The servant reminded him of the supper-hour, but the summons was utterly disregarded.  The colonel himself condescended to notify the stubborn youth of the same important fact, but with almost as little effect.  Without opening his door, he signified his indisposition to join in the usual repast, and thus closed the conference.

“I meet him at the table no more—­not at his table, at least,” was the muttered speech of Ralph, as he heard the receding footsteps of his uncle.

He had determined, though without any distinct object in view, upon leaving the house and returning to Tennessee, where he had hitherto resided.  His excited spirits would suffer no delay, and that very night was the period chosen for his departure.  Few preparations were necessary.  With a fine horse of his own, the gift of his father, he knew that the course lay open.  The long route he had more than once travelled before; and he had no fears, though he well knew the desolate character of the journey, in pursuing it alone.  Apart from this, he loved adventure for its own sake.  The first lesson which his father had taught him, even in boyhood, was that braving of trial which alone can bring about the most perfect manliness.  With a stout heart, and with limbs not less so, the difficulties before him had no thought in his mind; there was buoyancy enough in the excitement of his spirit, at that moment, to give even a pleasurable aspect to the obstacles that rose before him.

At an early hour he commenced the work of preparation:  he had little trouble in this respect.  He studiously selected from his wardrobe such portions of it as had been the gift of his uncle, all of which he carefully excluded from among the contents of the little portmanteau which readily comprised the residue.  His travelling-dress was quickly adjusted; and not omitting a fine pair of pistols and a dirk, which, at that period, were held in the south and southwest legitimate companions, he found few other cares for arrangement.  One token alone of Edith—­a small miniature linked with his own, taken a few seasons before, when both were children, by a strolling artist—­suspended by a chain of the richest gold, was carefully hung about his neck.  It grew in value, to his mind, at a moment when he was about to separate, perhaps for ever, from its sweet original.

At midnight, when all was silent—­his portmanteau under his arm—­booted, spurred, and ready for travel—­Ralph descended to the lower story, in which slept the chief servant of the house.  Caesar was a favorite with the youth, and he had no difficulty in making himself understood.  The worthy black was thunderstruck with his determination.

“Ky!  Mass Ralph, how you talk! what for you go dis time o’night?  What for you go ’tall?”

The youth satisfied him, in a manner as evasive and brief as possible, and urged him in the preparation of his steed for the journey.  But the worthy negro absolutely refused to sanction the proceeding unless he were permitted to go along with him.  He used not a few strong arguments for this purpose.