ylove evading him with a grace, a coolness, and a
courtesy which he was constrained to respect.

He strolled into the library, and then loitered along on the path
leading down to the ferry.

Here he found the boat at the little wharf and old Lebanon on duty.

"Sarvint, marster," said the old negro, touching his rimless old felt
hat. "Going over?"

"Yes, my man," said the duke, stepping on board the boat.

"W'ich dey calls me Uncle Lebnum as mentions ob me in dese parts,
marster," the old ferryman explained, touching his hat.

"Oh, they do? Very well. I will remember," said the passenger, as the
boat was pushed off from the shore.

"How many trips do you make in a day?" inquired the fare.

"Pen's 'pon how many people is a-comin' an' goin'. Some days I don't
make no trip at all. Oder days, w'en dere's a weddin' or a fun'al, I
makes many as fifty."

The passage was soon made, and the duke stepped out on the west bank.

"Is there any path leading to the top of this ridge, Uncle--Lemuel?"
inquired the duke.

"Lebnum, young marster, if you please! Lebnum!--w'ich dere is no paff
an' no way o' gettin' to de top o' dis wes' range, jes' 'cause 'tis too
orful steep; but ef you go 'bout fo' mile up de road, you'd come to a
paff leadin' zigzag, wall o' Troy like, up to Siffier's Roos'."

"Zephyr's--what?"

"Roos', marster. Yes, sar. W'ich so 'tis call 'cause she usen to roos'
up dar, jes' like ole turkey buzzard. W'en you get up dar, you can see
ober free States. Yes, sar, 'cause dat p'ints w'ere de p'ints o' boundy
lines ob free States meets--yes, sah!"

"I think I will take a walk to that point. I suppose I can find the
path?"

"You can't miss it, sah, if you keeps a sharp look-out. About fo' miles
up, sah"

"Very well. Shall you be here when I come back?"

"No, sah. Dis ain't my stoppin' place; t'other side is. But I'll be on
de watch dere, and ef you holler for me, I'll come. I'll come anyways,
'cause I'll be sure to see you."

"Quite so," said the duke, as he sauntered up that very road between the
foot of the mountain and the bank of the river down which the festive
crowd had come on Corona Haught's fatal wedding day.

An hour's leisurely walk brought him to the first cleft in the rock.

From the back of this the path ascended, with many a double, to the
wooded shelf on which old Scythia's hut had once stood--hidden. When he
reached the spot he found nothing but charred logs, blasted trees, and
ashes,