And the message, too--Victor might
have delivered that had she been willing to trust him with it, but
she was not. Arthur St. Claire had a secret of some kind; Mr.
Griswold was concerned in it, and it was to guard this secret from
all curious ears that she was doing what she was. Having thus
settled the matter to her mind, Edith rode on, unmindful of the
rain, which had partially subsided, but still dripped from her
black plumes and glanced off from her velvet habit. A slight
nervous trepidation seized her, however, as she drew near to
Grassy Spring, and noticed the look of surprise with which a
stalwart African, standing by the gate, regarded her. Riding up to
him she said, good-naturedly, "How d'ye, uncle?" having learned so
much of negro dialect from Rachel, who was a native of Georgia.
Immediately the ivories of the darkie became visible, and with a
not ungraceful bow, he answered, "Jest tolable, thankee;" while
his eyes wandered up the road, as if in quest of something they
evidently did not find, for bending forward helooked curiously
behind Edith, saying by way of apology, "I'se huntin' for yer
little black boy; whar is he?"
"Where's who?" and in her fright, lest some one of the little
"Guinea niggers" about whom Victor had told her, might be seated
behind her, Edith leaped with on bound form the saddle, nearly
upsetting the young man hastening out to meet her.
Pages:
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159