“The speculation was a good one, and would have paid splendidly had events arranged themselves differently; even at the worst no one could foresee the burning of Richmond.  Cousin Mary’s money couldn’t have freed Shirley, but if things had gone well with the venture, that tobacco would have done so, and left a handsome surplus.  Charlie Mason is a man of fine judgment, and that he failed that time was through no fault of his.  It was the fortunes of war.”

Mrs. Mason sighed and dropped the subject.  She was unconvinced, and continued to feel regret that Mr. Byrd had been allowed to work his speculative will with his wife’s little patrimony.  It would have been a serviceable nest-egg for the children, and a help to Jim in his long struggle.  All of her life, she had been accustomed to seeing husbands assume full control of their wives’ property, using it as their own, and she had taken little thought of the equities of the matter.  To her it appeared natural that a wife’s surrender to her husband should embrace things financial as well as things less material, but in this case she had always felt it a trifle hard.  It would have been such a pleasant thing for Jim to have had some money, and been able to hold Shirley.

Pocahontas helped herself to hot waffles, and sugared them with a liberal hand.

“Dear old Jim,” she said, calmly, “I wish he had come in:  you should have insisted, Berkeley.  It’s cruel for him to have to give up the old home to strangers, and start life in a new place.  I can’t bear to think of it.  Jim’s such a good fellow, and Mexico seems a long way off.  When is he coming to say good-by to us, Berke?”

“This evening.  He is coming to tea; so mind you have something special.”

After a pause, Mrs. Mason resumed the subject with the inquiry whether he had heard any thing relative to the purchaser of Shirley.  But Berkeley only knew that the place had been bought by a northern man, a retired army officer, and that his name was Smith.

After they rose from the table, he lingered awhile, watching his mother gather the cups and saucers into the waiter in readiness for Aunt Rachel, and Pocahontas collect scraps for the dogs, two of which were already poking impatient, wistful noses into the room.  Beyond the threshold they were not allowed to intrude, but they stood in the passage outside the open door, and whined and indulged in sharp “yaps” of protest against hope deferred.  When they saw their mistress advancing with a heaped-up plate of food, both gave reins to their joy, and jumped and barked around her with delight.  Pocahontas loved animals; the nobleness and fidelity of their instincts, harmonized with the large faithfulness of her own nature.

When his sister was out of hearing, Berkeley reopened the topic of Jim Byrd.  He was standing at the mantle filling his pipe, which he balanced dextrously against one of the ornaments, and his back was toward his mother as he spoke.