natural rights!  And Thomas Jefferson—­begging your pardon, Mr. Rand—­is acute enough to see the danger.  He’s not bothering about majorities and natural rights either—­for the country west of the Ohio!  He’s preparing to govern the Mississippi Territory like a conquered province.  Mark my words, Mr. Rand, she’ll find a Buonaparte—­some young demagogue, some ambitious upstart without scruple or a hostage to fortune some common soldier like Buonaparte or favourite like—­like—­”

“Like—­” queried Rand.  But the Colonel, who had suddenly grown very red, would not or could not continue his comparison.  He floundered, drew out his snuff-box and restored it to his pocket, and finally was taken pity on by Unity, who with dancing eyes reentered the conversation, and asked if Mr. Rand had read The Romance of the Forest.  Fairfax Cary left the harpsichord, where he had been impatiently turning over the music, and, strolling to one of the long windows, stood now looking out into the gloomy night, and now staring with a frowning face at the lit room and at Miss Dandridge, in her amber gown, smiling upon Lewis Rand!  Near him, Major Churchill, preternaturally grey and absorbed, played Patience.  The cards fell from his hand with the sound of dead leaves.  Beside a second window sat Jacqueline, looking, too, into the night.  She sat in a low chair covered with dull green silk, and the straight window curtains, of the same colour and texture, half enshadowed her.  Her dress was white, with coral about her throat and in her hair.  She leaned her elbow on her knee, and with her chin in her hand looked upon the dark mass of the trees, and the stars between the hurrying clouds.

The younger Cary, at his window, leaned out into the night, listened a moment, then turned and left the room.  “It is my brother, sir,” he announced, as he passed Colonel Churchill.  “I hear him at the gate.”

Ten minutes later Ludwell Cary entered.  He was in riding-dress, his handsome face a little worn and pale, but smiling, his bearing as usual, quiet, manly, and agreeable.  “It is a sultry night, sir,” he said to Colonel Churchill.  “There is a storm brewing.—­Miss Dandridge, your very humble servant!—­Mr. Rand—­” He held out his hand.  “I am rejoiced to see you recovered!”

Rand stood up, and touched the extended hand.  “Thank you,” he said, with a smile.  “I were a Turk if I did not recover here amidst all this goodness.”

“Yes, yes, there’s goodness,” answered Cary, and moved on to the window where Jacqueline sat in the shadow of the curtains.  Rand, looking after him, saw him speak to her, and saw her answer with a smile.