CHAPTER XXX.

A week later, Margaret was still in the house on the point, she had not
been able to complete as rapidly as she had hoped the arrangements
necessary for leaving it in safe condition behind her. This was not
owing to any lingering on her own part, or to any hesitation of purpose;
it was owing simply to the constitutional inability of anybody in that
latitude, black or white, to work steadily, to be in the least hurried.
The poorest negro engaged to shake carpets could not bring himself,
though with the offer of double wages before him, to the point of going
without a long "res'" under the trees after each (short) "stent." Mr.
Moore, with his lists, made no haste--Mr. Moore had never been in a
hurry in his life.

But now at last all was completed; the house was to be closed on the
morrow. No one but the clergyman was to sleep there on this last night;
the negroes, generously paid and rejoicing in their riches, were going
to their own homes; in the morning one of them was to return to
dismantle Mr. Moore's room, and then the clergyman himself was to bar
the windows, lock the doors, and carry the keys to the hotel, where they
were to be kept, in accordance with Margaret's orders. She herself was
to sleep at the hotel, in order to be in readiness to take the sea-going
steamer, which would touch at that pier at an early hour the next
morning.

Evert Winthrop had returned to East Angels. Five days he had stayed at
the hotel, coming down every morning to the house on the point; not once
had he been able to see Margaret alone. Mr. Moore was always with her,
or if by rare chance he happened to be absent, she was surrounded by the
chattering blacks, who with the jolliest good-humor and aimless
wandering errands to and fro, were carrying out, or pretending to, the
orders of "Mis' Horrel."

Winthrop chafed against this constant presence of others. But he would
not allow himself to speak of it, pride prevented him. Why should he be
kept at a distance, and a comparative stranger like Mr. Moore consulted
about everything? Mr. Moore! He looked on with impatience while the
clergyman gave explanations of Penelope's excellent methods of
vanquishing the Mildew, the Damp, the Moth; with impatience grown to
contempt he heard him read aloud to Margaret and check off carefully the
various items of his lists. Mr. Moore had even made a list of the
inhabitants of the poultry-yard, though Margaret intended to present
them in a