CHAPTER VI

MAN PROPOSES, BUT GOD DISPOSES

A week passed, and another Sunday came,—­a Sunday so still and hot and moist that steam seemed to rise from the heavy trees,—­an idle day for master and servant alike.  A hush was in the air, and a presage of we knew not what.  It weighed upon my spirits, and even Nick’s, and we wandered restlessly under the trees, seeking for distraction.

About two o’clock a black line came on the horizon, and slowly crept higher until it broke into giant, fantastic shapes.  Mutterings arose, but the sun shone hot as ever.

“We’re to have a hurricane,” said Nick.  “I wish we might have it and be done with it.”

At five the sun went under.  I remember that Madame was lolling listless in the garden, daintily arrayed in fine linen, trying to talk to Mr. Mason, when a sound startled us.  It was the sound of swift hoof beats on the soft drive.

Mrs. Temple got up, an unusual thing.  Perchance she was expecting a message from some of the gentlemen; or else she may well have been tired of Mr. Mason.  Nick and I were before her, and, running through the house, arrived at the portico in time to see a negro ride up on a horse covered with lather.

It was the same negro who had fetched me hither from Mr. Lowndes.  And when I saw him my heart stood still lest he had brought news of my father.

“What’s to do, boy?” cried Nicholas to him.

The boy held in his hand a letter with a great red seal.

“Fo’ Mistis Temple,” he said, and, looking at me queerly, he took off his cap as he jumped from the horse.  Mistress Temple herself having arrived, he handed her the letter.  She took it, and broke the seal carelessly.

“Oh,” she said, “it’s only from Mr. Lowndes.  I wonder what he wishes now.”

Every moment of her reading was for me an agony, and she read slowly.  The last words she spoke aloud:—­

“’If you do not wish the lad, send him to me, as Kate is very fond of him.’  So Kate is very fond of him,” she repeated.  And handing the letter to Mr. Mason, she added, “Tell him, Parson.”

The words burned into my soul and seared it.  And to this day I tremble with anger as I think of them.  The scene comes before me:  the sky, the darkened portico, and Nicholas running after his mother crying:  “Oh, mamma, how could you!  How could you!”

Mr. Mason bent over me in compassion, and smoothed my hair.

“David,” said he, in a thick voice, “you are a brave boy, David.  You will need all your courage now, my son.  May God keep your nature sweet!”

He led me gently into the arbor and told me how, under Captain Baskin, the detachment had been ambushed by the Cherokees; and how my father, with Ensign Calhoun and another, had been killed, fighting bravely.  The rest of the company had cut their way through and reached the settlements after terrible hardships.