"'Le, I do not want to leave you, but see! I must take the water to escape the fire!'

"And suddenly, as if the burning ship were swallowed up in the midnight sea, the vision vanished. Three times I had this vision, children. And it troubled me, but in the excitement of my home-coming I forgot it until now. Now I remember it, and receive it as a warning."

"I can read it! I can read it!" said Wynnette, with her weird, eldritch look and tone. "I can read it, and it is just what I believed before I heard of it! Odalite is driven somehow, by some one or something, not only to marry, but want to marry, Anglesea to save herself from some evil! Oh!

I feel it even in my bones! And if she is driven quite into the marriage, I tell you there will be some awful tragedy like that of the Bride of Lammermoor! Anglesea will be found in the morning with his wizen slit--I mean with his throat cut--and Odalite will be sitting in the ashes gibbering and mopping and mowing like an idiot!"

"Oh! oh! oh!" cried little Elva, covering her face with her hands and shivering through all her small frame.

"See, you have frightened the child, Wynnette! You should not say such wild, extravagant things, my dear!" said Le, rebukingly.

"I said it to fetch you! I mean I said it to make an impression on you!"

retorted Wynnette.

"Oh, Le! can't you be Young Lochinvar and carry her off from the wedding?"

pleaded little Elva.

"Hardly, my darling!

"'The fair Ellen of Young Lochinvar'

was willing to be carried off, and Odalite is not, which makes all the difference, you know!"

"Oh, but she would be glad afterward!" persisted Elva.

"Oh, hush, Elf! He won't try it! The age of chivalry is past!" indignantly replied Wynnette.

"We will walk on," said Le.

And they resumed their tramp toward Greenbushes, where they arrived in about another hour, and where they spent the day, returning home in the evening.

"Oh, Le! Sweet, dear, darling Le! won't you please carry off Odalite, just like Young Lochinvar did fair Ellen? Oh, please, Le! It would be so easy!

You could have George saddled and brought round to the front door. George is the fastest and the strongest horse in the stables, and you could s.n.a.t.c.h her up and run out with her and be in the saddle and away before folks could get over their surprise. And she would be glad afterward! I know she would! Weren't the Sabine women glad afterward that the Roman youth had carried them away?" argued Elva, fresh from her school history.

"And, Le, you could do it very easily!"

"Yes, I could, very easily," grimly a.s.sented the youth.

"And you will, won't you?"

"No, my precious! It would not do! Not in these days, darling! With all the examples of romance, poetry and history to inspire me, I must not do it! If I were to attempt such a feat, I would be a felon, not a hero, my pet."

"Then I wish you were a felon!" was the astounding conclusion of Elva, as she pa.s.sed him by and entered the house.

From this day Le watched Odalite more closely, and he discovered that, on all occasions when she was in company with Anglesea, she treated him with open contempt, except when her father was present; then indeed she seemed to put constraint upon herself and to treat her betrothed with decent respect. Was this done to avert any suspicions of the real state of her feelings from her father's mind?

From this day, also, Le was often absent on errands that took him from the neighborhood and sometimes kept him over night. And when interrogated by his uncle, or any member of the family, as to the business that called him away, he would give evasive answers.

But all noticed that Le's spirits were much improved, so that he was more like the ruddy, jubilant Le that he had been in the past, than at any other time since his return home. He walked with a light step, spoke in a brisk tone, sang s.n.a.t.c.hes of sea songs and winked knowingly at the wondering children.

Meantime the wedding came on apace.

CHAPTER XVII

ROSEMARY HEDGE

"Oldfield, December 20, 18--.

"Sukey: I saw Miss Sibby Bayard's Gad go by the house this morning on the mule, with a bag of wheat before him, taking it to old Killman's mill to be ground, and I know she is going to have hot biscuits for supper out of the new wheat; so I want you to come and bring Rosemary with you, and we will walk over there and take tea with her. You ride Jo, and take the child up behind you, and let the boy walk. Dolly."

"Sukey" was Miss Grandiere, a tall, handsome and dignified maiden lady of about forty years of age. She had a shapely head, regular features, fair complexion, blue eyes and brown hair, brushed away from her forehead, and twisted into a roll on the top of her head.

She wore a plain, dark, calico gown, made with a short waist, tight sleeves, and long, narrow skirt, and a plain, white, muslin handkerchief around her neck, and pinned firmly across her bosom.

She stood upon the rudest sort of porch, built of rough pine boards, and shaded by hop vines, now withered under the wintry air.

Yet homely as were her attire and surroundings, it seemed as inappropriate for any one to call the stately Susannah Grandiere "Sukey," as it is for some writers to refer to England's magnificent Elizabeth as "Queen Bess."

Beside this dignified dame stood a very dainty, delicate and pathetic-looking little girl of about twelve years of age, who leaned half fondly, half lazily against the lady's side.

She was Miss Grandiere's niece, shadow and worshiper. Her name was Rosemary Hedge, and she was the only and orphan child of Miss Grandiere's widowed sister, Mrs. Dorothy Hedge, the writer of the note.

Rosemary was a slight, tiny, fragile creature, with a mere slip of a figure, and mites of hands and feet. She had a thin face, a pale rose complexion, large, light blue eyes, and black hair, which she wore as children do now--partly banged across her forehead, but mostly hanging down her shoulders. She was clothed in a prim, blue, calico gown, with a short waist, high neck, tight sleeves, and a skirt all the way down to her feet, which were shod in coa.r.s.e leather shoes over home-knit, gray stockings.

The child was looking up to her aunt in great anxiety while the latter read the letter brought by the negro boy, Dan, who stood, torn hat in hand, holding the bridle of a short, fat, white cob, Jovial by name, commonly called "Jo."

"Is it for me to go home? Oh, Aunt Sukey, is it for me to go home?"

uneasily inquired the little girl, as the lady folded the letter.

"No, child, no," soothingly replied the lady. "It is only to ask us both to ride four miles, and walk one, for the sake of eating 'Hot Biscuits,'

in capital letters, for supper."

"She say--Miss Dolly say--how you and Miss Ro'mery mus' ride Jo, and me to lead him," here explained the ragged negro boy.

"Just like my poor sister Hedge! Well, it does not matter much. I was thinking about going over to Oldfield to-day; but all the horses here being at work, I had to give it up. Anyhow, I had certainly made up my mind to go down on the bay, before the great Force wedding, for as the ceremony is to be performed at All Faith Church, it will be much more convenient to attend it from Oldfield than from here. Are the ladies at Oldfield invited to the wedding, do you know, Dan?"

"Oh, Lor'! yes'm. Ebrybody is 'wited, an' de church all dessicated full o'

holly an' ebbergreens, like Chris'mas!"

"Decorated, you mean, Dan."

"Yes'm, desecrated."

"Now then, Dan, give the horse some water, and let him rest while you get something to eat. We have just now done dinner, and the servants are taking theirs in the kitchen. Aunt Moll will give you yours, and by the time you have finished we shall be ready to start. Come, Rosemary."

And taking her niece by the hand, Miss Grandiere stepped from the porch into a plainly furnished bedchamber, which was her own private apartment--sitting room by day, bedroom by night--and which she shared with her favorite niece whenever the little girl happened to be staying with her, which was, indeed, most of the time.