moment." The two went up to the house,
across the wide veranda, into a room half library, half lounging-room,
which, from a score of evidences strewn around, was plainly the special
resort of the master. Over the mantel hung the life-size portrait of an
excessively beautiful woman. A fine, _spirituelle_ face, with proud
lines around the mouth and delicate nostrils, but with a tender,
appealing look in the eyes, that claimed gentle treatment. This face
said, "I was made for sunshine and balmy airs, but, if darkness and
storm assail, I can walk through them unflinching, though the progress
be short; I can die, and give no sign." Willie went hastily up to this,
and stood, absorbed, before it. "Francesca is very like her mother,"
said Ercildoune, coming to his side. It was his own thought, but he made
no answer.

"I will tell you something of her and myself; a very little story; you
can draw the moral. My father, who was a Virginian, sent my brother and
me to England when we were mere boys, to be trained and educated. After
his fashion, doubtless, he loved us; for he saw that we had every
advantage that wealth, and taste, and care could provide; and though he
never sent for us, nor came to us, in all the years after we left his
house,--and though we had no legal claim upon him,--he acknowledged us
his children, and left us the entire proceeds of his immense estates,
unincumbered. We were so young when we went abroad, had been so tenderly
treated at home, had seen and known so absolutely nothing of the society
about us, that we were ignorant as Arabs of the state of feeling and
prejudice in America against such as we, who carried any trace of negro
blood. Our treatment in England did but increase this oblivion.

"We graduated at Oxford; my brother, who was two years older than I,
waiting upon me that we might go together through Europe; and together
we had three of the happiest years of life. On the Continent I met
_her_. You see what she is; you know Francesca: it is useless for me to
attempt to describe her. I loved her,--she loved me,--it was confessed.
In a little while I called her wife; I would, if I could, tell you of
the time that followed: I cannot. We had a beautiful home, youth,
health, riches, friends, happiness, two noble boys. At last an evil fate
brought us to America. I was to look after some business affairs which,
my agent said, needed personal supervision. My brother, whose health had
failed, was advised