ion since last I saw you."

"No, by G-d!" he cried, "and I never will. I do not want to know your
d--d principles--or grievances, or whatever they are. We were living an
easy life, in the plenty of money, and nothing to complain of. You take
it all away, with your cursed cant--"

I left him railing and swearing. And that was the last I saw of Tom
Swain. When I returned from a final survey of the plantation; and a talk
with Percy Singleton, he had ridden North again.

I found Patty alone in the parlour. Her work (one of my own stockings
she was darning) lay idle in her lap, and in her eyes were the unshed
tears which are the greatest suffering of women. I sat down beside her
and called her name. She did not seem to hear me.

"Patty!"

She started. And my courage ebbed.

"Are you going to the war--to leave us, Richard?" she faltered.

"I fear there is no choice, Patty," I answered, striving hard to keep my
own voice steady. "But you will be well looked after. Ivie Rawlinson
is to be trusted, and Mr. Bordley has promised to keep an eye upon you."

She took up the darning mechanically.

"I shall not speak a word to keep you, Richard. He would have wished
it," she said softly. "And every strong arm in the colonies will be
needed. We shall think of you, and pray for you daily."

I cast about for a cheerful reply.

"I think when they discover how determined we are, they will revoke their
measures in a hurry. Before you know it, Patty, I shall be back again
making the rounds in my broad rim, and reading to you out of Captain
Cook."

It was a pitiful attempt. She shook her head sadly. The tears were come
now, and she was smiling through them. The sorrow of that smile!

"I have something to say to you before I go, Patty," I said. The words
stuck. I knew that there must be no pretence in that speech. It must be
true as my life after, the consequence of it. "I have something to ask
you, and I do not speak without your father's consent. Patty, if I
return, will you be my wife?"

The stocking slipped unheeded to the floor. For a moment she sat
transfixed, save for the tumultuous swelling of her breast. Then she
turned and gazed earnestly into my face, and the honesty of her eyes
smote me. For the first time I could not meet them honestly with my own.

"Richard, do you love me?" she asked.

I bowed my head. I could not answer that. And for a while there was no
sound save that of the singing of the frogs in the dista