Kate Beaumont

CHAPTER VIII.

LET us skip on to Hartland, ahead of Mr. Frank McAlister, and see what immediate chance he has for putting an end to the family feud.

Is there any possible reader of this story, who does not know what a church fair is ? The Presbyterian church of Hartland has no steeple, except a little, undignified, rusty-white bob of a belfry, which puts irreverent people in mind of a wart, or a baby’s nose, or a docked puppy-dog’s tail. After having slumbered for years over the pointless state of their tabernacle, the members of the congregation have suddenly awakened to a sense of the absurdity of its appearance, and have resolved (as one old farmer expressed it) to grow a steeple. Every one of them has built imaginary spires in his soul, and has perhaps tumbled out of them in dreams. The result of all this longing is a church fair in the court-house.

The court-house is not only the palais de justice and the hôtel de ville of a Southern shire town, but is also its political club-room, its theatre, opera, lecture-hall, and coliseum. In it the party leaders shout, “Fellow-citizens, we have arrived at a national crisis,” with other words to that effect. In it the scientific or historic or theologic gentlemen, who have been “invited” by the village lyceum, wipe their spectacles, look at their manuscripts, and begin, “ Ladies and gentlemen of Hartland,” or whatever the place may be. In it the musical concerts, tableaux vivants and charades of native talent unfold their enchantments. In it strolling actors, nigger or other minstrels, blackart magicians and exhibitors of panoramas, make enough to pay their hotel bills and get on to the next town. In short, the court-house is the academe of all exceptional instruction and amusement.

On the ground that the pews of the church will not give free circulation to the business of a fair, and on the further ground that the prosperity of every religious body is intimately connected with the public good, that crafty and potent seigneur, judge McAlister, has secured the court-room gratis for the use of his society, notwithstanding much dumb jealousy on the part of Methodists, Baptists, etc. The greasy wooden seats have been “ toted off” ; the tobacco-stained floor has been scrubbed into a speckled cleanliness; there are plenty of gayly decked tables, with pretty girls smiling over them ; there are alcoves of greenery, glowing with other pretty girls ; the walls are fine with flowers, drapery, and festooned paper: it is a very lively and very pleasant spectacle. The squeezing, buying, prattling, laughing, and staring crowd enjoys the scene heartily. A decent and civil crowd it is, although far from being purely aristocratic, for it exhibits many plain people, many unfashionable garments and some homespun ones. No negroes, barring a few as attendants: the slave population is to have an evening by itself; then there will be goggling wonder and roaring laughter.

Even now there is plenty of noisy amusement, for the Howling Gyascutus is on exhibition, and what a funny beast it is !

“ The howling gyascutus, ladies and gentlemen ! ” calls one of the junior managers from a stage at the upper end of the hall, — “the howling gyascutus ! ” he proclaims, leading out what seems to be a hairy quadruped, with very thick and long hind legs and very short fore ones. “ I have the honor, ladies and gentlemen, to be the first to exhibit to the human race this remarkable animal. The howling gyascutus is the wonder of the age, — at least for the present occasion. He humps himself up to the dizziest summits of the persimmon - tree, and devours green persimmons by the peck without puckering, — a feat accomplished by no other living creature. He has been known to eat a pickaninny from wool to heel, as if he were a card of gingerbread. His strength is supposed to be equal to that of Samson, and he would pull down a temple of Dagon if he could find one, which he cannot in this virtuous community. His howl is the envy of auctioneers, deputy sheriffs, and congressmen.” (Here the nondescript roars in a manner which may be described as nothing less than human.) “It is not recorded that any other specimen of the breed has ever been captured. It is not believed that this one could have been overcome and brought here, but for his lurking desire to look at the beautiful ladies whom I see before me.” (Loud applause from the dandies of Hartland, every one glancing at his particular Dulcinea.) “Such is the force of the howling gyascutus that he defies the unassisted power of the human biceps and other more unnamable muscles. If I should let him loose, you would see this magnificent court-house ” (“ Hi! hi ! ” from the bigger boys, appreciating the irony of the adjective) “disappear in his jaws like the bubbles that swim on the beaker’s brim and break on the lips they’re meeting. There would be a scene of destruction which the past cannot parallel, and which the future would look upon with a palpitation of the heart and other sentimental organs. I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that, notwithstanding this enchanted chain and other favorable influences too numerous to be mentioned, it takes all my strength to hold him.”

Here of course the gyascutus went into a paroxysm. He ran at the shins of his keeper ; he stood five feet eight in his boots, and pawed the kerosenelit air ; he howled in his manly fashion until the blood of small boys curdled with horror. A terrible nondescript; long gray fur, such as one sees in travelling - rugs ; a head wonderfully like that of a stuffed bear; the tail of an alligator. After much roaring and clanking, and a good deal more of speechifying from his exhibitor, he was led away behind a green cambric curtain, followed by laughter, stamping, and clapping.

A little later, Wallace McAlister, next oldest of the breed to Frank, strolled out from unknown recesses, his pleasant, plain face unusually flushed and his prematurely bald crown damp with perspiration.

“ O Wally ! ” laughed his sister Mary, beckoning him to her alcove. “ How could you make such a guy of yourself! But really, it was funny.”

“Just to get it done,” said Wallace, — a good-natured reason, which was quite characteristic of him. “ Everybody else afraid of being undignified. But, after I had volunteered to be gyascutus,” he added, looking a little disgusted, " the fools put in Bent Armitage as keeper. I did n’t know who was holding the chain till it was too late.”

“ Was n’t it stupid in them ! ” murmured Mary. “But never mind.”

It must be understood that Bentley Armitage was a connection of the Beaumonts, and so not entirely to the taste of the McAlisters.

“ Somebody had to be gyascutus and start the thing,” continued Wallace, apologizing for himself. “A fellow must do something to get the fair along.”

“ O, it’s very well,” nodded Mary, cheeringly. “ You howled to perfection. Now go and buy something. Do buy something of Jenny Devine, — won’t you ? ”

Mary’s eyes were very appealing. Jenny Devine was her friend, her pet, her wonder. It was odd, too, or rather it was not at all odd, for Mary was quiet and very good, while Jenny was rather hoydenish and over-coquettish. There she was, peeping out of an alcove of hemlock a few steps farther on, a dangerous-looking fairy, rather of the brunette order, sparkling with black eyes, glistening with white teeth, and one shoulder poked high out of her dress for a temptation.

“What does Jenny Devine want of me?” mumbled modest Wallace. “A bald old fellow like me ! ”

“You are not old,” whispered Mary, coloring with sympathy for his mortification as he alluded to his defect. “ Do go!”

For Mary wanted to bring about a match between this brother whom she loved and Jenny Devine whom she also loved.

“ Stop ! don’t go now,” she hastily added. “Vincent Beaumont is talking to her.”

“ Oh ! ” returned Wallace, casting a sidelong glance, rather watchful than hostile, toward the representative of the inimical race.

It may as well be explained here that at this period the men of the rival houses did speak to each other when they met by chance in society, but that they met as little as possible and their speaking was of the briefest description. As for their respective women folks, no communication ever passed between them.

Until Vincent Beaumont goes his way, and Wallace can find a chance to drop into the toils of Jenny Devine, let us amuse and instruct ourselves by studying Judge Donald McAlister. How bland and benignant this mighty personage looks as he paces grandly from table to table, and says a few no doubt fitting words to every lady, not to mention intermediate hand-shakings with every male creature ! He a fighter of duels, a champion of a family feud, an obstacle to the millennium of peace ! Why, bless you, he is obviously one solid chunk of goodness ; his philanthropy shines out of his large face like a Drummond light out of the lantern of a lighthouse ; his very accessories, as, for instance, his scratch and spectacles, beam amity. One would say, after taking a cursory glance at him, that here is an incarnation of the words, “ Peace on earth and good-will to men.”

His very figure has outlines which seem to radiate promises of tranquillity and mercy. It is not that he is corpulent, for although he weighs at least two hundred, he is so tall that he carries his avoirdupois well. But get behind him ; notice the feminine slope of his shoulders ; survey the womanly breadth of his hips. Is that a form, lofty and vigorous as it is, which one couples with the idea of pugnacity ? It is the build, not of a gladiator, but of a “ gentle giant,” and that too of the female order. Even his walk is matronly ; the great “ second joints ” wheeling slowly and with dignity; the large knees almost touching as they pass each other; the deliberate feet pointing tranquilly outwards ; the coat-tails swinging like petticoats. Not that the Judge is ludicrous, unless it be to very light-minded persons, such as would “speak disrespectfully of the equator.” He is not, — it must be emphatically repeated, — he is not fat nor clumsy. He simply has the form which is most common to tall men who have developed into a certain measure of portliness.

It is proper to state that he looks more bland than usual. His wife has managed the fair successfully, and he sympathizes with her satisfaction. His only daughter is looking her best amid the evergreens of her alcove, and Heaven has not been chary to him of the pride and love of a father. Furthermore (very characteristic, this) he has carefully calculated what the fair will cost him, and finds it barely one half of what he would have been expected to pay, had the expense of the steeple been raised by subscription. Finally, it is his ancient, deliberate, and judicious custom to look especially benignant upon public occasions.

But the Judge must not at this time be described fully. If we should attempt to do him justice, he would betray us into great lengths. An exhaustive study of him would fill a bigger volume than the pyramid of Cheops. We must let this monument go ; we must open the door for him as he swings out of the court-room ; we must turn to more manageable personages.

“ Great is avoirdupois,” said Vincent Beaumont to Jenny Devine, as he watched the departure of the somewhat ponderous senior.

“What do you mean?” asked the young lady, suspecting one of Vincent’s sarcasms and not willing to lose the full flavor of it.

“ Character goes by weight. Every large man gets a certain amount of reverence which doesn’t fairly belong to him. There is the Judge, for instance. Just because he is an inch or so over six feet, and exhibits the outlines of an elephant when he stoops to pick up his hat, even I feel inclined to fall into his wake.”

“ He is a much finer man than you think,” said Miss Jenny, one of those young ladies who rule by pertness.

“ Thank Heaven ! ”

“ And he is a much older man than you.”

“ Thank Heaven again ! ”

“ What do you mean ? ”

“There is a chance that he won’t last my time.”

“ Ain’t you ashamed of yourself, Mr. Beaumont ?”

It was a common phrase with Jenny, and she meant almost nothing by it. In reality Vincent’s sub-acid prattle gave her vast amusement and pleasure Sarcasm was the young man’s strong point in conversation, causing a few to admire him immensely and a great many to dislike him. A born trait in him, the legacy perhaps of his French ancestors, he had greatly increased his proficiency in it by familiarity with a certain chaffing French society, for he had studied medicine in Paris. A doctor, by the way, he would not be called, for he had cut the profession immediately on returning home, and never prescribed unless for one of his father’s negroes.

“And there is our downy friend, the gyascutus,” he continued, glancing with a scornful languor at Wallace McAlister. “ As he weighs fifty pounds less than his father, I suppose I may say a word about him.”

“You may praise him as much as you like,” said jenny, an audacious coquette, who liked to play off one man against another.

Vincent was annoyed; not that he cared about Jenny Devine, but that he wanted her to care about him ; for he too was a flirt, and a flintily selfish one. He could scarce forbear turning his satire upon the girl herself.

“ I mean to praise him,” he replied. “ His humility in playing gyascutus deserves eulogium. And that he should accept my relative — the relative of a Beaumont, remember — for his keeper! I can’t imagine a more graceful and delicate advance towards a reconciliation of the families. I should like to pat him on the head, as one does a fuzzy-crowned baby. Do you think he would let me ? ”

All this was nuts to Jenny, amused by the satire and delighted with the jealousy. Not a bad-hearted girl, but a decidedly mischievous one ; something of the pet monkey in her brilliant composition ; fond of making a sensation and of being a torment. Resolving on a great blow for notoriety, she poked up one of her bare shoulders with a saucy air of power which a more experienced belle would not have ventured, and throwing out a rosy hand authoritatively, beckoned Wallace to come to her. What a triumph it would be if she could make a Beaumont and a McAlister stand side by side before her table and meekly play the rivals ! No other girl in Hartland District had ever attempted such a feat.

The unwilling but fascinated Wallace approached. Vincent, anxious to avoid the meeting, was held fast by an idea that it would be ridiculous to go. It was like the nearing of two ships of war, each of whom is a stranger to the other’s purpose, and is therefore silently clearing for action. Persons in the crowd looked on with anxious surprise, querying whether the young men were about to draw pistols, or whether the millennium were at hand.

“Mr. Beaumont — Mr. McAlister,” said the triumphant, reckless, dangerous Miss Jenny.

The two men bowed ; no quarrelling before ladies: they were as courteous as if they were friends.

“ I want you two to bid against each other for this pair of gloves,” said the mischief-maker. Then a thought of the trouble that such a contest might cause dropped into her giddy head, and she hastily added, “The bidding is not to go above ten dollars.”

“ I bid ten dollars at once,” calmly remarked Vincent, looking Jenny gravely in the face.

“ So do I,” said Wallace, his loose blue eyes wandering in a troubled way, for he thought all of a sudden that the girl might make a bad wife.

“ Here, take each one,” returned Jenny. “Five dollars apiece.”

There was a moment of hesitation during which each man queried whether he were not bound to demand the pair. Then Wallace’s good-nature put down his irritated sense of honor, and handing Jenny a five-dollar piece, he took a single glove. Vincent did the same, thrust his glove petulantly into a pocket, bowed in silence to the lady, and turned to go.

“ Wait, Mr. Beaumont,” called jenny, who saw the eyes of fifty women fixed on her triumph, and was not willing to let it end so abruptly. “ Trading is over, and we are about to talk. Both you gentlemen love to talk dearly. So do I. Let us have a delightful time of it. Mr. Beaumont, we are very much obliged to you for coming here. Considering that you are an Episcopalian, and don’t believe that our church is a church, your conduct is very liberal, and we ought to thank you. Don’t you think so, Mr. McAlister? ”

“ I do indeed,” assented the muchenduring Wallace.

He said it to please the lady, but he said it stiffly and dryly, for the situation was not an agreeable one to him. Moreover he did not like the habitual sneer which played around Vincent’s flexible mouth. All the Beaumonts were unpleasant to him, and especially this would-be witty mocker.

“ I have been exceedingly entertained,” returned Vincent, with a slight, Frenchified bow, half a shrug. “ Mr. McAlister here has been good enough to be very amusing.”

The young man, it must be explained, had conceived an inflammatory suspicion that these two were in combination to put him at a disadvantage, with the purpose of laughing at him after his departure.

Wallace colored at the reference to his undignified exhibition as a gyascutus.

“ I had no special intention of troubling you to laugh, Mr. Beaumont,” he observed in a rather too positive tone.

“ We are often most amusing when we least mean it,” was the snaky answer. “ I have seen people who never knew how comic they were,” added Vincent, his pugnacity rising as he tasted first blood.

Wallace, who was not quick at repartee (unless thinking of a retort next day can be called quick), simply stared his indignation. Jenny Devine saw that there was a quarrel, and rushed in with some of her girlish prattle, hoping to make things pleasant again. But the mischief was done ; the smouldering fire of the old feud had been blown to a flame ; the two young men were in a state of mind to shoot each other Jenny saw so much of the ill-humor, and was so far alarmed by it, that when Vincent again bowed himself away she did not detain him. She now talked to Wallace, with the intention of keeping him from following the other. But he was moody ; could n’t answer her, and hardly heard her; and at last, in a girlish pet, she let him go.

Knowing that he had been satirized, and feeling that he had been insulted, Wallace watched Vincent until he left the hall and then hastened after him.

“Mr. Beaumont,” he called, when they were both in the moonlit street.

“ Well, sir ? ” returned Vincent, facing about.

“ I don’t know exactly how to take what you have said to me,” continued Wallace.

“ I don’t find that I am bound to assist you, sir,” was the cool reply.

Wallace’s hot temper immediately boiled over ; he muttered some indistinct but evidently angry words.

“ Perhaps you would be good enough to say something comprehensible,” sneered Vincent.

“Yes, sir!” burst out Wallace. “I will be kind enough to say that I consider your style of innuendo not gentlemanly. Do you hear me, sir? Not gentlemanly ! ”

“ I comprehend perfectly,” replied Vincent, in a furious rage at once, but still preserving the clear even tone of his tenor voice. “ I will send you my answer.”

“ Very good,” said Wallace, and the two separated without another word, the one mounting his horse and riding away, the other turning to re-enter the court-house.

Meantime Mary McAlister had rushed at Jenny Devine, whispering, “ Where is my brother ? ”

“ I don’t know,” answered the flirt, suddenly very much alarmed, but trying to smile. “ He is about somewhere.”

“ He is n’t. What did you make him talk with that Mr. Beaumont for ? O Jenny! I thought you were a friend.”

Jenny rustled out of her alcove, caught Mary by the arm and hurried her towards the door, saying, “ Let us look for him.”

On the stairway they met Wallace, slowly ascending. He was very grave, but at sight of them a smile came over his homely, pleasant face, and he said cheerily, “ What now ? Do you want anything ? ”

Mary flew to him. “ Is there any trouble, Wally ? ” she whispered “ You know how our mother would feel. O Wally, if there is any trouble, do stop it !”

“All right,” laughed Wallace, putting his arm around her waist and helping her up stairs. “ It’s all right, Molly.”

There was dire trouble, of course ; but, as he believed, he could not stop it ; and that being the case, he would say nothing about it!

CHAPTER IX.

“ HI ! — Yah ! — Ho ! — Mars Peyt! — Gwine ter git up to-day ? ”

This incantation is heard in the bedroom of the Honorable Peyton Beaumont. It is pronounced by a shining, jolly youngster of a negro, seated on the bare clean pitch-pine floor, his legs curving out before him like compasses, a blacking-brush held up to his mouth for further moistening, and an aristocratic-looking boot drawn over his left hand like a gauntlet. The incantation is responded to by a savage grunt from a long bundle on a tousled bed, out of which bundle peeps a grizzled and ruffled topknot, and some portion of a dark face framed in iron-gray beard and whiskers. After the grunt comes a silence which is followed in turn by a snore so loud and prolonged that it reminds one of the long roll of a drumcorps.

The negro resumes his work, whistling the while in a sort of whisper and bobbing his head in time to the tune. Presently he pauses and takes a look at the bundle of bedclothes. “ Ain’t gwine ter wake up yit; mighty sleepy dis mornin’.” More brushing, whistling, and bobbing. Then another look. “ Done gone fas’ asleep agin ; guess I ’ll catch 'nother hold.” There is a small table near him, with a bottle on it and glasses. Hand goes up ; bottle is uncorked; liquor is decanted, very neatly done indeed. More brushing, whistling, and keeping time, just to lull the sleeper. Hand seeks the table once more ; glass brought down and emptied; set back in its place ; no jingle. Then further brushing, and the job is finished.

His work done, the negro got up with an “ O Lordy ! ” walked to the bedside, dropped the boots with a bang, and shouted, “ Hi ! Mars Peyt! ”

“ Clear out! ” growled Mars Peyton, and made a lunge with a muscular hand, so hairy that it might remind one of the paw of an animal.

There was a rapid rectification of the frontier on the part of the darky ; he retreated towards a doorway which led into what was obviously a dressingroom. At a safe distance from the bed he halted and yelled anew, “ Hi ! Mars Peyt! ”

Mars Peyt disengaged one hand entirely from the bedclothes, seized the top of a boot and slung it at the top of the negro, who dodged grinning through the door just as the projectile banged against it.

“Hi ! Yah! Ho! ho, Mars Peyt!” he shouted this time with an intonation of triumph, aware that his toughest morning job was over and pleased at having accomplished it without barking a shin.

“ Now den, Mars Peyt, you dress yourself,” he continued. “ When you ’s ready, I ’ll fix you cocktail.”

“ Fix it now,” huskily growled the lord of the manor. “ I’m dressing, — confound you ! ”

Such was the Honorable Peyton Beaumont; something like a big, wilful, passionate boy; such at least he was on many occasions. As for his difficulty in waking up of mornings, we must excuse him on the ground that he slept badly of nights. Went to bed on brandy; honestly believed he should rest the better for it; after two hours of travelling or fighting nightmare, woke up; dull pain and increasing heat in the back of his head ; pillow baking hot, and hot all over ; not another wink till morning. Then came a short, feverish nap ; then this brushing, whistling, shouting Cato ; — who would n’t throw boots at him ? But Cato was continued in the office of valet because he was the only negro in the house who had the impudence to bring about a thorough waking, and because Mr. Beaumont was determined to be up at a certain hour. Not the sort of man to let himself be beaten, not even by his own physical necessities.

What was he like when he entered the dressing-room in shirt and trousers, with the streaky redness of soap and water about his sombre face, and plumped heavily into a high-backed oak arm-chair, to receive his cocktail and to be shaved by Cato ? At first glance he might seem to be a clean but very savage buccaneer. It would be easy to imagine such a man grasping at chances for duels and following the scent of a family feud. His broad, dark face, overhung by tousled irongray hair and set in a stiff iron-gray beard, had just this one merit, of being regular in outline and feature. Otherwise it was terrible ; it was nothing less than alarming. Paches, the Athenian admiral who massacred the garrison of Notium, might well have had such a countenance. In the bloodshot black eyes (suffused with the yellow of habitual biliousness), in the structure of the Grecian mouth, in the cattish tremblings of the finely turned though hairy nostrils, and in the nervous pointings of the bushy eyebrows, there was an expression of intense pugnacity, as fiery as powder and as long-winded as death.

In fact, he had all sorts of a temper. It was as sublime as a tiger’s and as ridiculous as a monkey’s. His body was marked by the scars of duels and rencontres, and the life-blood of more than one human being was crusted on his soul. At the same time he could snap like a cross child, break crockery, and kick chairs. Perhaps we ought partly to excuse his fits of passion on the score of nearly constant and often keen physical suffering. People, in speaking of his temper, said, “Brandy”; but it was mainly brandy in its secondary forms, — broken sleep, an inflamed alimentary canal, and gout.

Meanwhile he had traits of gentleness which occasionally astonished the people who were afraid of him. While he could fly at his children in sudden furies, he was passionately fond of them, supported them generously, and spoiled them with petting. Barring chance oaths and kicks which were surprised out of him, he was kind to his negroes, fed them liberally, and kept them well clothed. As proud as Lucifer and as domineering as Beelzebub, he could be charmingly courteous to equals and friends.

“ How you fine that, Mars Peyt ? ” asked Cato, when the cocktail had been hastily clutched and greedily swallowed.

“ Devilish thin.” Voice, however, the smoother and face blander for it.

“ Make you ’nother ? ”

“ Yes.” Mellow growl, not exclusively savage, much like that of a placated tiger.

This comedy, by the way, was played every morning, with a variation Sundays. Mr. Beaumont, having vague religious notions about him, and being willing to make a distinction in days, took three cocktails on the Sabbath, besides lying in bed later.

The shaving commenced ; the patient bristling occasionally, but growing milder ; the operator supple, cautious, and talkative, slowly getting the upper hands.

“ Now hold you head still. You jerk that way, an’ you ’ll get a cut. How you s’pose I can shave when you’s slammin’ you face round like it was a do’ ? ”

“ Cato, I really need another cocktail this morning. Had a precious bad night of it.”

“ No, you don’, now. ’T ain’t Sunday to-day. Laws bless you, Mars Peyt, ho ho ! you’s mos’ ’ligious man I knows of, he he ! befo’ breakfus. You’d jes like t’have Sunday come every day in the week, so’s you could have three cocktails. No you don’, no sech thing. ’T ain’t good for you. There, like to cut you then. Hold you nose roun’, dere.” (Pushing the noble Greek proboscis into place with thumb and finger.)

“ Now then ; shut up you mouf; I ’se gwine to lather. Them’s um. This yere’s fus-rate soap. Makes a reg’lar swamp o’ lather.”

“Well, hurry up now,” growls Mr. Beaumont, a little sore because he can’t have his third cocktail. “ Don’t stand there all day staring at the soapbrush.”

“What’s Mars Vincent up to this mornin’ ?” suggests Cato, seeking to lull the rising storm with the oil of gossip.

“ What is he up to ? ” demands Peyton Beaumont with a fierce roll of the eyes. As much as to say, If anybody is up to anything without my permission, I ’ll break his head.

“ Flyin’ roun’ greasin’ his pistils an’ talkin’ softly with Mars Bent Armitage. Don’ like the looks of it.”

Mr, Beaumont uttered an inarticulate growl and was clearly anxious to have the dressing over. At last he was shaved ; his noble beard was combed and his martial hair brushed upward ; he rose with a strong grip on the arms of his chair and slipped his arm into his extended coat. He was much improved in appearance from what he had been; he still looked fierce, but not uncouth, nor altogether uncourtly. One might say a gentlemanly Turk, or even a sultan ; for there is something patrician in the expression and port of the man.

In his long, columned piazza, whither he went at once to get a breath of the morning freshness which came in over his whitening cotton-fields, he met his eldest son, Vincent. The young gentleman was sauntering slowly, his hands in the skirt-pockets of his shootingjacket, a pucker of thoughtfulness on his brow, and the usual satirical smile rubbed out. With dark, regular features, just a bit pugnacious in expression, he resembled his father as a fresh young gamecock resembles an old one tattered by many a conflict.

A pleasant morning greeting was exchanged, the eyes of the parent softening at the sight of his son, and the latter brightening with an air of confidence and cordiality. It was strange to see two such combative creatures look so amiably upon each other. Clearly the family feeling was very strong among the Beaumonts.

Instead of shouting, “What’s this about pistols ? " as he had meant to do, Mr. Beaumont gently asked, “ What’s the news, Vincent ? ”

Then came the story of the previous evening’s adventure. It was related to this effect: there had been some ironical sparring between a Beaumont and a McAlister; thereupon the McAlister had said, substantially, “You are no gentleman.”

“ How came you to go near the clown ? ” growled Peyton Beaumont, his hairy nostrils twitching and his thick eyebrows charging bayonets.

“He approached me, while I was talking to Miss Jenny Devine.”

Vincent did not think it the honorable thing to explain that the young lady was much to blame for the unpleasantness.

“ The d—n quarrelsome beasts ! ” snorted Beaumont. “Always picking a fight with our family. Trying to get themselves into decent company that way. It’s always been so, ever since they came to this district; always ! We had peace before. Why, Vincent, it’s the most unprovoked insult that I ever heard of. What had you said ? Nothing but what was — was socially allowable — parliamentary. And he to respond with a brutality ! No gentleman ! A Beaumont no gentleman ! By heavens, he deserves to be shot on sight, shot at the first street-corner, like a nigger-stealer. He does n’t deserve a duel. The code is too good for him.”

“That sort of thing won’t do now, at least not among our set.”

“ It did once. It did in my day. You young fellows are getting so d—n fastidious. Well, if it won’t do, then— ”

Mr. Beaumont took a sudden turn and walked the piazza in grave excitement. When he returned to face the young man, he said with undisguisable anxiety : “ Well, my boy ! You know the duties of a gentleman. I don’t see that I am permitted to interfere.”

“ I have put things into the hands of Bentley Armitage,” added Vincent.

“ Very good. Do as well as anybody, seeing his brother isn’t here. Come, let us have breakfast.”

At the breakfast-table appeared only these two men, and the second son, Poinsett. There was not a white woman in the house, though we must not blame Mr. Beaumont for the deficiency, inasmuch as he had espoused and lost two wives, and had been known to try at least once for a third. His eldest daughter, Nellie, was married to Randolph Armitage, of Brownville District; his only other daughter, Kate, and his sister, Mrs. Chester, were, as we know, in Charleston.

For some minutes Poinsett, a fat, tranquil, pleasantly spoken, and talkative fellow of perhaps twenty-five, bore the expense (as the French say) of the conversation.

“ Our feminine population will be home soon, I venture to hope,” he said, among other things. “ Then, it is to be cheerfully believed, we shall come out of our slough of despond. American men. if you will excuse me for saying so, are as dull and dry as the Devil. They manage matters better in France, and on the Continent generally, and even in England. There, yes, even in England, common prejudice to the contrary notwithstanding, the genus homo is social. Conversation goes on in those countries. I don’t say but that we Southerners are ahead of our Northern brethren ; but even we bear traces of two hundred years in the forest. We do speak ; there is much monologuing, and I perform my share of it ; but as for talking, quick interchange of ideas, fair give and take, we are on a par with Cooper’s noble savage. Let me hope that I don’t wound your patriotism. I admit that I have an immoral lack of prejudices. But I want to know if you don’t find life here just a little dull ? ”

“ Why the deuce don’t you go to work, then ? ” burst out Peyton Beaumont. “ Here you two fellows are as highly educated as money can make you. You are a lawyer, graduated at Berlin. Vincent is a doctor, graduated at Paris. And yet you do nothing; never either of you had a case ; don’t want one.”

“ Ah, work! that is dull too,” admitted the smiling, imperturbable Poinsett. “Idleness is dull; but work is duller. I confess that it is a sad fact, and painful to me to consider it. So let us change the subject. Most noble Vincent, you seem to be in the doldrums this morning.”

“ He has an affair on his hands,” muttered the father of the family.

“ Ah ! ” said Poinsett, with a slight elevation of the eyebrows, comprehending perfectly that a duel was alluded to.

“Another McAlister impertinence,” pursued Mr. Beaumont, and proceeded to tell the story with great savageness.

“ Wallace ! ” exclaimed Poinsett, “ I confess that I am the least bit surprised. I thought Wallace an amiable, soporific creature like myself. But the spirit of the breed — the oversoul of the McAlisters — is too much for his individuality. We are drops in a river. I shall fight, too, some day, though I don’t at all crave it. Vincent, if I can do anything for you, I am entirely at your service.”

Vincent’s smile was noticeably satirical. He was disagreeably amused with Poinsett’s coolness over another’s duel. And he did not believe that Poinsett could be easily got to fight.

“ I suppose that Bent Armitage will do all that is necessary,” he said.

“ Let us hope that the loading of the pistols will be all that is necessary,” replied Poinsett. “ Let us hope that Wally will bend his stiff knees, and confess that we march at the head of civilization.”

“ By heavens, I want him shot,” broke in Beaumont the elder. “ I can’t understand you young fellows, with your soft notions. I belong to the old sort. There used to be shooting in my day. Here is the most unprovoked and brutal outrage that I ever heard of. This beast calls a Beaumont no gentleman. And here you hope there ’ll be an apology and that end it. I want Vincent to hit him. I want the fellow shelved ; I don’t care if he’s killed; by heavens, I don’t.”

Mr. Beaumont was in a fit state to break glasses and overturn the table. His black eyes were bloodshot ; his bushy eyebrows were dancing and pointing as if they were going through smallsword exercise ; there was a dull flame of blood all over his dark cheeks and yellowish mottled forehead. Vincent, the medical graduate of Paris, surveyed his father through half-shut eyes, and thought out the diagnosis, " Temporarily insane.” There was no audible response to the senior’s good old-fashioned Beaumont burst of rage.

After some minutes of silence, during which Poinsett smilingly poured himself a second cup of coffee (holding that he could do it better than any waiter), the father recovered his composure somewhat, and added gravely : “ Of course this is a serious matter. I hope, trust, and believe that Vincent will receive no harm. If he does ” (here his eyebrows bristled again), “ I shall take the field myself.”

“ We will see,” smiled Poinsett. “ My impression is that my turn comes in somewhere.”

Here Cato, head waiter as well as valet, put in his oar.

“That’s so, Mars Poinsett. We all has our turn, fightin’ these yere McAlisters.”

“ Why, what have you been at, Cato ?” asked the young man. “ Challenging the Judge ? Or pulling the wool of his old mauma?”

“ No, sah. Yah, yah. I don’ go roun’ challengin’ white folks; knows my business better. An’ when I pulls wool, I pulls he wool. Jes had a tackle yesterday with Matt McAlister, the Judge’s ole man that waits on him. Matt he sets out, ’cause he’s yaller, an’ comes from Virginny, that he’s better than we is, we Souf Carliny niggahs. So every time I sees him I sasses him. Yesr mornin’ I meets him down to the sto’ — Mars Bill Wilkins’s sto’, don’ ye know ? — kinder lookin’ roun’ for bar’l o’ flour. ' So,’ says I, ' Boss,’ says I, ‘ how is things up to your ole shanty ? ’ He’s a kinder gray ole fellow, don’ ye know ? puttin’ on airs like he was Noah, an’ treatin’ everybody like they’s childern, rollin’ his eyes out o’ the corners kinder, an’ crossin’ his arms jes as the Judge does. So he looked at me, an’, says he, ‘ Boy, who is you ? ’ Says I, ‘ I’m Cato Beaumont.’ So says he, ' I thought it mought be some o’ that breedin'.' Says I, ‘I was jes happenin’ down here to teach you your manners.’ So says he, ' Boy, my manners was learned befo’ you ever heerd they was sech things.’ Then I kinder tripped him, an’ he kinder tripped me, an’ then I squared off and fotched back, an’ says I —”

“ Why did n’t you hit him ? ” roared the Hon. Mr. Beaumont, who had been listening with great interest. “ What did you say another word for ? ”

“ I was jes gwine to tell you what I said,” returned Cato. " But now, ’fore gracious, you done made me forget it. I said a heap to him.”

44 And so there was n’t any fight after all,” inferred the smiling Poinsett. " And nobody got hurt. Heaven favors the brave.”

“ It did n’t ’zactly come to a wrastle,” confessed Cato. " But I ’specs it would, for I was gittin’ powerful mad : only jes as I was thinkin’ o’ gwine at him one o’ Mars Wilkins’s clerks come out, an’ says he, ‘ Boys, don’ make so much noise ’; an’ so I quit.”

Beaumont senior gave forth a mild growl of disapprobation, as deeply mellow as the anger of waters in caves of the sea-shore. “ Cowardly niggers,” was one sound which came from him ; and yet, although he despised negroes for being cowardly, he did not blame them for it; he knew that chivalry, prowess, and the like were properly white man’s business.

Half an hour after breakfast pistolshots resounded from an oak grove in rear of the mansion. Vincent was practising; had a board five feet eight inches high planted in the ground ; hit the upper part of it with fascinating accuracy. “ Getting my hand in,” he remarked to his father, when the latter came out to look on ; and presently the elder gentleman became interested, and made a few exemplary shots himself. The two men were in the midst of this cheering recreation when Cato came running upon them with frantic gestures and a yell of “ Mars Peyt! Stage come ! Miss Kate come ! ”

“ What’s that, you rascal ? ” roared Beaumont, his grim face suddenly transformed into the likeness of something half angelic, so honest and pure and fervent was its joy. Plunging a hairy hand into his pocket he drew out a grip of coins, threw them at the negro, and started for the house on a run which knocked him out of his wind in twenty paces. Then he halted, and shouted back, “ Vincent, hide those pistols. Cato, if you say a word about this business, I ’ll skin you.”

Then away again, on a plethoric canter, to meet his youngest daughter, his darling.

In the rear piazza of the house a tall and lovely girl rushed into his arms with a cry of, “ Father ! ” to which he responded with a sound which was much like a sob of gladness. There were tears of joy shed by somebody ; it was impossible to say whether they came from Kate’s eyes or from her father’s ; but they were dried between their nestling, caressing cheeks.

“ Why, Kate ! what a woman you are ! ” exclaimed Beaumont, holding her back at arm’s length to worship her.

Vincent and Poinsett already stood by, waiting their turns for an embrace. It was clear enough that, whatever defects there might be in this Beaumont breed, the lack of family feeling was not one of them.

Meantime Mrs. Chester and Tom were coming through the house, the former chattering steadily in a high, joyful soprano, and the latter roaring his lion-cub content in slangy exclamations.

The scene contrasted with the pistol practise of the oak grove somewhat as paradise contrasts with the inferno.

Of the paradise and the inferno, which is to win ?

CHAPTER X.

“WHY did n’t you write that you had reached Charleston ? ” demanded Mr. Beaumont, when the first tornado of greeting had blown over. “ I have been very anxious for the last few days,” adds this affectionate old gladiator.

“ Write ? Did write,” answered Tom. “ Sent off a three-decker of a letter. You ’ll get it in an hour or so. Came up in the same train with us probably. The mail service is n’t worth a curse. But hain’t you got your papers ? So you don’t know anything about the shipwreck ? Shipwreck ! Yes. Do you think I’d come home in Charleston store-clothes if I had n’t been shipwrecked ? Trunks and steamer gone to the bottom of What’s-his-name’s locker.”

And then came the story, Mrs. Chester and Tom telling it at once, the former in a steady gush of high soprano, and the latter in boisterous ejaculations. We will pass over this twohorse narrative, and come promptly to the amazement of Mr. Peyton Beaumont when he learned that there had been a McAlister on board the Mersey, breaking bread daily with his sister and his children.

“ What the— Why the — ” he commenced and recommenced. Then, like a pistol-shot, “ How did he behave himself ? ”

His eyes began to flame and his phalanxes of eyebrows to bring down their pikes, in suspicion of some insult which he would be called upon to avenge.

“ Did n’t know him at first,” explained Tom. “ Did n’t find him out till — till I got ashore. Played possum. Incognito.”

“Incognito!” trumpeted Mr. Beaumont. “ The scoundrel ! ”

“ Incognito ! ” repeated Vincent and Poinsett, exchanging a look which also said, “ The scoundrel ! ”

Kate flushed deeply ; of course she remembered the offer of marriage and the salvation from death : but either she did not think it wise at that moment to speak in the young man’s defence, or she could not muster the courage.

“ And he dared to make your acquaintance under his incognito ! ” trumpeted away the senior Beaumont. “ I never heard of such infamous trickery, never! It’s the most outrageous insult that ever our family was subjected to. By heavens, I am stupefied. I can’t believe it. And yet it is so like a McAlister. A mean, sneaking, underhanded lot. Possums ! Foxes ! Ca-ts !” This last word in a hiss and with a bristling worthy of the most belligerent of old Toms.

“ I say,” began Tom. Then he turned to the two women. “ Now look here. You two ought to tell how the thing went. It’ll come best from a lady,” explained Tom, who did not think that a male Beaumont ought to be a peacemaker, not at least in a matter of McAlisters.

“It certainly was very singular conduct,” twittered Mrs. Chester. “ I was excessively indignant when I first discovered the mystery. But — ”

“ But what ? ” broke in Beaumont senior. “ What the d— dickens are you driving at ? ”

Kate, who was sitting on a sofa beside her father, slipped her hand around his neck, pulled his rugged cheek toward her and kissed it. She remembered what a pet she had been in her childhood, and she had perceived within the last few minutes that she was a pet still, and she felt now that it was time to begin to use her power. Beaumont fondled her with his mighty arm, and uttered a chastened, not unmelodious growl like that of a panther at the approach of his favorite keeper.

“ But the truth is,” continued Mrs. Chester, “ it is a very strange story, I am aware. It seems incredible, in one of that family. But I really believe the young man had good motives.”

The truth further is, that Mrs. Chester had had a few pleasant words of explanation and of parting with “the young man ” in the hall of the Charleston Hotel. Tom had not called on Frank McAlister ; no, Tom could not shoulder the responsibility of such a move as that ; he must leave the whole matter to the elders of his tribe. “ Look here, now,” he had said to Major Lawson, when the latter suggested the visit ; “ I ain’t ungrateful to the chap for saving my sister’s life ; but then you know the bloody old row ; he’s a McAlister, you see.” And then the Major had replied : “ My de-ar young fellow, you are, I have no doubt, perfectly judicious ; see your ex-cel-lent father first.”

But woman may do what man must not. Mrs. Chester, bewildered by some blarney of the Major’s (who had told her that Frank raved — “Yes, my dear madam, fairly raved ” — about her) seized an opportunity to meet the handsome youngster in one of the passages. There he explained the motives of his incognito, expressed his respect for the Beaumont name, and sagaciously added some incense for herself. Of course, too, he was wise enough not to say a word about his offer to her niece. The result of this conversation, and of some judicious remarks from Kate on the way up to Hartland, was that Mrs. Chester (very weak on the subject of young men, remember) was halt inclined to forget the family feud and quite willing to say a good word for Frank McAlister.

“ I at least acquit him of bad motives,” she spunkily added, firing up under her brother’s glare of angry amazement.

“ just so,” put in Tom. “ The chap did play possum, but don’t believe he meant any harm. Said he wanted to keep out of a quarrel, and I feel bound to believe him.”

“ Then he must be a coward,” scoffed Beaumont senior.

“ Scarcely,” said Tom. “ Did n’t show that style. Tell him about it, aunt, or sis, one of you.”

“ Papa, he saved my life,” whispered Kate, her voice failing at thought of that awful moment. “ I went ten feet under water.”

Her father caught her as if he were himself rescuing her from death.

“You went — ten feet — under water!” he gasped. And he looked for a moment as if he could cry ten feet of water at the thought of her danger and her deliverance.

“And he saved her, after I’d lost her,” added Tom, walking up to Kate and kissing her. “ I tell you, I ain’t a going to be very hard on a fellow that did that. He went clean under, slap into the middle of the ocean, right off the stern of the wreck.”

“By heavens ! ” uttered Mr. Beaumont. It was almost a groan ; his solid old heart was throbbing unusually ; he felt as if he were going to have a stroke of some sort. Presently he looked up, his yellow forehead wrinkled all over with perplexity, and gave Vincent a stare which said, “ How about that duel ? ”

The young man’s habitual smile of self-sufficiency and satire was gone. Respectably affected for the moment, he earnestly wished that the difficulty with Wallace had not happened, and queried whether he were not bound, as a gentleman, to fire in the air.

“But what is your opinion about this business, Kate ? ” asked Poinsett. “ You have said nothing.”

The girl threw off her beautiful timidity, and spoke out with beautiful firmness : —

“ Of course, I am under the greatest obligations to Mr. McAlister. And, even if I were not, I should have nothing to say against him. I don’t know whether he did right or not in concealing his name — ”

“ He did n’t,” Mr. Beaumont could not help muttering, while Vincent and Poinsett shook their chivalrous heads.

“ But that began with an accident,” continued Kate. “The captain made a mistake: he thought McAlister was McMaster; and then he let it go so. He said that he did it for the sake of peace ; and I believe him. He seemed to be a gentleman. I believe every word he said.”

“ So do I,” added Mrs. Chester, remembering how tall he was, and what a fine complexion he had.

“ And I,” confirmed Tom, rather hesitatingly, as if it were not quite the thing for a Beaumont to say.

“ We are in what vulgar people call a fix,” laughed that easy old shoe of a Poinsett. “ My dear little Kate,” playing with her chestnut ringlets, “ if he had n’t saved you, we should have gone mad, every soul of us. No further use for our sanity. But since he has saved you, we are in sloughs of perplexity. My respected father and my much esteemed brothers (descendants of the De Beaumonts of Kent and other places), we are threatened with the loss of our family institution, our race palladium. The feud with the McAlisters has been to us more than our coat of arms. I may almost call it the Beaumont established religion. It is impossible to conceal the fact that it has received a rude shock. Are we to drop away from the creed of our forefathers ? Are we to have no faith ? A merely human mind — such as I grieve to say mine is — recoils at the prospect.”

Vincent, somewhat recovered from his first emotion, gazed through halfshut eyes at the joker, and inclined once more to fight his duel seriously. Beaumont senior got up, strode like a lion about the room, glared once or twice at Poinsett, and growled, “ This is jesting, sir, on a very serious matter.”

“ I understand my brother,” struck in Kate, with a clear, sweet, firm note, which sounded like a challenge from a cherub’s clarion, if cherubs carry such an article. “ Why should n’t the quarrel end ? ”

All the men stared. Even Poinsett had not meant half so much. The words were audacious beyond any remembered standard of comparison. Words of such import had perhaps never before been uttered in the family.

Mr. Beaumont halted abruptly, and gave the girl a look of astonishment and inquiry which seemed to ask, “ Have we a queen over us ? ”

Poinsett made a gesture of taking off a hat, and whispered smilingly, “ Portia ! ”

Mrs. Chester rustled her skirts in perplexity, and Tom’s eyes asked counsel of his father.

“ My dear Kate, don’t be flustered,” said Poinsett, seeing that the child looked frightened at the sensation she had created; “ what you have said was a perfectly natural thing to say, and, from the ordinary human point of view, a perfectly rational one. At the same time I suspect that we Beaumonts, not being of the ordinary human mould, are not fitted to discuss such a proposition without time for meditation. I apprehend that we had better lay it aside until our eyes have somewhat recovered from the first dazzle. Suppose you proceed, some one of you, or all three of you, with the shipwreck.”

The counsel seemed to suit the feelings of every one. Mr. Beaumont stopped his walk, nestled down again by his daughter’s side, and listened quietly to the threefold narrative. Not another word was said concerning the feud during the interview.

But, two hours later, the story of the duel got wind among the new-comers. Mrs. Chester, seated in her room amid old dresses which it was now necessary to make over, listened to a stream of respectable gossip from her ancient maid and foster-sister, Miriam, a tall, dignified, and of course middle-aged negress, leaner and graver than is usual with her species.

“ Laws, Miss Marian ! ” said Miriam, using the girlish title which she had always given to her born mistress. “ Skacely a thing to wear ! And all them trunks full of beautiful things gone to the bottom of the sea ! Well, honey, it’s a warnin’ of the Lord’s not to set our hearts on the vanities of this world. We oughter feel mighty grateful to him when he takes the trouble to warn us. The blessed Lord he’s been powerful good to ye, Miss Marian. Must n’t forgit he’s saved yer life, honey. Gin ye one more chance to set yer face straight for his city. An’ perhaps he had other plans, too. Perhaps he saw ye was comin’ to a time when ye would n’t be able to wear the fine fixin’s. We ’se no idea gin’lly, how keerfully the Lord looks after us.”

“ What do you mean, Miriam ? ” demanded Mrs. Chester, pettishly. “ Do you mean to say I’m getting old ? I don’t see it.”

“ Laws, honey, you’s young enough. Never see no lady hold out better ’n you do. Must say it: that’s a fact. But I se talkin’ of somethin’ more solemn than growin’ old. You may be called on fo’ long, if the Lord don’t help in his mighty mercy, to put on mournin’.”

“ Who’s sick ? ” demanded Mrs. Chester, more curious than anxious.

“ It’s Mars Vincent is sick. He’s sick with sin an’ wrath an’anger. Perhaps he’s sick unto death. They’s gwine to be another duel, Miss Marian.”

Mrs. Chester looked up from her old dresses ; duels had always been very interesting to her. She had been the cause of two, and they were pleasant remembrances. She liked to hear of such things and to talk of them, as much as that non-combatant hero-worshipper, Major Lawson.

“ They’ve been tryin’ to keep it shet from you an’ Miss Katy,” continued Miriam. “ Mars Vincent tole Cato he’d boot him, if he let on. But I ’m gwine to tell of it, an’ I ’m gwine to bear my witness agin it. It’s Satan’s works, this yere duelling is, an’ I ’m gwine to say so. I don’t care who hears me. Mars Vincent may boot me if he likes, I ain’t afeard of bootin’.”

“ Vincent sha’ n’t hurt you,” declared Mrs. Chester, with that feeling of loyalty towards an adherent which made a Southerner of old days fight for his slave, and makes a Southerner of these days fight for his dog.

“ That’s you, Miss Marian. I know’d you’d say jest that. But you need n’t git mad on my’count. The Lord he 'll take care of me. Bless your soul, he allays does. But about this duel. It’s Satan’s works, as I ’se sayin’ ever sence the Lord had mercy on me, though you don’t think so. You has white folkses notions, all for fightin’ an’ shootin’. It’s Satan’s works, an’ I’ve prayed agin it; prayed many a time there might never be another duel in this fam’ly ; prayed for this poor bloodstained fam’ly, all covered with blood an’ wounds ; duels on duels an’ allays duels, ever sence I can ’member ; never hear of no sech folks for it. But ’pears like Satan’s got the upper hands of my prayers, an’ here’s Mars Vincent led away by him, prehaps to his own destruction.”

“ But who is it with ? ” demanded Mrs. Chester, vastly more interested in the news than in the sermonizing which accompanied it.

“With Wally McAlister, that other poo’ fightin’ creetur, the Lord have mercy on his soul ! ”

“ McAlister ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Chester, in sudden excitement, not at all pleasurable.

“ Yes. Some mis’able chipper at the Presbyterian fair, not enough for two goslins to hiss about. Mars Vincent he kinder sassed Wally, an’ then Wally he kinder sassed Mars Vincent, and now Bent Armitage he’s been over with the challenge, an’ it’s to be some time this week. An’ jes’s likely ’s not one o’ them poor silly creeturs ’ll be standin’ befo’ the bar of God befo’ ’nother Sunday comes roun’. Won’t be able to call the Judge out there, if the judgment don’t suit him.”

Mrs. Chester had dropped her dresses. She had forgotten her usual gossiping interest in duels. She was leaning back in her arm-chair, reflecting with a seriousness which wrinkled her forehead more than she would have liked, had she seen it.

“ Miriam, we must try to stop this,” was her conclusion.

“ Why, bless your darlin’ heart ! ” burst out the negress. “ Why, laws bless you, honey ! Has the blessed Lord touched your sperit at last ? Never heerd you say that sort o’ thing befo’, never. Stop it ? Why, we ’ll try, honey, hopin’ the Lord ’ll help us. But how’s we gwine to work ? Who’s we to go at ? ”

“ Go and call Miss Kate,” ordered Mrs. Chester.

“ Miss Katy ? That poor, dear, little thing ? Gwine to tell her about it, an’ she jes come home this very day ? ”

“Go and call her,” repeated Mrs. Chester, who cared little for any one’s feelings, so that she compassed her ends.

Kate came in, hair down and shoulders bare, more charming than usual. Elderly Miriam devoured her with her eyes, but kept a discreet silence as to her loveliness, remembering “Miss Marian’s" jealous spirit. The story of the duel was told.

“ O dear ! ” was the brief utterance of Kate’s vast sorrow and despair, as she seated herself on a stool and clutched her hands over her knees.

“ Laws bless you, chile ! " was the answering groan of Miriam. “I did n’ want Miss Marian to go for to tell you. The Lord help this poo' fam'ly ! Allays in trouble ! ”

“ But do you think he ’ll be shot ? ” asked Kate.

“What, Mars Vincent? Dear me, chile, he may be. He’s been shot twice.”

“ But can’t it be stopped ? ”

“That is what I called you in for,” said Mrs. Chester. “ I don’t believe this quarrel rests upon anything very important. I think it ought to be stopped. I do, indeed, Beaumont as I am, and Beaumont all over. But who’s to stop it ? What can you do ? ”

“ Can’t my grandfather do something ? ” suggested the girl.

“The very man!” shouted and laughed Miriam, jumping up from her squatting posture on the floor and waving her arms as if in benediction. “Jes the very man. Send over for Colonel Kershaw. Laws me, when I ’se in trouble, I goes first to the Lord, an’ he gen’rally sends me to Colonel Kershaw. Why did n’ I ever think of him befo’ ? Specs I ’se gittin’ old an’ foolish.”

“ Yes, your grandfather will come into play very nicely,” said Mrs. Chester, who did not fancy the old gentleman overmuch, principally because she was somewhat afraid of him.

“ I ’ll cut right out an’ start off a nigger after him,” volunteered Miriam. “ You, Miss Katy, you jes write him a little letter, askin’ him to come right away to see you, jes saved from shipwreck, you know. Tell him not to fail on no account; you wants to see him powerful, this very day.”

In ten minutes a mounted negro was galloping over the ten miles of country which separated the Beaumont from the Kershaw plantation. Late in the afternoon the Colonel arrived,bringing with him our gracious friend, Major Lawson.

Colonel John Kershaw was one of those noble souls who look all their nobility. In his youth he had been a very handsome man, and at eighty he was venerably beautiful. His massive aquiline face, strangely wrinkled into deep furrows which were almost folds, was a sublime composition of dignity, serenity, and benevolence. You would have been tempted to say that a great sculptor could not have imagined anything better suited to typify an intelligent, good, and grand old age. Indeed, this head had been wrought patiently with both great strokes and tender touches by the mightiest of all sculptors. Perhaps no man ever looked upon it without feeling that it called for entire confidence and respect. Its moral grandeur of expression was heightened by the crown of nearly snow-white, though still abundant hair which overhung the deeply channelled forehead. Even the stoop which diminished the height of his tall figure seemed to add to the spiritual impressiveness of his appearance.

Colonel Kershaw’s countenance perfectly expressed his character. He was one of those simple, pure, honorable, sensible country gentlemen (of whom one meets more perhaps in our Southern States than in most other portions of this planet) who strike one as having a reserve of moral and intellectual power too great for their chances of action, and who lead one to trust that Washingtons will still be forthcoming when their country needs. For the readers of this story it is perhaps a sufficient proof of the weight and humanity of his influence, that, since his daughter had married a Beaumont, there had been only two duels between that race and the McAlisters, although there had been endless political differences and other bickerings. In doing this much towards quelling the family feud, it was generally acknowledged that Colonel Kershaw had done wonders.

“ How do you do, Beaumont ? ” he said in a deep, tremulous, mellow voice. “ I have come to stay a day or so with you, and I knew you would be glad to see Lawson, who had just arrived to cheer me up. So Mrs. Chester, and Kate, and Tom have got home ? Where are the dear people ? ”

There was a little scream and rustle behind him ; it was the cry and the approach of girlish love. The next moment Kate, always a worshipper of her grandfather and still fanatical in the old faith, was on his shoulder and in his arms.

“ Why, my dear little child ! ” said the old man. “ Why, my grand young lady ! ” he added, holding her back to get a fair view of her. “ Ah, I never shall hold you in my lap again,” he changed, one more of the joys of life gone. “ Shall I ? shall I ? ” he laughed when she told him that he would.

Next Major Lawson seized the girl, holding and patting her hand and staring at her face and smiling. “ Beautiful creature ! ” he murmured. “ Beautiful creature ! ” he whispered. “ Beau-ti-ful crea-ture ! ” he sighed into silence. But he was in earnest, not flattering purposely nor even consciously ; quite out of himself and quite sincere. “ How like your mother ! ” he continued to flute. “ Dear me, how like your grandfather ! Colonel, your image ! Your continuator. All your virtues and more than your graces ! ”

Notwithstanding the differences of sex and years, the resemblance between the two faces was indeed remarkable. Looking at the old man, you could see where the girl got her almost sublime expression of dignity, purity, and sweetness.

“ O, go along, she’s all Kershaw,” soliloquized black Miriam, her arms akimbo, worshipping the pair. “ An’ her mother was, too, poor thing! Though how she could marry sech a tearer as Mars Peyt, beats me. Wal, women is women, an’ they’s most all fools, specially when it comes to marryin’. I s’pose it’s for some wonderful good end, or the Lord he would n’ make ’em so.”

In short, the Colonel had an ovation from the whole household, male and female, white, black, and yellow. Beaumont senior was almost petulant with jealousy, as he often had been before on such occasions ; for he, too, domineering and passionate as he was, desired to be worshipped, especially by his youngest daughter.

Presently the visitors were led away by grinning negroes to their rooms over the columned veranda, which ran along the whole front of the mansion. Half an hour later, when the Colonel had washed off the dust of travel and combed his noble mane of silver, there was a little tap at his door and a silvery call, “ Grandpapa.”

The old man started with pleasure ; he had been wondering whether she would come to him ; he had thought of it several times.

“Why, come in, my darling!” and opening the door for her, he led her proudly to a chair.

“ I am housekeeper,” she smiled, shaking her bunch of keys.

“ And Mrs. Chester ? I hope she is not discontented.”

“ Papa settled the thing himself. You know papa. But I don't think aunt cares for the trouble. So we are all pleased. But O, I am so delighted to see you ! And you have n’t changed; you are so like yourself. Is n’t it nice that grandpapas don’t grow ? I am going to be silly with you ; I am going to behave very little. You make me feel just like a child again. I want to sit in your lap as I used to do. Just this once, at any rate.”

She installed herself on her throne, slipped a hand over his shoulder and smiled in his face.

“Isn’t it doleful for you to live all alone ? I wish our houses could be moved alongside each other. I hate to think of you all alone.”

“ I have my land and my people to take care of, dear. The time passes. Perhaps I am all the more fond of my friends for being a little lonely. Lawson was really very kind to come and see me. I was quite obliged to him.”

“ Grandpapa, I am going to trouble you,” was the girl’s next speech. Her face suddenly lost the petting, gleeful, childlike expression which had shone from it hitherto. It assumed womanliness ; it ripened at once into a grave maturity ; it was dignified, anxious, and yet remained beautilul; perhaps it was even more lovely than before.

“It is too bad in me, but I must worry you,” she went on. “ There are very serious matters passing here. There is to be a duel, grandpapa.”

“ A duel ! ” he repeated, his noble old face becoming still nobler with regret.

“ It is a quarrel between Vincent and Wallace McAlister.”

“ The old story,” murmured the Colonel, shaking his head at bloody reminiscences. “ My child, tell me all you know about it. We may be able to prevent it.”

“ But first I must tell you something else,” she said, blushing slightly. “There are special reasons why a duel between the families should not happen now. It would be, I think, a great scandal.”

Then she hurried through the story of her salvation from death by Frank McAlister.

“ My dear, Lawson told me this,” said the Colonel. “ Yes, as you think, a duel would be a scandal. It would be not only a crime, but a shame. I will see your brother. I will go at once.”

“ O, thank you ! You will succeed,” cried Kate, her face flushing with hope.

“ Let us hope so; but I may not. This old, old quarrel ! ”

CHAPTER XI.

WITH slow, heavy steps Colonel Kershaw descended the stairs, seeking for some one who would aid him in preventing the duel.

Meeting the head of the family, he took his arm, led him out upon the lawn in front of the house, and asked, “ Beaumont, when is this affair between Vincent and Wallace McAlister to come off ? ”

“ O, so you have heard of it! ” stared Beaumont. “ I am sorry. Come off? I understand it is to be day after tomorrow.”

“ It is a very unfortunate business, Beaumont. Under the circumstances, doubly unfortunate. Only a few days ago Frank McAlister saved Kate’s life. And now Frank’s brother and Kate’s brother are to shoot each other.”

“ Yes, by heavens it is unfortunate ! ” admitted Beaumont with loud candor, very creditable to him. “ It’s a devilish ugly piece of business, under the circumstances. It’s, by heavens, the awkwardest thing in my experience. I wish it had n’t happened. I wish — under the circumstances, you understand — that Vincent was honorably out of it. That insolent, boorish, blasted McAlister ought to apologize. A more villanous, brutal insult I never heard of. Calling a Beaumont no gentleman ! Good heavens ! ” Here his eyebrows bristled, and he breathed short and hard with rage. “ But, under the circumstances, I would say take his apology,” he resumed. “Yes, Colonel, I ’ve come to that. I have, indeed.”

And Mr. Beaumont seemed to think he had come a long way in the path of peace.

“ But, if no apology arrives, then what?” gravely inquired the octogenarian.

“ Why then, I don’t see — What can Vincent do ? He’s pinned. No getting out of it. Must go out. Good heavens ! I don’t want him to fight. But a gentleman can’t accept such language. You know as well as I do, Colonel, that he can’t.”

“ But under the circumstances,” persisted Kershaw, not domineeringly, but meditatively.

“ Yes, I know,—the circumstances,” almost groaned Beaumont. “ We are under obligations to those people. First time, by heavens ! But so it is. And, as I said, I’d like to have the thing settled, of course honorably.”

He was not a little afraid of the old gentleman. Kershaw had long ago fought duels, and, moreover, he had served gallantly in the war of 1812 ; thus he was a chevalier sans reproche in the eyes of fighting men, and even Beaumonts must respect his record. Such a gentleman, too ; he could no more counsel an unworthy deed than he could do it; it was not supposed that he could so much as conceive of anything dishonorable. And here he was meditating, and evidently meditating how to stop the duel, and so keeping his son-in-law on the anxious seat. At last came his decision, uttered in the impressive tones of old age, — tones which gave it the weight of an oracle.

“ I think, Beaumont, that, considering what we owe to the McAlisters, Vincent might honorably withdraw the challenge, assigning our obligation as the cause of the withdrawal.”

“You don’t mean it!” gasped Beaumont. “ Withdraw the challenge! Why, Colonel, — why, good heavens ! ”

All his respect for the old man (and he did respect him above any other being that he knew of) could hardly keep him from exploding with anger.

“That is my advice,” proceeded Kershaw, gently. “ You know who I am and what my opinion is worth. I solemnly believe that, in withdrawing the challenge on that ground, Vincent would not only do a gentlemanly thing, but would do the only thing that a gentleman in his position should do.”

Beaumont was cowed by this great authority, and, after some further ejaculations, lapsed into perplexed silence.

“ Are you willing, my dear Beaumont, that I should advise Vincent to this step ? ” inquired the Colonel.

“ Well, well, have it your own way,” returned the other, a little impatiently. “ You ought to know, of course you do know. I put the whole matter in your hands. You have my consent, if you can get Vincent’s. But for God’s sake. Colonel, remember that the honor of the family is in your hands.”

He writhed as if he were handing over his whole fortune to be the gage of some more than doubtful speculation.

“ If the step is taken, I will make it known that it is taken by my advice,” promised Kershaw.

“ Ah ! ” breathed Beaumont, much relieved.

“ Who is Vincent’s second ? ” asked the Colonel.

“ Bentley Armitage. And there — speak of the Devil, you know—there he comes. Well now, you won’t mind my quitting you ; you won’t take it hard, Kershaw ? I don’t object to your proposition ; but I don’t want to be responsible for it.”

“ I thank you, Beaumont, for letting me assume the responsibility.”

And so they parted, the Honorable dodging shamefacedly into the house, and the Colonel advancing to meet Armitage.

“ Colonel, good evening,” was the young man’s easy salute. “ Glad to see you looking so hearty, sir.”

“You are well, I hope, sir?” bowed Kershaw. " And your brother and his wife ? ”

“ All peart, I thank you. Never better.”

Bentley was a tall young man, rather too slender to be well built, with a swinging, free-and-easy carriage. He had a round face, a moderately dark complexion, a deep and healthy color, coarse and long chestnut hair, and a small curling mustache. The smile with which he spoke was a very curious one, being marked by a drawing up of the right corner of his mouth into the cheek, which gave it an almost unpleasantly quizzical expression. There was something odd, something provincial, or one might say old-fashioned, in his tone of voice and pronunciation ; but you were disposed to infer from his manner that this peculiarity was the result of an affectation, rather than of a lack of habit of good society. It was evident enough that he used such rural terms as “ peart ” and “ hearty ” in the way of slang.

“ Excuse me, Mr. Armitage, for being direct with you,” said Kershaw. “ I understand that you are the second of Vincent in this affair with Wallace McAlister.”

“Just so, Colonel,” replied Bent, striding along beside the old man, and speaking as composedly as if it were a question of possum-hunting. His gait, by the way, was singular, his right foot coming down at every step with a slap, as if it were an ill-hung wooden one. This was the result of a shot received in a duel (he generally spoke of it as his snake-bite), which had caused a partial paralysis of the lifting muscle.

Kershaw now repeated what he had said to Beaumont, advising and urging that Vincent should withdraw his challenge.

“ I don’t think that cock would fight, Colonel,” coolly judged Bentley. “ I allow due weight to the motive which you suggest. It is a hefty one. But withdrawing a challenge, without a previous withdrawal of the affront, is a step which has no sufficing precedent, at least so far as I know. I presume that, if it were left to my principal, he would not consent to it.”

“ I am speaking with the knowledge of Mr. Beaumont,” continues the patient and persevering peacemaker. “ Have you any objection to my discussing this point with Vincent in your presence ?”

“ Not the slightest, Colonel. Walk this way. We ’ll nose him out in the oak grove, I reckon. You see, Colonel, aside from other considerations, this move might be taken advantage of by the McAlisters. They might do bales of bragging over it. Just imagine old Antichrist blowing his trumpet.”

“ Who ? ” inquired the elder, with a puzzled and rather shocked stare.

“ I beg pardon. I mean Judge McAlister. It’s a poor joke which pleases our friend, Mr. Beaumont. — It’s a compliment to your mas’r, anyway,” he added with a smile, addressing Miriam, who was just then passing the couple.

“Ah, Mars Bent! ” replied the pious negress. “You best quit that kind o’ jokin’ befo’ you gits into t’ other world. You may laugh on t’ other side o’ your mouf yet, Mars Bent.”

Bentley took his reproof good-humoredly, curling up his odd smile into the dimple of his right cheek, and nodding pleasantly to Miriam.

“ There’s Vincent,” was his next remark. “ Hut-loo, there ! Hold your horses. — Colonel, excuse me for yelling. My clapper does n’t work well to-day. I mean my right foot; it flops more than usual. I call it my clapper, and the other one my clipper.”

“ Can’t that trouble be cured ? ” inquired Kershaw, with honest interest.

“Don’t suppose it. In fact, know it can’t. I am doctor enough to know that.”

Yes, Bentley was a physician ; had graduated at Philadelphia. By the way, it is perfectly amazing how many medical gentlemen there are in the South. A literary friend tells me that, during a six months’ experience among the smaller towns and ruder taverns of the slave States, he slept with nearly a hundred doctors. Concerning Bentley it is almost needless to add, that, being a planter of considerable means, he never prescribed, except for his own negroes.

“ I should be very glad to obtain your influence on the side of peace in this affair,” continued Kershaw. “ We are both connections of the family.”

“ Exactly, Colonel,” answered Bentley, remembering with the utmost nonchalance that his brother Randolph was the husband of Peyton Beaumont’s eldest daughter. “Well, I will say this much, that I’ve no objection to any course that my principal will accept.”

Half disgusted with this cool and irreverent youngster, Kershaw pushed on in thoughtful silence, and soon met Vincent.

“ A proposition,” was Bentley’s brief introduction to the matter in hand. “ The Colonel has something to suggest which I approve of his suggesting.”

Vincent, his habitual ironical smile dismissed for the present, bowed respectfully, and listened without a word until the old man had stated his proposition. When he spoke it was with a perfectly calm demeanor and a bland finish of intonation.

“It appears to me that I am called upon to subordinate myself too entirely to the — we will say duties of the family. After I have obtained my personal reparation from Mr. Wallace McAlister, I am willing to enter into an expression of our common obligation to Mr. Frank McAlister. What does my second think ? ”

“ Just to oblige the Colonel,” explained Bentley, “ I agree to throw the affair entirely out of my hands, and replace it entirely in yours. That is, with your permission, you understand. So why not play your own cards, Vincent ? ”

“ Come into the house, gentlemen,” begged the Colonel.

“ Why so ? ” asked Vincent.

“ The affair is a family affair. I must beg leave to insist upon that view of it. It is so complicated with family obligations and proprieties, that it cannot be treated separately. Such is my opinion and such will be public opinion. Let me beg of you to discuss it in family council. I ask this as a personal favor. I ask it as a great favor.”

If Kershaw’s request was a strange one, and if he supported it by neither precedent nor sufficient argument, it must be remembered that he was very old and very good, and was, in short, the most venerable being whom these two young men knew. After a brief hesitation, Vincent nodded an unwilling assent, and the three walked back to the house. Passing the door of the dining-room, Bentley Armitage, who was lagging a little behind the others because of his “snake-bite,” was arrested by a vision. Kate was looking out upon him, beautiful enough to fascinate him and eager enough to flatter him.

“ Mr. Armitage,” she called, — in her anxiety it was a whisper, — unmeant but intoxicating compliment.

“ Miss Beaumont.” And Bentley bowed in the stiff way common to men with “game legs.” “ My relative, I venture to put it. I have n’t had the pleasure of meeting you before in five years,”

“Yes, and I have grown and all that,” replied Kate, trying to laugh and look coquettish, for she was hysterically eager to please him. “ Mr. Armitage, after five years, the first thing is that I want a favor of you.”

“ To hear is to obey,” said Bentley, quoting from the “ Arabian Nights,” — favorite reading of his.

Desperation made Kate eager, audacious, and straightforward.

“ I know all about this duel,” she went on. “ I don’t know whether you consider it proper for me to talk about it. But I must. Do you think, Mr. Armitage, that I like to come home and find my brother on the point of risking his life ? ”

Bentley wanted to say that he was not responsible for the duel, but did not feel that the code of honor justified him in such a speech.

“It would n’t be natural,” he admitted. “ I don’t suppose you do like it. Very sorry for the circumstances.”

“It makes me miserable.” (Here there was a quiver of the mouth which moved Bentley to his fingers’ ends.) “If you can say anything, — and I am sure you can say something, — do say it. Do give me your help to make peace. I am sure you can find a word to say, I don’t know what. You will oblige me so much. You will oblige my grandfather. You will do right. I know it must be right to stop this duel. Won’t you, Mr. Armitage, can’t you, do me this great favor?”

There was no resistance possible. There was a hand laid upon Bentley Armitage stronger than the code duello. He promised that he would throw his influence — or, as he slangily phrased it, drop his little ballot — on the side of peace. Kate gave him a smile which suggested a better world, and sent him on his way a softer-hearted man than he had ever been before.

In a few minutes there was what might be called a family parliament in the long parlor. Mr. Beaumont, his three sons, Colonel Kershaw, and Bent Armitage sat as gravely as Indian sachems in a council.

“ We ought to have calumets and wampum belts,” whispered Bentley to Tom ; but the youngster, reverent of the code duello and of the family honor, declined to smile.

“ Gentlemen, this is an extraordinaryoccasion,” said Colonel Kershaw, rising as if to address the United States Senate.

“ It is, indeed,” burst out Vincent, unable to control the excitability of his race. “ I believe I am the first gentleman who ever had his family called in to prevent him from demanding reparation for an insult. It is a most extraordinary and embarrassing situation. I make my protest against the absurdity of it.'

“You're right, old fellow,” declared Tom. Tom was young, and he was boyish for his age ; like all boys, he felt it necessary to take the warlike side of things ; it seemed to establish his courage and make a man of him. “ I’d like to have this thing blow over,” he continued. “ I was mightily in favor of having it blow over. But after the challenge has been sent, don’t see how you can withdraw it. That ’s where I draw my line.”

“You are interrupting the Colonel,” said Vincent, who felt that everybody was interfering with his business, and so was petulant with everybody.

“ I understand that my principal assented to this council,” put in Bent Armitage, seeing that things were going against peace, and remembering his promise to Kate.

Vincent stared. Was his second to be against him ? Was Bent Armitage going to turn peacemaker ?

“ I did assent,” he muttered, fixing his half-shut eyes on the floor, and softly clutching his hands to keep down his irritability.

“ Gentlemen,” resumed the patient Kershaw, “ I have but a few words to say. I do not propose to attack the code duello. Although it is repugnant to my feelings, at least in these latter years, I do not propose to ignore it. I know how thoroughly it is fixed in your views of life and in the habits of our society. I consent, though not with satisfaction, that you should in general be guided by it. But the code does not include the whole of human duty and honor ; you will admit thus much. There are other proprieties and gentilities. Now on this extraordinary occasion it seems to me that these other proprieties and gentilities are more imperious than the demands of the code. You, Beaumont, have had a daughter saved from death by a McAlister. You, Vincent, have had a sister saved from death by a McAlister. Under the circumstances, is it right for Beaumonts to shoot McAlisters ? I put one duty against another. I say that the obligation of gratitude overbalances the obligation of vindication of gentility. What I propose, therefore, is this : withdraw the challenge, because of the debt of gratitude ; make that debt the express ground of the withdrawal. If Mr. Wallace McAlister does not then retract his epithet, he will, in my opinion, prove himself ungentlemanly, stolid, and brutal, and we can afford to despise his comments. What do you say, my dear Beaumont ? ”

“ By heavens, Kershaw ! By heavens ! ” stuttered Beaumont. “It’s puzzling, by heavens. Well, if you must know what I think, I admit that you have made a strong point, Kershaw. A very strong point indeed, Kershaw. We don’t want to go before the world as ungrateful and that sort of thing. That is n’t gentlemanly. On the whole, Kershaw, — well, on the whole, I say, taking into view all the circumstances, you know, — I don’t see any valid objection to your proposition. Hem. I don’t object. That’s just it; I don’t object.”

With these words, Beaumont bowed his bristling head in great perplexity, wondering whether he had done right or wrong. Colonel Kershaw and Bent Armitage both glanced anxiously at Vincent. The curious Lawson, who had been dodging about the hall and had overheard most of the proceedings, peeped through a door-crack to get a view of the same young gladiator. The fat Poinsett nodded his large head two or three times, as if in assent to the proposition, but said nothing. Tom, overwhelmed by his father and the Colonel together, stared vacantly at the floor.

“ I venture to say that I see no valid cause for objection,” observed Bentley Armitage, remembering his promise to Kate.

“ I do,” burst out Vincent, looking up angrily at Armitage. “ I wish it understood that I am as grateful as I ought to be to Mr. Frank McAlister for his act of common humanity. But when it comes to withdrawing a challenge,— good heavens! I had abundant provocation, and I have it still. Let Wallace McAlister withdraw his epithet. He is at full liberty to do so. That is where peace should begin.”

Major Lawson left his post near the door, and skipped across the hall into the dining-room. In ten seconds more Kate Beaumont, as pale and mild as a saint newly taken to glory, came out of the dining-room, crossed the hall, and entered the awful family council. Bentley Armitage rose and offered a chair. Poinsett smiled with an amused look, and beckoned her to his side. Kershaw held out his hand, and Vincent turned away his head. Mr. Beaumont said, in a tone of much wonder and faint remonstrance, “ Kate ! ”

The girl, without noticing any of the others, advanced upon Vincent, seated herself beside him, looked eagerly in his averted face, and seized one of his hands.

“ O Vincent, this is my first night at home in four years,” she said in a trembling voice. “ I shall not sleep to-night. I shall do nothing but see my brother brought home — ” She could not finish this sentence. “ And my first night at home ! You could make it such a happy one, Vincent! Don’t you think anything of my being saved from death ? There was no hope for me, if it had not been for this man’s brother. I had bid good-by to you all.”

Here her father’s grim face had a shock ; he twisted his mouth oddly, and rolled his eyes like a lunatic ; he was trying to keep from blubbering. Colonel Kershaw clasped his wrinkled hands suddenly, as if returning thanks to Heaven, or praying. Lawson, listening in the hall, capered from one foot to the other as if he were on hot iron plates, and drew his cambric handkerchief.

“ I don’t want such a duel as this,” Kate went on. “It does seem to me so horribly unnatural. Not this time, Vincent; don't fight this time. Do make this my first night at home a happy one. O, I will be so grateful to you ; I will be such a sister to you ! Dear, can’t you answer me ?”

Mr. Beaumont rose abruptly and got himself out of the room. He did not fully want his son to do what he still considered not quite chivalrous ; and yet he could not bear to hear him refuse Kate this great and passionately sought for boon. One after another, Kershaw, Bent Armitage, Poinsett, and Tom followed him. The pleading sister and the sullen brother were left alone.

J. W. DeForest.