books on the high
chimney-piece, a pair of fine portraits with damaged frames, some old
tables and chairs of different patterns, with a couch by the square
window covered with a piece of fine tapestry folded together and still
showing its beauty, however raveled and worn. By the opposite window,
curtained only by vines, sat a lady with her head muffled in lace, who
greeted the guest pleasantly, and begged pardon for not rising from
her chair. Her face wore an unmistakable look of pain and sorrow. As
Tom Burton stood at her side, he could find nothing to say in answer
to her apologies. He was not wont to be abashed, and a real court
could not affect him like this ideal one. The poor surroundings could
only be seen through the glamour of their owner's presence--it seemed
a most elegant interior.

"I am sorry to have the inconvenience of deafness," said Madam
Bellamy, looking up with an anxious little smile. "Will you tell me
again the name of our guest?"

"He is my old classmate Burton's grandson, of Boston," said the
Colonel, who now stood close at her side; he looked apprehensive as he
spoke, and the same shadow flitted over his face as when Tom had
announced himself by the oak at the roadside.

"I remember Mr. Burton, your grandfather, very well," said Madam
Bellamy at last, giving Tom her hand for the second time, as her
husband had done. "He was your guest here the autumn before we were
married, my dear; a fine rider, I remember, and a charming gentleman.
He was much entertained by one of our hunts. I saw that you also
carried a gun. My dear," and she turned to her husband anxiously, "did
you bring home any birds?"

Colonel Bellamy's face lengthened. "I had scarcely time, or perhaps I
had not my usual good fortune," said he. "The birds have followed the
grain-fields away from Virginia, we sometimes think."

"I can offer you a partridge," said Tom eagerly. "I shot one as I rode
along. I am afraid that I stopped Colonel Bellamy just as he was going
out."

"I thank you very much," said Madam Bellamy. "And you will take supper
with us, certainly. You will give us the pleasure of a visit? I regret
very much my granddaughter's absence, but it permits me to offer you
her room, which happens to be vacant." But Tom attempted to make
excuse. "No, no," said Madam Bellamy, answering her own thoughts
rather than his words. "You must certainly stay the night with us; we
shall make you most welcome. It will give my husband