“You’ll never forgive Cameron,” he said.

“I’ll no forgive anybody who does me a wrong,” said my father.

“And where have you been all these years, Alec?” he asked presently.  “Since you went off with—­”

“I’ve been in the mountains, leading a pure life,” said my father.  “And we’ll speak of nothing, if you please, that’s gone by.”

“And what will you have me do?” said the gentleman, helplessly.

“Little enough,” said my father.  “Keep the lad till I come again.  He’s quiet.  He’ll no trouble you greatly.  Davy, this is Mr. Temple.  You’re to stay with him till I come again.”

“Come here, lad,” said the gentleman, and he peered into my face.  “You’ll not resemble your mother.”

“He’ll resemble no one,” said my father, shortly.

“Good-by, Davy.  Keep this till I come again.”  And he gave me the parcel made of my mother’s gown.  Then he lifted me in his strong arms and kissed me, and strode out of the house.  We listened in silence as he went down the steps, and until his footsteps died away on the path.  Then the gentleman rose and pulled a cord hastily.  The negro came in.

“Put the lad to bed, Breed,” said he.

“Whah, suh?”

“Oh, anywhere,” said the master.  He turned to me.

“I’ll be better able to talk to you in the morning, David,” said he.

I followed the old servant up the great stairs, gulping down a sob that would rise, and clutching my mother’s gown tight under my arm.  Had my father left me alone in our cabin for a fortnight, I should not have minded.  But here, in this strange house, amid such strange surroundings, I was heartbroken.  The old negro was very kind.  He led me into a little bedroom, and placing the candle on a polished dresser, he regarded me with sympathy.

“So you’re Miss Lizbeth’s boy,” said he.  “An’ she dade.  An’ Marse Alec rough an’ hard es though he been bo’n in de woods.  Honey, ol’ Breed’ll tek care ob you.  I’ll git you one o’ dem night rails Marse Nick has, and some ob his’n close in de mawnin’.”

These things I remember, and likewise sobbing myself to sleep in the four-poster.  Often since I have wished that I had questioned Breed of many things on which I had no curiosity then, for he was my chief companion in the weeks that followed.  He awoke me bright and early the next day.

“Heah’s some close o’ Marse Nick’s you kin wear, honey,” he said.

“Who is Master Nick?” I asked.

Breed slapped his thigh.

“Marse Nick Temple, Marsa’s son.  He’s ‘bout you size, but he ain’ no mo’ laik you den a Jack rabbit’s laik an’ owl.  Dey ain’ none laik Marse Nick fo’ gittin’ into trouble-and gittin’ out agin.”

“Where is he now?” I asked.

“He at Temple Bow, on de Ashley Ribber.  Dat’s de Marsa’s barony.”

“His what?”

“De place whah he lib at, in de country.”

“And why isn’t the master there?”