The ferryman had heard of
more one than bereft lady or gentleman who lived in seclusion in the
old houses. He knew that Peter still served a mysterious mistress with
exact devotion, while most of the elderly colored men and women who
had formed the retinues of the old families were following their own
affairs, far and wide.

"Oh, Lord, ole mis'! what kin I go to do?" mumbled Peter, with his
head in his hands. "Thar'll be nothin' to see. Po' ole mis', I do'
kno' what you say. Trouble, trouble!"

But the mistress of Sydenham plantation had a way of speaking but
seldom, and of rarely listening to what any one was pleased to say in
return. Out of the mistiness of her clouded brain a thought had come
with unwonted clearness. She must go to the island: her husband and
sons were detained at a distance; it was the time of year to look
after corn and cotton; she must attend to her house and her slaves.
The remembrance of that news of battle and of the three deaths that
had left her widowed and childless had faded away in the illness it
had brought. She never comprehended her loss; she was like one
bewitched into indifference; she remembered something of her youth,
and kept a simple routine of daily life, and that was all.

"I t'ought she done fo'git ebryt'ing," groaned Peter again. "O Lord,
hab mercy on ole mis'!"

The landing-place on Ladies' Island was steep and sandy, and the
oarsman watched Peter help the strange passenger up the ascent with a
sense of blessed relief. He pushed off a little way into the stream,
for better self-defense. At the top of the bluff was a rough shed,
built for shelter, and Peter looked about him eagerly, while his
mistress stood, expectant and imperious, in the shade of a pride of
India tree, that grew among the live-oaks and pines of a wild thicket.
He was wretched with a sense of her discomfort, though she gave no
sign of it. He had learned to know by instinct all that was unspoken.
In the old times she would have found four oarsmen waiting with a
cushioned boat at the ferry; she would have found a saddle-horse or a
carriage ready for her on Ladies' Island for the five miles' journey,
but the carriage had not come. The poor gray-headed old man recognized
her displeasure. He was her only slave left, if she did but know it.

"Fo' Gord's sake, git me some kin' of a cart. Ole mis', she done wake
up and mean to go out to Syd'n'am dis day," urged Peter. "Who dis hoss
an' kyart in de shed? Who mak