said that before his death my lord desired to make her his
wife, having been brought to a sense of the sinful life he had led by
a Puritan preacher. But at that, this woman straightened herself up,
surveyed him with scorn, and, laughing like a witch, answered: 'They
say marriages are made in heaven, my lord--and you are the devil!' So
my lord died without having atoned, and, as for my lady who refused to
become an honest woman, I am sure she was damned!" concluded Scroggs
triumphantly.

"No doubt! So this wicked lord abducted her, Scroggs?" he added
thoughtfully. "A man of spirit, until the Puritans got after him and
showed him the burning pit and frightened him to that virtue which was
foreign to his inclinations. My lady was right in refusing to honor
such a paltry scoundrel with her hand. But it takes courage, Scroggs,
to face everlasting damnation."

"They say, too, there was a spice of revenge about her unwillingness
to give her hand to my lord," resumed the narrator, unmindful of the
interruption. "This Puritan father said nothing but marriage with her
would save Hamerton from the sulphurous flames and so my lady refused
to sanctify their relations and rescue her lord from perdition!"

"A pleasant revenge!" laughed the land baron. "He made life a hell for
her and she gave him an eternity of it. But take a little of this
white wine, man. We've drunk to the roses of desire, and now should
drink to the sanctified lilies. Her neck, Scroggs, is like a lily, and
her hand and her brow! Beneath that whiteness, her eyes shine with a
tenderness inviting rays of passion to kindle them. Drink!"

But the other gave a sudden lurch forward. "My lady--refused--perdition!"
he muttered, and his head dropped to the board.

"Wake up, man, and drink!" commanded the master.

"Jush same--they ought to have been married," said his companion
drowsily. "They lived together so--so ill!" And then to place himself
beyond reach of further temptation from the bottle, he quietly and
naturally slid under the table.

The patroon arose, strode to the window, which he lifted, and the
night air entered, fanning his hot brow. The leaves, on high, rustled
like falling rain. The elms tossed their branches, striking one
another in blind confusion. The long grass whispered as the breeze
stirred it like the surface of an inland lake. Withering flowers gave
up their last perfume, while a storm-cloud fled wildly across the
heavens. Some of the restl