 tone. " Is it true you're in danger of losing the Manor ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid there's no doubt about it," answered the 
 Colonel, patiently. Of course, Josias, who was frankly sel 
 fish, was thinking only of the discomfort he would have to 
 suffer ; after awhile, no doubt he would feel more or less 
 sympathy for the other members of the family. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Plunkett, hesitating a moment, and with 
 a very wry face, " I want you to know I shan't be an ex 
 pense to you any longer. God knows what will become of
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 357 
 
 me." There was a plaintiveness in his voice it was quite 
 unconscious which confirmed the Colonel's diagnosis. 
 "However, I'll make shift somehow. And and there's an 
 other thing, Robert. I've got a bit of money laid away; if 
 it's of any real use to you, it's it's yours." 
 
 The Colonel gazed at him in blank wonder. His heart 
 smote him. How unjust he had been ! He knew very well 
 what it meant to his brother-in-law to part with his money. 
 He had often seen him haggle over a penny, and it was a 
 common practice with him at church, when the collection 
 was being taken up, to insist upon change for a quarter. 
 He was, in fact, a petty miser ; his offer, halting though it 
 was, seemed to the Colonel almost heroic. 
 
 " You, too, Josias ! " the Colonel exclaimed, unconscious 
 that he was expressing a frank incredulity. 
 
 Mr. Plunkett knew, now, that Miss Twiggs had spoken. 
 It was evident, however, that the Colonel had no idea he 
 was acting at her suggestion. Now that he had gone so far, 
 he felt better. A glow of real feeling warmed his blood. 
 He was proud of having done what, a little while ago, he 
 would have considered a monstrous piece of folly. 
 
 " You've been very kind to me," he blurted out hastily, 
 urged on by a sudden desire to convince the Colonel he was 
 in earnest. " Damn me if I'm going to stand by and see 
 you suffer ! " 
 
 He was in for it now, sure enough, if the Colonel should 
 accept. But no matter ! Strange he was becoming reck 
 less. It was such a new experience for him to be generous, 
 that he had quite lost his head. He had always feared he 
 might become a spendthrift, if he ever let himself go. And 
 here he was, risking everything he had, and finding an 
 almost delirious pleasure in it ! 
 
 The Colonel was moved even more deeply than by Miss 
 Twiggs' conduct. Such conduct was natural to her, but in
 
 358 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Josias's case, it was abnormal. To Mr. Plunkett's astonish 
 ment, he seized him in his arms and hugged him. The next 
 moment, the Colonel was almost tempted to laugh at the 
 look of relief which came over his brother-in-law's face when 
 he told him, as he had told Miss Twiggs, that his money 
 could be of no immediate use to him, and he would apply to 
 him only if he were in actual need. But Mr. Plunkett's 
 evident satisfaction served also to emphasise the seriousness 
 of his proffered sacrifice. To the Colonel, at that moment, 
 there was a whimsical dignity about him, a strange mixture 
 of generosity and thrift which was not ignoble. 
 
 Mr. Plunkett said good-night with a warmth unusual to 
 him. He was surprised to learn how much he cared for 
 " Bob." He wished he could find something to say to com 
 fort him, but he was an awkward hand at that sort of thing. 
 How glad he was he had yielded to Miss Twiggs ! Never 
 theless, he could not quite reconcile himself to the thought 
 that she had vanquished him. " Who'd ever have dreamed," 
 he said to himself, with a last sputter of indignation, " that 
 I'd have to follow her lead ? " He was compelled to admit 
 that she was neither so weak nor so silly as he had imagined. 
 " There must be something in her, after all," he added, 
 grudgingly. " It's the first time a woman ever got the better 
 of me but I shan't let her know it. She'd be so set up 
 that she'd want to try her hand again; there's no telling 
 where the thing would end. She might take it into her head 
 to many me I " He smiled sourly at the idea. Well, he 
 could baffle her there 1 He wasn't as bad as that ; he 
 hadn't quite lost his grip. 
 
 The Colonel lingered for some minutes after Mr. Plunkett 
 had left him, thinking of all that had happened. What a day 
 he had gone through 1 At last, it was over ; he must think 
 of the morrow. He thought of it calmly, without fear, and 
 even with a certain eagerness the eagerness of a naturally
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 359 
 
 courageous soul which, having passed through a crisis of 
 doubt and despondency, emerges stronger, more self-reliant. 
 None of those whom he cared for most had turned from him 
 or reproached him. They still loved and trusted him. The 
 fact, trifling in itself, that even Josias, a chronic fault-finder, 
 had no word of blame, but only sympathy and utterly un 
 looked-for generosity, stimulated him wonderfully. Well, 
 the old ease and pomp and prodigality were gone ; but on 
 the ruins of his fortunes, he might be able to rear, with the 
 aid of loving hands, a fabric of self-respect and independ 
 ence, which, if modest, would at least be solid and endur 
 ing. But a little while ago, he had been chafing at his 
 inaction and longing to go South. How thankful he was he 
 had resisted the temptation 1 His duty lay here. If God 
 willed, he would fulfil it loyally, whatever happened.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 TURLO CHESTON and Oswald Reeve had succeeded, with 
 out much difficulty, in making their way to Richmond, and 
 had obtained commissions as lieutenants in the same regi 
 ment in the Army of Northern Virginia. Since then, they had 
 been close comrades, and had seen hard service together. 
 Their command was in camp at Fredericksburg when a letter 
 reached Turlo from his father, telling him of the confiscation 
 of his farm and of the trouble caused by his uncle's con 
 duct. The Colonel, fearing some rashness on Turlo's part, 
 bade him not to think of returning. " You could do no good 
 here," he wrote, "and your presence might cause further 
 trouble with your uncle. I would have preferred not to 
 worry you with what has happened, as it cannot be mended ; 
 but I fear some incorrect version of the facts may reach you, 
 causing you greater anxiety and distress. I have told you, 
 therefore, what has actually occurred. But I must insist that 
 you remain at your post and do your duty. I assure you, 
 you cannot help us." 
 
 The Colonel had framed his letter carefully, but the bare 
 recital of the facts was enough to inflame Turlo, naturally 
 hot-headed, to a pitch of violent indignation against his 
 uncle. The hound, to steal his farm from him ! And to 
 take the Manor from his father what a scoundrel he must 
 be ! Turlo had but one thought. It was impossible for him, 
 he knew, to get the better of his uncle except by means of 
 physical force. He was much too clever for him, of course. 
 But he had a stout pair of fists. He could punish him 
 bodily, and he longed to do it. It was even possible he might 
 
 360
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 361 
 
 be able to frighten him ; to compel him by threats of vio 
 lence to desist. How he wished he were at home! It 
 would be something, at least, to know what was going on 
 from day to day, and to do all he could to thwart and em 
 barrass his uncle at every step. He was not over-modest, 
 and it seemed to him the family needed him especially. No 
 one, he persuaded himself, had either the right or the cour 
 age to do what he proposed. It was evident his father had 
 lost his nerve. 
 
 For several days, Turlo struggled hard with a growing de 
 sire to hasten home. He loved his father and did not wish 
 to disobey him ; besides, he was a Confederate officer, on 
 active duty, and it seemed a dubious thing to ask for leave 
 to enter the Union lines. His request might expose him 
 to the suspicion of having grown faint-hearted, of wishing 
 to exchange the security of his home for the dangers of the 
 battle-field. He had made a reputation for dash and 
 gallantry, and was boyishly proud of it : his heart was 
 really in the Southern cause. But his curiosity as to 
 what was happening at the Manor, and his longing to 
 have some part in it, at last broke down his power of 
 resistance. He applied for leave, and was refused on the 
 ground that an engagement was imminent and no officer 
 could be spared. At first, he accepted the decision as final, 
 but he soon grew restless again, and at length, conceived the 
 idea of deserting. It wouldn't be really deserting, he per 
 suaded himself. He was not serving from any of the seced 
 ing States, but was merely a volunteer from outside. He 
 would leave a letter explaining the reasons that called him 
 away, and promising to return. If they chose to shoot him 
 as a deserter when he presented himself again well, they 
 might. He was going home. 
 
 He confided his intention one night to Oswald Reeve. To 
 his great surprise, Oswald offered to accompany him.
 
 362 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 " I'm sick of the whole thing," Oswald explained. " Be 
 tween you and me, Turlo, I don't care a hang for the Con 
 federacy. I wouldn't have come down here if I hadn't 
 bragged about doing it. Well, I've done it, and I can go 
 back with some credit. They'll never know at home that 
 I deserted. I can easily make up a story about having been 
 captured." 
 
 He didn't tell Turlo his real motive. The fact was he, 
 too, had had a letter from his father who told him of the Col 
 onel's plight and urged him to return without delay. " I can't 
 save the Manor for you," he wrote. " At least, it looks 
 as if I had lost it, for good and all. But now's your chance 
 to get the girl. Her father's ruined ; of course, she's in low 
 spirits, and would turn to anyone who'd help the family out 
 of their scrape. Besides, you have a claim upon her sympa 
 thy you never had before ; you've fought for her Cause. It 
 would be something to marry into that family, after all. I 'd 
 give the money cheerfully to set up a new establishment. 
 It would be even better for me than to own the Manor. 
 They couldn't shove me aside with any kind of decency, 
 knowing I was backing them for a fresh start." 
 
 Oswald thought the reasoning shrewd ; he was as much in 
 love with Lydia as ever, and eager to make another trial 
 under new conditions distinctly favourable to him. Perhaps, 
 she had changed ; misfortune might have tempered those 
 instincts which had made her seem so superior, so antipa 
 thetic to him. 
 
 Turlo suspected his sister was at the bottom of Oswald's 
 sudden resolution, and good-naturedly consented. He had 
 grown to be very fond of Oswald, and in spite of his pre 
 judices, was even inclined to think Lydia might do worse. 
 
 They made their escape from Fredericksburg the following 
 night, and after a series of adventures, succeeded in reach 
 ing the banks of the Potomac. They were about to put off
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 363 
 
 in a skiff for the opposite shore, when a scouting party of 
 Federal troops came suddenly upon them. Turlo managed 
 to dodge them, and ran at top speed up the river, a hail of 
 bullets whizzing past him. Pausing to take breath, he 
 looked round, and saw Oswald in the midst of a uniformed 
 group. He was sorry they had caught him, but perhaps, he 
 would be able to convince them that he had abandoned the 
 Confederate service and was anxious to be reconciled. The 
 best thing he could do for him would be to get home as soon 
 as he could, and inform Oswald's father. If anybody could 
 get him off, it was old Reeve ; he was smart enough for 
 anything. 
 
 A little farther up the river, Turlo stumbled upon an old 
 negro in a canoe who made no trouble at all about carrying 
 him across, and seemed to think himself well rewarded with 
 a plug of Virginia tobacco. Turlo's troubles did not end, 
 however, with his arrival on Maryland soil. The country 
 was overrun with troops, and he was compelled to travel on 
 foot, at night, with infinite care and precaution. It was un 
 safe even to apply at houses for food, and he often lay all 
 day in swamps or thickets, tortured by hunger and soaked 
 with rain. His sufferings intensified his feeling against his 
 uncle, and finally, affected his brain. When at last, one 
 night, he reached the Manor, he had become really danger 
 ous ; his idea, now, was to kill his uncle. Yes, that would 
 be the easiest, the simplest solution of the matter. His uncle 
 deserved to die ; it was his duty to kill him. He would rid 
 the whole family of an incubus, and perhaps, save the Manor. 
 Judith was a generous girl, although she had treated him 
 shabbily ; no doubt, she would make it easy for his father to 
 regain possession. As to himself, he was indifferent ; the 
 thing that was of real importance was to deal effectually with 
 his uncle. Even Judith, he persuaded himself in his mad 
 ness, would have reason to thank him. Any girl should be
 
 364 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 grateful for being freed from such a father. A lunatic, with 
 the homicidal impulse strong upon him, often finds strange 
 reasons to justify it and even to make it seem to him humane. 
 Rational enough, to all appearance, upon any other subject, 
 Turlo was wholly irresponsible when he thought of Edgar. 
 Any one might have talked with him by the hour without 
 discovering that his mind was unhinged. 
 
 The Colonel happened to be alone in the library when 
 Turlo tapped on the outer door. He rose and opened it, 
 but drew back, shocked, when his son staggered across the 
 threshold. Turlo presented, indeed, a sorry spectacle. His 
 clothes were in tatters, his face gaunt from famine, his black 
 eyes glowing with the fire of a disordered brain. 
 
 " Well, father," he exclaimed, with an unsteady laugh, 
 " aren't you glad to see me? But, for God's sake, a little 
 food ! " 
 
 The Colonel put an arm about him to support him, and 
 guided him to a chair. Without a word, he hastened to a 
 closet, took out a decanter of brandy, and poured out a stiff 
 dram. 
 
 Turlo tossed it off with evident relish. 
 
 " The first drop of good liquor in months," he exclaimed. 
 " But it's something to eat I need most." 
 
 " In a moment," said the Colonel, hastening away. There 
 was a bright fire in the grate in one corner of the room, and 
 Turlo warmed himself luxuriously before the cheering blaze. 
 The Colonel soon returned with a pitcher of milk and some 
 biscuits. 
 
 " I didn't bring you anything else," he explained, " be 
 cause I thought you ought not to eat much at first." 
 
 Turlo crumbled a biscuit in his hand, drank a glass of milk, 
 and sat munching the bread. 
 
 " Now tell me what has happened," he said. 
 
 " Nothing has happened. Everything is the same as
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 365 
 
 when I wrote you. I hoped you'd obey me and not come 
 back." 
 
 " I couldn't help it, father. It worried me so I had to 
 come." 
 
 " I'm surprised they gave you leave." 
 
 " They didn't; I left without it." 
 
 " You deserted ! " cried the Colonel, horrified. " You 
 my son I" 
 
 " There wasn't any other way," said Turlo, sullenly. 
 " What's more, I may be arrested as a spy." 
 
 The Colonel groaned. His son had dishonoured himself 
 with the Confederates, and had rendered himself liable to even 
 greater ignominy at the hands of the Federal authorities, if 
 he were caught. How bitterly he repented having written to 
 him I It was a crushing load to bear in addition to his other 
 burdens. But he uttered no reproaches. How could he, as 
 he looked at Turlo, half-starved, wild-eyed, evidently ill ? He 
 must make the best of it, and seek to keep him out of further 
 trouble. 
 
 " You've had a rough road to travel, father," said Turlo, 
 adding with a touch of patronage : " But I'll make it all 
 right soon." 
 
 As he spoke, he got up with a kind of swagger, and with 
 out asking leave, helped himself to another glass of brandy. 
 The act was unpleasantly significant to the Colonel. Turlo's 
 manner towards him, even in his most reckless moods, had 
 always been respectful. He winced at the thought that his 
 son might have reached the conclusion that he was no longer 
 worthy of deference and had determined to assert him 
 self. Did -the foolish boy imagine he was competent to take 
 the lead, to supplant him as the head of the family ? No ; 
 it was doubtless merely an unconscious bit of presumption. 
 Nevertheless, it indicated a self-confidence that might be 
 dangerous.
 
 366 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 " You must be careful, Turlo," he said, " the county is 
 full of troops. If the news of your presence here leaks out, 
 we shall have some of them down on us." 
 
 " Oh, I'll lie close enough," said Turlo, " all I ask is a 
 chance to meet my uncle." 
 
 " Your uncle ! " exclaimed the Colonel, alarmed. " My 
 dear boy, it is he who has caused all the trouble : it would 
 only make things worse if you . came into contact with 
 him." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Turlo, with an ominous glance, " he 
 won't worry you any more, when I am through with him." 
 
 The Colonel thought he was merely boasting ; no doubt, 
 the brandy had gone to his head. 
 
 " You must be dreadfully tired," he said, rising. " Come ; 
 we'll go to bed." 
 
 He lit a candle, and escorted Turlo upstairs. 
 
 " Don't leave the room until Caesar comes to you in the 
 morning," he urged, as he was about to say good-night, " I'll 
 send him to you in time for breakfast. We can trust him. 
 The others are faithful, but they might chatter. Get a good 
 night's sleep, and we'll talk over matters at our leisure." 
 
 He left him, hoping fervently he would be less heady and 
 more reasonable in the morning. Turlo laughed grimly to 
 himself. He would promise anything to keep the old 
 gentleman quiet, but he knew what he meant to do. Yes, 
 he would " lie close," but only to save himself from arrest 
 until he could have it out with his uncle.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 TURLO did not awake until late next morning. He found 
 Caesar at his bedside, grave and attentive. 
 
 " Well, old man," he exclaimed, with something of the 
 same air of patronage he had shown his father, " you don't 
 look very jolly. Cheer up ; I've come home to take things 
 in hand." 
 
 " Better stayed whar you wuz," grunted Caesar, resenting 
 his manner. It was a liberty to take with him, and he 
 didn't mean to put up with it. The idea of Young Marse, 
 whom he had always hectored, trying to put on airs with 
 him 1 " Whyn't you mind yo' Par ? " 
 
 " Oh, father isn't any match for Uncle Edgar ! " 
 
 " En' you think you iz ? " demanded Caesar. " Well, mind 
 how you handles him ; he mought cut yo' fingers." 
 
 " I won't give him a chance," said Turlo, flinging out of 
 bed. " I know what he wants, and he'll get it." 
 
 " What you gwine ter do ? " asked Caesar, suspiciously. 
 He saw that Young Marse was ripe for mischief. 
 
 " That's telling," cried Turlo, with a shrewd glance. He 
 wasn't going to give his game away. 
 
 Caesar helped him to dress, and then left him, with a sage 
 shake of the head. He meant to keep an eye on him. He 
 didn't like the way he talked and acted. Something was 
 wrong with Young Marse he had never behaved so before, 
 but as yet, he had no suspicion that he was more than 
 " flighty." 
 
 Turlo descended to the hall, and there, found Judith. 
 She had just arrived, and for the moment, was alone. 
 
 367
 
 368 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Judith was still a frequent visitor at the Manor. Neither 
 her engagement to Basil nor Edgar's conduct had affected 
 her relations to the family. Lydia was anxious to hide her 
 distress from her, above all. She had ceased to be intimate 
 with her, but she was still cordial and even affectionate, for 
 she had brought herself to the point of acquitting Judith of 
 blame, and tried to stifle her jealousy by cultivating the ad 
 miration and liking for her which she had felt from the 
 first. As for the other members of the family, they were 
 only drawn to Judith the more by Edgar's treatment of the 
 Colonel. They were sure she was distressed and mortified, 
 and she was clever enough to encourage this impression 
 without seeming to take issue with her father. 
 
 Judith drew back, startled, on seeing Turlo. She had not 
 heard of his return only the Colonel and Caesar knew of 
 it as yet and had dismissed him from her mind as a factor 
 in her problem since the day of his departure for the South. 
 She was unpleasantly affected by his sudden appearance on 
 the scene because she knew him to be a rash, impulsive boy, 
 with a grievance against Edgar ; but at first, she attached no 
 great importance to it. 
 
 "Well, Cousin Judith," he exclaimed, in an ordinary tone, 
 but with frank warmth of manner, and shaking hands with 
 her heartily. " You don't look as if you had suffered much, 
 yet you must have had a hard time." 
 
 She looked at him, puzzled. Did he mean to intimate that 
 she had "had a hard time" because of Basil's absence? 
 Yes, he was trying to tease her. It was a rather lame joke, 
 but he had that sort of humour. Well, if he could refer so 
 lightly to her, engagement, no doubt he had been cured of 
 his feeling for. her. Very probably, he had lost his heart 
 again to some girl in the South. She devoutly hoped he had. 
 It would be very embarrassing, if he had come back to make 
 love to her.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 369 
 
 " On the contrary," she said, " I've had a very easy 
 time." 
 
 " What ! " he exclaimed, his eyes flashing suddenly, 
 " with a father like yours ? " 
 
 The question frightened Judith. What did he know about 
 her " father " ? How absurd, she reflected, with a sigh of 
 relief, the next moment, to fancy he cduld know anything 
 serious ! Of course, he was incensed against him for 
 having taken his farm and for threatening to seize the Manor. 
 But it was odd in him to denounce him to her whom he be 
 lieved to be Edgar Cheston's daughter. 
 
 " You shouldn't say anything against him to me," she said 
 rebukingly, feeling she should make some protest. 
 
 " Why not ? " he demanded, in an argumentative tone, 
 " He has done you far greater wrong than any one else." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she gasped, her fears returning. 
 
 " I mean that he has given you a blackened name," he 
 answered hotly, " you must suffer because you are his 
 daughter. He's not a gentleman, though he is a Cheston. 
 Don't try to excuse him to me. I know, from what he has 
 done to us, that he must always have been a heavy load for 
 you to carry. Poor girl ! You wouldn't admit it, of course, 
 but you'd be better off if he were dead." 
 
 Judith recoiled from him in consternation. His words 
 were wild, but every one of them was true, though not in 
 the sense he intended. Without knowing it, he had probed 
 her most secret thoughts. Deep down in her heart, un 
 acknowledged to herself before, lay the wish that Edgar were 
 dead, and she were free forever. It was evident Turlo had 
 no suspicion of her reasons for hating Edgar, but he had so 
 accurately defined her attitude towards him that he terrified 
 her. She was struck, for the first time, by his strange 
 excitement. Had he been drinking ? 
 
 " But you mustn't worry," continued Turlo soothingly, 
 24
 
 370 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 with a protecting wave of the hand ; " I'll soon settle him ! 
 That's what I came home for." 
 
 " I don't understand " faltered Judith, more and more 
 
 alarmed. 
 
 " I don't intend you shall just yet," he said, with a harsh 
 laugh. " Not a word to him ! " he added, with sudden fierce 
 ness. A gleam of cunning passed swiftly over his face. " I 
 mean to trap him 1 " 
 
 Judith caught her breath. She understood. He har 
 boured some design against Edgar. What it was, she 
 could not imagine ; but it was clearly hostile. No ; he had 
 not been drinking. She could see that in his eyes, his gen 
 eral bearing. His language, too, was perfectly coherent. 
 He had never seemed to her well-balanced ; she had always 
 thought him erratic. No doubt, the wrongs his uncle had 
 done him and his father had worked upon him so that he 
 had become more or less crazed. Yes, that would account 
 for his sudden outburst to her against a man supposed to 
 be her father. No one in his senses would have chosen her 
 for a confidant. But whatever its cause, his mental at 
 titude was a serious menace to Edgar. 
 
 What should she do ? If she kept silent and any mischief 
 happened to him, Edgar would be enraged against her for not 
 having warned him ; in his passion, he might strike at her 
 even yet through Basil. She trembled, too, at the thought 
 that Turlo might suddenly take it into his head to tell what 
 he knew about her. If he were as unsettled as he seemed 
 to be, anything might happen. Yes, it were safer to notify 
 Edgar of his nephew's return and his threats against him. 
 No doubt, he would be able to take instant measures to ap 
 prehend him and shut him up where he could do no harm. 
 Perhaps Turlo would gradually cool down and return to his 
 normal condition. She did not imagine aught worse than 
 imprisonment for him.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 371 
 
 Instead of returning to the Rectory when she left the 
 Manor, Judith made all haste to reach the county town. 
 She had driven over alone in a phaeton the Rector had 
 bought for her, so she was not embarrassed by any witness 
 of her change of route. It was still early in the afternoon 
 when she arrived at the old brick tavern, on the main street 
 of the village, where Edgar had lodgings. 
 
 The tavern was a low, straggling house of red brick, 
 dating from pre-Revolutionary times, in a large enclosure, 
 one side of which was occupied by a long row of stables. 
 A spacious yard, with a few aged locusts whose rough trunks 
 were coated with whitewash, separated the inn from the 
 grassy street. A wide hall opened, on one side, into an old- 
 fashioned kitchen, with the same paraphernalia for cooking 
 as in colonial days, and on the other, into the dining-room. 
 On the floor above there was a ballroom, with a mirror at 
 each end and panelled walls, which had been the scene of gay 
 assemblies during several generations. At the side of it, ran 
 a corridor opening upon a verandah at the back which gave 
 the only means of access to the sleeping rooms. From these, 
 a pleasant view was had of picturesque bits of the town, and 
 the rolling surface of the country beyond. In the old days 
 of stage-coaches, the inn, as one of the chief stopping-places 
 on a main highway long known as " the King's Road," had 
 been the scene of constant bustle and excitement ; but with 
 the change to railroads and steamboats, it had sunk into 
 even greater torpor than that which had overtaken the ware 
 houses and shops. Guests were few and infrequent. People 
 seldom remained longer than a night. If they were of any 
 consequence, they were sure to be spirited away by some 
 hospitable planter. It was a duty, as well as a privilege, in 
 his eyes, to entertain a stranger who had social claims. 
 
 Edgar had taken three rooms, and had fitted them up to 
 suit his fancy. He was alone when Judith arrived, expecting
 
 372 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Reeve with whom he had made an appointment to consider 
 the final details of the transfer of the mortgages. There 
 had been some delay in obtaining his share of the Magruder 
 money, but at last, he had the amount in hand, and was 
 ready to settle the affair. He rose quickly as Judith entered. 
 He was glad to see her. It was lonesome in these old, mil 
 dewed rooms, with not a soul in the tavern whom he could 
 endure. He was almost beginning to regret he had left the 
 Manor, even though it would have been more or less awk 
 ward there. In spite of himself, he had yielded somewhat 
 to the infection of the family life. There was a cheery glow 
 in it which he missed. They had really cared for him ; 
 there was no one who cared for him now. Even his mother 
 had cut him off. Judith instantly brightened the scene. 
 He found himself wishing she were always beside him. 
 
 " Why, this is really a treat " he began. He stopped 
 
 short suddenly, at a second glance at her. She seemed 
 nervous ; her face was pale and drawn. " What's the 
 matter? " he demanded anxiously, "you look as if you had 
 seen a ghost." 
 
 " I have seen one or something very like it," she answered, 
 sinking into a chair. " It has frightened me, a little. Did 
 you know Turlo had returned ? I had begun to think he 
 was dead or at least, had passed out of our lives." 
 
 " Oh, is that all ? " said Edgar, with a confident laugh. " I 
 feared it was something serious. I can easily put a curb 
 upon him." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that. He seems to me to be rather 
 formidable. I think his brain is affected. He is set upon 
 doing you some harm." 
 
 " Where is he ? " Edgar looked thoughtful, but he was not 
 alarmed. He fancied he had ample means of protecting 
 himself. Turlo was a mere boy. It would be easy to out 
 wit him.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 373 
 
 " At the Manor. He came last night. I left him half an 
 hour ago, and hurried here to tell you. Can you imagine ? 
 he has the queer fancy that he would do me a favour by rid 
 ding me of you; that I would be better off if you were 
 dead." She glanced at Edgar, as she spoke, with a dubious 
 smile which made him uncomfortable. Perhaps, she would 
 not be unwilling to accept his nephew's good offices, if she 
 dared ! He could no longer count upon her allegiance 
 which had once been absolute. But he held her still by the 
 bonds of her obvious interest in his silence. She had come 
 to warn him ; evidently, she was afraid to round on him 
 yet. 
 
 " I thought we had made peace," he muttered, sullenly. 
 
 " So we have," she said, carelessly. " I merely mentioned 
 the fact because it seemed curious. Don't you think it shows 
 he isn't quite sane ? " 
 
 " Of course ; he may be mischievous." 
 
 " He is certainly that. He thinks you have treated his 
 father as well as himself inhumanly. I don't know what he 
 intends doing, but it may be something desperate." 
 
 " I'll have him taken, at once," said Edgar, hastily. He 
 mused a moment, and added, " He could be arrested as a spy." 
 
 " You wouldn't do that 1 " 
 
 " Wouldn't I ? " he retorted, grimly. " You don't seem to 
 comprehend. From what you tell me, I've no doubt the 
 fellow is a madman. If he is allowed to remain at large, he 
 might lie in wait and pot me at any moment. If he is arrested, 
 it must be on a serious charge ; otherwise, they might let him 
 loose again." 
 
 " But they hang spies, do they not ? " she asked, anxiously. 
 
 " Sometimes," he replied, in an indifferent tone. " Of 
 course, I wouldn't let it come to that; after all, he's my 
 nephew." 
 
 She was not so sure he wouldn't. She believed him to be
 
 374 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 capable of anything of murder, even, if his safety were 
 seriously threatened. To have Turlo executed as a spy, 
 would be a final solution which he could easily bring about 
 without compromising himself. She shuddered at her 
 part in the affair. Poor Turlo ! Without knowing it, she had 
 brought him, perhaps, into mortal peril. She liked him in 
 spite of the fact that he had annoyed her at times. He had 
 been loyal to her, although she had not used him well. 
 Certainly, he did not deserve this at her hands. She repent 
 ed having come. " I wouldn't have done it," she murmured 
 to herself," if I had known." 
 
 " If you hear anything else," said Edgar, as she rose to go, 
 "you won't fail to let me know ? " 
 
 " I won't fail," she answered, faintly. She was resolved 
 not to hear. Edgar must shift for himself. If she helped 
 anybody, it would be Turlo. 
 
 When she had left him, Edgar looked at his watch. It 
 was within ten minutes of the hour Reeve had named. He 
 began to pace restlessly up and down the room. He was 
 not afraid of Turlo, but he was disturbed. The fool might 
 give him trouble. What were his intentions ? Would he 
 remain at the Manor or hide somewhere else ? He had 
 neglected to ask Judith, but doubtless, she would have told 
 him, had she known. There was a knock at the door. He 
 called out " Come in," thinking Reeve was ahead of time ; 
 but it was Smyrk, the Manor overseer. 
 
 " Good-evenin', Mister Edgar," he said, in a whining 
 voice, twiddling his hat, which he held in both hands. " I 
 thought ye mought like ter know the Kurnel's son hed got 
 back. I seed him, unbeknownst, and heern him talk. He's 
 threatening bloody murder agin you." 
 
 " So I understand," said Edgar, shortly. Smyrk drew back, 
 crestfallen. He had thought himself the bearer of a sensa 
 tional bit of news.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 375 
 
 " What I want to know," continued Edgar, " is what he 
 means to do whether he will remain at the Manor to-night 
 or seek some other cover." 
 
 " I didn't hear him say," answered Smyrk, ruefully. 
 
 " You can find out, can't you ? " asked Edgar, with an im 
 patient air. 
 
 " Ef I hez enny kind o' luck," replied Smyrk, with a 
 cunning glance. " It all depends on whether ole Caesar's 
 hangin' erbout. Ef he sees me, I kain't git nigh Mr. Turlo. 
 He seems ter be shadderin' him." 
 
 " Well, go back and try. If you succeed, come to me at 
 once on the fastest horse in the stable." 
 
 " I'll do my bes'," said Smyrk, and with another drawling 
 " Good-evenin','' he slunk away. He had scarcely disap 
 peared when a heavy step sounded on the verandah, and 
 Reeve came hurriedly to Edgar's door. He was evidently 
 perturbed. He scarcely noticed Edgar's curt greeting, but 
 flung himself into a chair and began to mop his face with 
 a red silk handkerchief. 
 
 " I want your help," he said, abruptly. 
 
 " My help ? Why, what's the matter, man ? " asked Edgar, 
 glancing at him in surprise. 
 
 " My son has been arrested by Union troops in trying to 
 cross the Potomac. He is in great danger; it seems he 
 entered the Union lines without a pass." 
 
 " How did you hear that ? " asked Edgar, sharply. He 
 knew Oswald had gone South with Turlo and that they had 
 served in the same regiment. His case was suspiciously 
 like Turlo's. Had they come North together ? 
 
 " Turlo Cheston told me a few minutes ago. The boy's 
 off his head, but his story about Oswald was straight enough. 
 Turlo's afraid of being nabbed as a spy. My son may have 
 rendered himself liable to the same charge, but, of course, 
 it's absurd."
 
 3/6 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 "And Turlo came here, with the town full of troops?" 
 
 " Oh, he sneaked in all right. He said he couldn't rest 
 until he had told me about Oswald. God bless him for it 1 
 He's a plucky one that boy." 
 
 " Can you lay hands on him ? " demanded Edgar. " I 
 must get him into custody at once." 
 
 "You wouldn't have me do thatl " exclaimed Reeve, hor 
 rified. Even his accommodating conscience was shocked. 
 " Didn't I tell you he had just done me a favour a very great 
 favour ? Besides, you can't move against him ; he's your 
 brother's son." 
 
 " That won't worry me," said Edgar coolly, " our relation 
 ship doesn't weigh with him. He is threatening me with 
 some kind of violence, I don't know what. It's merely r 
 matter of self-preservation. And it would be a kindness tc 
 him to lock him up out of harm's way to himself or others. 
 You say, yourself, he isn't right in his mind." 
 
 " He is daft about you. I didn't pay much attention to 
 what he said, except about Oswald, but I remember he was 
 bitter against you, and said something about settling scores." 
 
 " You want my influence to protect your son, do you not ? " 
 asked Edgar. " Well, help me to capture this hot-headed 
 boy." 
 
 " I can't," said Reeve, rejoicing at his inability, " he has 
 already left town ; by this time, he is well on his way to the 
 Manor." 
 
 " He has gone back, then ? " said Edgar, disappointed. 
 " I wonder if he means to stay there to-night." 
 
 " He told me he would," answered Reeve. " He said he 
 was fagged out and needed another night's rest." 
 
 " Then, I have him I " cried Edgar, eagerly. " He'll be 
 a clever fellow to escape me now. Not a word of this, Reeve, 
 to any one. Your son's safety depends upon holding your 
 tongue."
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 377 
 
 " / shan't blab," said the lawyer. He considered a 
 moment. Since he was powerless to help Turlo, he might as 
 well ingratiate himself with Edgar. It was all important to 
 make sure of his aid in behalf of Oswald. " If you've made 
 up your mind to hunt him down," he added, " you'd better 
 be ready to put the screws on the family. Wouldn't it be well 
 to provide yourself with an order for your brother's arrest ? 
 That might make them give up Turlo." 
 
 " Do you imagine I'm going to the Manor ? " asked Edgar, 
 in disgust. What did the fellow take him for a common 
 ruffian ? " I'll leave that to the provost marshal." 
 
 " You'd make a mistake," said Reeve, decidedly. " Turlo's 
 not to be easily caught. Of course, all the niggers there are 
 on the watch. If you want the thing done right, you'd better 
 do it yourself. If you shouldn't find him, you might force 
 them to tell you where he is by threatening your brother. 
 They care a good deal more for him than for Turlo." 
 
 Edgar looked doubtful for a moment. Reeve's reasoning 
 was good, and he couldn't afford to waste any chances. The 
 situation was really critical. From three different sources, 
 he had heard that Turlo was violently inflamed against him ; 
 he was clearly dangerous. Any negligence, now, might 
 cost him his life. But if he accepted Reeve's advice, he 
 must unmask. After directing the arrest in person at the 
 Manor, it would no longer be possible to conceal his employ 
 ment by the Government. Public opinion would be incensed 
 against him. It would see in his conduct unnatural malice 
 towards his brother. It would be out of the question for him 
 to keep up the fiction of respectability. Henceforth, there 
 would be war between him and the community at large. 
 Well let it come ! He had no choice, if he wished to make 
 sure. Upon the whole, he was glad, since it had to be. He 
 had power, and he would enjoy the free use of it. His 
 authority as a Government agent was, necesssarily, almost
 
 378 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 unlimited. He could easily convert it into a means of op 
 pression. If he couldn't make himself respected, he could 
 make himself feared. There was exultation for him in the 
 thought that he could wipe out many an old score. These 
 people had passed sentence of outlawry upon him years ago ; 
 he could revenge himself upon them all. It was in his 
 power to tame their pride ; to bend the most obstinate to his 
 will ; to reach a kind of eminence by treading them under 
 his feet 
 
 " You are right," he said suddenly to Reeve. " I'll see to 
 it myself ! " 
 
 Reeve left him without the subject of the mortgages 
 having been mentioned. Both had forgotten all about 
 them in the excitement of their interview. The lawyer 
 was well pleased. His scruples about Turlo had utterly 
 vanished. He would have thought them idle in comparison 
 with the promise of Edgar's influence on behalf of his son. 
 He felt no compunction whatever about the Colonel. On the 
 contrary, he relished the thought of the blow to his pride in 
 the discovery of Edgar's political depravity, as he would re 
 gard it. " That'll make him bite the dust," he said to him 
 self, with a chuckle, " to find his brother a Yankee in 
 former 1 " He had also put a spoke in Edgar's wheel. 
 " He'll do for himself about here. Let him have the Manor ; 
 for the first time in its history, its master will be an object of 
 general contempt." That suggestion of his was really a 
 clever stroke. Edgar had used him to his own undoing ; he 
 had now contrived things so that Edgar would unconsciously 
 minister to his revenge. He was safe, in any event. And 
 both these brothers, each of whom, in his own way, had 
 humiliated and baffled him, would be made to suffer pre 
 cisely what would most hurt their vanity, their family pride. 
 If he had planned it, he couldn't have devised anything 
 better I
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 V 
 
 EDGAR had intended to start for the Manor with a detach 
 ment of troops at midnight, but as he was about to set out- 
 he was summoned to a conference with the military com 
 mander of the district who had just received important des 
 patches from Washington. Much to his annoyance, the in 
 terview lasted for nearly two hours, and his impatience was 
 heightened when at length upon rejoining the squad of 
 soldiers, he learned that Smyrk had been waiting for some 
 time with the news that Turlo was still at the Manor and had 
 retired for the night. Edgar at once gave the order to move, 
 and though the night was dark, the little band started off at a 
 brisk trot. The road was a winding one, for the greater part 
 of the distance, through a dense wood. At some places, they 
 were forced to check their horses and pick their way cau 
 tiously over swampy spots or along the precipitous banks of a 
 stream. 
 
 Every member of the party knew the nature of their errand, 
 and as they were residents of the neighbourhood who were 
 aware that Turlo was Edgar's nephew, they thought it rather 
 queer. Still, such things happened. Maryland was a border 
 state, and even in the Tidewater counties, there were sym 
 pathisers with both sides among men who had been close 
 friends, and not infrequently, among members of the same 
 family. One of the soldiers had a son in the Confederate 
 army ; another had been present at the arrest of his brother, 
 but a few days before, on a charge of disloyalty. Nearly all 
 of them had been detailed from a company of " home guards," 
 recruited mainly from the " poor white" class who had es 
 poused the Union cause more from envy of the dominant 
 
 379
 
 380 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 caste, which was almost solidly Secessionist, than from any 
 special inclination. It seemed to them a kind of social pre 
 ferment to be employed in suppressing people who had al 
 ways ruled them ; for once in their lives, they had the upper 
 hand. And now, they were about to discipline the biggest 
 man in the county. To some of them, it seemed a rather 
 good joke. 
 
 It was daybreak when the troop galloped briskly down 
 the lane at the Manor. Dinah, who was already astir, hap 
 pened to see them from one of the kitchen windows, shortly 
 after they had entered the gate. She hastily called to Csesar, 
 whom she heard moving about in his room overhead. 
 
 " Go en' wake Marse Turlo," she cried. " Git him out'n 
 de house ez quick ez yer kin. I'll try ter keep 'em at de front 
 do'. Praise de Lawd, dey ain't cotch him, yit ; en' dey ain't 
 gwine ter, nudder, ef I kin holp it ! " 
 
 By Edgar's orders, the soldiers stationed themselves so 
 that they guarded every exit from the house. When this had 
 been done, Edgar strode up to the door and knocked upon 
 it loudly. There was no response for several minutes ; but 
 at length, the door flew open with a bang, and Dinah 
 appeared, yawning, and rubbing her eyes, as though just 
 aroused from heavy sleep. 
 
 " Laws a mussy I " she exclaimed, staring blankly at the 
 soldiers, " what all dese people want ? Whatyou doin' wid 
 'em, Marse Edgar ? " 
 
 " Where is my nephew ? " demanded Edgar. 
 "Marse Turlo? Go 'long, Marse Edgar!" Dinah 
 grinned, showing a double row of shining white teeth 
 and added, with an easy, natural laugh, " You'se jokin' 
 sho'ly. You knows, ez well as I does, dat Marse Turlo went 
 way off hyondah ter jine de army. I ain't sot eyes on him 
 sence." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Edgar, sharply. She was lying, of
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 381 
 
 course ; no doubt, it was to gain time for Turlo. Evidently, 
 his nephew had not left the house. " Tell my brother I wish 
 to see him." 
 
 " I ain't gwine none, "said Dinah, stoutly. " Ole Marster 
 ain't up yit, en' I daresn't break in on his mawnin* nap. He's 
 mighty pertikler 'bout his mawnin' nap Ole Marster iz." 
 
 " Get out of the way, then," said Edgar roughly, attempt 
 ing to thrust her aside; "I'll rout him up." 
 
 He took it for granted she would obey, but Dinah, to his 
 astonishment, did not budge. Her enormous bulk blocked 
 up the doorway, and she had merely to oppose her inert 
 weight to bar Edgar's passage. With her head thrown back 
 and her tiny black eyes twinkling angrily, she planted herself 
 more firmly and only rocked a little as he gave her a ruder 
 shove. Enraged by her obstinacy, which was causing him 
 to lose precious time, Edgar seized one of her arms and 
 wrenched it viciously. The pain exasperated Dinah. With 
 a fierce scream, she grabbed Edgar and shook him as though 
 he were a mere toy in her hands. Strong man though he 
 was, he could not free himself from her mighty grip. 
 
 " I great min' ter shake de breff out'n yer," she panted. 
 " De idee o' treatin' de ole ooman dat nussed yer dat er 
 way 1 " 
 
 Edgar, gasping for breath already, called to the nearest 
 soldier for help, but before the man could reach him, the Col 
 onel appeared at the door. 
 
 " Dinah ! " he exclaimed in amazement at her outbreak, 
 " what are you doing ? " 
 
 Dinah released Edgar instantly at the sound of 
 " Marster's " voice, but pushed him farther away from the 
 door, which she still guarded stubbornly. 
 
 " I axes pardon, MaTse," she said, breathing hard. " De 
 Ole Boy got er holt o' me, I reckon. Hit's de fust time I 
 wuz took dat bad. I nebber laid finger on er member o' de
 
 382 A MARYLAND MANOR ^ 
 
 fam'ly befo', but 'deed, Marse Eddie's de aggerwatinest man 
 I ebber seed." 
 
 " What is the matter, Edgar ?" demanded the Colonel. 
 " Why are these soldiers here ? " 
 
 " You ought to know," said Edgar, with a sneer. " It is 
 said you are harbouring a rebjel spy." 
 
 A rebel spy ! The Colonel could hardly speak. It wasn't 
 possible his brother had gone over to the Yankees. " You 
 can't mean Turlo," he stammered. 
 
 " I mean no one else. I hear he has been making threats 
 against me. Well, I am acting for the Government : it is 
 my duty to arrest him ; it saves me the trouble of taking 
 measures of my own." 
 
 " Acting for the Government you ! " cried the Colonel, 
 with a look of horror. " I thought, all along, you sympathised 
 with us. To be sure, you said very little to encourage me, 
 but I took it for granted. You can't be in earnest about 
 arresting my son your nephew." 
 
 " That has nothing to do with it," said Edgar, facing him 
 insolently. " Besides, didn't you say we were strangers ? I 
 don't know any nephew; I am here to capture a spy." 
 
 " Why not tell the truth ? " said the Colonel, indignantly. 
 " You are afraid of Turlo. You know as well as I do he is 
 no spy. Good Heavens, man, make an end of it search 
 the house. It sickens me to bandy words with you 1 " 
 
 " One moment." 
 
 It was Ole Miss's voice. The whole household, with the 
 exception of Turlo and Caesar, were now assembled at the 
 door. Even the Colonel's wife, though scarcely able to 
 stand, had struggled to the spot with Lydia's help, and with 
 her daughter's arm about her, was watching the scene with 
 eyes dilated with terror. She feared for her husband as well 
 as for her son. It was more than likely Edgar would goad
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 383 
 
 him into doing something desperate. The elements of a 
 frightful tragedy were here. . 
 
 Ole Miss moved slowly towards the door, and the Colonel 
 and Dinah made way for her. Her air was sad, but res 
 olute ; she had never looked more commanding, more austere. 
 
 " This is my house, as well as Robert's," she said coldly, 
 addressing Edgar. " It was once your father's. You were 
 born here. Spare yourself the shame of entering it upon 
 such an errand. If a search must be made, let some of your 
 followers make it." 
 
 " As you will," said Edgar indifferently, affecting a com 
 posure he was far from feeling. The collision with his 
 mother from which he had shrunk had come, and it wasn't 
 pleasant. But he had to brave it out, now. " Fletcher," he 
 added, turning to a lieutenant who nominally commanded 
 the soldiers, " take two men, and go through the house. 
 Bring any one here you may find." 
 
 Fletcher nodded, rather shortly, in assent, and summoned 
 the two sentries nearest to him. He did not look as if he 
 relished the task. He was a big, honest-faced fellow, a 
 tenant farmer, who had always lived near the Manor and had 
 received many kindnesses from the Colonel, for whom he 
 cherished a rude affection. It seemed to him that Edgar 
 was "goin' too fur," but he did not venture to protest. 
 Edgar was his official superior ; his only choice was to obey. 
 He and his companions passed into the house amid pro 
 found silence. As they disappeared at the end of the hall, 
 Pompey, who was hovering in the background of the family 
 group, signalled, by means of expressive winks and grimaces, 
 to Dinah. The old woman's face brightened. 
 
 " Cheer up, Marster, en' Mistus, en' Miss Flor'," she 
 whispered, passing rapidly from one to the other. " Caesar's 
 done it : Marse Turlo's got clare ! " 
 
 Edgar did not notice her. He had turned away to avoid
 
 384 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 his mother's eyes, and was gazing fixedly at a moving 
 object at the farther end of the lane. As it drew nearer, he 
 saw it was a carriage. Presently, he was able to distinguish 
 the occupants. They were the Rector and Judith. 
 
 " What the devil does she want here at this hour ? " he 
 muttered, anxiously. " Has she come to warn Turlo ? " 
 He didn't like the idea that she might be capable of 
 such a trick. If she had taken it into her head to play 
 him false in this, she might not stop there, but try to do him 
 more mischief in some sneaking way. 
 
 Judith had not come to warn Turlo, though she was 
 tempted to do it. It was now a kind of duel between him 
 and Edgar ; the latter was more dangerous than ever she 
 could not afford to interfere. Besides, Turlo was capable of 
 any rashness ; if she told him, she might only inflame him 
 to a more desperate pitch. She persuaded herself Edgar 
 would hardly go to extremes. He would doubtless be con 
 tent to keep Turlo in prison for a time, and then, send 
 him South again. Even he must hesitate to condemn his 
 nephew to death, if he could avoid it. None the less, she 
 was tormented by anxiety, and at the first glimpse of dawn, 
 unable to sleep, she had risen and dressed herself, and then, 
 had hurried to the Rector's room to tell him she was about 
 to start for the Manor. The Rector, whom she had already 
 informed of Turlo's presence at the Manor and of his threats 
 against Edgar, understood and shared her apprehensions. 
 She had not told him of her visit to Edgar or of the latter's 
 intention to secure the arrest of his nephew, but he was 
 nevertheless much concerned, and insisted on accompanying 
 her. 
 
 Their surprise was great when they drew up at the door, 
 and found the house hemmed in with soldiers, and Edgar 
 there. Judith had not dreamed he would act so openly. 
 She sprang out of the carriage, and was about to go to him,
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 385 
 
 when an exclamation from the Rector detained her. He had 
 turned at the sound of another vehicle which had followed 
 close behind them, and beheld, to his amazement, his sister, 
 Mrs. Tippett ; he had believed her to be still in New York 
 whither she had gone, some weeks before, to visit a friend 
 of her boarding-school days a Mrs. Ninian. 
 
 " Dorothea ! " he cried, " what has brought you back so 
 soon ? " 
 
 Mrs. Tippett did not answer him. She was gazing hard 
 at Judith. 
 
 " You minx ! " she muttered exultingly, " I've found you 
 out 1 
 
 2 5
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 IT was all very simple. Mrs. Tippett, who had exhausted 
 her ingenuity to no effect in trying to extract the truth from 
 Judith without exciting her suspicion, had accidentally found 
 a clue to her secret and Edgar's at Mrs. Ninian's. That 
 lady's son, Mr. Jasper Ninian, who, as we have seen, had 
 been one of the special admirers of Miss Ethel Vane, had a 
 choice collection of portraits of the actress in a variety of 
 costumes and poses. One day, Mrs. Ninian took Mrs. Tip 
 pett into her son's rooms to show her some Persian embroid 
 eries on a set of furniture. Mrs. Tippett inspected the 
 apartments with an eye that missed nothing, and finally, 
 caught sight of the pictures arranged in a frame on an easel. 
 She stopped short instantly, and lost interest in what she had 
 come to see. The likeness in all of them fascinated her. 
 They were the living image of her grandniece, Judith ! 
 
 Mrs. Tippett was so horrified by the scanty garments in 
 some of the pictures that she could hardly believe her eyes. 
 Was it possible Judith had had the audacity to masquerade 
 in what Mrs. Tippett supposed to be " fancy " costumes of 
 the most indecorous kind ? She had come to believe that 
 Judith might be capable of almost anything, but this was 
 beyond even her active imagination. She was too prudent 
 to tell her dear friend, Mrs. Ninian, her suspicions. That 
 would be to give her a choice morsel of gossip which might 
 seriously compromise her own good name. It would 
 be insufferable to have such a thing get abroad about a 
 member of the family. As yet, Mrs. Ninian did not associate 
 her grandniece with the pictures. Mrs. Tippett was quite at 
 
 386
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 387 
 
 ease on this point, for she had talked very freely to her friend 
 of Judith, and if Mrs. Ninian had known, she would have been 
 bursting with eagerness to tell her all about it and to con 
 dole with her on the family disgrace. Mrs. Ninian was a 
 dear, sweet creature, but she loved to say disagreeable 
 things. Of course, Jasper knew something, but how much ? 
 If this " person " actually were Judith, she must have given 
 another name to him. He could never have known her as 
 a Cheston ; his mother's silence was proof of that. 
 
 Mrs. Tippett lost no time in questioning Jasper. 
 
 "I am very curious about them," she said, after she had 
 described the pictures to him. " There is such an extraor 
 dinary resemblance to some one I know. But of course, I 
 could never have met the original of those pictures. My 
 my friend is a young lady, of the very best connections. 
 She would never have dreamed of appearing in such clothes. 
 I am really shocked at you, Jasper I " 
 
 " No, I don't think you ever met her," said Jasper, with 
 a snicker he was a pale, blond youth, with a small, conical 
 head, prematurely bald ; weak eyes, an insipid smile, who 
 took only a languid interest in life. He rather liked the 
 idea of having shocked Mrs. Tippett she was so ridicu 
 lously prim. " It was quite regular, I assure you," he con 
 tinued, in the hope of shocking her still more, " the usual 
 thing, in fact, for a man about town." Here, he twirled his 
 faint moustache negligently, with a self-satisfied smirk. " An 
 actress, you understand. Quite a beauty, upon my word 1 
 She played us all a rather shabby trick absconded sud 
 denly with her manager, a dashing old buck who tried to 
 look young, and hasn't been heard of since. Some of the 
 fellows were hard hit. I found it rather unpleasant, myself." 
 
 " An actress ! " cried Mrs. Tippett, perceiving the true 
 significance of the " fancy " costumes. " Dear Jasper, look 
 at this."
 
 388 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 She produced a picture of Judith taken subsequently to 
 her appearance at the Rectory, which she had brought with 
 her in the hope of impressing Mrs. Ninian with her grand- 
 niece's beauty and style. Mrs. Ninian sometimes ex 
 hibited an air of condescension to her country friend which 
 was very annoying to Mrs. Tippett, and the latter sought to 
 correct it by intimations of a social finish at home which 
 was quite as choice as Mrs. Ninian's. Fortunately, she had 
 not yet shown the picture to her. 
 
 " Why, that's Ethel I " exclaimed Jasper. " Where did 
 you get it ? I never saw it before. Jove ! What a stunning 
 creature she is 1 The little rascal looks a thorough lady, too." 
 
 He was no longer languid, but thoroughly roused and 
 almost eager. 
 
 " You are sure it's the same girl ? " asked Mrs. Tippett 
 breathlessly, "but it can't be." 
 
 "Of course I'm sure there's no mistaking that face. 
 You've seen her lately ? You know where she is ? " 
 
 He was really excited for the first time in months, and sat 
 up quite straight, awaiting her answer with strong curi 
 osity. 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Tippett, decidedly. She thought she 
 might be pardoned the fib. The family reputation was at 
 stake. " I haven't seen her for weeks ; I don't know where 
 she is now. It's it's a painful subject, Jasper. The happi 
 ness of some of my friends is involved." 
 
 She questioned Jasper closely about the actress, and he 
 was nothing loth to tell her all he knew, hoping to extract 
 some definite information from her in return. He had no 
 doubt whatever, in spite of her assertion, that Mrs. Tippett 
 could point out Ethel's whereabouts, if she chose. For some 
 reason, she had lied to him, but she might let out the truth, 
 after awhile. It would be a fine stroke for him if he could 
 run Ethel and that sly old fox, Darcy Montague, to earth.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 389 
 
 What a story he would have to tell at the clubs I But Mrs. 
 Tippett remained obdurate, and he finally gave it up as a 
 bad job. He never deemed it worth while to persevere in 
 any effort very long ; it was too much bother. 
 
 Mrs. Tippett still found it hard to believe that Judith and 
 the actress were really one and the same person, but Jasper 
 was so positive, the resemblance was so extraordinary, that 
 she decided it might be advisable to make an investigation. 
 Accordingly, she paid a visit to a detective agency, and com 
 missioned it to look up the actress's antecedents. The 
 search consumed some time and cost her a considerable sum, 
 but when, at length, she reached the stage of identifying Miss 
 Vane's manager, Montague, with a man who had once been 
 known as Edgar Cheston, she realised that her pains and 
 money had not been wasted. She followed Edgar back 
 ward, step by step, to the time of his flight from the Manor, 
 and obtained evidence to show that Judith Magruder's child 
 had died in infancy ; that the actress was the daughter of 
 the Englishman, Dick Milbank, and that Edgar had adopted 
 her and educated her for the stage. In foisting her upon 
 the Rector, he had been guilty of an audacious fraud. The 
 money he had thus obtained had, in fact, been stolen there 
 was no other word for it. And half of it was hers ! 
 
 Assured of these facts, with the documents to prove them, 
 Mrs. Tippett set out at once for home. She was anxious not 
 to lose a moment lest she be too late to prevent the precious 
 pair from making off with their plunder. The journey 
 proved intolerably long. The trains, the ferry-boats, the spe 
 cial conveyances which she procured at a cost that seemed 
 to her simply scandalous, were all so slow. Nevertheless, 
 when she reached the county town about midnight, she tar 
 ried long enough to hold a consultation with Reeve, whom 
 she routed out of bed. It would be necessary to employ a 
 lawyer to impound the money and take other proceedings
 
 390 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 against Edgar and the so-called Judith, and there was none 
 cleverer than Reeve. 
 
 Heaven seemed to open to the lawyer when he heard her 
 news. His eyes snapped viciously at certain stages of her 
 recital. She had delivered Edgar into his hands. Political 
 influence, however strong, would hardly avail to protect him 
 against a criminal charge. He could not only take the money 
 from him, but land him in the penitentiary. Edgar was 
 practically a ruined man and would soon be a convicted 
 felon. How fortunate he hadn't yet conveyed the mort 
 gages to him 1 
 
 " I'll leave for Baltimore to-morrow," he said, when Mrs. 
 Tippett finished her story and asked him what should be 
 done. " I know where the money is in the Chesapeake 
 Bank. He told me so the other day. There will be no 
 trouble in getting out an attachment so that not a penny of 
 it can be drawn until your rights are established." 
 
 " You think it is really safe ? " asked Mrs. Tippett, anx 
 iously. " I run no risk in'telling what I know ? I am dying 
 to expose those creatures." 
 
 " Make yourself perfectly easy," said Reeve. " He can't 
 get it away from me" 
 
 When Mrs. Tippett reached the Rectory, she was informed 
 by the servants that her brother and " Miss Judith " had 
 just left for the Manor. She concluded that something im 
 portant must have happened to take them out so early, and 
 at once set off in pursuit. As her carriage drew up at 
 the Manor door behind the Rector's gig, and she saw Judith 
 and Edgar, with the family group on the verandah in the 
 background, she felt she had come at an opportune moment. 
 All the parties to the affair were here. She could make her 
 disclosure with the fullest dramatic effect and so suddenly 
 that Edgar would have no chance of parrying the blow. 
 She did not stop to think of the grief she would cause the
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 391 
 
 Rector ; she was conscious only of a virtuous sense of obliga 
 tion to open his eyes. He ought to thank her for effecting 
 his deliverance from a brace of rogues. 
 
 In her eagerness, she scrambled out of her carriage just 
 as the Rector alighted from his gig, and ran towards him 
 with extended arms. 
 
 " My dear Stephen," she cried, " I have made an amaz 
 ing discovery. You and I have both been defrauded. This 
 girl " here she shot a swift, contemptuous glance at Judith 
 " is not your granddaughter, after all. Our Judith's child 
 died long ago. Edgar has imposed a protdgee of his own 
 upon us." 
 
 She spoke in a loud voice, so that every one might hear. 
 The Rector stood transfixed, gazing at her with an air of 
 concern. It was clear to him she was out of her head. 
 Judith looked anxiously at Edgar who flashed back a warning 
 glance. How the devil had this detective in petticoats man 
 aged to get on his track? He cursed her heartily, and 
 wished he could gag her. But he must hear what she had 
 to say ; perhaps, it might prove to be only part of the truth. 
 If there was a gap or even a flaw in her story, he might win 
 yet. 
 
 " I found a clue in New York," continued Mrs. Tippett 
 rapidly, addressing herself to the audience generally, as her 
 brother did not seem to be sufficiently impressed. " Following 
 it up, I discovered that the girl's father was an English actor 
 whom Edgar met out west. He took her, a mere child, at 
 her father's death, and trained her for the stage. She is 
 well known as a burlesque actress in New York. It was 
 easy for her to play her part here. I think we will all agree 
 she has played it cleverly. Their object, of course, was to 
 obtain the fortune bequeathed to my niece's child. That's 
 safe, and the Manor's safe. Reeve tells me the mortgages " 
 
 " Stop ! " cried the Rector, sternly. His usually placid
 
 392 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 face was working with anger. What did Dorothea mean by 
 spreading this shameful pack of falsehoods before all these 
 people ? She had always been too ready to believe evil of 
 any one and to repeat it. He had remonstrated with her 
 gently, more than once, but this was outrageous. " Some 
 one has imposed upon you, Dorothea," he added, " you carft 
 believe what you say." 
 
 He was thinking, very reluctantly, that perhaps, even 
 though she did not believe it, she might be capable of ac 
 cepting the monstrous story because a fortune was at stake. 
 Her cupidity had long been a cause of anxiety and distress 
 to him. 
 
 " I have proofs for all I've said," exclaimed Mrs. Tippett, 
 unabashed. " If you doubt me," she added, pointing to Judith 
 and Edgar, " ask them." 
 
 Their faces corroborated her. Judith was white to the lips. 
 It was all ended her daring hopes, her fond aspirations, 
 her glowing vision of happiness as Basil's wife. It had 
 been but a mirage. He was sure to know, now ! As 
 for Edgar, he looked old and broken. For the moment, 
 his self-confidence was gone. He did not doubt Mrs. Tip- 
 pett's boasts. She had evidently run him down. The Manor 
 was lost to him a second time. Curse the luck ! It almost 
 seemed as if there might be a Providence, after all a Prov. 
 idence that was inexorably set against him. But aid came 
 to Judith from the Rector. 
 
 " Don't answer her, my child," he cried, hurrying to 
 her, his face aglow with confidence and love. Pressing 
 her fondly to him, he kissed her on the forehead, and 
 tenderly stroked her cheek. " Why should you answer so ab 
 surd a charge ? " he asked, looking down into her face with 
 perfect trust in his gaze. " It is enough for me to look at 
 you to see my daughter as she was at your age. Could / be 
 deceived ? "
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 393 
 
 " But the proofs, Stephen, the proofs ! " gasped Mrs. Tip- 
 pett, dismayed at the turn the affair had taken. 
 
 " I don't care a fig for your proofs," retorted the Rector, 
 vehemently. " I won't believe the story, I tell you. Nothing 
 shall make me accept it as even possible. What have I 
 waited all these years for my grandchild only to be told, now 
 that I have her, that I have grown to love her, that she is a 
 wretched creature whom I ought to spurn ? Even if you 
 could prove it, Dorothea, in black and white, I would not 
 consent to put her from me. I have grown to love her for 
 herself, and nothing shall part us ! " 
 
 " Oh, very well, Stephen, very well 1 " cried Mrs. Tippett, 
 beside herself with anger and disappointment. " If you will 
 persist in your foolish credulity, I have nothing more to 
 say." 
 
 " You have already said too much," replied the Rector, 
 still indignant. " Come with me, Judith," he added, draw 
 ing her away. " We will return to the Rectory where you will 
 be safe. No one shall molest you there." 
 
 " My brother is in his dotage," exclaimed Mrs. Tippett, as 
 soon as the Rector was out of hearing. " That girl has bam 
 boozled him." Turning to Edgar, she added, " You know 
 that every word I have uttered is true." 
 
 Edgar answered her only with a venomous glance. 
 
 " You can reassure yourself, Robert," said Mrs. Tippett, 
 addressing the Colonel with a blandly patronising air how 
 delightful it was for her to feel, and to make him feel, that she 
 was his benefactress ! " The mortgages are safe with Reeve. 
 If he makes any trouble, come to me ;' I can let you have the 
 money at six per cent." She was not averse to doing a good 
 stroke of business. 
 
 The Manor was saved to him ! The Colonel could hardly 
 believe it ; he gazed at Mrs. Tippett with an uncertain look. 
 The spell of astonishment was also upon the other members
 
 394 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 of the household. But as Mrs. Tippett glanced about her, 
 with a serenely self-satisfied air, as though expecting a chorus 
 of acknowledgments, Lydia sprang to her father's side with 
 a cry of delight, and her mother uttered a sob of joy, quali 
 fied by a lingering fear of Edgar. Were they really delivered 
 from him at last ? 
 
 The Colonel glanced at his wife and daughter, and uttered, 
 in a low voice, a heartfelt " Thank God 1 " 
 
 Edgar heard him, and his head swam. For a moment, 
 everything was black to his eyes. Was he to be cheated of 
 his vengeance too ? He had the money safe in bank, and it 
 would go far to compensate him for the failure of his designs 
 upon the Manor, but this pair whom he had meant to torment 
 had escaped him, and would yet be happy. Not quite yet ; 
 there was Turlo ; besides, he could hale his brother off to 
 prison. That would sober them. He would keep this stroke 
 for the last; in the meantime, if Fletcher failed to find 
 Turlo, the threat of his brother's arrest, as Reeve had sug 
 gested, might enable him to extort the secret from them. 
 Perhaps, Lydia would tell, to save her father. She might 
 very well assume her brother would wish her to do so. Or 
 one of the negroes would surely weaken. He knew the 
 absurd devotion of Dinah and Pompey to " Ole Marse," and 
 Phyllis was a treacherous creature. He was revolving these 
 thoughts in his mind when Fletcher appeared with the an 
 nouncement that a thorough search of the house had been 
 made, and Turlo was not to be found. Edgar glanced at the 
 family group with a malicious smile. 
 
 " Well, we can take a substitute," he said. " You have a 
 warrant for my brother's arrest, Fletcher. Unless some one 
 tells us where Turlo is, he'll have to go with us."
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 IT was a thunderbolt for everybody except the Colonel. 
 He had been surprised, and in fact, a trifle disappointed at 
 not having been called to account before. It was humiliating 
 to be overlooked when Secessionists all about him were being 
 arrested. It really seemed as if the Government meant to 
 ignore him. Had its agents satisfied themselves that he 
 was merely a loud-talking, vainglorious fellow, without real 
 influence or power ? His friends, too, might well wonder 
 at his strange exemption. People might even suspect him of 
 having made his peace with the Federal authorities. He had 
 no means of knowing that he had been shielded by his brother 
 for purposes of his own. Edgar's announcement was, in one 
 sense, welcome to him. It satisfied him he had not been 
 overlooked, after all ; his apprehension had only been de 
 layed. 
 
 The effect on the family, of course, was very different. 
 The Colonel's wife fell, half-fainting, into his arms. Ole 
 Miss's eyes flashed angrily, but she choked down a sob. 
 She could not bring herself to speak to Edgar, to utter a 
 word of protest. If he were capable of even proposing 
 such an outrage in her presence, he was dead to any appeal 
 from her. Grief showed in every face, but to Edgar' s 
 disappointment, Lydia was dumb, and none of the negroes 
 gave any sign of yielding, though Pompey was sorely 
 tempted. He plucked Dinah by the sleeve and whispered, 
 " Hit mought save Ole Marse ef I tole I seen Marse Turlo 
 makin' fur de cove, en' dey can't ketch him, now." 
 
 " You breathe a word o' dat," muttered Dinah fiercelv, 
 395
 
 396 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 " en' I'll stomp you in de dirt 1 Marster ain't in enny great 
 danger, en' Marse Turlo iz. Caesar tole me dey mought 
 hang him fur a spy. You keep yo' mouf shet. You wuz 
 allers too free wid yo' tongue." 
 
 The Colonel found it hard to disengage himself from his 
 wife, who clung to him with the tenacity of despair. At 
 length, unclasping her hands, he surrendered her scarce 
 conscious to Lydia. 
 
 " Take good care of her, little girl," he whispered. 
 
 " I will try, Papa," she said, looking up at him bravely, 
 through a mist of tears. 
 
 The Colonel turned to his mother. For his sake, Ole Miss 
 controlled her grief by a great effort, and said firmly, 
 
 " God be with you, my son I " 
 
 Miss Twiggs and Mr. Plunkett came forward to take leave 
 of him, and then, the Colonel shook hands with each of 
 the servants. 
 
 " I am ready, Fletcher," he said, almost cheerfully. He 
 did not seem to see his brother. Fletcher was about to offer 
 him his horse, but before he could speak, a figure in a 
 captain's uniform, suddenly detaching itself from a group of 
 soldiers, strode towards him across the lawn. There was a 
 general cry of surprise. It was Basil Kent. 
 
 Basil had come home, invalided from a serious wound. 
 On his way, he had met Lawyer Reeve, shortly after the 
 latter's interview with Mrs. Tippett. Reeve, who no longer 
 had the fear of Edgar before his eyes, told him of the latter's 
 departure for the Manor with a party of troops. Basil did 
 not wait to hear more, but started at once for the scene. 
 The blow, he made sure, was aimed at the Colonel ; it was 
 in his power to protect him. While in Washington, arrang 
 ing his affairs at the War Department, he had learned, to his 
 great surprise, that no charges had as yet been preferred 
 against the Colonel, although many arrests had been made
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 397 
 
 in his county. Concluding that so active a Secessionist 
 would get into trouble sooner or later, he thought it would 
 be well to apply for an order to the military commander at 
 home not to molest the Colonel without specific directions 
 from the Department. He had reason to hope his petition 
 would be granted, inasmuch as he had distinguished himself 
 in action and had been recommended for promotion. The 
 Department officials were, in fact, relieved on finding he asked 
 nothing for himself, and seemed content with so small a favour. 
 They were beset with men clamouring for " recognition," 
 and it was hard to find places enough to go round. Besides, 
 the Colonel was not officially known to be disloyal. The 
 only condition attached to the order was that Basil should 
 hold himself responsible for the Colonel's good behaviour. 
 How thankful he was that he had obtained it ! 
 
 Basil had galloped down the lane unobserved in the gen 
 eral excitement, and had sprung off his sweating horse just as 
 the Colonel turned to accompany Fletcher. He understood 
 at once the meaning of the scene. The Colonel was about to 
 be carried off. 
 
 " Ah, Colonel," he exclaimed, as he hurried forward, " I 
 am just in time 1 " 
 
 " To escort me to prison ? " asked the Colonel, with a 
 touch of bitterness. Did not Basil wear a " Yankee " 
 uniform ? 
 
 Basil drew back, hurt. 
 
 " How can you think that of me ? " he asked, with a look 
 of distress. " I came to save you from annoyance." As 
 he spoke, he drew the precious order from his breast-pocket, 
 and handed it to Fletcher. " I got that in Washington," he 
 explained to the Colonel, " I thought you might need it. It 
 protects you from arrest except upon express authority from 
 the War Department." 
 
 " That was kind of you, my boy ! " said the Colonel,
 
 398 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 seizing both his hands. " Forgive me for having doubted 
 you, but when my own brother " 
 
 "You are free, Colonel," interrupted Fletcher, his face 
 lighting up. It wasn't necessary to consult Edgar, and he 
 wasn't inclined to show him any particular deference, now 
 that he could act independently of him. 
 
 " I knew he had come to help us ! " exclaimed Lydia, in 
 a low, glad voice. Now that Basil was there, all would be 
 well. The old feeling of trust in the strong, self-reliant 
 companion of her childhood inspired her with confidence in 
 his ability to settle everything. He was still the same Basil 
 so thoughtful, so kind, so sure to do the right thing. 
 
 Moved by an impulse which conquered her shyness, she 
 yielded her place at her mother's side to Miss Twiggs, and 
 hurried down the gravel path to greet him. Feeling the 
 touch of a hand on one of his own, Basil turned hastily and 
 met the speaking gaze of eyes which had never seemed to 
 him so soft, so tender. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, thank you, Basil 1 " she murmured. 
 
 Ah, the sound of that voice ! The light in those eyes ! 
 Basil thought of Judith and of Oswald, and turned sadly away. 
 How foolish to imagine that Lydia might, perhaps, be moved 
 by a feeling warmer than gratitude for what he had done for 
 her father ! And even if the unwonted softness of her glances, 
 the sweetness of her voice did mean something else as, of 
 course, they could not what would it avail him ? His faith 
 was pledged to Judith, and Lydia, he was almost sure, had 
 promised herself to Oswald. 
 
 " There is little to thank me for," he said, controlling 
 himself, and as it seemed to her, almost coldly, " I am glad 
 to be of use to your father." 
 
 Lydia dropped his hand, and drew away from him with 
 face overcast. She was ashamed of her impetuousness which, 
 it seemed to her, had met with a rebuff. And how could
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 399 
 
 she have expected that Basil would be otherwise than in 
 different ? She was nothing to him. 
 
 Edgar made no effort to resist Basil. In fact, he was 
 rather glad he had taken his brother off his hands. His 
 attempt to use the arrest as a means of extorting the betrayal 
 of Turlo's hiding place had failed, and " Bob " seemed 
 rather to like the idea of going to prison. He had no 
 taste for unprofitable villainy. If he could only put his 
 hands upon Turlo ! Once he had him safe, he would 
 hurry off to draw the Magruder money out of bank 
 before that cunning fox, Mrs. Tippett, got scent of it. And 
 then away again, far off, to spend it and drown the memory 
 of all he had lost. Perhaps, now that Judith's identity was 
 exposed and the means of respectable livelihood was about 
 to be withdrawn from her, as Mrs. Tippett would take care 
 it should be, she might consent to share his fortunes again. 
 The Rector could not hold out in the face of facts which 
 were not to be controverted, and Judith's marriage to Basil 
 Kent was out of the question. The fellow was a prig, 
 and would drop her instantly. She would soon be without 
 resources. The need of money was a wonderful chastener, 
 and reconciled the most obstinate to harsh conditions. If 
 he could persuade her, he might find life still interesting, 
 after all. In her despair, she might even turn gratefully to 
 him. 
 
 He was about to order out scouting parties in pursuit of 
 Turlo when he caught sight of Smyrk beckoning excitedly from 
 behind a corner of the graveyard wall. He hurried to him, 
 feeling sure he had discovered something, and Smyrk, with 
 a nervous grasp on his shoulder, drew him into the shelter 
 of a large arbor-vitae which hid them from view. Smyrk was 
 desperately anxious to conceal his agency in the affair from 
 the eyes of any member of the Manor household, especially 
 Caesar, who had been watching him of late with disquieting
 
 400 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 persistence. It wouldn't do to get the Colonel " down " on 
 him, and Mr. Turlo, should he escape his uncle, would make 
 it hot for him, if he discovered his treachery. 
 
 " I bin tryin' ter git nigh you fur five er ten minutes," 
 mumbled Smyrk, with an eager note in his voice, " but I 
 was feerd summun ud see me, en' drap on my game. I 
 caught sight o' Mr. Turlo en' Caesar a steerin' fur the cove, 
 en' follered 'em. Caesar's gone ter git a boat ter kerry Mr. 
 Turlo off. He's waitin' fur Caesar on the hill by the wharf." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Edgar, with fire in his eyes. He knew, 
 now, what to do. Turning abruptly from Smyrk, who stole 
 off under cover of a hedge, he hurried back to the front of 
 the house. 
 
 " How about Turlo ? " he called out, in a grating voice to 
 Basil, >' have you a document securing protection to him ? " 
 
 Basil glanced at Edgar in surprise. He thought Turlo 
 was still somewhere in the South. Was it possible he had 
 been so foolhardy as to return to the Manor ? 
 
 " No," he answered reluctantly, " I haven't." 
 
 " Then, Fletcher," said Edgar, in a fierce tone of tri 
 umph, " I think we'll continue the search. I know which 
 way he went." 
 
 He was not sure that Turlo was still at the place where 
 Smyrk had seen him. He might, by this time, have got 
 away in the boat or be lurking somewhere in the garden. 
 He determined to beat the garden thoroughly, and broke up 
 Fletcher's party into twos and threes, with instructions 
 to proceed in different directions so that, after making 
 a search of every path and alley, they would converge 
 at the hill near the wharf. Accompanied by a single trooper, 
 Edgar took the straightest course to the spot. He was 
 anxious to ascertain as soon as possible whether his 
 nephew was there. On the way, he ordered the soldier 
 with him to prod the great box trees which lined their path.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 401 
 
 " He might easily lie hid in one of them," he said. The 
 man obeyed rather carelessly it seemed to him a cruel 
 job and was slow about it. Edgar hurried on, and 
 had soon left his companion some distance behind. 
 
 Turlo, hidden behind one of the great oaks on the summit 
 of the knoll, but on the watch, saw him coming. Caesar had 
 been delayed in obtaining a boat, but at last, had found one 
 some distance down the cove and was paddling swiftly towards 
 him. Turlo hesitated. All he had to do was to run down 
 the bank, plunge into the water, and swim out to Caesar, who 
 was now but a short way off. It would be easy for him to 
 escape. He glanced again at Edgar, and noticed that he was 
 alone. Here and there, in the distance, the soldiers were 
 traversing the garden. Why should he seek to avoid him ? 
 Wasn't this the very opportunity for which he had longed ? 
 He was not afraid of him ; his only fear had been of capture 
 and the frustration of his passionate desire to grapple with 
 him single handed. He decided to wait : it might be his 
 only chance. 
 
 Edgar came quickly up the hill. When he was some ten 
 paces from him, Turlo stepped out from behind the tree. 
 His manner was quiet, though his brain was seething. He 
 longed to rush upon his uncle : the murderous mania flamed 
 up fiercely ; but he controlled himself. He must make sure. 
 He had no weapon : he must use stratagem or take the risk 
 of being shot. What joy to outwit his clever uncle ; to trap 
 him, like a crafty beast ! 
 
 " Hands up ! " cried Edgar, covering him with a revolver. 
 
 Turlo promptly raised his hands. 
 
 " I surrender, Uncle," he said, submissively, " you've been 
 too clever for me ; I am unarmed." 
 
 " Well, come with me," said Edgar, rejoicing at the ease 
 with which he had effected the capture. His nephew was 
 chicken-hearted, after all. 
 26
 
 402 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Turlo advanced towards him, still holding up his hands. 
 Edgar grasped him by the shoulder. Turlo seemed to shrink 
 at his touch, and Edgar, completely reassured, lowered the 
 revolver slightly. Turlo had counted on some such impru 
 dence. Quick as a flash, he seized the hand that held the 
 pistol and twisted it sharply, causing the weapon to fall to 
 the ground. The next moment, he had pinioned his uncle 
 in his arms. 
 
 " You're my prisoner now ! " he cried, with savage joy. 
 He had him at last. 
 
 For a moment, Edgar could not realise what had happened. 
 Was the fool in earnest, with soldiers close at hand ? 
 But were they close ? No ; there was but one of them 
 who had followed him, and curse him, he had loitered 
 behind. With a desperate effort, he sought to wrench 
 himself free, but Turlo held him fast. If he could but 
 recover the pistol ! He stooped suddenly, and carrying 
 Turlo down with him, fell heavily. For a moment, Turlo 
 was shaken off, but immediately regained his hold. It 
 was not so easy, however, to master his uncle. He had 
 the advantage of youth, but he was weakened by privation ; 
 Edgar was still a powerful man, and terror lent him addi 
 tional strength. He was well aware of his peril, now. His 
 nephew was a madman ; he had tricked him with a madman's 
 cunning ; he meant to kill him. There was but one alter 
 native : he must either get the pistol and kill him, or else, 
 baffle him until the soldiers could come to his aid. Turlo 
 sought to overpower him with his greater weight; to 
 his surprise, his uncle proved to be as agile as a cat, and 
 succeeded in writhing from under him again and again. 
 They rolled over and over on the ground like furious brutes. 
 Turlo began to be anxious ; he was losing time ; at any 
 moment, the soldiers might appear. 
 
 Edgar's eyes always sought the pistol. Inch by inch, he
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 403 
 
 won nearer to it. At last, his heart gave a joyous bound. 
 It was within his grasp. Putting forth all his strength, 
 he struggled to his knees, and reached for the prize. But 
 Turlo was quicker than he. As Edgar's hand closed upon 
 the pistol, he stamped upon it, breaking the arm at the wrist. 
 With a cry of anguish, Edgar sank back, and Turlo seizing 
 him, dragged him to the edge of the bluff. 
 
 " It's no use, Uncle ! " he cried hoarsely he was nearly 
 spent " 7 don't want the pistol shooting is too good for 
 you : I'm going to drown you like a rat 1 " 
 
 Edgar glanced about him wildly, with foam on his lips. 
 His blood turned cold as he looked down at the black, miry 
 depths of the cove. He remembered having seen the ghastly 
 face of a man who had been smothered in that dreadful ooze. 
 What a horrible death to die here, within reach of aid ! 
 He had called again and again to the soldiers, and had heard 
 their answering shouts. Why were they not here ? They 
 musfbe in time. He was helpless, now, in this young giant's 
 hands. Another moment, perhaps, and then 
 
 Had it actually come to this his plotting and scheming, 
 his cleverness, his boasted strength ? Was Death really 
 there at his feet ? No, it couldn't be. In a flash, he saw 
 the whole procession of his lusts, unsatisfied. He had so 
 much to live for, so much to enjoy, in spite of all. Never, 
 even in his buoyant youth, had he known so vigorous a pulse 
 of life in his veins. It was incredible that he should be 
 menaced, thus, at the climax of his powers, in the full tide of 
 his disciplined energies, by a silly boy whom he had thought 
 to crush with scarcely an effort. What a damned imperti 
 nence of fate ! If he could but hold out a little longer. God, 
 the fellow was throttling him ! Ah, there was some one run 
 ning ; he could hear the rapid patter of feet on dry leaves ; 
 he was saved ! 
 
 Turlo, also, heard. Glancing round, he saw the sol-
 
 404 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 dier who had set out with Edgar, dashing up the slope. 
 " Too late, Uncle 1 " he said, with a biting laugh. " What 
 you won't let go ? " he added, furiously, as Edgar clasped his 
 uninjured arm tightly about his neck, and clung to him 
 desperately in the hope of saving himself from being thrown 
 over the bluff. Turlo dared not relax his hold to stun him 
 with a blow. He felt his strength was ebbing fast. There 
 was but one thing to do ; he must jump in with him. He 
 might be drowned, but his uncle would not escape him. " I 
 meant to send you to hell," he panted, taking a firmer grip 
 of him, " we'll go together ! " 
 
 Edgar struck wildly at him with his maimed hand, shriek 
 ing a curse at the soldier and bidding him shoot. The 
 man levelled his gun ; but Turlo, with a supreme effort, hoisted 
 Edgar from his feet, and sprang with him straight to the 
 bottom of the cove. 
 
 The soldier, horror-stricken, ran cautiously to the brow of 
 the hill, and looked down. They rose but once, still locked 
 in each other's arms, their faces distorted with rage and hate ; 
 then, the waters closed over them, and all was still. The man 
 imagined they had lost their footing and tumbled in. Turlo's 
 desperate words had not reached him ; he could not guess 
 that he had planned the thing, and rather than be baulked, 
 had flung his own life away. To the soldier's eyes, it was 
 but natural he should have resisted arrest, and it was Edgar's 
 foolhardiness in seeking to capture him without help that 
 had cost the two lives. 
 
 Caesar knew better. From his place in the boat, he had 
 witnessed the whole struggle, and paddling desperately in the 
 hope of being able to interfere, had got near enough to hear 
 Turlo tell h'is uncle he meant to drown him. He knew, 
 therefore, it was not an accident. It was murder and sui 
 cide nothing less. " Dat ud be en ugly story ef it got 
 erbout," he said to himself, " I ain't gwine ter have Marse
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 40$ 
 
 Turlo's name blackened. Besides, Marse Edgar deserved 
 what he got. De fam'ly'll have trouble enough ez it is. 
 Nobody's gwine ter make me say 'twan't en accident. Dat'll 
 kiver it up." 
 
 He was greatly relieved when he found the only other wit 
 ness of the tragedy had no suspicion of the truth. Caesar 
 was satisfied he would stick to his story, which corresponded 
 exactly with what he meant to tell. " They fit, en' fell in," 
 said the soldier. That was all he knew. " Dat wuz it," 
 assented Caesar. " I seed it, plain." The secret, like many 
 another family secret, was safe with him.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 ON the way home from the Manor, the Rector strove to 
 reassure and comfort Judith. " You must try not to mind 
 what Dorothea said, my dear," he urged. " It was very 
 unkind of her, but she was doubtless misled by what seemed 
 to her a plausible story. She has never liked Edgar Cheston, 
 and though he is your father, I must say my opinion of him 
 is well, a little prejudiced. Dorothea has worked herself 
 up to the belief that she has been defrauded, and I'm sorry 
 to say she attaches too much importance to money. You 
 won't permit yourself to think that I give the least credit to 
 her charges ? " 
 
 " You are very good," said Judith, dully. She was apa 
 thetic, almost benumbed. What did it matter ? Nothing was 
 of moment to her now that the future she had built up for 
 herself was laid in ruins. Nevertheless, she was grateful to 
 him. He had gained her time to think, to determine what 
 she should do. 
 
 When the Rector reached home, he seemed very tired. 
 He had had no breakfast, and the reaction from the ex 
 citement through which he had passed left him weak and 
 faint. Judith persuaded him to eat a bit of toast and to 
 swallow some strong coffee. When he rose from the table, 
 staggering a little, and started towards the study, saying he 
 had some papers he wished to read, Judith accompanied him. 
 She dreaded to be left alone. His sympathy and affection 
 were, after all, a support to her. It was comforting to feel 
 there was still some one who cared for and believed in her. 
 The Rector seated himself at a table near the fire, and began 
 
 406
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 407 
 
 to look over a packet of letters he had taken from a desk. 
 They were letters written by his daughter after her elopement 
 and marriage to Edgar Cheston, and among other things, 
 they told of the birth of her child, and described her as " a 
 little beauty," with golden hair and blue eyes. 
 
 Judith had placed a chair near him, and sat with her hands 
 clasped about her knees, gazing into the fire and listening, 
 not too attentively, as he read to her a passage here and 
 there. She felt she ought to connive at his self-deception. 
 The delusion pleased him, and could do no harm. She owed 
 him something ; he really loved her. Ah, if Basil Kent were 
 as infatuated 1 If he would but come to her and say he cared 
 for her so much that nothing mattered not even her guilt. 
 He might come to her, in spite of what was now known about 
 her, but he would not say that. He did not love her his 
 letters showed that. They were kind and even affectionate, 
 but they lacked the one thing she craved the passion she 
 might easily have inspired in any other man. Sooner or 
 later, he must learn all. What would he say to her if, by any 
 accident, they met ? She shuddered at the thought of what 
 he might say. Meanwhile, she suffered with the aching sense 
 of nothingness. Her future was blank. She could form for 
 herself no scheme of action that seemed worth the effort. 
 She could only hope she might be spared the agony of ever 
 seeing Basil again. 
 
 An hour or more had passed in this way when, of a sudden, 
 Mrs. Tippett burst in upon them all agog with the news of 
 the catastrophe that had happened at the Manor. 
 
 " Have you heard ? " she exclaimed, excitedly. She in 
 cluded Judith in her question, forgetting for the moment 
 that she had resolved not to recognise her when she next 
 saw her. 
 
 The Rector looked up from his letters rather peevishly. 
 He had had enough of Dorothea's sensations.
 
 408 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 " Edgar undertook to arrest the Colonel," continued Mrs. 
 Tippett breathlessly, " but Basil Kent arrived just in time 
 with some kind of paper from the War Department which 
 permitted him to interfere. Edgar then gave an order to 
 search the garden for Turlo, and himself led the way. He 
 and Turlo met on the bluff near the cove. There was a strug 
 gle on the brink, and both tumbled in and were drowned." 
 
 " Drowned ! " cried Judith, half rising from her seat and 
 falling back, unnerved. Edgar was dead ! The man who 
 had blighted her life would never again have power to harm. 
 The wish she had scarcely dared to utter to herself was 
 a fact. She felt dizzy, ill, ashamed. But was she not 
 avenged ? Turlo had kept his word ; he had made her 
 free now, when she no longer cared for freedom. 
 
 The Rector tottered to his feet, shocked and angry. 
 
 " Have you no heart, Dorothea ? " he cried, pointing to 
 Judith. " You forget she is his child ! " 
 
 " His child ! " said Mrs. Tippett, with a contemptuous sniff. 
 
 Her insolence was too much for the Rector. He stood 
 for a moment, choking with indignation, and then, fell head 
 long to the floor, insensible from an apoplectic stroke. Mrs. 
 Tippett rushed to him, but Judith was before her. Kneel 
 ing beside him, she raised his head tenderly, letting it rest 
 against her bosom, and tore open his shirt collar. 
 
 " Go and get some brandy," she cried hastily to Mrs. Tip 
 pett. That usually resolute person stared at her vacantly, 
 indignant yet uncertain as to what she ought to do. 
 " Go, I tell you," added Judith, impatiently. " You may 
 have killed him. You think I have no place here ? Well, I 
 have ; he loves me. Besides, you haven't proved I'm not 
 his granddaughter. Until the courts turn me out, I've the 
 right to stay, and I shall stay while he needs me. You 
 needn't fear to leave me with him. I shan't try to rob you 
 a second time. The money is nothing to me, now. Go 1 "
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 409 
 
 Mrs. Tippett would never have believed it possible, but 
 she turned and went.- The girl frightened her. She was 
 like a lioness defending her cub. Besides, what she said 
 was true ; she had no legal right to banish her, yet. 
 
 Judith took command of the servants, sent off post-haste 
 for a doctor, and helped to carry the Rector to his room. 
 She undressed him herself, and lifting him in her strong 
 arms, laid him gently in bed. He had now partly recovered 
 consciousness and could utter a few broken sentences. His 
 eyes followed her slightest movements with eager love and 
 gratitude. " My darling I " he whispered once ; " Who will 
 dare to say you're not my granddaughter, now ? " 
 She kissed him on the forehead. He was very dear to her 
 this dying old man, whose faith in her was unbounded to 
 the last. 
 
 Mrs. Tippett crept into the sick room at intervals, but al 
 ways found Judith on guard. It seemed to her unheard of 
 that she should not be the central figure of the scene. It 
 had always been her habit to pose as a ministering angel on 
 such occasions. Nursing was, in fact, her special forte. It 
 was the more congenial to her because it afforded so many 
 opportunities for " improving " talk, a word in season, to 
 people who might have eluded her except when helpless in 
 bed. And her brother, more than any one else, claimed her 
 special care and attention. Theoretically, it was almost 
 indecent that this girl should usurp her place at his bedside, 
 but when she met Judith's steady, unregarding gaze, she 
 was afraid to insist. She was daunted by her quiet self- 
 confidence, her evident determination to remain at her post. 
 Even Mrs. Tippett could not accuse her of a selfish motive. 
 In spite of herself, she believed what Judith had said about 
 the money. Incredible as it seemed, the creature was not 
 incapable of gratitude. Her brother had some reason for 
 his obstinacy, after all. Mrs. Tippett began to feel uncom-
 
 4io A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 fortable as to the judgment she had pronounced upon her. 
 If Judith stayed by the Rector until she was no longer 
 needed, and then, went away without claiming anything, 
 people might say that she, Mrs. Tippett, had been unchari 
 table, hard. Her conscience was little more than a keen 
 regard for the opinions of others. She was almost willing 
 to be kind to Judith. 
 
 Judith sought no concessions from her. She wished the 
 physician would come, so that he might tell her whether she 
 had much longer to wait. She had never seen death imminent, 
 but she thought she recognised it now. When the Rector 
 had breathed his last, his hand in hers, there would be noth 
 ing to hold her longer to this spot. She was burning to get 
 away, to hide in some secluded corner where no one knew 
 her for what she was a cheat, an impostor, a thief. Then 
 would come the awakening to that other life she dreaded. 
 Meanwhile, she waited, patiently. For the first time, she 
 realised what gratitude and duty mean ; what burdens affec 
 tion lays on shoulders that have never borne its yoke. She 
 was doing an unselfish thing, a thing that caused her pain, 
 yet shed a refreshing dew upon her tortured heart. She 
 could not leave him ; it pleased her to think she made him 
 happy at the close of a long life, full of good deeds, and that 
 none other could replace her, vagabond though she was. 
 For him, she was real, though fictitious ; he had touched in 
 her the springs of genuine love. 
 
 The doctor arrived in the course of an hour. At the first 
 glance, his eyes grew grave. The Rector was barely con 
 scious : his respiration was faint ; the end was near. 
 
 " Has he made his will ? " the doctor asked Judith, drawing 
 her aside. 
 
 " I don't know," she answered, indifferently. It was of no 
 concern to her. 
 
 11 If he hasn't," said the doctor, " it's too late, now." He
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 411 
 
 glanced at Judith sympathetically. He was a little, dried-up 
 old man, but he had a kind heart and a weakness for pretty 
 women. The news of Mrs. Tippett's revelations at the Manor 
 had reached him, and though that lady was now more guarded, 
 she had just given him to understand that Judith's title to 
 the Magruder fortune was at least a matter of doubt. He 
 felt very sorry for the beautiful girl. The Rector, he was 
 sure, would have wished to make some provision for her. 
 He regretted he had not arrived a little sooner. He would 
 have undertaken, himself, to draw up a will. But it was 
 out of the question now, and she didn't seem to care. He 
 was inclined to doubt the charges against her. 
 
 Judith took her seat again at the Rector's side, and laid 
 her hand in his. He pressed it feebly, and a faint smile 
 showed itself for a moment in his glazing eyes, as she wiped 
 away the clammy moisture that gathered on his brow. She 
 felt him growing colder ; he began to gasp. She raised his 
 head so that he might breathe more easily : a convulsive 
 tremor shook him, and he fell back on the pillow he was 
 dead. She bent down and kissed him ; then turned to go. 
 He needed her no longer. At the door, she met Mrs. Tippett, 
 who uttered a shrill scream at sight of the motionless form 
 on the bed. Judith passed her without a word. She had 
 no part in Mrs. Tippett's grief, nor in anything here. Her 
 only thought, now, was to leave the Rectory at once. Basil 
 was at the Manor, so Mrs. Tippett had said ; he might come 
 at any moment. She couldn't bear that! Anxious to make 
 sure of her escape, while there was still time, she hurried 
 downstairs to give the order for a carriage to convey her to 
 the nearest wharf. As she reached the hall, the front door 
 opened, and Basil entered.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 JUDITH drew back hastily, and would have fled upstairs, 
 but it was too late. Basil had seen her, and was coming to 
 wards her. She stiffened at his approach. Since it had to 
 be, she would not flinch. In spite of her dread of him, she 
 was almost glad, now that a meeting was inevitable ; it would 
 be as well for her to know the worst. At least, she would 
 not be haunted by the thought that he might have pardoned 
 her, and taken her to his heart. Of course, that couldn't be, 
 and yet, had she succeeded in stealing away without seeing 
 him, she might never have been quite sure. 
 
 Basil's face was grave, but it brightened when he saw her. 
 
 " Judith 1" he exclaimed, offering her his hand. "I've 
 just come from the Manor. Dreadful things have happened 
 there. You know about your father ? I've hastened here 
 to see if I could be of any help.." 
 
 " My father 1 " she said, with a strange smile. " Then, 
 you haven't heard ? " 
 
 " What Mrs. Tippett said about you ? " he asked, with evi 
 dent constraint. "Yes, Mr. Plunkett told me. But of 
 course, I didn't believe it. Both of them are prone to jump 
 to conclusions on very slight evidence. And how could I 
 believe it of you ? " 
 
 " But what if it were true ? " she demanded, with bated 
 breath. Could it be he meant to ignore the truth ? Was 
 it possible he cared enough for her, after all, to take her as 
 she was, and close his eyes to her guilt ? Ah, that were too 
 much to hope for 1 And yet, there was a flicker of hope in 
 her heart, rekindled suddenly amid the embers of her ruined 
 happiness by the unquenchable flame of her desire. She 
 
 412
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 413 
 
 willed it to be so, and stood before him, radiant with an 
 energy of passion that gave her beauty a new, transcendent 
 charm. She felt a sense of returning power, such as she 
 had so often wielded, and rejoiced. For the moment, she 
 was almost confident. No ; he could not resist her if if he 
 cared but a little less than she feared for that girl. 
 
 " If it were true ! " exclaimed Basil, shocked ; " but surely, 
 Judith, you don't mean to ask that question of me ? " 
 
 He had come to her in good faith, anxious to show un 
 shaken confidence in her. There might be truth in the 
 story, so far as Edgar Cheston was concerned. Basil had seen 
 enough that day to convince him he was capable of almost 
 any crime. A man who could arrest his brother and hunt 
 his nephew to death would not hesitate at a mere fraud. 
 But that Judith was guilty of conscious complicity with him, he 
 did not, for a moment, believe. The mere idea was odious 
 to him. Even if she were not Edgar's daughter, she might 
 have been led to think herself to be so. It was but natural 
 she should wish to hide from a community so rigid in its 
 social prejudices the fact that she had been on the stage. 
 It were easy enough to pardon her that. To his mind, she 
 was scarcely affected at all by Mrs. Tippett's revelations. 
 Even had he thought her blamable, he would have excused 
 her on the ground of her father's influence over her. How 
 could he doubt she was sound at heart ? Had she not always 
 shown herself to him to be a refined and gifted woman, ingenu 
 ous, pure-minded, true ? Could any woman, clever actress 
 though she be, keep up such an imposture, day after day, with 
 out some unconscious lapse which would have betrayed her ? 
 The thing was absurd. 
 
 At any rate, he, of all men, should be the last to doubt her. 
 In so far as he was concerned, it was clear, she had been 
 moved only by the impulses of her heart. The most scepti 
 cal could attribute no sordid motive in her preference of
 
 4H A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 him. He had nothing to give her, he fancied but the constancy, 
 the affection, the sympathy it should be a privilege to offer. 
 He was bound to her by ties that seemed to him to be sacred, 
 that he could not permit himself to think might be broken. 
 His only thought had been to hasten to her, to protect 
 her, to shield her from detraction, to reassure her with his 
 unquestioning belief. She had honoured him supremely ; he 
 would honour her, now, in the way she would value most, by 
 lifting her above the reach of slander and malice. He had 
 come to beg her to go to her grandfather with him, that he 
 might ask the Rector to make them man and wife. And 
 she asked him what if the lies that had been told about her 
 were true ! Perhaps, it was merely a bit of coquetry but it 
 seemed strange, and jarred on him at a moment like this. 
 No doubt, she was a little unstrung. 
 
 " Of course, you were jesting," he added, with a rather 
 forced smile. " I came to ask you to marry me, at once." 
 
 Jesting ! The truth, she saw, was inconceivable to him. His 
 words extinguished the last spark of hope. They said to her 
 plainly that he was ready to make her his wife because he 
 believed in her. Had he not believed, had he doubted 
 even, he would have recoiled. Her only power over him 
 was that which sprang from his loyalty, his faith in her. She 
 might have known it ! What a fool she had been to dream, 
 even for a moment, of reconciling him to her shame ! 
 The truth must be brought home to him, sooner or 
 later, in spite of his generous incredulity there was no 
 escape. If she permitted him to marry her, he could never 
 forgive her ; for him, she would be an abandoned creature 
 who had foully abused his trust. They would drag out 
 their lives together in bonds that would be hateful to him 
 and torturing for her. That were worse infinitely worse 
 than to lose him. She could imagine no greater torment in 
 hell,
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 415 
 
 " To marry me," she repeated after him, mechanically. It 
 seemed to her as if she were uttering the words by rote. 
 The prize she panted for it was hers to take, and she could 
 not take it ! 
 
 " Yes," he said, puzzled at her strange agitation, " shall 
 we go to the Rector ? " 
 
 "Hush! " she murmured, suddenly recollecting what had 
 happened upstairs, and drawing Basil into the study, " he is 
 dead." 
 
 " Dead ! " cried Basil, inexpressibly shocked. 
 
 " He was at the Manor, and heard Mrs. Tippett. It was 
 too much for him. He had a stroke an hour or two ago, and 
 died in my arms. He never doubted me ; I don't believe 
 it would have made much difference if he had. He loved 
 me." 
 
 She spoke almost coldly, as if merely making a statement 
 of facts that had no particular significance for her. Basil 
 was conscious of a veiled reproach in her words. Could she 
 mean that if he loved her, it would make no difference 
 whether what was said of her were true ? He was beginning 
 to be disturbed. Why did she persist in forcing this issue 
 upon him ? Well, she was right ; he did not love her I He 
 had tried hard enough. It ought to be easy for him. 
 Many men would have envied him the chance. But there 
 was that other image that haunted him still that face, those 
 eyes, which would not be banished. During his absence in 
 the army, the influence he had felt in Judith's presence on that 
 eventful night at the Rectory had faded more and more ; at 
 times, he was dismayed by a feeling of actual repugnance at the 
 thought of marrying her ; he awoke with a shock, at last, to 
 the knowledge that it would be impossible ever really to give 
 her his heart. It was Lydia to whom his thoughts insistently 
 turned. Though lost to him, she was ever present. In the 
 quiet watches by the camp fire at night ; in the hurried
 
 416 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 march; yes even in the roar of battle, it had been the 
 same. He thought of her always with inextinguishable long 
 ing, with passionate regret. How could he tell Judith that 
 he loved her, anxious though he was to soothe her, to assure 
 her of his fidelity, his desire to help ? He had convinced 
 himself it might, some day, be his duty to deceive her ; but 
 now, at the supreme moment, he knew it was impossible. 
 She would read the falsehood in his eyes. He was but a bun 
 gler, after all. 
 
 " We must part," continued Judith, gazing straight at him, 
 with growing harshness in her voice. It was time to make 
 an end. The truth must be made clear to him now, by her ; 
 otherwise, there would be no finality in their parting. 
 Since the wrench must come, she preferred it should be sud 
 den and complete. It would only be the harder for her to 
 undergo the slow, harrowing process of a gradual alienation. 
 Still, she hesitated. It was almost too much to have to 
 abase herself before him. " If I had met you earlier I " she 
 exclaimed with sudden vehemence, clutching desperately at 
 the only means of excusing herself. " You would, at least, 
 have protected me from him. I think I could have been 
 what I pretended to be." She paused, trembling at the 
 horror of what she must say, and then hurried on wildly. 
 
 " Why did you come into my life so late ? " there was 
 pitiful upbraiding in her tone " Why did you awaken in me 
 new thoughts, new aspirations, only to show me what I had 
 missed ? I would never have known ; I would not have 
 suffered. It was cruel of you though you did not know it 
 to lift me out of myself, when you had nothing for me in 
 your heart. Until I met you, men had been more or less 
 contemptible ah, you had no right to disturb my indiffer 
 ence ; you did not care. You taught me what love was : I 
 learned, for the first time, that there could be nobility in men. 
 You compelled me to honour you, to believe in you, to wish
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 417 
 
 to imitate you, even though I knew your virtues were beyond 
 my reach. And for what ? That I might be brought face 
 to face, at last, with your icy insistence upon my fitness 
 to marry you. I am not fit I could not be ; but if you 
 loved me No, no ; it was not your fault. How could you 
 suspect what I really was, or imagine the effect upon a 
 woman like me of contact with a man who opened a new 
 world to her ? You came here to marry me why ? Because 
 you were bound to me ; you wished to protect me ; you were 
 determined to believe me pure. You never once said to 
 yourself ' Whatever she is, she must be mine.' Did you 
 not boast to me, once, that even passion would never 
 reconcile you to a woman you could not respect ? I per 
 suaded myself you were not so strong as you thought ; that 
 it was possible to ensnare you as I had ensnared other men 
 you see I keep back nothing ; why should I, now ? I was 
 a fool a vain, reckless fool. But I am punished even 
 your hard sense of justice should be satisfied. You exact 
 the truth from me ; well, you shall have it. Mrs. Tippett did 
 not exaggerate ; I am an adventuress ; I was trained to be 
 one by Edgar Cheston. I was his willing accomplice even 
 after I had ceased to be his dupe. Why do you not shrink 
 from me ? There is pollution for you in my touch 1 " 
 
 Her eyes blazed with fierce defiance let him think the 
 worst of her, if he would. It was partly his work. She 
 might not have been so guilty but for him ; at least, she would 
 not have realised her guilt : if she had never known him, 
 she might have gone on sinning to the end, without a twinge. 
 He -would think the worst. He was so complacently vir 
 tuous, so sure of his own rectitude, so humble in his attitude 
 towards her, that it would be impossible for him to conceive 
 of himself as tempting her. How could he comprehend ? 
 He would make no allowances ; he would judge her inexor 
 ably according to his ideas of what a woman ought to be. 
 27
 
 418 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Ah, no, there must be some pity in his heart, some faint 
 perception of the cruelty of it for her. She would go mad if 
 she carried away with her only his contempt. 
 
 " You do not quite loathe me ? " she asked imploringly, 
 breaking down and burying her face in her hands, " you will 
 remember me sometimes only as I was to you will you not ? 
 That was my inner self the self that none but you could 
 ever have revealed to me ; the self that might have grown to 
 maturity had it not been starved and stunted from the first. 
 I never had a chance can you believe me in spite of what 
 I am, and and understand ? " 
 
 Basil gazed at her, speechless. He was dumb with amaze 
 ment and pain. She was what Mrs. Tippett had declared 
 her to be this lovely, innocent-looking creature whom he 
 had reverenced as one of the purest, the noblest of women ! 
 He had heard her confession with a growing sense of its 
 awfulness for her, the bitterness of its reproach for him. She 
 was right ; he was greatly to blame. But for him, she need 
 not have suffered as she was suffering now. Even though 
 she exaggerated his influence over her as of course she did 
 he could comprehend its importance to a woman who had 
 had her experience of men. She had invested him with 
 attributes which seemed quite ordinary to him, but were phe 
 nomenal to her. In his blindness, he had unwittingly encour 
 aged her to pin all her hopes upon him, and he had failed 
 her now in her desperate need. It was a tragedy nothing 
 less ; a tragedy all the more pitiful because it ought never to 
 have befallen her. Ah, yes, he saw it all so clearly ! As 
 she had said, she had never had a chance. Even as a child 
 poor little innocent ! she had been immeshed. A web of 
 corrupting influences had been spun about her with a devilish 
 cunning which knew no pity, which guided her inexorably 
 to the fulfilment of a destiny that was worse than death. It 
 was frightful. What could he do ? Where did his honour
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 419 
 
 lie ? His honour I It was nothing beside her dire need of 
 help. But he could not bring himself to do the only thing 
 that would help her to utter the lie, " I love you, in spite 
 of all." 
 
 " What will become of you ? " he stammered, feeling him 
 self to be miserably incapable and foolish. His question 
 seemed to him brutal. It implied a readiness to accept the 
 detachment of himself from her, as she had proposed, which 
 he was really far from feeling. If there were only some way 
 out of it some means by which he could still associate him 
 self with her ! 
 
 Her eyes brightened for a moment with a grateful glance : 
 he still concerned himself about her ! 
 
 " It is good of you to ask," she said, and then, her face 
 clouding again, she added, with a touch of recklessness, 
 " Don't worry about me. I haven't thought of what I 
 shall do, but I shan't starve. There's the stage ; I can 
 return to it. Can you forgive me? That is all I care 
 about, now." 
 
 " What have I to forgive ? If you leave us, I shall 
 never think of you except as a dear friend whom I have 
 lost." 
 
 " Yes, lost," she cried bitterly " lost to every one as to 
 you. I am burying the woman you knew ; no one else shall 
 ever know her, and I I shall try to forget her. I strove so 
 hard to be better for your sake, Basil ; I shall never be so 
 silly again. It is too much trouble; it gives one too many 
 heartaches ! I was fashioned for other things things that 
 you abhor. I must go back to them ; all other doors are 
 closed to me. Our friendship has been a mere episode in 
 your life nothing more. For me, it was all the life worth 
 living I shall ever know. The rest will be merely drifting, 
 and if some sudden eddy should drag me under, so much 
 the better. Oh, really, you need have no solicitude for me I
 
 420 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 I shall not deserve it. You are free to go to her you love. 
 I could never understand why you love her, but it is so. I 
 know it, well, though you have tried hard to hide it from me. 
 And she is pining for you. Don't waste your time here 1 " 
 
 There was savage irony in her voice. The love of Lydia 
 seemed to her such a trivial thing compared with the gravity, 
 the depth yes, the grandeur of her passion. She had 
 sinned against this man but only under compulsion ; how 
 willingly she would have sinned, aye, to the farthest limit, for 
 him. That prim little Puritan was incapable of such aban 
 don ; she would have shrunk from the mere thought of it in 
 holy horror ; religious prejudices had made her half-hearted, 
 timid. Yet he worshipped her, and even the faintest shade 
 of love in her would set his blood on fire : she knew it. She 
 flung the pitiful thing to him contemptuously. If that 
 was his only idea of happiness, let him have it. It was 
 no loss to her now that she was nothing more than a 
 " friend " to him. A friend 1 Good God ! And it had 
 been reserved for her to point the way for him to the fruition 
 of his passion. He might have gone blundering on for 
 months, perhaps for years, imagining Lydia was indifferent 
 to him, but for her. What a mockery it was of her wild 
 dreams ! 
 
 Basil did not seem inclined to obey her, but lingered, 
 irresolute. Of course, that was nonsense about Lydia's 
 " pining " for him, and he felt more strongly than ever the 
 obligation to aid Judith in some way. But what aid could he 
 give ? All was over between them. Even gratitude and 
 pity did not demand of him that he should link his life with 
 that of a woman whom he could never love, whose past 
 would always rise up before him a thing of horror. And 
 could he have brought himself to such a sacrifice, she would 
 not have accepted it he saw that, clearly. Ah, she was 
 really noble in spite of all ! She wanted nothing of him
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 421 
 
 but his love ; she had not deceived him for any mercenary 
 object. No ; of himself, he could not help her, but might 
 he not enlist the good offices of the family at the Manor ? 
 An invitation from them, perhaps, would change her pur 
 pose. If they assured her of their support, she might 
 be induced to remain and live down the scandal. Anything 
 were better than a return to her former life, especially in her 
 present mood. But there was Lydia. Judith was evidently 
 inflamed against her. Basil felt instinctively it would be 
 impossible to reconcile them. It were idle, of course, to 
 appeal to Mrs. Tippett, and he was uncertain as to the 
 attitude towards her which the Colonel's wife and mother 
 might take. Besides, she seemed so competent, so strong, 
 so bitter. He could imagine her scorning any offer of as 
 sistance. 
 
 " Is there nothing I can do for you ? " he asked lamely, 
 " I mean about the Rector." 
 
 "Nothing," she answered. " Mrs. Tippett will doubtless 
 make the arrangements for the funeral." 
 
 She was anxious for him to go. She could not bear the 
 strain much longer. 
 
 " I shall ride over in the morning," he said. 
 
 She did not tell him she would not be there, but merely 
 thanked him and said good-bye. By the morning, she hoped, 
 she would be far away. 
 
 She stood at a window watching him as he mounted his 
 horse and rode off. She would never see him again if she 
 could help it. All she asked was forgetfulness, distraction 
 of some kind. She might find the latter, now and then, in 
 the life of the stage ; in the homage she had learned to de 
 spise ; in the adulation of men whom she could bend to her 
 will. Good was not for her ; might not evil have its uses ? 
 She was a social Ishmaelite once more, free to follow her im 
 pulses, unfettered by either love or fear Basil Kent, Edgar
 
 422 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Cheston, were they not both dead to her now ? And those 
 impulses would not be kindly. Life had used her hardly ; 
 she would get out of it whatever might recompense her, if 
 ever so little, without regard for those who ministered to her 
 desires. She was still beautiful. She could use her beauty 
 as she pleased, without having to account to any one. Now 
 that Edgar Cheston was dead, no man should ever again be 
 able to call her his slave. She might be sure she would 
 never meet another Basil Kent. She thirsted for vengeance 
 on the kind of men who had made her unfit for him. But 
 for them, she might have been worthy of him. Edgar 
 Cheston was beyond the reach of punishment, but there were 
 others who had helped him to shape her life, to bring her to 
 this. Ah, she would make them suffer in the only way 
 they could suffer : she would squander her beauty in tor 
 turing their lust. What else was there for her to choose ? 
 Was she not a pariah from whom all the virtuous would 
 shrink ? And the bad would they not flock about her, 
 struggling, like so many vultures, who should be the first to 
 pull her down, to make her his prey ? Whithersoever she 
 turned, there would be no mercy for her. She stretched out 
 her hands with a gesture of despairing wrath, and her bosom 
 heaved. Let it be so : she would ask no mercy and give 
 none. Blow for blow, and her moments of victory she 
 would have them, she was sure would be sweet.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 ON his way home, Basil speculated, at first rather vaguely, 
 upon what Judith had said of Lydia. Could it be that Lydia 
 thought more gently of him ? Had his absence wrought a 
 change ? It might be that her feeling against him had 
 softened when he was no longer at hand to vex her, as he 
 must have done, with the tacit importunity of his presence. 
 It was tempting to think that Judith, perhaps, had some slight 
 ground for her assertion. She had had better opportunities 
 for learning what Lydia actually felt than probably any one 
 else. They were girls of nearly the same age, and cousins ; 
 no doubt, they had, at times, confided in each other. 
 
 If Lydia had merely brought herself to the point of for 
 giving his political offenses that would be something ; he 
 might approach her with the hope of being no longer un 
 welcome. He would be content with little. It would be 
 happiness for him merely to meet her on friendly terms. 
 Why should he not satisfy himself as to her real attitude 
 towards him ? He was free to seek her. Judith had sur 
 rendered all claims upon him, and had even urged him to 
 hasten to her. What a strange irony of fate if she should 
 prove to be the agent of their reconciliation ! When he drew 
 up at the Manor gate, he hesitated a moment, and then 
 decided to make the venture. 
 
 On reaching the house, he was informed by Pompey, who 
 came to the door, that Young Miss had started a few minutes 
 before for the Indian Spring. Basil tied his horse to one of 
 the hitching posts, and set out across the fields. The Indian 
 Spring ! It was there he had told her of his love, and won 
 from her the scant permission to pay a kind of court to her 
 
 423
 
 424 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 a concession she had soon recalled. He was cheered by 
 the fact that she had sought this spot. 
 
 Lydia had gone for a walk, a breath of fresh air. She 
 never took this path without thinking of Basil. Except for 
 that wretched day at the fox hunt, it was at the spring that 
 she had seen him alone for the last time. How little she had 
 dreamed, when she dismissed him so negligently there, that 
 she was sending him away from her forever 1 The place 
 had grown very dear to her in spite of the pain her visits 
 caused her ; there seemed to linger about it some breath of 
 Basil of the Basil who had gazed at her there with such 
 ardent eyes, and had uttered those words of love which 
 now had grown so precious in her memory. He was hers 
 then, surely. The spot united them again in thought, at least, 
 and so, when she felt loneliest, she always sought it. Her 
 heart was almost heavier now than it had ever been before. 
 The bodies of her brother and her uncle had been recovered 
 from the cove, and were lying side by side in the hall. The 
 family was torn with grief ; the atmosphere of the house was 
 one of suffocating gloom, and now that her mother was quiet, 
 she had hastened to escape from it for a little while. It 
 seemed as if fate were doubly cruel to her. The family 
 tragedy had followed swiftly upon the blow she had suffered 
 at Basil's hands when he met her advances so coldly. He 
 was not willing to give her even a kind word. No doubt, he 
 was now with Judith, assuring her of his devotion. It were 
 enough, Lydia fancied, for him to hear of Mrs. Tippett's im 
 putations to cause him to hasten to Judith's side. She would 
 have done it in his place, and he was more generous than 
 she. Even if Judith had erred, and Lydia did not for a mo 
 ment believe her guilty of what Mrs. Tippett asserted, Basil 
 would have no words of aught but comfort for her. Did 
 he not love her ? And Judith was so beautiful, so captivat 
 ing, that no one in her presence could think of blame. It
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 425 
 
 was the conviction of all this that hurt her so. But for her 
 childish ignorance and folly that day at the spring, and 
 afterwards, it might be at her side, not Judith's, that he 
 would now be uttering words of sympathy and love. 
 
 She was very tired. As she moved slowly along the well- 
 known path, she felt the contrast of her lagging gait with 
 the buoyancy of step with which she had trod it that April 
 morning with Basil. It was autumn now, and things were 
 dead, like her hopes of but a few months ago. The skies 
 were leaden, the fields sere and faded, the trees robbed of 
 nearly all their leaves. When she reached the spring, at 
 last, so far from feeling refreshed, she was almost exhausted. 
 She wished she could have a " good cry." But tears did not 
 come easily of late. She had grown used to bearing things 
 without giving way. 
 
 The spot was beautiful still, but no longer with the fresh 
 ness and radiance of spring, and there was a touch of 
 melancholy in its nakedness. The brook was the same, but 
 it sang a chillier song. The birds struck notes that seemed 
 almost harsh, and there was none of the gay caroling of that 
 bright April day. The delicate blending of tints in wood 
 and thicket was gone, and there were only the russets and 
 browns of the carpet of leaves that covered the hillside, and 
 the gray or black or umber of the different species of trees. 
 But there was enough in it all to recall to her vividly the in 
 cidents that had made so fateful an impression upon her 
 life. How happy, how careless, how foolishly proud she had 
 been 1 Ah, if she could but live it over once more ! A 
 wave of passionate regret and longing swept through her, 
 jarring every nerve. Faint with emotion, she leaned against 
 the trunk of a giant elm that overlooked the spring, and 
 gazed about her with dry, burning eyes. Her gaze had in 
 it an intense, compelling look, as if it sought to revive the 
 past and make it real.
 
 426 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 A footstep, crunching the dead leaves, caused her to start 
 and look round. The intruder, she saw, at a glance, was 
 Basil. What had brought him ? What could be the mean 
 ing of their meeting here ? Trembling, she waited for him 
 to speak. He did not speak, but questioned her with his 
 eyes. His anxiety was plainly as great as her own. They 
 had only to look at each other to learn the truth. Love 
 spoke in their faces with an eloquence that needed no 
 words. Lydia was the less doubtful of the two. Basil's 
 look was, for her, reminiscent. It carried her back to those 
 moments when a consuming eagerness had shone in his 
 eyes, as now. It seemed to her almost as if they had never 
 stirred from the spot, as if all the misery she had suffered 
 since then had been only a hateful dream. She did not stop 
 to ask herself what had happened between him and Judith. 
 It was enough that he was here, beside her ; never, as she 
 hoped, to leave her again. 
 
 " Basil 1 " she cried, in a tone he had never heard before. 
 There was invitation in it ; the rush of pent-up forces ; a 
 clear note of love. 
 
 " Lydia ! " he answered, his brain in a whirl. Each took 
 a step forward involuntarily, and without knowing how it 
 happened, he found her in his arms. He held her awkward 
 ly for a moment, not daring to caress her, as if he feared 
 to frighten her away. But when he felt her head nestling 
 confidently on his shoulder, and looking down, saw 'her glo 
 rious eyes gazing shyly up at him, he took courage and kissed 
 the tempting little mouth which she seemed to offer him, just 
 as she had often done as a child. Was she really his ? 
 Could this thing be ? It had come to him so suddenly the 
 consummation of dreams that had never taken the substance 
 of actual hope ; which, of late, he had persuaded himself were 
 beyond the range of possibility. It seemed incredible that 
 he should have won so great a prize.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 427 
 
 " I have learned something, Basil," she whispered, with a 
 touch of the old mischief in her voice. " I'm not such an ig 
 noramus, now, as Uncle Josias once said I was. I shan't 
 object to your loving me as much as you please. I treated 
 you abominably that day when we were here how long ago 
 it seems ! but I didn't know. You'll forgive me won't 
 you ? I was only a silly girl, and perhaps, I'm not much 
 better even yet ; but at least, I know what you are to me. 
 I've needed you so much 1 " 
 
 " You're not afraid to trust yourself to me ? " he asked, 
 with a happy laugh, recalling her denunciation of matrimony 
 as a form of servitude impossible for her. " You've given 
 up the idea of becoming an old maid ? Remember, you 
 said you could never promise to obey : I may prove to be a 
 tyrant, you know I " 
 
 " No, I'm not afraid," she said, with a confident smile. 
 " The danger doesn't seem so great now that I have discov 
 ered what your love really means. I've had time such a 
 long time ! to think over what you said to me here. It 
 wasn't until I feared I had lost you that I began to think. 
 Then, I knew you were everything to me more than the 
 independence, the freedom of which I was so proud ; oh, infi 
 nitely more than all I had cherished until then ! A tyrant ? 
 You couldn't be hard with me could you ? and if you were, 
 I wouldn't complain. Do you wonder I am so meek ? I 
 love you, Basil 1 " 
 
 I love you ! The words thrilled him. What inexpressible 
 happiness they implied. Ah, they were worth waiting for 1 
 Did they not repay him exorbitantly for all he had had to 
 bear ? Was it possible she felt for him all he felt for her ; 
 that she might actually hunger for a look from him, a touch, 
 a gentler word ? 
 
 " Take care 1 " he exclaimed, " you'll make me conceited : 
 I am tempted to cry out, < See what a fine fellow I am ; she
 
 428 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 loves me ! ' Oh, Lydia, the world is a new world for me. 
 God is so good tome ; He has granted my heart's desire." 
 
 He bowed his head in unconscious thanksgiving as he 
 spoke. At the moment, the birds were silent ; only the mur 
 mur of the brook and the faint sighing of the wind among 
 the trees could be heard. But to both Lydia and Basil, it 
 seemed as if there were jubilation all about them. There is 
 no sweeter music than that with which great happiness fills 
 all space.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 LYDIA and Basil were married during Christmas week. 
 This was the one great festival of the year on the planta 
 tions, with lesser holidays at Easter and Whitsuntide. At 
 Christmas, the slaves enjoyed special indulgences, as of 
 prescriptive right, and usually succeeded in extracting 
 largesses from even the most niggardly master or mistress. 
 Most of the plantations had been deserted by the negroes, 
 but enticing memories of Christmas at the Quarter at 
 tracted many of the fugitives back to their former homes, 
 and at nearly all the Quarters including, much to the Colo 
 nel's gratification, the Quarter at the Manor joy reigned 
 again. Huge open fires shone on happy, laughing faces. 
 TJusky figures grouped themselves about a banjoist or a 
 fiddler, singing gaily, patting juba, and breaking out, now 
 then, into a lively hoe-down or double-shuffle. Old uncles, 
 in snug corners by the fireside, amused the pickaninnies, and 
 perhaps, a " Young Marse," with blood-curdling ghost stories 
 or exciting narratives of adventures in hunting the 'coon or 
 'possum. At daybreak Christmas morning, there was a 
 procession of men, women and children from every Quarter 
 to " de big house," there to lie in wait for different 
 members of the family, and " ketch " them " Chrismus 
 gif." 
 
 The spirit of the occasion invaded even the grief-stricken 
 household at the Manor and imparted cheerfulness to the 
 general atmosphere, which had already been brightened by 
 Lydia's happiness and the Colonel's conviction that Basil 
 would help him out of his difficulties. The Colonel's wife 
 
 429
 
 430 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 seemed actually to gain in strength and animation, and Ole 
 Miss had never been more alert, more energetic. She, too, 
 was confident that Basil would straighten out things. 
 
 The morning of the wedding day dawned clear and crisp. 
 A deep snow had wreathed the shrubbery of lawn and garden 
 with delicate lace work of many patterns, and had cast a 
 feathery mantle over the earth. The jingle of sleigh-bells 
 was heard everywhere on the roads. Their blithe music 
 was destined to linger long in the memories of many as a 
 reminder that the Old Order had then had its last fling. 
 Caesar, however, put his veto on the Colonel's mandate for a 
 sleigh in which to convey the wedding party to church. 
 Nothing less than the big coach, he insisted, would comport 
 with the dignity of the occasion. He impressed Pompey 
 as footman, and himself handled the reins, having carefully 
 fed and groomed the spirited horses for a week in advance, 
 so that they curveted and pranced and bore themselves as 
 smartly as he could have wished. 
 
 In all its history even in the old colonial days of pomp 
 and display, of silks and satins for men as well as women 
 Winton Church had seldom presented a brighter in 
 terior. To its Christmas garb of holly and cedar, had been 
 added a profusion of hot-house plants and flowers. The 
 altar was lighted with wax tapers, an innovation of the new 
 rector, a clergyman of High Church tendencies, and these, 
 with the sunshine reflected from the snow outside, lit up the 
 scene with unusual brilliance. From stained glass windows 
 in .one of the gable-ends, streamed a flood of crimson and 
 purple beams which fell here and there on the quaint, high- 
 backed pews filled to overflowing with the gentry of the 
 neighbourhood and people of every shade of social condition. 
 All the servants from the Manor, including many of the run 
 aways, together with negroes from neighbouring plantations, 
 were assembled in the gallery, and the sprinkling of turbaned
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 431 
 
 " aunties " contributed not a little to the general effect with 
 their lively Sunday gowns and flaming bandannas. 
 
 The churchyard was filled with sleighs, the restive horses 
 stamping or pawing the snow and causing their strings of 
 bells to tinkle gaily. The negro drivers, smiling with holi 
 day good humour, gossiped together in groups. It almost 
 seemed as if the old church itself had furbished up for the 
 occasion. Certainly, its weather-beaten countenance had 
 never looked smarter. The bright sunshine gave its thick 
 growth of ivy a richer green and chequered its sober walls 
 of drab and brown with ruddier tints. 
 
 There was a reception at the Manor which lasted the 
 whole afternoon and late into the night, and notwithstanding 
 the absence of many familiar figures, owing to the general 
 exodus South, the gathering was typical of conditions that 
 were soon to exist no more. There was much feasting and 
 unlimited toasting of the bride. It was all exactly as it 
 should be, in the opinion of Mr. Plunkett, who officiated as 
 master of ceremonies. He would have felt that something 
 had gone wrong, had any one of the guests failed to get as 
 comfortably tipsy as he wished. As for the ladies, they had 
 retired long before the jollification had reached its climax 
 in a general state of hilarity, and though they had very def 
 inite suspicions as to what was going on, no intimation of it 
 was permitted to reach their ears. As the gray of morning 
 peeped in upon the scene, " Marse Jose " turned to the 
 Colonel, with a sigh of satisfaction. " That was something 
 like a wedding ! " he exclaimed, '' but it was hard work, with 
 only a handful of niggers. There'll be precious few more of 
 its kind. Entertaining, sir, will soon be a lost art with us." 
 
 Basil did not return to the army because of his wound, 
 which had incapacitated him for active service. At the 
 Colonel's request, he at once took charge of affairs at the 
 Manor. Reeve exhibited an eager readiness to accoin-
 
 432 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 modate matters, now that Basil was in control. He deemed 
 it prudent to omit from his list of claims certain charges he 
 had meant to exact. He even professed perfect willingness 
 to renew the mortgages for a longer period, and was pro 
 fuse in his offers to give Basil any assistance he might 
 need. All hope of realising his schemes had ended with 
 Lydia's marriage, and he was anxious to save himself from 
 the imputation of having taken advantage of the Colonel. 
 He had succeeded in obtaining his son's release from 
 prison, and was disposed to congratulate himself if he could 
 contrive to satisfy Basil. For his part, Basil was well con 
 tent with the terms he offered. The prices of grain and cattle 
 were constantly rising in consequence of the war, and he 
 had little doubt of his ability to pay off the Colonel's in 
 debtedness in course of time. It was not an easy task, how 
 ever, and for several years, he was compelled to work hard 
 and to suffer much anxiety. At last, by dint of close 
 economy and the sale of some outlying lands, he was enabled 
 to announce to the Colonel that he was once more solvent. 
 The Colonel at once regained much of his old buoyancy of 
 spirits. His credit was saved ; the family dignity was again 
 secure. Lydia was very proud of Basil's success, which had 
 so fully justified her faith in him. Old Caesar, too, was 
 immensely gratified, and plumed himself on having helped 
 to bring about the change. Basil had restored him to his 
 old position of overseer, and he had proven himself a most 
 zealous and capable lieutenant. 
 
 " Ef Ole Marster (the Judge) kin see what's happenin' 
 down hyar, Mistus," he said to Ole Miss one day, " he must 
 feel mighty peart en' comfortable. De Manor wasn't enny 
 better off in his day, even. Marse Basil's brung it right up." 
 He did not add what was clear to his mind that Young 
 Miss's " good looks " were of some use, after all, in having 
 "ketched " her such a husband as Marse Basil.
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 433 
 
 Ole Miss nodded assent with a cheerful smile. Yes, her 
 husband's heart would be gladdened, if he could know. The 
 Manor had not been merely a place, to him, but an idea. 
 It was a heritage, in trust, to be preserved, improved, devel 
 oped for future generations. It was the basis of the family 
 influence and position. Without it to sustain and inspire 
 them, the Chestons must sink to the common level. His anx 
 iety on this point had been extreme ; but now, his fears 
 would have been set at rest. Basil's intelligence and will 
 supplied the saving force that was needed. She was deeply 
 grateful to him ; her manner towards him was always tender ; 
 she rendered him a kind of deference which was often em 
 barrassing. The pathos of it touched him. He knew that, 
 in her heart, she was always regretting he was not a Cheston. 
 Ah yes, if he were but one of her own name and blood 1 She 
 often sighed at the thought that after the death of her son, 
 the Colonel, there would be no more Chestons of the Manor. 
 But Lydia bore a son, and at Basil's suggestion, it was decided 
 that he should be called Cheston, without prefixing Robert, 
 as they had meant to do in honor of his grandfather, in 
 order that the name might continue to be associated with the 
 place. 
 
 The close of Ole Miss's life, comforted by this assurance 
 and by the return of peace and prosperity to the Manor, was 
 tranquil and even happy. To the last, she exhibited the 
 keenest interest in the family affairs and exercised the same 
 controlling influence in the household. She lived to be nearly 
 ninety, and up to within a few weeks of her death, made her 
 appearance almost every Sunday at church. Caesar, as had 
 always been his habit, continued to drive her coach whenever 
 she went abroad. Upon its arrival at the church door, he 
 descended with impressive deliberation from the box, let down 
 the folding steps, and lifting his hat, held out his hand to 
 help Ole Miss alight. Sometimes, in the Colonel's absence, 
 28
 
 434 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 she took his arm, and the old negro, proud of this office, 
 escorted her up the aisle to the family pew with head erect 
 and a manner to the full as dignified as her own. 
 
 The Colonel remained an " unreconstructed rebel," a 
 thorough " Bourbon " to the end of his days. After the close 
 of the war, he took but little part in public affairs, and seldom 
 set foot off the Manor. The country, in his opinion, was 
 going to the dogs. The general chaos which the downfall of 
 slavery had brought about bewildered and distressed him. 
 At home, his life was much the same as it had always been, 
 but beyond the confines of the Manor, all was confusion. 
 He mourned especially the rapid decay of the distinctive 
 practices of Tidewater hospitality which had depended for 
 their existence upon the maintenance of slavery. The fre 
 quent interchange of courtesies, the lavish entertainments, 
 the dances, the dinners, the fox-hunts were no longer possible 
 for a people who suddenly found themselves compelled to 
 face the hardest privations and to labour painfully, and in most 
 cases, ineffectively, to save something from the wreck of their 
 fortunes. His caste was doomed the Colonel saw this 
 clearly and his heart was saddened when he thought of all 
 it meant to him. Still, on the whole, he was not unhappy. 
 He fully realised the fact that he was far luckier than many of 
 his neighbours. His future, and the future of all his house 
 hold, was secure. He was " Marster," still, to Caesar and 
 Dinah, Pompey and Phyllis ; and his heart was rejoiced by the 
 thought that there was a young " Marster " who bade fair to 
 become a worthy representative of the name he bore. 
 
 It was the Colonel's chief pleasure in his old age to in 
 struct his grandson in the habits, tastes and principles which 
 he deemed indispensable to a gentleman. He taught him to 
 ride, to shoot, to manage a canoe, to carve a canvas-back 
 duck, to enter a room, to bow to a lady, and to do any number 
 of things which he thought important. Under his tutelage,
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 435 
 
 the boy became quite skilful with the flute, of which the 
 Colonel was a master, and learned to play all the old-fash 
 ioned airs, such as Malbrook, Bonnie Dundee, Black Eyed 
 Susan. At the age of sixteen, he was quite an authority on 
 horses and fox-hunting. His manners were perfect, his 
 grandfather thought ; he seemed to have a due regard for 
 his ancestry, and he could repeat the main facts of the 
 family genealogy without omitting any one of the many links. 
 
 The Colonel never aired his political prejudices before 
 the lad. That part of his training, he decided, must be left 
 to Basil ; otherwise, he might have created differences be 
 tween father and son. He sometimes indemnified himself, 
 however, by arguing hotly with Basil, when they were safe 
 out of Cheston's hearing, as to the practical results of the 
 war which, he insisted, were wholly disastrous. 
 
 Although Basil could not be induced to recant any of his 
 opinions, he was compelled to admit that some of the 
 changes were even worse than he had feared. He saw, with 
 sorrow, that, as he had anticipated, the salutary influences of 
 the old social system were slowly but surely disappearing, to 
 give place to a confused medley of new ideas and impulses. 
 The spirit of genial contentment had been succeeded by 
 one of general unrest. Men began to elbow each other 
 rudely. The business affairs of the community fell into 
 disorder. The whole fabric of industry and trade which had 
 rested on the plantation system toppled over now that the 
 foundation stone of slavery had been removed. There had 
 been large mercantile dealings with planters owning many 
 slaves. These had ceased. Many of the planters were now 
 no larger purchasers than some of the " poor whites " ; in 
 place of their old prodigality, nearly all of them were forced to 
 practise a greater or less degree of economy. Everything was 
 cheapened and reduced to smaller proportions. A host of 
 small shops took the place of the old-fashioned, roomy
 
 436 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 stores with their large stocks of goods, and a keen, eager 
 competition was substituted for the urbanity and indolence 
 which had formerly characterised business methods. 
 
 Men were now anxious to make money in ways that 
 would, but a few years before, have been considered ques 
 tionable or even dishonest. The planters, once so fastidious 
 in matters of dress, bought their clothing and shoes ready 
 made. Tailors and shoemakers began to disappear. Har 
 ness-makers, carriage-makers, wheelwrights found their oc 
 cupations gone. The planters had discovered they could 
 buy more cheaply from factories, and must do it. A 
 small woollen mill in the neighbourhood, which had taken 
 their wool to manufacture into yarns and kerseys for their 
 slaves, closed its doors. Industry gradually narrowed its 
 sphere of activities more and more, and labour became less 
 and less efficient. A blight seemed to have fallen upon the 
 whole community. The negroes suffered most of all. 
 Many of them soon sank into a condition little short of their 
 original barbarism, and while there were a few, here and 
 there, who showed themselves to be industrious and thrifty, 
 the great mass grew sadly idle and shiftless. Their former 
 masters, now impoverished, had neither time nor means to 
 " look after " them as they had been wont to do. There 
 was no restraining influence, no stimulus to effort. It was 
 easy for them to scratch a living by occasional labor in the 
 fields or by taking fish and oysters. They showed an in 
 creasing tendency to herd together in the woods. Their 
 habits were nomadic, predatory. Disorder and petty crimes 
 grew rife among them. They were rapidly becoming an 
 obnoxious element, and race prejudice assumed a new and 
 bitter form. 
 
 But all this, Basil hoped, would prove to be but a tem 
 porary consequence of the upheaval caused by the war. 
 After awhile, when things had settled down, the new condi-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 437 
 
 tions would doubtless adjust themselves, and society would 
 take on the normal aspect of free communities elsewhere. 
 Without an exception, so far as he could discover, those 
 communities were prosperous and happy. He overlooked 
 the fact that their economy had developed from a wholly 
 different base and had followed a consistent, uninterrupted 
 course. It had suffered no sudden wrench or diversion, and 
 race antagonisms , could hardly be said to exist. As time 
 wore on, he discovered that conditions were not adjusting 
 themselves as he had expected : the confusion increased ; 
 the negroes continued to grow worse ; the general tone of 
 the community was palpably deteriorating. It was nothing 
 less than a great social revolution that was being worked 
 out without intelligence, by the mere play of mechanical 
 forces, with no conscious effort on the part of any one to 
 direct or control it. 
 
 Basil felt a strong sense of personal obligation to find 
 some remedy, if it were only palliative : he was one of the 
 few men in the region who, by taking sides with the vic 
 torious North, had helped to precipitate this convulsion. 
 But the disorder was so widespread, so deeply ramified, 
 that he speedily perceived the futility of attempting to 
 do more than seek to extract, in his own immediate 
 neighbourhood, from the coarse but virile elements which 
 were slowly crystallising into a definite form of society, 
 whatever might be beneficial, and to preserve, in so far as 
 he could, the refining influences of the past. He might 
 at least make the Manor a rallying point for the few who 
 shared his views, and perhaps, play an unobtrusive but useful 
 part in public affairs. For a long time, it was cheerless work. 
 Even the more intelligent of his neighbours were lukewarm. 
 The planters, generally, were either soured or reduced 
 to apathy by the disaster that had overtaken them. Even 
 the old habit of leadership failed to assert itself ; their spirit
 
 438 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 was broken. Besides, a new element was coming to the 
 front. The " poor whites " were profiting by conditions 
 fatal to the supremacy of their former rulers. As the plant 
 ers, unable to adapt themselves to economies habitual to a 
 labouring class, gradually fell behind, and one after another 
 was "sold out," the thrifty tenants and many of the 
 former overseers, who had been making money in the mean 
 time, bought up the land. They became, in time, the real 
 force of the community, and as soon as they realised this 
 fact, they began to take advantage of it. There was more 
 or less class rancour in the eagerness with which the more 
 ambitious of them shoved their former patrons aside, de 
 nouncing them as dry-rotten " old fogies," and appealed to 
 the " plain people " to assert themselves. 
 
 What Reeve predicted to Edgar had come to pass. It 
 was the " new blood against the old," and Reeve, himself, 
 was one of the first to profit by the change. He began to 
 pose as a champion of popular rights against the " Bourbon " 
 element, and to demand a " new deal " in political offices. 
 His rise was rapid. A leader, shrewd, resourceful, unscru 
 pulous, was needed to weld together the parts of the new 
 political machinery which, as yet, was but a clumsy and 
 inefficient piece of mechanism. Reeve proved himself to 
 be a master hand. Men denounced him as a trickster, a 
 demagogue, a schemer who would sacrifice his best friend 
 when his personal interest was at stake, but he did not seem 
 to mind in the least, and preserved an impassive calm under 
 the most vicious assaults. Charges of corruption were 
 brought against him ; he did not answer them. He was 
 accused of buying votes, of stuffing ballot boxes, of accept 
 ing bribes for " putting through " legislation for big cor 
 porations ; of assessing office-holders for campaign purposes 
 and pocketing the greater part of the proceeds. He held 
 his tongue, and went on perfecting the organisation and
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 439 
 
 piling up " safe " majorities at every election. He had a 
 genius for management, a perfect mastery of the details of 
 " practical politics." 
 
 Naturally, he made some bitter enemies, but he had a 
 disciplined army of followers and so-called friends. Men 
 looked to him alone for preferment, and hung upon his 
 lightest word as meaning either distinction or hopeless ob 
 scurity for them. No man could succeed in public life 
 without his consent, and he took care that none should 
 succeed who were likely to threaten his influence. The 
 " plain people " had, indeed, rid themselves of a group of 
 rulers, but they had merely substituted a single " boss " who 
 governed them, not as the " aristocrats " had done, with more 
 or less fidelity to high ideals, but for his own selfish purposes, 
 without regard to the general good. His influence was, in 
 fact, supreme. 
 
 Basil watched Reeve's rise to power with growing disheart- 
 enment. To his mind, it was symptomatic. The root of the 
 disease was to be found in the people themselves in their 
 lowered standards, their increasing cupidity, their general 
 acquiescence in the view that politics was a trade, and that 
 their chief interest in the result of an election lay in the 
 places or the jobs that might fall to their share. It was all 
 the more hopeless for him to attempt to stem the tide because 
 of the general prejudice against him as a " Yankee," though 
 this was mitigated by the Colonel's acceptance of him as his 
 son-in-law. Even when he was found to be a " good Demo 
 crat," Reeve succeeded in discrediting him by classing him 
 with the " silk stocking crowd " whom he was constantly 
 holding up to popular derision. 
 
 Still, he persevered. At least, he would preserve his own 
 independence, and do what he could to build up a healthier 
 sentiment. He busied himself with various schemes for 
 improving the condition of those about him, and never seek-
 
 440 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 ing or even consenting to accept an office for himself, was 
 always to be found in the front of any movement for 
 political reform. For years, he accomplished but little. 
 Reeve beat him again and again by "overwhelming" ma 
 jorities at the district primaries, in county conventions, 
 and finally, in the State Legislature in a desperate fight on 
 Basil's part to prevent his election as United States Senator. 
 It was a bitter thing for Basil to see Reeve seated, as he saw 
 him once secure, self-confident, blandly condescending in 
 a place which, with but few exceptions, had been occupied by 
 honourable, high-minded men. Reeve had now reached the 
 summit of his political ambition. He could never hope to 
 be President he came from too small a state, and one that 
 was south of Mason and Dixon's Line. Having nothing 
 further to gain in political preferment, he turned his attention 
 to making more money. He was not yet rich enough ; he 
 aimed to become a great millionaire, and there were many 
 " good things " open to a Senator. Of course, he was no 
 longer susceptible to bribes. He could afford to be virtuous 
 now, and his new dignity demanded that he should be se 
 verely circumspect. But he could speculate on legislation 
 without sacrificing respectability, and there were corporations 
 only too glad to let him in on the "ground floor." 
 
 Social honours came to him at last. People were eager to en 
 tertain so distinguished a personage. Even in his own county, 
 he found himself a social power. The " old people " had 
 been forced to take a back seat, and his supporters were now 
 the dispensers of hospitality and even the arbiters in fashion, 
 display and dress. His satisfaction was qualified by the fact 
 that he was never able to enjoy the supreme delight of 
 snubbing an aristocrat. Whenever he met a man like 
 the Colonel, he had an uneasy consciousness that nothing 
 he could do or say would matter to him. He was ever so 
 much more comfortable in Washington. There, he had a
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 441 
 
 fine house on a fashionable street, and Oswald helped 
 him to do the honours to a mob of people who thronged his 
 parlours, ate his terrapin and drank his champagne, and ridi 
 culed him behind his back. Oswald settled down to this 
 sort of life with easy complaisance. His disappointment 
 about Lydia had cured him of any higher ambition. Be 
 sides, in Washington, he had no very rigorous prejudices to 
 face. Society there was not too exacting. It was made up 
 of so many heterogeneous elements that few could afford to 
 draw the lines closely, except the old " resident " families 
 who were gradually losing their influence and becoming lost 
 in the crowd. Oddly enough, too, Oswald commended him 
 self even to them, because of the impression which his father 
 managed to spread abroad that the Reeves were " old Mary 
 land people," originally a fiction which Oswald's manners 
 seemed to confirm in spite of the Senator's vulgarisms which, 
 at last, were set down as mere eccentricities. 
 
 Oswald rose to a certain prominence in course of time. 
 He was a figure at the Club, a leader of germans, a desirable 
 acquisition at " swell " entertainments. A reputation for 
 being rather fast made him all the more interesting with 
 women who liked to gossip about risque" things and felt a 
 keen, if repressed curiosity concerning topics they had been 
 taught to avoid. It seemed to them that they were associating 
 with a dangerous, fascinating fellow who must be held in 
 check, and there was excitement in the thought. The ease 
 with which he carried it off impressed them the more. It was 
 impossible to corner or embarrass him. He seemed to be a 
 hardened sinner 1 It was whispered, for example, that he 
 was having a desperate affair with the beautiful actress, 
 Ethel Vane, the heroine of many sensational stories, and one 
 day, he was seen walking with her on one of the principal 
 streets. Several ladies of his acquaintance passed them, 
 and all had the same story to tell. He pretended not to see
 
 442 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 any one of them, they said, but sauntered along with his eyes 
 fastened on the actress's face, talking and laughing, with 
 brazen disregard of appearances. When he next met them, 
 it was with the most natural air in the world, as if nothing 
 whatever had happened. What could be done with such a 
 wretch ? 
 
 Ethel Vane was not in the least deceived by his affectation 
 of not knowing the women they had met. She was well 
 aware they were friends of his, and understood perfectly that 
 he could not afford to recognise them when in her company. 
 It would be a gross affront to them. She never resented 
 these invidious distinctions. It was only what she had to 
 expect. Had she not declared war upon society ? Why 
 should she complain if every woman who claimed to be re 
 spectable considered herself assailed, and struck at her with 
 the only weapon at command a real or pretended disdain ? 
 She had her moments of triumph, of biting reprisal. If 
 Oswald's vanity was flattered by his apparent intimacy with 
 her, it made no difference. Other men boasted of her favour 
 when she was merely using them. Oswald had a strong 
 claim upon her, but it was not what the world supposed. For 
 her, he was a link which still connected her, to a certain 
 extent, with the brief glimpse of happiness she had had as 
 Judith Cheston ; from him, she heard occasionally of the 
 course of affairs at the Manor. She could not resist the desire 
 to know what was happening to Basil. It was clear from 
 what Oswald told her, from time to time, that he was not 
 discontented. She suffered acutely from the repeated assur 
 ance that Lydia held him still in the bonds of a devotion 
 which she had not been able to inspire, but though Oswald's 
 reports always hurt her, she never failed to question him 
 closely when he brought her news from the Manor. 
 
 In spite of her efforts to dissociate herself from him, Basil 
 would always be the object of her secret curiosity. To her
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 443 
 
 surprise, she had discovered that the influence he had 
 exerted was not to be shaken off. Even in the life she was 
 leading a life of reckless disregard of all that he would have 
 prescribed for her she was conscious of restraints imposed 
 by what she imagined he would have wished. In moments 
 of temptation, she often stopped short with a vivid sense of 
 the amazement and pain he would doubtless feel at what she 
 was about to do. Her heart bled at the thought that it 
 might not really matter to him if he knew, but none the less, 
 she often abstained. She even found pride in the fact that, 
 whatever the world might say of her, she sometimes merited 
 his approval. If she was guilty of cruelty to men and women 
 who excited her animosity, it was usually in punishment of 
 attempted treacheries to her or to others. He would have 
 seen in them only scorpions of society for whom no penalty 
 could be too severe. Against the innocent, the weak, the 
 merely rash and improvident, her hand was but seldom 
 raised. It was never raised when she had time to think. 
 
 To her more intimate associates, she was a strange puzzle 
 a woman apparently careless of her reputation and often 
 cynically contemptuous of morality who, nevertheless, seemed 
 at times impervious to influences which corroded every 
 nature they touched. Every one assumed she must have 
 some suitor whom she secretly favoured, yet none could 
 point out the man. In reality, she thought more amiably 
 of Oswald than of any other, but even with him, she 
 was often cold and mocking, and never otherwise than 
 negligently kind. There was a degree of sympathy between 
 them, due, on her part, to perception of the fact that his fate 
 was much like her own. He, too, had struggled for something 
 better, higher than himself, and had been thrown back into a 
 life of loneliness, of self-absorption, of mere materialism. If 
 she was a woman whose life was empty, unlovely, hard, he 
 was a man who had no longer anything to strive for ; who
 
 444 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 would grow old and fat and more and more selfish, and at 
 last, would lose his social popularity and sink to the level of 
 a mere club lounger and gossip, a superannuated beau. 
 
 The years sped on, and at last, a reaction came to Basil's 
 aid. Long lease of power by a selfish individual, however 
 adroit he may be, inevitably breeds abuses and discontent. 
 Men began to say that Reeve had run things long enough, 
 and ought to give some one else a chance. The ranks of 
 the few who, with Basil, honestly deplored the degradation 
 of politics were swelled by an increasing number of people 
 whom Reeve had either been unable or unwilling to satisfy or 
 had offended in one way or another. The public conscience, 
 too, was really stirred. The evils of the existing system had 
 become so patent that even the most indifferent were moved 
 to shame and revolt. Basil was chosen, by general consent, 
 as the one man who had always antagonised Reeve and was 
 now, to most minds, above the suspicion of seeking aught 
 for himself , to be the leader of a movement which swept Reeve 
 from power and shattered the local " machine." His county 
 attained and kept the distinction of being one of the few 
 strongholds of reform in a boss-ridden state. The " prac 
 tical politicians " predicted confidently that Basil would 
 seize the opportunity of obtaining " something big." Of 
 course, it was what he had been waiting for all along. 
 Why should he have worked so hard against them, if he had 
 not been seeking a capital prize ? It was very clever of him 
 to lie low all these years, and await his turn. They actually 
 admired his " nerve," and began to think of him as the 
 coming man to whom their allegiance might be profitably 
 transferred. When Basil came forward to urge other men 
 for places, and again declared his unalterable determination 
 to remain in private life, the " heelers " were puzzled, and 
 even dismayed. This was a flat reversal of all their expe 
 rience. They could not account for it except upon the
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 445 
 
 theory that he was a " crank." If he really meant to keep 
 the thing up, he was clearly dangerous : there would be 
 little chance for them ; their only hope was to make terms 
 with those of his associates who might be induced to listen 
 to reason. 
 
 Basil acted from policy as well as from preference. He 
 felt that he would injure his cause if he swerved from the 
 path he had chosen. The community needed a man who, 
 while always ready to labour or to lead on behalf of better 
 things, would be above the imagined temptation of office. 
 None could successfully assail his motives so long as he held 
 fast to this course : he would never be beholden to any ; 
 his influence, whatever it might be, would always appeal to 
 the intelligence, the better part of men's natures. It would 
 endure, and wax stronger, he hoped, as conviction spread in 
 the popular mind, of his sincerity, his real devotion to the 
 general good. He could be far more useful in this role, than 
 in discharging the duties of any office. There were plenty 
 of capable, honest men who were not unwilling to take the 
 places to which he might easily have been called ; there were 
 few, if any, who envied him a power which brought no open 
 reward. 
 
 It was the only kind of power he craved. He was far too 
 happy at the Manor to wish for any other sphere. The life 
 of the planter was, for him, the ideal life. There were peace 
 and dignity and honest endeavour in it. His days were busy 
 with congenial work in the management of his father's prop 
 erty as well as the Colonel's, and Lydia was always be 
 side him with her vivid interest, her tireless energy, her 
 bright, eager spirit to sustain and cheer him. The charm of 
 her personality never lessened for him ; it merely changed, 
 with the flight of years, to something rarer and even more 
 precious a closer communion of spirit which made it seem 
 to him impossible that they could ever be parted, even by
 
 446 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 Death. She had developed, as he had thought she would, 
 into a perfect plantation mistress of the traditional type ; 
 she entered into all his occupations, his interests, his tastes, 
 with an enthusiasm that was never dimmed. There were 
 flashes, now and then, of her old wayward temper he loved 
 her for them all the more. Sometimes, when she showed a 
 touch of jealousy at his preoccupation with his books or with 
 interests more or less alien to her, his heart leaped with the 
 same wild joy as on that day when she had confessed her 
 love. They were a couple whom many people envied, and 
 all who knew them, admired. Under their joint direction, 
 the Manor became a focus of genial, beneficent influences 
 which were felt far and near. It was one of the few, the 
 very few, plantations where the old hospitality still reigned ; 
 which shone, as of yore, a beacon of inspiration as well as 
 of succour for all who needed aid. The " Quarter " was 
 converted, in time, into an asylum for indigent or ailing 
 negroes for miles around. Lydia ministered to them with 
 her own hands : when death claimed them, she did not shrink 
 from closing their eyes. 
 
 Although the Colonel could never be induced to admit 
 that the losses to the community in the destruction of the 
 old regime could be repaired, and insisted, to the last, that 
 the negroes had been much happier as slaves, he was not 
 insensible to Basil's unique popularity, and was very proud 
 of his son-in-law. He sometimes twitted him laughingly 
 with the assertion that he was but imitating the methods he 
 had helped to pull down. It was in precisely the same way, 
 he argued, that every large slaveholder had attained to power 
 by making himself generally useful and winning the re 
 spect of those about him. Basil deserved the more credit 
 because the new conditions were so unfavourable. It was 
 wonderful, in the Colonel's opinion, how completely he had 
 restored the Manor to its old position of dignity and influ-
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 447 
 
 ence. The atmosphere of the place had hardly changed at 
 all. When he saw the same well-known faces about him, 
 the same familiar routine, the same customs as in slavery 
 days, but little modified, it really seemed to him that Basil 
 had found the secret of reconciling the new conditions with 
 the old, so far as the Manor was concerned, and of founding 
 the family fortunes anew on much the same basis of popular 
 consideration and respect. 
 
 He had done even more. Basil's influence was not merely 
 local. The Manor gradually became widely known as the 
 home of a man of signal success in a field which, though 
 limited, was of general interest because the problems which, 
 it seemed, were being worked out there, were pressing more 
 or less urgently for solution in the country at large. His 
 political activity, so rare in its self-abnegation, excited the 
 admiration of many thoughtful minds. Political reformers 
 and students of economic and social questions solicited his 
 views. He was often puzzled by the consideration they 
 showed him ; he did not know that they saw in him a man 
 who had done things about which they had only theorized. 
 Visitors from the larger cities were frequent, and a distinctly 
 intellectual flavour was imparted to the Manor hospitality 
 reminding the Colonel of the days when his father, the Judge, 
 had attracted notabilities to his table. But Basil's visitors 
 were often men of even a higher stamp. The Colonel sat 
 among them pleased yet wondering, unable to follow them in 
 some of their more recondite discussions. It was a source 
 of great satisfaction to him to find that his son-in-law was 
 seldom at fault and seemed well abreast of current questions. 
 And even more gratifying was Mr. Kent's participation in 
 these gatherings. To the Colonel's mind, there could be no 
 stronger evidence of the superiority of the mental pabulum 
 served up at the Manor than the fact that it served to coax 
 his hermit friend from his retirement. Mr. Kent, indeed,
 
 448 A MARYLAND MANOR 
 
 came often to the Manor after his first timid essay, and 
 showed himself lively, and even aggressive, in debate. Little 
 by little, he acquired a relish for the ordinary life at the 
 Manor, and sometimes forgot himself so far as to ride over 
 when there were no literary lions to tempt him, and chat 
 freely with the Colonel of trivial things. The change in him 
 was little short of a miracle in the Colonel's eyes. It was 
 Basil who had wrought this, also, by creating the only influ 
 ences which could have rejuvenated such a man a man 
 whose absorption in his books had threatened to make a hope 
 less fossil of him. 
 
 Well had he not often said there were very few men like 
 Basil? In the Colonel's opinion, he was a rara avis. It 
 were idle to hope that the other planters would be able to 
 imitate him, even in the management of their estates. The 
 Colonel found strong confirmation of this theory in the 
 dwindling number of his friends who still retained possession 
 of their old homes, and in the inability of even these to do 
 more than make both ends meet. It was all the more comfort 
 ing to him to feel that, long after he himself was no more, 
 the old place would still be a memorial of that vanished past 
 which was so dear to him, which could never be restored. 
 
 He was sure his grandson would follow in the footsteps of 
 his father. A finer young fellow, he was confident, had never 
 lived. Cheston was, in fact, a noble-looking youth, with his 
 mother's brilliant dark eyes and her finely-cut features re 
 deemed from effeminacy by his father's energy and serious 
 ness. His temper, like his father's, was slow and grave, but 
 there were flashes, now and then, of his mother's spirit. The 
 Colonel was all the better satisfied with him because of the 
 phlegm which formed the basis of his character. " The boy 
 has balance," he often said to himself, delighted at Cheston's 
 possession of a quality in which he felt he had been 
 painfully lacking. " The Manor will run no risks from him."
 
 A MARYLAND MANOR 449 
 
 On the other hand, there were points of resemblance between 
 himself and his grandson which gratified his family pride and 
 endeared him all the more to him. It was delightful to see 
 himself living his youth over again in some of Cheston's im 
 pulses and tastes. " He has none of my faults," the hum 
 bled old squire assured himself, " but he is a thorough 
 Cheston, thank God 1 " 
 
 The Colonel might have spoiled his grandson, had he 
 lived much longer, for there was no indulgence he would not 
 grant him, but before any serious harm had been done, 
 " Ole Marster " one of the very few of the Tidewater squires 
 who were enabled to preserve their habits, their idiosyn- 
 cracies, their state to the last passed away. The end came 
 one afternoon while he was dozing in his arm-chair on the 
 front verandah. He sank imperceptibly from sleep into 
 death, without the pain of parting from his loved ones. The 
 Angel of Death had never been kinder. The passing of his 
 sable wing cast no shadow on the still, white face. The 
 strongly chiselled features gleamed like sculptured marble 
 in the last rays of the setting sun, and winning a finer 
 quality from death, were stamped with a spiritual dignity and 
 beauty they had but intimated, at times, in life. The Colonel's 
 career, in its higher and truer meaning, was epitomised in the 
 calm, benignant mask fast changing into stone. No one could 
 have looked upon him now without feeling that here rested 
 one who had been a true-hearted, high-minded gentleman, not 
 destitute of weaknesses and faults, but with a soul, void of 
 guile, which must instinctively have risen superior to every 
 sordid or unworthy impulse. 
 
 He was laid in a corner of the graveyard where the violets 
 grew thickest, in the shade of a favourite elm. His wife and 
 his mother lie beside him, and staunch old Caesar and Dinah 
 sleep at his feet. 
 
 THE END.
 
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