“Mass’ Raleigh, your house done been burned up!” said Capua, at last, jerking back his head, as if afraid of losing it.

“Ah?  And what did you do with”——­

“Oh, eberyting safe an’ sound.  ’Ta’n’t dat house; ’ta’n’t dis yer house Massa lib in;—­Massa’s sparrer-house.  Reckoned I’d better come and ’form him.”

“Is that all?” asked his master, who was accustomed to Capua’s method of breaking ill news.

“Now, Mass’ Roger, don’t you go to being pervoked an’ flyin’ into one ob dese yer tempers!  It’s all distinguished now.  Ole Cap didn’ want to shock his young massa, so thought ’twarn’t de wisest way to tell him ’twarn’t de sparrer-house, either, at first.  ’Twas de inside ob de libery, if he must know de troof; wet an’ smutty dar now, mebbe, but no fire.”

“Why not?  What made the fire go out?” asked Mr. Raleigh, composedly.

“Well, two reasons,” replied Capua, rolling a glance over the company;—­“one was dis chile’s exertions; an’ t’other fact, on account ob wich de flames was checked, was because dere warn’t no more to burn.  Hi!”

“Capua, take Nan, and don’t let me see your face again, till I send for it!” said his master, now slightly irate.

“Massa’s nigger alwes mind him,” was the dutiful response.

Mrs. Laudersdale’s handkerchief fell at that moment from the hand that hung over the balustrade.  Capua darted to restore it.

“Bress her pretty eyes!” said he.  “Ole Cap see’s fur into a millstone as any one!” and vanished through the doorway.

“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Raleigh, turning to Mrs. Laudersdale.  “He has refused to leave me, and I must indulge him too much, and my sins fall on the head of the nearest passer.  He appears to have a constitutional inability to comprehend this absence of punishment.  His immunity is so painful to him that I sometimes fancy him to be homesick for a lashing.  Now if I do not hasten home, Kate, I shall find a conflagration of the whole house there before me.”

And making quick adieux,—­while Mrs. Laudersdale jested about tempting the raging waters, and the dinner-bell was ringing, and Helen singing, “Come o’er the stream, Charlie, and dine wi’ McLean,”—­he opened the door, suffered a patch of blue sky to be seen, and the segment of an afternoon rainbow, shut it, and was gone.

Early again the next morning, Mr. Raleigh sought the Bawn, followed this time by Capua, who was determined not to lose any ground once made, and who now carried the rods, bait, and other paraphernalia.

“Powerful pretty woman, dat, Massa!” said he, as through the open doors a voice was heard gayly exclaiming and answering.

“Which one, Capua?” asked his master.

“A’n’t no t’orrer,” was his reply; “leastwise, a’n’t no ’count,—­good for nott’n.  Now she,—­pity she a’n’t single, Massa,—­should say she’d lived where sun was plenty and had laid up heaps in her heart.”