hold of her hand and grabbed
off her wedding ring so quick that it broke her finger. Then he threw it
from him and I picked it up. Here 'tis," said he, holding up a ring.

"That's a likely story," interrupted Aunt Dilsey "If they wasn't married,
how came the ring on her finger?"

Rondeau saw he had stretched a trifle too much, but he answered, "Well,
anyhow, he throwed it away, and I'm goin' to keep it till--till, you know
when, Dilsey."

"Keep it till you're gray," said Aunt Dilsey. "Leffie ain't goin' to be
married with no such flummery."

Here Leffie, anxious to change the conversation, asked, "What of Miss
Fanny?"

"Why, yes," answered Rondeau, "that's what I'm going to tell. Right in the
middle of the fuss I heard something moving softly down the stairs, and I
saw a thing all as white as snow. Her hair, which was about the color of
Leffie's neck--real handsome--was hanging in long curls down her back. I
thought it was an angel, and kinder touched her as she passed, to see if
she had wings. But the niggers said, 'It's Miss Fanny,' and next I heard
'twas all as still in the room, and marster was huggin' and kissin' her
and cryin' over her. Then, when I tried to get nearer and see more, they
crowded me into such a little spot that I didn't breathe again for a
week."

"Why didn't you get out of the crowd then?" asked Dilsey.

"How could I?" answered Rondeau. "Lord, Dilsey, I'd like to have seen you
there; but then there wouldn't have been room for anybody else, for the
hall wouldn't more than hold you."

Here the conversation ended, but for a long time Rondeau carried on his
arm the marks of Aunt Dilsey's finger and thumb.

CHAPTER XXIII

FANNY'S ILLNESS LEADS TO HER FATHER'S REPENTANCE

From the grassy hillside and bright green plains of Kentucky the frosts of
winter were gone. By the dancing brook and in the shady nooks of the quiet
valleys, the warm spring sun had sought out and brought to life thousands
of sweet wild blossoms, which in turn had faded away, giving place to
other flowers of a brighter and gayer hue.

Each night from the upper balcony of her father's handsome dwelling Fanny
watched in vain for the coming of Dr. Lacey, whose promised return had
long been delayed by the dangerous illness of his father. Over the wooded
hills the breath of summer was floating, hot, arid and laden with disease.
Death was abroad in the land, and as each d