at incoherently (in his foolish rage) to ask her
confirmation of the old servant's statement that his room had been
dismantled, she was convinced that it was his condition at the moment.
Turning, with the grand air for which she was noted, to the hoary butler
who stood in the doorway between drawing-room and hall, respectfully
awaiting orders as to "Marse Eddie's" bag, she said,

"Put this drunken man out of the house!"

The aged slave stood aghast. Between the stately new mistress whom it
was his duty to serve, and the beloved young master whose home-coming
had warmed his old heart, what should he do?

He stood in silence, his lined black face filled with sadness, his chin
in his hand, his eyes bent in sorrow and shame upon the floor. What
should he do?--

Fortunately, the new mistress did not see his indecision as she swept
from the room, and "Marse Eddie" quickly relieved him of the
embarrassing dilemma by picking up the carpet-bag and passing out of the
door, closing it behind him.

It was all a mistake--a miserable mistake; but one of those mistakes in
understanding between blind, prejudiced human beings by which hearts are
broken, souls lost.

At the foot of the steps Edgar Poe paused and looked back at the
massive closed door. _Never_--_nevermore_, it seem to say to
him.--_Never_--_nevermore_!

While he had been inside the house one of those sudden changes in the
face of nature of which his superstitious soul always made note, had
taken place. A shower from a passing cloud had filled the depressions in
the uneven pavement, where before only sunshine lay, with little pools
of water, and had left the trees "weeping," as he fancifully described
them to himself.

He walked along the wet streets for a few steps, by the side of the wall
that enclosed house and grounds. Then he paused again and looked over
into the dripping garden while he held consultation with himself as to
what he should do next. As he looked the breath of drenched violets
greeted his nostrels. He noticed that the lilacs were coming into
blossom. The fruit trees already stood like brides veiled in their fresh
bloom. The tulip and hyacinth and daffodil beds were gay with color. How
their newly washed faces shone in the sunshine, just then bursting
through the clouds!

Near him, just inside the wall, was a bed of lily-of-the-valley. He was
seized with an almost irresistible desire to go down upon his knees by
it and search among the glisten