r boat and followed the path till she reached a natural
terrace in the hills, narrow and green, upon which a small, one-story
house was snugly bestowed. The terrace was uncultivated, save a small
garden patch close to the house, where the soil was torn and uneven from
the uprooting of vegetables from the rudely-shaped beds. Sweetbrier and
wild honey-suckles gave a picturesque grace to the building, at variance
with the untidy state of the grounds, and there was something in the
whole place more suggestive of refinement than is usual to dwellings
where the inmates work hard for their daily bread.

Mabel Harrington had never been in this place before. As she approached
it, the cry of a whippowil came up from the hollow, as if warning her
away. Everything was still within the house. There was no light; the
rustle of leaves with the flow of waters from the ravine, joined their
mournful whispers with the wail of the night bird.

Mabel was imaginative as a girl, and this solitude depressed her; still
she moved steadily towards the house, and knocked at the door.

A woman opened it, whose person was seen but indistinctly, as she stood
within the small entry, holding the door with one hand; but Mabel saw
that she was dark and dressed as she had seen that class of persons in
the south.

"I wish to see Miss Agnes Barker for a moment: is she in?" said Mrs.
Harrington with her usual dignified repose of manner, for however much
interested, Mabel was not one to invite curiosity by any display of
excitement, and it must have been a close observer who could have
detected the faint quiver of her voice as she expressed this
common-place wish.

"She don't liv hear in dis shantee."

"I know. She lives at General Harrington's, up the river," replied
Mabel, "but it is some weeks since she has been there, and I expected to
find her with you."

"Missus, pears like you don't know as Miss Agnes is young lady, from top
to toe, ebery inch ob her. Is you the Missus?"

"I am Mrs. Harrington," said Mabel, quietly.

"Oh!" exclaimed the woman, prolonging the monosyllable almost into a
sneer, "jes come in. I'se mighty sorry de candle all burnt out an done
gone."

Mabel entered the house, and sat down in the dim light.

"Is Missus 'lone mong dese hills?" said the woman, retreating to the
darkest corner of the room.

"Yes, I am alone!" answered Mabel.

"All 'lone in de dark wid nothin but that whippoorwill to keep company;
skeery, ain't i