“It may be—­
     The thoughts that visit us, we know not whence,
     Sudden as inspiration, are the whispers
     Of disembodied spirits, speaking to us
     As friends, who wait outside a prison wall,
     Through the barred windows speak to those within.”

With difficulty Beryl resisted an inexplicable impulse to turn and flee; but the drawn sword of duty pointed ahead.

Striking her hands together, as if thereby crushing her reluctance to enter, she waited a moment, with closed eyes, while her lips moved in silent prayer; then ascending the terrace, she crossed the stone pavement, walked up the stops and slowly advanced to the threshold.  The dark mahogany door was so glossy, that she dimly saw her own image on its polished panels, as she lifted and let fall the heavy silver knocker, in the middle of an oval silver plate, around the edges of which were raised the square letters of the name “Darrington.”  The clanging sound startled a peacock, strutting among the verbena beds, and his shrill scream was answered by the deep hoarse bark of some invisible dog; then the heavy door swung open, and a gray-headed negro man, who wore a white linen apron over his black clothes, and held a waiter in one hand, stood before her.

“I wish to see Mr. Darrington.”

“I reckon you mean Gin’l Darrington, don’t you?  Mr. Darrington, Marse Prince Darrington, is in Yurope.”

“I mean Mr. Luke Darrington, the owner of this place.”

“Jess so; Gin’l Luke Darrington.  Well, you can’t see him.”

“Why not?  I must see him, and I shall stay here until I do.”

“‘Cause he is busy with his lie-yer, fixin’ of some papers; and when he tells me not to let nobody else in I’de ruther set down in a yaller jacket’s nest than to turn the door knob, after he done shut it.  Better leave your name and call ag’in.”

“No, I will wait until he is at leisure.  I presume my sitting on the steps here will not be a violation of your orders.”

“To be shore not.  But them steps are harder than the stool of repentance, and you had better walk in the drawing-room, and rest yourself.  There’s pictures, and lots and piles of things there, you can pass away the time looking at.”

He waved his waiter toward a long, dim apartment, on the left side of the hall.

“Thank you, I prefer to sit here.”

She seated herself on the top of the stone steps, and taking off her straw hat, fanned her heated brow, where the rich waving hair clung in damp masses.

“What name, miss, must I give, when the lie-yer finishes his bizness?”

“Say that a stranger wishes to see him about an important matter.”

“Its mighty uncertain how long he will tarry; for lie-yers live by talking; turning of words upside down, and wrong side outards, and reading words backards, and whitewashing black things, and smutting of white ones.  Marse Lennox Dunbar (he is our lie-yer now, since his pa took paralsis) he is a powerful wrastler with justice.  They do say down yonder, at the court house, that when he gets done with a witness, and turns him aloose, the poor creetur is so flustrated in his mind, that he don’t know his own name, on when he was born, or where he was born, or whether he was ever born at all.”