uld have been hailed delightedly, drawn at once to the
centre of things, and kept there by the quick glances of young women,
the emulative gaze of neighbourhood gallants, and the approving
consideration of the elder folk. His presence was wont to make itself
felt. Now, when the news spread that he was at Malplaquet, there was a
break in the dance, a pause, a hush. "What shall we do?" asked in
distress the daughters of the house.

"Go on dancing," was the reply. "He'll have no difference made. But when
the lesson's over, you'll remember, one and all, that he is here."

In the far room of the office, quiet, and with a porch of its own, Cary
got rid of the dust of the road, then ate the supper, bountiful and
delicate, brought by Remus and presided over by the mistress of the
house, who talked to him of Greenwood and of his father. "The best
dancer, Fair, and, after Henry Churchill, the handsomest man,--with
_the_ air, you know, and always brave and gay and true as steel! They
said he was a good hater, and I know he was a good friend. You take
after him, Fair."

"Ludwell did."

"Yes, I know, I know--but you the most. Ludwell had much from your
mother--that strength and patience and grace were Lucy Meade's. Well,
well, I cry when I think of it, so I'll not think! Is there nothing more
you'll have? Remus is to wait upon you--you hear, Remus? And now, Fair,
I'll go back to the children"

Cary kissed her. "Give them all three my love, and tell little Anne to
mind her steps. I've got a book to read, and I'll go to bed early."

He sat over his book until nearly ten, then extinguished his candles and
stepped out upon the small, moonlit porch. From the house, a hundred
yards away, came the sound of the violin, and of laughter, subdued but
genuine. Cary drew a chair to the porch railing and sat down, resting
his elbow upon the wood, his cheek upon his hand. The violin brought the
thought of Unity. The laughter did not grate upon him. His nature was
large, and the mirth at Malplaquet did no unkindness as it meant none.
He sat there quietly until the music stopped and the lesson came to an
end. The pupils not staying overnight went away, as testified the sound
of wheel and stamp of hoof, the laughing voices and lingering good-byes,
audible from the front of the house. This noise died, then, after an
interval, lights appeared in upper windows. Slender arms and hands, put
far out, drew to the wooden shutters; clear, girlish voices