n't interested, so I went on calling to
the dogs, and we didn't speak again. He and his negro boy went on at
dawn, and he took, after all, the main road. He isn't," finished Mr.
Hunter, "the kind of person you think of as changeable, and it's a
thousand pities he didn't hold to his first idea! Things might have been
different."

Cary rose from the table. "Would you swear, Hunter, to what he said?"

"Why, certainly--before all the justices in Virginia. I don't believe,"
said Mr. Hunter, "that my parents could have had good memories, for
somehow things slip away from me--but when I do remember, Cary, I
remember for all time!" He drank his wine and looked around him. "I
haven't been in this room, I don't believe, for five years! That was
before it was all done over like this. What a lot of Carys you've got
hanging on the walls--and just one left to sit and look at them! You
haven't a portrait of your brother?"

"No. Not upon the walls. If you're not fatigued, would you object to
riding with me to West Hill? That's the nearest justice."

"I'm not at all fatigued. But I can't see what you want it taken down
for--"

"Perhaps not," answered Cary patiently, "but you'll swear to it, all the
same?"

"Why," said Mr Hunter, "I can have no possible objection to seeing my
words in black and white. I'll take another glass, and then I'll ride
with you wherever you like."

At sundown Fairfax Cary, returning to Greenwood alone, gave his horse to
Eli, and presently entered the library. It was a dim old room, unrenewed
and unimproved, but the two brothers had loved and frequented it. Now,
in the March sunset, with the fire upon the hearth, with the dogs that
had entered with the master, the shadowy corners, and many books, it had
an aspect both rough and gracious. It was a room in which to remember,
and it had an air favourable to resolve.

The last of the Greenwood Carys walked to the western window and stood
looking out and up. He looked from a hill-top, but the summit upon which
lay the Cary burying-ground was higher yet. The flat stones did not
show, nor the wild tangle of dark vine, but the trees stood sharp and
black against the vivid sky. Cary stood motionless, a hand on either
side of the window frame. The colour faded from the sky, and there set
in the iron grey of twilight. He left the window, called for candles,
and when they had been brought, sat down at the heavy table and began to
draw a map of the country between t