e is the altar-tomb of Evelyn Byrd. It stands
with an iron band about it, holding the aged stones in place. The
time-dimmed inscription tells us to "be reminded by this awful Tomb" of
many dismal things with which we refuse to associate our thoughts of
this lovely colonial girl.

Rather, we recall the story of her intimacy with Mrs. Anne Harrison of
Berkeley, and of the compact the two friends made, that whichever
should die first should appear at some time to the other. The tale goes
on to tell that Mrs. Harrison, after the death of her friend, was
walking over to Westover one evening, and as she passed the churchyard
she saw the ethereal figure of Evelyn Byrd there by the altar-tomb,
smiling in happy fulfilment of the strange tryst.

It was late afternoon when we were ready to take our way for the last
time down the strip of sandy beach that led from William Byrd's old
home to ours. The sun slanted low over the Powhatan; in its glow the
old manor-house stood out in all its stateliness. We reflected that
just as Westover looked then, it had looked when Colonel Byrd himself
used to step out from the marble portal to saunter among his trees and
flowers, or to take his faultless self out upon the pier perhaps to
watch the unloading of the ship from London Towne. Just so the old
house had looked through all those days when it was the scene of a
luxurious colonial life not excelled by that of the patroons of the
Hudson.

Looking from the home out upon the river we saw a low-laden vessel, all
sail spread to the soft, faltering breeze, coming slowly up stream on
the last of the tide. How she fitted into the old-time setting! She was
one of Colonel Byrd's freighting ships just in from overseas. After a
tempestuous voyage, and a narrow escape from the Spanish too, she had
safely entered Chesapeake Bay and now, the wind serving but ill, she
was slowly drifting up the river.

Soon she would touch at the old colonial pier swarming with plantation
negroes. To the rhythm of African melodies the cargo would come out of
the hold--mahogany furniture, a new statue for the garden, cases of
wine, casks of muscovado sugar, puncheons of rum, plantation machinery,
sweetmeats and spices, and some bewildered Irish cows. Quite likely,
picking their way daintily in the midst of the exciting scene, would
come the lady of the manor and Mistress Evelyn to make anxious inquiry
for boxes of London finery. And then--but, no! that vessel out on the