“Really, he is a worthy old soul, and actually believes all these things with his whole heart, attaching unheard-of importance to the most abstract ideas, and embarking his whole being in his ideal view of a grand Millennial finale to the human race.  I look at him and at myself, and ask, Can human beings be made so unlike?

“My little Mary to-day was in a mood of ‘sweet austere composure’ quite becoming to her style of beauty; her naive nonchalance at times is rather stimulating.  What a contrast between her and la belle Francaise!—­all the difference that there is between a diamond and a flower.  I find the little thing has a cultivated mind, enriched by reading, and more by a still, quaint habit of thinking, which is new and charming.  But a truce to this.

“I have seen our friends at last.  We have had three or four meetings, and are waiting to hear from Philadelphia,—­matters are getting in train.  If Messrs. T. and S. dare to repeat what they said again, let me know; they will find in me a man not to be trifled with.  I shall be with you in a week or ten days, at farthest.  Meanwhile stand to your guns.

“Ever yours,

“BURR.”

CHAPTER XVII.

The next morning, before the early dews had yet dried off the grass, Mary started to go and see her friend Mrs. Marvyn.  It was one of those charming, invigorating days, familiar to those of Newport experience, when the sea lies shimmering and glittering in deep blue and gold, and the sky above is firm and cloudless, and every breeze that comes landward seems to bear health and energy upon its wings.

As Mary approached the house, she heard loud sounds of discussion from the open kitchen-door, and, looking in, saw a rather original scene acting.

Candace, armed with a long oven-shovel, stood before the open door of the oven, whence she had just been removing an army of good things which appeared ranged around on the dresser.  Cato, in the undress of a red flannel shirt and tow-cloth trousers, was cuddled, in a consoled and protected attitude, in the corner of the wooden settle, with a mug of flip in his hand, which Candace had prepared, and, calling him in from his work, authoritatively ordered him to drink, on the showing that he had kept her awake the night before with his cough, and she was sure he was going to be sick.  Of course, worse things may happen to a man than to be vigorously taken care of by his wife, and Cato had a salutary conviction of this fact, so that he resigned himself to his comfortable corner and his flip with edifying serenity.

Opposite to Candace stood a well-built, corpulent negro man, dressed with considerable care, and with the air of a person on excellent terms with himself.  This was no other than Digo, the house-servant and factotum of Dr. Stiles, who considered himself as the guardian of his master’s estate, his title, his honor, his literary character, his professional position, and his religious creed.