immons grew red gold. The song birds had
gone south, but there were creatures enough left in the trees.
Sometimes, through the thin forest, in the blue distance, deer were
seen; bears began to approach the corn-cribs, and in the unbroken
wilderness wolves were heard at night. Early and late the air struck
cold, but each midday was a halcyon time. In the last of October, on a
still and coloured morning, Rand and Jacqueline, having shaken hands
with the overseer and the slaves they were leaving, caressed the dogs,
and said good-bye to the cat, quitted the house on the Three-Notched
Road. At the gate they turned, and, standing beneath the mimosa, looked
back across the yard where the flowers had been touched by the frost, to
the house and the sombre pines. They stood in silence. Jacqueline
thought of the first evening beneath the mimosa, of the July dusk, and
the cry of the whip-poor-will. Rand thought, suddenly and
inconsequently, of his father and mother, standing here at the gate as
he had often seen them stand. There was no mimosa then.--Jacqueline
turned, caught his hand, and pressed it to her lips. He strained her in
his arms and kissed her, and they entered the chaise which was to carry
them to Richmond. Before them lay a hundred miles of sunny road, three
days' companionship in the blue, autumnal weather. A few moments, and
the house, the pines, and the hurrying stream were lost to view. "A long
good-bye!" said Rand. "In the spring we'll enter Roselands!"

"You value it more than I," answered Jacqueline. "I loved the house
behind us. Loved! I am speaking as though it were a thing of the long
past. Farewells are always sad."

"I value it for you," said Rand. "Have I not chafed, ever since July, to
see you in so poor a place? Roselands is not ideal, but it is a fairer
nest for my bird than that we've left!"

Jacqueline laughed. "'Roselands is not ideal!' I think Roselands quite
grand enough! Oh, Lewis, Lewis, how high you build! Take care of the
upper winds!"

"I'll build firmly," he answered. "The winds may do their worst. Here is
the old road to Greenwood. Now that the trees are bare, you can see the
house."

They drove all day by field and woodland. At noon they paused for
luncheon beside a bubbling spring in a dell strewn with red leaves, then
drove on through the haze of afternoon. There were few leaves left upon
the boughs. In the fields that they passed the stacked corn had the
seeming of silent encampme