behind his negro. He was a merry lad, and despite the
great heat of the journey and my misgivings about Temple Bow, he made me
laugh. I was sad at crossing the ferry over the Ashley, through thinking
of my father, but I reflected that it could not be long now ere I saw him
again. In the middle of the day we stopped at a tavern. And at length,
in the abundant shade of evening, we came to a pair of great ornamental
gates set between brick pillars capped with white balls, and turned into
a drive. And presently, winding through the trees, we were in sight of a
long, brick mansion trimmed with white, and a velvet lawn before it all
flecked with shadows. In front of the portico was a saddled horse,
craning his long neck at two panting hounds stretched on the ground. A
negro boy in blue clutched the bridle. On the horse-block a gentleman in
white reclined. He wore shiny boots, and he held his hat in his hand,
and he was gazing up at a lady who stood on the steps above him.

The lady I remember as well--Lord forbid that I should forget her. And
her laugh as I heard it that evening is ringing now in my ears. And yet
it was not a laugh. Musical it was, yet there seemed no pleasure in it:
rather irony, and a great weariness of the amusements of this world: and
a note, too, from a vanity never ruffled. It stopped abruptly as the
negro pulled up his horse before her, and she stared at us haughtily.

"What's this?" she said.

"Pardon, Mistis," said the negro, "I'se got a letter from Marse Lowndes."

"Mr. Lowndes should instruct his niggers," she said.
"There is a servants' drive." The man was turning his horse when she
cried: "Hold! Let's have it."

He dismounted and gave her the letter, and I jumped to the ground,
watching her as she broke the seal, taking her in, as a boy will, from
the flowing skirt and tight-laced stays of her salmon silk to her high
and powdered hair. She must have been about thirty. Her face was
beautiful, but had no particle of expression in it, and was dotted here
and there with little black patches of plaster. While she was reading, a
sober gentleman in black silk-breeches and severe coat came out of the
house and stood beside her.

"Heigho, parson," said the gentleman on the horse-block, without moving,
"are you to preach against loo or lansquenet to-morrow?"

"Would it make any difference to you, Mr. Riddle?"

Before he could answer there came a great clatter behind them, and a boy
of my own age a