ough, up to a certain point, I took but little
interest in them. A remark that now reached my ears, however, suddenly
changed the nature of my thoughts. It was this:--

"_He's after Miss Besancon, they say_."

I was now interested. I stepped to the door, and, placing my ear close
to the keyhole, listened.

"I guess he's arter _the plantation_," said another; and the remark was
followed by a significant laugh.

"Well, then," rejoined a voice, in a more solemn and emphatic tone,
"he's after what he won't get."

"How? how?" demanded several.

"He may get _thee_ lady, preehaps," continued the same voice, in the
same measured tones; "but not _thee_ plantation."

"How? What do you mean, Mr Moxley?" again demanded the chorus of
voices.

"I mean what I say, gentlemen," replied the solemn speaker; and then
repeated again his former words in a like measured drawl. "He may get
the lady, _pree_haps, but not _thee_ plantation."

"Oh! the report's true, then?" said another voice, interrogatively.
"Insolvent? Eh? Old Gayarre--"

"Owns _thee_ plantation."

"And niggers?"

"Every skin o' them; the sheriff will take possession to-morrow."

A murmur of astonishment reached my ears. It was mingled with
expressions of disapprobation or sympathy.

"Poor girl! it's a pity o' _her_!"

"Well, it's no wonder. She made the money fly since the old 'un died."

"Some say he didn't leave so much after all. 'Twar most part mortgaged
before--"

The entrance of the doctor interrupted this conversation, and relieved
me for the moment from the torture which it was inflicting upon me.

"A friend in the swamp, did you say?" again interrogated Reigart.

I had hesitated to reply, thinking of the crowd by the door. I said to
the doctor in a low earnest voice--

"My dear friend, I have met with an adventure; am badly scratched, as
you see. Dress my wounds, but do not press me for details. I have my
reasons for being silent. You will one day learn all, but not now.
Therefore--"

"Enough, enough!" said the doctor, interrupting me; "do not be uneasy.
Let me look at your scratches."

The good doctor became silent, and proceeded to the dressing of my
wounds.

Under other circumstances the manipulation of my wounds, for they now
felt painful, might have caused me annoyance. It did not then. What I
had just heard had produced a feeling within that neutralised the
external pain, and I felt it not.

I was really in mental