velvet tapestry carpets, in which one's feet sank almost out of sight;
and immense paintings, whose aggregate cost might have paid off one half
of the mortgage that encumbered the plantation.

Selma and her father were engaged in earnest conversation when we
entered the drawing room, and, being unwilling to interrupt them, I was
about to retire, but he rose, and said:

'Come in, Kirke; I will call Mrs. Preston. She will be glad to see you.'

The lady soon entered. It was eight years since we had met, but time had
touched her gently. Her face wore its old, decided, yet quiet
expression, and her manner showed the easy self-possession I had noticed
at our first interview. She was richly dressed, and had on a heavy satin
pelisse, and a blue velvet bonnet, as if about to ride out.

When the usual greetings were over, she remarked:

'You have been here some time, sir?'

'Yes, madam; we arrived about two hours ago; but I met some old friends
outside, and the pleasure of seeing them has made me a little tardy in
paying my respects to you.'

'The negroes, you mean, sir,' she replied, with a slight toss of the
head, and a look of cool dignity which well became her.

'Yes, madam. I have many friends among the blacks. On many plantations
they look for my coming as they do for Christmas.'

'It is quite rare to find a white gentleman so fond of negroes,' she
rejoined, with an air slightly more supercilious.

I remembered her as the humble schoolmistress, whose entire possessions
were packed in one trunk; and, forgetting myself, said, in a tone which
bore a slight trace of indignation:

'More rare, I fear, than it should be; and you and I, madam, who are
Yankees, and have 'worked for a living,' surely cannot despise the
negroes because they are _compelled_ to work for theirs.'

'Oh! no, sir! not by any means! But you must excuse me; the carriage is
waiting to take me to church;' and, rising, she bowed herself stiffly
out of the door.

'Ah, you hit her there!' exclaimed Joe, springing to his feet in great
glee, and striding to the window. 'See here, Mr. Kirke! See what a
turnout the Yankee 'schulemarm' has worried out of father!'

'My son, you must not speak so; she is your mother!' said Preston.

'No, I'm d--d if she is! Call her anything but that, father; that's
an--'he checked himself; but I thought he would have added--'insult to
my dead mother!'

Preston made no reply.

Looking out of the window, I saw Mrs. Pre