the reel!"

In the drawing-room the music quickened. Scipio played with all his
soul, his eyes uprolled, his lips parted, his woolly head nodding, his
vast foot beating time; young Eli, black and shining, seconded him ably;
without the doors and windows gathered the house servants, absorbed,
admiring, laughing without noise. The April wind, fragrant of greening
forests, ploughed land, and fruit trees, blew in and out the long, thin
curtains. Faster went the bow upon the fiddle, the room became more
brilliant and more dreamy. The flowers in the old, old blue jars grew
pinker, mistier, the lights had halos, the portraits smiled forthright;
but from greater distances, the loud ticking of the clock without the
door changed to a great rhythm, as though Time were using a violin
string. The laughter swelled, waves of brightness went through the
ancient room. They danced the "Virginia Reel."

Miss Lucy, sitting beside Cousin William on the sofa, raised her head.
"Horses are coming up the drive!"

"That's not unusual," said Cousin William, with a smile. "Why do you
look so startled?"

"I don't know. I thought--but that's not possible." Miss Lucy half rose,
then took her seat again. Cousin William listened. "The air's very clear
to-night, and there must be an echo. It does sound like a great body of
horsemen coming out of the distance."

"Balance corners!" called Eli. "Swing yo' partners!--_Sachay!_"

The music drew to a height, the lights burned with a fuller power, the
odour of the flowers spread, subtle and intense. The dancers moved more
and more quickly. "There are only three horses," said Cousin William,
"two in front and one behind. Two gentlemen and a servant. Now they are
crossing the little bridge. Shall I go see who they are?"

Miss Lucy rose. Outside a dog had begun an excited and joyous barking.
"That's Gelert! It's my brother he is welcoming!" From the porch came a
burst of negro voices. "Who dat comin' up de drive? Who dat,
Gelert?--Dat's marster!--Go 'way, 'ooman! don' tell me he in Richmon'!
Dat's marster!"

The reel ended suddenly. There was a sound of dismounting, a step upon
the porch, a voice. "Father, father!" cried Judith, and ran into the
hall.

A minute later the master of Greenwood, his children about him, entered
the drawing-room. Behind him came Richard Cleave. There was a momentary
confusion of greeting; it passed, and from the two men, travel-stained,
fatigued, pale with some suppressed