tances he was a safe banker, with a notable wife and two healthy
children. The one thing that was able to excite his quiet nerves was
the chase, of which he was as fond as he could possibly be of any
amusement. The one person who agreeably stirred his rather still
spirits was our little Cap, and that was the secret of his friendship
for her.

Edwin Percy, the other, was a young West Indian, tall and delicately
formed, with a clear olive complexion, languishing dark hazel eyes and
dark, bright chestnut hair and beard. In temperament he was ardent as
his clime. In character, indolent, careless and self-indulgent. In
condition he was the bachelor heir of a sugar plantation of a thousand
acres. He loved not the chase, nor any other amusement requiring
exertion. He doted upon swansdown sofas with springs, French plays,
cigars and chocolate. He came to the country to find repose, good air
and an appetite. He was the victim of constitutional ennui that yielded
to nothing but the exhilaration of Capitola's company; that was the
mystery of his love for her, and doubtless the young Creole would have
proposed for Cap, had he not thought it too much trouble to get
married, and dreaded the bustle of a bridal. Certainly Edwin Percy was
as opposite in character to John Stone, as they both were to Capitola,
yet great was the relative attraction among the three. Cap impartially
divided her kind offices as hostess between them.

John Stone joined Old Hurricane in many a hard day's hunt, and Capitola
was often of the party.

Edwin Percy spent many hours on the luxurious lounge in the parlor,
where Cap was careful to place a stand with chocolate, cigars, wax
matches and his favorite books.

One day Cap had had what she called "a row with the governor," that is
to say, a slight misunderstanding with Major Warfield; a very uncommon
occurrence, as the reader knows, in which that temperate old gentleman
had so freely bestowed upon his niece the names of "beggar, foundling,
brat, vagabond and vagrant," that Capitola, in just indignation,
refused to join the birding party, and taking her game bag, powder
flask, shot-horn and fowling piece, and calling her favorite pointer,
walked off, as she termed it, "to shoot herself." But if Capitola's by
no means sweet temper had been tried that morning, it was destined to
be still more severely tested before the day was over.

Her second provocation came in this way: John Stone, another deserter
of t