ut presently I thought of the fan,
turned my head, and it was not there. A great fear seized me. I looked
out of the open door where the morning sun threw the checkered shadows
of the honeysuckle on the floor of the gallery, and over the railing to
the tree-tops in the court-yard. The place struck a chord in my memory.
Then my eyes wandered back into the room. There was a polished dresser,
a crucifix and a prie-dieu in the corner, a fauteuil, and another chair
at my bed. The floor was rubbed to an immaculate cleanliness, stained
yellow, and on it lay clean woven mats. The room was empty!

I cried out, a yellow and red turban shot across the window, and I
beheld in the door the spare countenance of the faithful Lindy.

"Marse Dave," she cried, "is you feelin' well, honey?"

"Where am I, Lindy?" I asked.

Lindy, like many of her race, knew well how to assume airs of
importance. Lindy had me down, and she knew it.

"Marse Dave," she said, "doan yo' know better'n dat? Yo' know yo' ain't
ter talk. Lawsy, I reckon I wouldn't be wuth pizen if she was to hear I
let yo' talk."

Lindy implied that there was tyranny somewhere.

"She?" I asked, "who's she?"

"Now yo' hush, Marse Dave," said Lindy, in a shrill whisper, "I ain't
er-gwine ter git mixed up in no disputation. Ef she was ter hear
me er-disputin' wid yo', Marse Dave, I reckon I'd done git such er
tongue-lashin'--" Lindy looked at me suspiciously. "Yo'-er allus was
powe'rful cute, Marse Dave."

Lindy set her lips with a mighty resolve to be silent. I heard some one
coming along the gallery, and then I saw Nick's tall figure looming up
behind her.

"Davy," he cried.

Lindy braced herself up doggedly.

"Yo' ain't er-gwine to git in thar nohow, Marse Nick," she said.

"Nonsense, Lindy," he answered, "I've been in there as much as you
have." And he took hold of her thin arm and pulled her back.

"Marse Nick!" she cried, terror-stricken, "she'll done fin' out dat
you've been er-talkin'."

"Pish!" said Nick with a fine air, "who's afraid of her?"

Lindy's face took on an expression of intense amusement.

"Yo' is, for one, Marse Nick," she answered, with the familiarity of an
old servant. "I done seed yo' skedaddle when she comed."

"Tut," said Nick, grandly, "I run from no woman. Eh, Davy?" He pushed
past the protesting Lindy into the room and took my hand.

"Egad, you have been near the devil's precipice, my son. A three-bottle
man would have gone over."