niversity of Virginia. We did not
ask his errand, and none of us suspected the purpose of his systematic
visiting among the more influential centers of that country. But if you
will go now to that white-domed building planned by Thomas Jefferson at
Charlottesville, and read the names on the brazen tablets by the doors,
names of boys who left school there to enter a harder school, then you
will see the results of the visit there of Gordon Orme.

My little personal affairs were at that time so close to me that they
obscured clear vision of larger ones. I did not hear all the talk in the
carriage, but pulled my horse in behind and so rode on moodily, gazing
out across the pleasant lands to the foot of old Catoctin and the dim
Blue Ridge. A sudden discontent assailed me. Must I live here
always--must I settle down and be simply a farmer forever? I wanted to
ride over there, over the Rock Fish Gap, where once King Charles' men
broke a bottle in honor of the king, and took possession of all the
lands west of the Pacific. The West--the word in some way thrilled in my
blood--I knew not why. I was a boy. I had not learned to question any
emotion, and introspection troubled me no more than it did my pointer
dog.

Before we had separated at the door of our house, I motioned to my
mother, and we drew apart and seated ourselves beneath our own oaks in
the front yard of Cowles' Farms. Then I told her what had happened
between Miss Grace and myself, and asked her if she was pleased.

"I am very content with thee," she answered, slowly, musingly. "Thee
must think of settling, Jack, and Miss Grace is a worthy girl. I hope it
will bring peace between our families always." I saw a film cross her
clear, dark eye. "Peace!" she whispered to herself. "I wish that it
might be."

But peace was not in my heart. Leaving her presently, I once more swung
leg over saddle and rode off across our fields, as sad a lover as ever
closed the first day of his engagement to be wed.

CHAPTER VII

WHAT COMETH IN THE NIGHT

When I rode up our lane in the dusk, I found my father and mother
sitting in the cool of the front gallery, and giving my rein to one of
our boys, I flung myself down on the steps near by, and now and again
joined in their conversation.

I was much surprised to learn that our whilom guest, Gordon Orme, had
taken sudden departure during my absence, he having been summoned by a
messenger from the village, who he stated broug