Rand left the pillar against which he had leaned and came down the steps to the waiting horseman.  He moved neither fast nor slow, but yet with proper alacrity, and his dark face was imperturbable.  The fact of some disagreement, some misunderstanding between Mr. Jefferson and the man who had entered the public arena as his protege, had been for some time in the air of Albemarle.  What it was, and whether great or small, Albemarle was not prepared to say.  There was a chill in the air, it thought, but the cloud might well prove the merest passing mist, if, indeed, Rumour was not entirely mistaken, and the coolness a misapprehension.  The President’s voice had been quiet and friendly, and Rand himself moved with a most care-free aspect.  He was of those who draw observation, and all eyes followed him down the steps.  He crossed the yard or two of turf to the black horse, and stood beside the rider.  “You wished me, sir?”

“I wish to know if you will be so good as to come to Monticello to-night?  After nine the house will be quiet.”

“Certainly I will come, sir.”

“I will look for you then.”  He bowed slightly and gathered up his reins.  Rand stood back, and with a “Good-afternoon to you all, gentlemen,” the President wheeled his horse and rode down the street towards his mountain home.  The crowd about the post-office received its mail and melted away to town house and country house, to supper at both, and to a review, cheerful or acrimonious, of the events of the day, including the fact that, as far as appearances went, Lewis Rand was yet the President’s staff and confidant.  The Churchills and Fairfax Cary rode away together.  In passing, the latter just bent his head to Rand, but Colonel Dick and Major Edward sat like adamant.  Rand took the letters doled out to him by Mr. Smock, glanced at the superscriptions, and put them in his pocket, then walked to the Eagle and spoke to the hostler there, and finally, as the big red ball of the sun dipped behind the mountains, betook himself to Tom Mocket’s small house on the edge of town.

He found Vinie on the porch.  “Is Adam here?” he asked.  She nodded.  “That’s well,” he said.  “I want a talk with him—­a long talk.  And, Vinie, can you give me a bit of supper?  I won’t go home until late to-night;—­I have sent my wife word.  Tell Adam, will you? that I am here, and let us have the porch to ourselves.”

CHAPTER XIX

MONTICELLO AGAIN

The night was hot and dark when Rand, riding Selim, left the town and took the Monticello road.  He forded the creek, and the horse, scrambling up the farther side, struck fire from the loose stones.  Farther on, the way grew steep, and the heavy shadow of the overhanging trees made yet more oppressive the breathless night.  The stars could hardly be seen between the branches, but from the ground to the leafy roof the fireflies sparkled restlessly.