great pleasure;
he will have many questions to ask you."

Tom went out to search for his attendant, who presently clattered away
on the mule at an excellent homeward pace. An old negro man servant
led away the horse, and Colonel Bellamy disappeared also, leaving the
young guest to entertain himself and his hostess for an hour, that
flew by like light. A woman who is charming in youth is still more
charming in age to a man of Tom Burton's imagination, and he was
touched to find how quickly the first sense of receiving an antagonist
had given way before a desire to show their feeling of kindly
hospitality toward a guest. The links of ancient friendship still held
strong, and as Tom sat with his hostess by the window they had much
pleasant talk of Northern families known to them both, of whom, or of
whose children and grandchildren, he could give much news. It seemed
as if he should have known Madam Bellamy all his life. It is
impossible to say how she illumined her poor habitation, with what
dignity and sweetness she avoided, as far as possible, any reference
to the war or its effects. One could hardly remember that she was
poor, or ill, or had suffered such piteous loss of friends and
fortune.

Later, when Tom was walking toward the river through the woods and
overgrown fields of the plantation, he came upon the ruins of the old
cabins of what must have been a great family of slaves. The crumbling
heaps of the chimneys stood in long lines on either side of a
weed-grown lane; not far beyond he found the sinking mounds of some
breastworks on a knoll which commanded the river channel. The very
trees and grass looked harrowed and distressed by war; the silence of
the sunset was only broken by the cry of a little owl that was begging
mercy of its fears far down the lonely shore.

V.

At supper that night Burton came from his room to find Colonel Bellamy
bringing his wife in his arms to the table, while the old bent-backed
and gray-headed man servant followed to place her chair. The mistress
of Fairford was entirely lame and helpless, but she sat at the head of
her table like a queen. There was a bunch of damask-roses at her
plate. The Colonel himself was in evening dress, antique in cut, and
sadly worn, and Tom heartily thanked his patron saint that the boy had
brought his portmanteau in good season. There was a glorious light in
the room from the fire, and the table was served with exquisite care,
and even more luxu