“You will change after a while, honey,” said her protectress; but Mary Ellen only smiled.  It was enough to rest here in this haven, safe from the surging seas of doubt and hope and fear, of love and self-distrust.  Let it be settled.  Let it be ended.  Let these tall white columns mark the grave of her heart.  Let this wide sea of green mirror that which should one day lie above her bosom in this land of finished things.  Let the great lion gates guard off all intrusion, all curiosity, even all well-intended courtesy.  For her no cavalier should ever come riding up the gravelled way, nor should lights ever set dancing again the shadows in the great dining hall over the heads of guests assembled in her honour.  It was done—­finished.  And Mary Ellen was not yet twenty-eight.

One morning the little street car stood, as was its wont, at the terminus of the track, near the front of the wide grounds of the old mansion house.  This was far out upon the edge of the little city, and few were the patrons that might be expected; but it was held but mere courtesy to offer the services of the street-car line to this family, so long recognised as one of the unimpeachably best of this Southern city.  This modern innovation of the street car was not readily taken up by the conservative community, and though it had been established for some years, it might be questioned whether its shares had ever paid much interest upon their face value.  Now and then a negress with a laundry bundle, a schoolgirl with her books, a clerk hurrying to his counter, might stop the lazy mules and confer the benefit of an infrequent coin.

At this terminus of the line at the outskirts of the town there was each morning enacted the same little scene.  The driver slowly unhitched his mules and turned them about to the other end of the car, in readiness for the return journey.  Matters having progressed this far, the mules fell at once into a deep state of dejection and somnolence, their ears lopping down, their bodies drooping and motionless, save as now and then a faint swish of tail or wag of a weary ear bespoke the knowledge of some bold, marauding fly.  The driver, perched upon his seat, his feet upon the rail, his knees pushed toward his chin, sat with his broad hat drawn down upon his forehead, his hands clasped between his legs, and all his attitude indicative of rest.  Slow clouds of dust passed along the road near by, and the glare of the sun grew warm; but no motion came to either team or driver, undisturbed by any care and bound by no inconvenient schedule.  From the big oaks came now and then the jangle of a jay, or there might be seen flitting the scarlet flame of the cardinal.  These things were unnoted, and the hour droned on.

Presently from a side street, faced by a large brick dwelling, there came with regular and unhurried tread a tall and dignified figure, crowned with a soft Panama, and tapping with official cane.  As it approached the car the driver straightened a trifle on the seat.