necessity to
my nature to improve my intercourse with my husband while he is sick,
that the hasty marriage we made may still have its period of
acquaintance and good understanding. I want to sound the possibilities
of my happiness. He will be less my master now than in his strength and
possession. Perhaps--" Vesta's voice fell, and she turned to gaze upon
the bridegroom, whose fever still consumed his wits--"perhaps I can
influence his dress,--his appearance."

"You mean the steeple top!" Judge Custis exclaimed, petulantly.

At the loud sound of this familiar word, the feverish man's ears were
pierced as through some ever-open ventricle, like an old wound.

"Steeple-top! Who cried 'steeple-top'?" he muttered. "Oh, can't you see
I'm married. _She_ hears it. Oh, spare and pity her!"

He wandered into the miasmatic world again, leaving them all touched,
yet oppressed.

"How the very flint-stone will wear away before the water-drop," Judge
Custis finally said; "his obdurate heart has been bruised by that
nickname. In public he never appeared to flinch before it; but you see
it inflicted a never-healing wound. Who has not his vulture?"

"And how unjust to pursue this man with such frivolous inhospitality so
many years," Vesta exclaimed, her splendid eyes flashing. "No account
has been made of his private reasons, his family piety, or his stern
taste, perhaps; for he must have a reason for his wardrobe, that being,
it would seem, the only thing there can be no independence about. Did
you hear, papa, his feeling for me but this moment? Strangely enough, my
own mind was thinking of that hat. It seems to be bigger than the very
steeples of the churches: it rises between the people and worship, yes,
between us and Charity, and Faith,--I had almost said Hope, too."

"The colored people all say that hat he has to wear, because the devil
makes him," the trim, fawn-footed Virgie said; "Aunt Hominy says the Bad
Man wouldn't let him make no mo' money if he didn't go to church in that
hat. Some of the white people says so, too."

"You don't believe such foolish tales as that, Virgie?" Vesta asked.

"'Deed, I don't believe anything you say is a story, Miss Vessy. Hominy
believes it. She's 'most scared out of her life about Mr. Milburn coming
to the house, an' she's got all the little ones a' most crazy with
fear."

"Poor, dark, ignorant soul!" Vesta said; "she is, however, more
excusable than these grown men, whose prejudices