the halter; and scarcely another in
approaching the spot where the young girl was seated. I drew near,
however, with due circumspection--fearful that by a too brusque approach
I might hasten her departure. I gave my horse to the grass--now and
then guiding him with a pull upon the halter, which I still held in my
hand. The young girl saw that I was gradually nearing her, and looked
twice or three times towards me--not with any air of alarm. Rather of
interest, I thought; but this may have been only a fancy. My horse
appeared to share her attention--indeed, more than share it: since she
fixed her eyes upon him frequently, and looked longer at him each time!
Was it the noble form that was attracting her admiration? Or was there
something that called up a recollection! She might remember the horse?

"Oh, Lilian! would that I could speak to you as myself! How my heart
yearns to give and receive some token of recognition? But no--not yet.
I would not declare myself, till assured that that recognition might be
welcome. Not till I could learn, whether the tender tie that bound our
hearts was still unloosed--whether its too slender thread was yet
unbroken!"

I had resolved to explore the secret chambers of her heart; and this it
was that rendered me desirous of anticipating any interview that might
occur with her sister. Perhaps too easily might I obtain the knowledge
of which I was in search? I might reach, only to _rue_ it? As I drew
near, my hopes of being permitted to address myself to her increased.
She still kept her seat, and made no attempt to shun me. I had
approached within speaking distance. Words were upon my tongue; when a
harsh voice, coming from behind, interrupted, at the same instant, both
my speech and my intention.

CHAPTER NINETY NINE.

THE YELLOW DUENNA.

"Good lor, gal! wha you doin' down da? You know Mass' Holt an' Mass'
Stebbins want dar coffee? Why ain't you done fotch de water?"

I faced round on hearing the voice. The tone and patois had already
admonished me that the speaker was neither white nor Indian, but of that
third typical race that mingles in the social life of the transatlantic
world--an African. The harsh accentuation had prepared me for the
appearance of a man and a negro; but, on turning, I perceived that I was
mistaken--both as to the sex and colour. In the speaker I beheld a
_mulatto_--a yellow woman of large size--gross, corpulent, and greasy.
Her dress w