im figure, the soft and varying color on
her cheek, the light in her beautiful brown eyes,--all were the
unmistakable signs of health. The young man was a good-looking little
fellow, perfectly dressed, and having an expression of indolent
amusement on his delicate features. He had light yellow hair, cut
closely enough to show the fine outline of his head, a slight mustache
waxed at the ends, and a very fair complexion.

The young woman was speaking. "Do you see to whom my father is
talking, Mr. Talboys?" said she.

"Plainly, he has picked up his vagabond."

"Demming? Yes, it _is_ Demming."

"Now I wonder, do you know," said the young man, "what induces the
Bishop to waste his time on such hopeless moral trash as that." He
spoke in a pleasant, slow voice, with an English accent.

"It isn't hopeless to him, I suppose," she answered. Her voice also
was slow, and it was singularly sweet.

"I think it must be his sense of humor," he continued. "The Bishop
loves a joke, and Demming is a droll fellow. He is a sort of grim joke
himself, you know, a high-toned gentleman who lives by begging. He
brings his bag to the hotels every day. Of course you have heard him
talk, Miss Louise. His strong card is his wife. 'Th' ole 'ooman's nigh
blin','"--here Talboys gave a very good imitation of the South
Carolina local drawl--"'an' she's been so tenderly raised she cyan't
live 'thout cyoffee three times a day!'"

"I have heard that identical speech," said Louise, smiling as Talboys
knew she would smile over the imitation. "He gets a good deal from the
Northerners, I fancy."

"Enough to enable him to be a pillar of the saloons," said Talboys.
"He is a lavish soul, and treats the crowd when he prospers in his
profession. Once his money gave out before the crowd's thirst. 'Never
min', gen'lemen,' says our friend, 'res' easy. I see the Bishop
a-gwine up the street; I'll git a dollar from him. Yes, wait; I won't
be gwine long.'"

"And he got the money?"

"Oh, yes. I believe he got it to buy quinine for 'th' ole 'ooman,' who
was down with the break-bone fever. He is like Yorick, 'a fellow of
infinite jest'--in the way of lying. He talks well, too. You ought to
hear him discourse on politics. As he gets most of his revenue from
the North, he is kind enough to express the friendliest sentiments. 'I
wuz opposed to the wah's bein'' is his standard speech, 'an' now I'm
opposed to its continnerin'.' For all that, he was a mild kind of
Ku