tween them. It is not strange, as Marcus was to leave by morning light, that they lingered till the silver crescent was seen high up in the darkening dome of midnight. CHAPTER XI. Ye go-but I follow-for fleet is my steed, -ANON. I fear not thy strength, nor thy strong merry men. MARCUS arrived at Hickory Hill, and all the shadows that had been gathering over it seemed to flee before the sunshine of his presence. To the black as well as the white, it was a jubilee, for Marcus was a favourite of all, and Milly, as she looked upon him with the signet of manhood on his brow, felt as if the ancient honours of their house were all restored in him. She was elated too by the prospects of her young mistress, for Katy, in the simplicity of her young and loving nature, had not been able to conceal the secret of her heart. When she had read to her passages from her brother's letters, Milly's shrewd eye could sometimes detect another letter partially concealed in the throbbing bosom, whose pulsations it hurried, and she overheard Marcus telling his sister that he was coming very soon. "And now,” muttered Milly to herself, while she busied herself with the work, "Miss Katy will soon ride in her carriage, just as mistress used to do 'fore ole master wasted all his money and 'sessions. Young master, that Miss Katy loves, got a heap of property, I knows, and Milly will live with her young mistress, and wait on her, and nuss her childer may-be, as she did her, for childer are like olive plants, all polished in the corner, as good ole Simon used to say." But Katy thought not of fine carriages or fine houses. She thought only of the generous heart given in exchange for her own. She was happy in the consciousness of being beloved and of loving. Were Delaval poor, with nothing but a log cabin to offer her, she would have felt equally happy, perhaps more so, for in her lowly selfestimate gratitude was as strong as her love. Far different was she from Marcus. The contrast in their characters was visible in their countenances. While her gentle, modest glance, usually sought the ground, his, with eagle ambition, was naturally lifted towards the sun. He felt no gratitude to Florence, because she being an heiress loved him for himself alone. It was not the heiress he loved, but the being, all heart and soul; and the mere accident of her wealth weighed nothing in the estimation of her worth. Were he master of millions, he would not be elevated. in his own opinion; were he utterly destitute, he would not be degraded. When a boy, he had learned to separate himself from outward conditions; to look upon himself as a God-endowed, though man-neglected child. He had felt more proud of his heaven-born riches, when he wove his osier baskets, by the blaze of a light-wood knot, than when the garland was cast at his feet mid the plaudits of an admiring audience. With the promptitude and energy that marked his character, he resolved to take immediate measures for the discovery and apprehension of the traitorous and fugitive Arnold. He saw the cloud of anxiety on the usually serene brow of Mr Bellamy, and he rejoiced to think that he might be the instrument to disperse it. Wait! No, that was impossible. He was no longer a boy to care for holiday pleasures. He was a man, ready to fulfil manhood's duties. And then, had he not his own vineyard to cultivate, his bower to build? He had marked out his work, and he had not only the mind to con. ceive, but the spirit to sustain, and the hand to execute. With indefatigable zeal he collected all the documents necessary to invest him as agent plenipotentiary for his benefactor. He visited the most distinguished lawyers, obtained powerful judicial advice, and made himself master of the subject in all its bearings and relations. He had a certainty that Arnold had directed his course to Texas, then the place towards which the eyes of outlaws and criminals were turned as the orb of hope and promise. He had heard of several farmers who had sold their plantations, believing they had exhausted the riches of the soil, and removed to the luxuriant, and as yet uncultivated lands fertilized by the waters of the Colorado. To Texas he determined to bend his course, and when everything was prepared, one finc, bright morning, mounted on a spirited horse, with well-filled valise strapped on behind him, and an ample supply of money about his person, he commenced his expedition. The ferryman's cabin lay right in his path, and Marcus was not sorry to visit once more the scene of the stern discipline of his boyhood. Once more the sweet murmuring voice of the Long Moss Spring welcomed him to its margin. Once more the splendid leaved magnolia swept its boughs over his head, while its magnificent blossoms unfolded their waxen petals to the air, and perfumed it with their odours. The feathery moss still curled over the bed of the fountain, green in the sunshine, blue in the shade; and pure and white gleamed the rocks through the clear, gurgling waters. As Marcus gazed around with that fulness of heart this scene ever caused, he beheld, not far from the spot where he stood, a mound, covered with grassy turf, of that peculiar oblong form which indicates the last resting-place of man. He remembered his friend, the aged Simon, whom two years before he had seen bending over the fountain's edge, and he was sure he was slumbering in that quiet bed. While he stood with pensive brow and folded arms, looking down on the green sward, the ferryman's wife, the same woman who had lent him the blanket, and assisted in ferrying the boat over the moon-lighted waves, approached the fountain, with a wooden bucket, poised in the African style, on her uncovered head. She started at the sudden apparition, but soon recognised the handsome youth who had partaken of her hospitality before. After having greeted her with his wonted courtesy, he questioned her about his old African friend, and learned that he indeed slept his last sleep near the murmurs of the fountain, whose music had so often soothed his aged ears. He was found dead by the side of the spring, with his face turned towards the waving moss, as if his soul went floating down the silver current into the neighbouring river, and thence into the great ocean of eternity. It had been his reiterated request to be interred near that spot, and the scene of his death became the place of his burial. "I didn't mind it at first," said the woman, "for I didn't know how lonely it would make the place seem. But now, when I come down at night for water, I dare not look on that grave, and yet I see it all the time. I hurry back as fast as I can, and then I hear old Simon hobbling behind me all the way." "Poor old Simon !' exclaimed Marcus, with glistening eyes. "You need have no fears of him. He was a true-hearted Christian. As sure as there is a heaven, where suffering man finds rest, he has found admittance there. He is no restless ghost to inspire terror in those he has left behind." "Some time before he died," said the ferryman's wife, " he gave me a little packet, wrapped in buckskin, sewed up tightly all round, which he wanted me to give to you, whenever you came this way, for a woman named Milly. I'm glad you've come, for I kind of hated to keep it. Dead folks property is a mighty sacred thing; when it is fastened up so close, too, it seems more particular." While she went to the cabin to get the mysterious packet, Marcus indulged his sincere and heartfelt sorrow over the grave of this friend of his desolate years. How short a time it seemed since he, a mere boy, sat at his side, watching him peel the bark from the smooth willows with his wrinkled hands, while he dropped luminous texts of scripture into the listening ears of Milly, or sang with growing enthusiasm: "The old ship of Zion, glory, hallelujah." |