and had moved in without notifying him, that being the
best way to solve the problem--St. George still retaining his bedroom
and dining-room and the use of the front door. Jemima, too, had gone.
She wanted, so she had told her master the day he left with Kate, to
take a holiday and visit some of her people who lived down by the Marsh
Market in an old rookery near the Falls, and would come back when he
sent for her; but Todd had settled all that the morning of his arrival,
the moment he caught sight of her black face.

"Ain't no use yo' comin' back," the darky blurted out. "I'm gwineter do
de cookin' and de chamber-wo'k. Dere ain't 'nough to eat fo' mo'n two.
When dem white-livered, no-count, onery gemmens dat stole Marse George's
money git in de chain-gang, whar dey b'longs, den may be we'll hab
sumpin' to go to market on, but dat ain't yit; an' don't ye tell Marse
George I tol' yer or I'll ha'nt ye like dat witch I done heared 'bout
down to Wesley--ha'nt ye so ye'll think de debble's got ye." To his
master, his only explanation was that Jemima had gone to look after her
sister, who had been taken "wid a mis'ry in her back."

If St. George knew anything of the common talk going on around him
no one was ever the wiser. He continued the even tenor of his life,
visiting and receiving his friends, entertaining his friends in a simple
and inexpensive way: Once Poe had spent an evening with him, when he
made a manly, straightforward apology for his conduct the night of the
dinner, and on another occasion Mr. Kennedy had made an especial point
of missing a train to Washington to have an hour's chat with him. In the
afternoons he would have a rubber of whist with the archdeacon who
lived across the Square--a broad-minded ecclesiastic, who believed in
relaxation, although, of course, he was never seen at the club; or he
might drop into the Chesapeake for a talk with Richard or sit beside him
in his curious laboratory at the rear of his house where he worked out
many of the problems that absorbed his mind and inspired his hopes. At
night, however late or early--whenever he reached home--there was always
a romp with his dogs. This last he rarely omitted. The click of the
front-door latch, followed by his firm step overhead, was their signal,
and up they would come, tumbling over each other in their eagerness to
reach his cheeks--straight up, their paws scraping his clothes; then a
swoop into the dining-room, when they would be "do