equinade! And, alas, alas! for the brave
harlequin!

A gentle touch fell upon her shoulder, and Miss Betty sprang to her feet
and screamed. It was Nelson who stood before her, hat in hand, his head
deeply bowed.

"Is he with you?" she cried, clutching at the bench for support.

"No'm," answered the old man, humbly. "I reckon we all ain' goin' see
dat man no mo'."

"Where is he?"

"On de way, honey, on de way."

"The way--to Rouen!" she gasped.

"No'm; he goin' cross de big water." He stretched out his hand and
pointed solemnly to the east. "Him an' me we cotch de boat, an' yo' pa
mek 'em taken de hosses on bode. Den we git off at Leeville, five mile'
down de rivuh, an' yo' pa hol' de boat whiles I rid back alone an' git
de news, an' what de tale is you all is tole, f'um ole Mist' Chen'eth;
an' Mist' Chen'eth, he rid back wid me an' see yo' pa at Leeville, an'
dey talk in de shed by de landin', an' yo' pa tell Mist' Chen'eth what
'rangements he goin' make wid de proprety. 'Den he git on de boat ag'in
an' dey sto't her agoin'; an' he ain' wave no good-by, ner say no mo'
wu'ds. Mist' Chen'eth rid back whens de light come; but I res' de hosses
an' come back slow, 'case I ponduh on de worl', an' I mighty sorry fer
yo' pa, Missy. He am' comin' back no mo', honey, an' Miz Tanberry an'
me an' Mamie, we goin' take keer er you. Yo' pa gone back dah to de
F'enchmun, whuh he 'uz a young man. He mighty sick, an' he scairt,
honey; an' he ain' goin' git ovah dat, neider. 'Peah to me, Missy, like
he done had a vizhum er he own soul, when he come an' look down at dat
young man layin' on de grass, las' night!"

The old fellow bent his back before her in a solemn bow, as a feudal
retainer in allegiance to the heir, but more in deference to the
sorrow written upon her, and respecting its magnitude. With no words of
comfort, for he knew she wanted only to be alone, he moved away, with
infirm steps and shaking head, toward the rear of the house.

Miss Betty threw herself upon the bench again, face downward in her
arms. And still the house lay in silence under the sunshine.

An hour had passed, and the shadows slanted strongly to the east, when
the stillness was broken by a sound, low and small at first, then rising
fearfully, a long, quavering wail of supreme anguish, that clutched and
shook the listener's heart. No one could have recognized the voice as
Fanchon's, yet everyone who heard it knew that it was hers; and that the
so