ich I felt the scrutiny of a pair of sharp, black eyes.

"What yo' want, Marse?"

The woman's voice astonished me, for she spoke the dialect of the
American tide-water.

"I should like to see Mrs. Clive," I answered.

The door closed a shade.

"Mistis sick, she ain't see nobody," said the woman. She closed the door
a little more, and I felt tempted to put my foot in the crack.

"Tell her that Mr. David Ritchie is here," I said.

There was an instant's silence, then an exclamation.

"Lan' sakes, is you Marse Dave?" She opened the door--furtively, I
thought--just wide enough for me to pass through. I found myself in a
low-ceiled, darkened room, opposite a trim negress who stood with her
arms akimbo and stared at me.

"Marse Dave, you doan rec'lect me. I'se Lindy, I'se Breed's daughter. I
rec'lect you when you was at Temple Bow. Marse Dave, how you'se done
growed! Yassir, when I heerd from Miss Sally I done comed here to tek
cyar ob her."

"How is your mistress?" I asked.

"She po'ly, Marse Dave," said Lindy, and paused for adequate words. I
took note of this darky who, faithful to a family, had come hither to
share her mistress's exile and obscurity. Lindy was spare, energetic,
forceful--and, I imagined, a discreet guardian indeed for the
unfortunate. "She po'ly, Marse Dave, an' she ain' nebber leabe dis year
house. Marse Dave," said Lindy earnestly, lowering her voice and taking
a step closer to me, "I done reckon de Mistis gwine ter die ob
lonesomeness. She des sit dar an' brood, an' brood--an' she use' ter de
bes' company, to de quality. No, sirree, Marse Dave, she ain' nebber
sesso, but she tink 'bout de young Marsa night an' day. Marse Dave?"

"Yes?" I said.

"Marse Dave, she have a lil pink frock dat Marsa Nick had when he was a
bebby. I done cotch Mistis lookin' at it, an' she hid it when she see me
an' blush like 'twas a sin. Marse Dave?"

"Yes?" I said again.

"Where am de young Marsa?"

"I don't know, Lindy," I answered.

Lindy sighed.

"She done talk 'bout you, Marse Dave, an' how good you is--"

"And Mrs. Temple sees no one," I asked.

"Dar's one lady come hyar ebery week, er French lady, but she speak
English jes' like the Mistis. Dat's my fault," said Lindy, showing a
line of white teeth.

"Your fault," I exclaimed.

"Yassir. When I comed here from Caroliny de Mistis done tole me not ter
let er soul in hyah. One day erbout three mont's ergo, dis yer lady come
en she des wheedled