everywhere. It's hard if a man can't be
forgiven something--when he's on the eve of marrying Unity Dandridge!
You'll be at Greenwood to-morrow night, and I dare say they'll ask you
to breakfast at Fontenoy. Come, there's a solution!"

"You're the best fellow! And what will you do?"

"I'll sleep to-night at Elm Tree and ride soberly on to-morrow, take
dinner at Cherry Hill, and sleep again at Malplaquet. They'll all be
disappointed at not seeing the prospective bridegroom, but I'll make
them understand that a man in love can't travel like a tortoise! I'll
ride from Malplaquet by the river road and be at home that afternoon.
You had better take Eli with you."

They rode together to Elm Tree, and parted under these conditions.

Lewis Rand left Richmond on the third of September. He travelled
rapidly. There were no kinsmen to detain him on the road, and while he
had hot partisans and was not without friends, there was not within him
the Virginian instinct to loiter among these last, finding the flower in
the moment, and resolutely putting off the morrow. His quest was for the
morrow.

He rode now in the hot September weather, by field and forest, hill and
dale and stream, and rested only when he would spare the horses. Young
Isham was with him; Joab had been sent on with Jacqueline. When night
fell, he drew rein at the nearest house. If he knew the people, well; if
he did not know them, well still; on both sides acquaintance would be
enlarged. Hospitality was a Virginian virtue; no one ever dreamed of
being unwelcome because he was a stranger. In the morning, after thanks
and proffers of all possible service, he took the road again. It was his
purpose to make the journey, despite the heat, in three days.

The last night upon the road he spent at a small tavern hard by an
important crossroads. It was twilight when he dismounted, the fireflies
thick in the oak scrub and up and down the pale roads, a crescent moon
in the sky, and from somewhere the sound of wind in the pine-tops. Young
Isham and the hostler took away the horses, and Rand, mounting the steps
to the porch, found lounging there the inn's usual half-dozen haphazard
guests. To most of these he was known by sight, to all by name, and as,
with a "Good-evening, gentlemen!" he passed into the low, whitewashed
main room, he left behind him more animation than he had found. When, a
little later, he went into the supper-room, he discovered at table,
making heavy inr