n wing of a bird.

"Mr. Uxbridge, that fan belongs to Mrs. Bliss."

He threw it out of the window.

"You have courage, fidelity, and patience--this character with a
passionate soul. I am sure that you have such a soul?"

"I do not know."

"I have fallen in love with you. It happened on the very day when I
passed you on the way to the Glen. I never got away from the remembrance
of seeing your hand on the mane of my horse."

He waited for me to speak, but I could not; the balance of my mind was
gone. Why should this have happened to me--a slave? As it had happened,
why did I not feel exultant in the sense of power which the chance for
freedom with him should give?

"What is it, Margaret? your face is as sad as death."

"How do you call me 'Margaret?'"

"As I would call my wife--Margaret."

He rose and stood before me to screen my face from observation. I
supposed so, and endeavored to stifle my agitation.

"You are better," he said, presently. "Come go with me and get some
refreshment." And he beckoned to Mrs. Bliss, who was down the hall with
an unwieldy gentleman.

"Will you go to supper now?" she asked. "We are only waiting for you,"
Mr. Uxbridge answered, offering me his arm.

When we emerged into the blaze and glitter of the supper-room I sought
refuge in the shadow of Mrs. Bliss's companion, for it seemed to me that
I had lost my own.

"Drink this Champagne," said Mr. Uxbridge. "Pay no attention to the
Colonel on your left; he won't expect it."

"Neither must you."

"Drink."

The Champagne did not prevent me from reflecting on the fact that he had
not yet asked whether I loved him.

The spirit chorus again floated through my mind:

"Where lovers,
Deep in thought,
_Give_ themselves for life."

I was not allowed to _give_ myself--I was _taken_.

"No heel-taps," he whispered, "to the bottom quaff."

"Take me home, will you?"

"Mrs. Bliss is not ready."

"Tell her that I must go."

He went behind her chair and whispered something, and she nodded to me
to go without her.

When her carriage came up, I think he gave the coachman an order to
drive home in a round-about way, for we were a long time reaching it.
I kept my face to the window, and he made no effort to divert my
attention. When we came to a street whose thick rows of trees shut out
the moonlight my eager soul longed to leap out into the dark and demand
of him his heart, soul, life, for _me_.

I struck him lightly