bravely through the rooms, goblet
in hand, at each turn earnestly and fervently praying to his gods that
Miss Liz might not be found. Coming into the front hall, and passing "de
long room"--that long room which used to ring with the merry laughs of
dancers, but was now guarded as a sort of chapel for shrouded
portraits--he saw its forbidding doors slightly ajar, and peered in.

Uncle Zack always avoided this room. Its subdued light; its oppressive
atmosphere, invariably suggesting the image of "Ole Miss" lying there
amidst banks of flowers which matched in purity her calm face; the
uniform arrangement of high-backed chairs, suggesting in their white
coverings a line of tombstones; the two massive crystal chandeliers,
hanging like weights of an old clock which would never again be
wound;--were all too much for Zack's heart and imagination. Yet the door
was open, and he peered in.

His fading eyes followed the line of chairs, upon one of which stood
Miss Liz. She had drawn the musty covering from an overhanging
portrait--her dead sister--and to this she was murmuring. Her black silk
dress and lace kerchief seemed to make her a part of the gallery; and
her thin hand resting on the frame, with its forefinger unconsciously
pointing upward, was as frail and wax-like as that other hand into which
the old negro had, one twilit evening, long ago, laid a rose--when,
unobserved and shaken by convulsive sobs, he tiptoed in to pray at the
side of "Ole Miss'" bier.

Carefully now he stepped back, drawing the door softly to, and leaving
the room to its undisturbed communion of whispering spirits.

"What are you crying for?" the Colonel asked, as he finally came up with
the julep.

"I isn't cryin', Marse John. Dat bad eye of mine hu'ts me some, dat's
all."

"I'll have you see the doctor. Did you find Miss Liz?"

"Yas, sah, I foun' her."

"And what did she say?"

"She never say nuthin' to _me_," Zack answered in his low, musical
voice. "An' I never axed her nuthin', neither. She wuz standin' on a
cheer in de long room, whisperin' to Ole Miss' pictur, Marse John; an' I
couldn' poke no julep up at her den!"

The Colonel bowed his head. After a prolonged silence he drew a deep
breath, then drained the goblet thirstily to the very end, taking a
piece of ice into his mouth and moodily crunching it. But his eyes were
not raised; his thoughts had not been diverted.

Zack tiptoed away and disappeared behind the house. Brent respe