“It has decided itself,” said Carrington quietly.

But Norton was conscious of a subtle change in their relation.  Carrington seemed a shade less frank than had been habitual with him; all at once he had removed his private affairs from the field of discussion.  Afterward, when Norton considered the matter, he wondered if it were not that the Kentuckian felt himself superfluous in this new situation that had grown up.

Charley Norton’s features recovered their accustomed hue, but he did not go near Belle Plain; with resolute fortitude he confined himself to his own acres.  He was tolerably familiar with certain engaging little peculiarities of Mr. Ware’s; he knew, for instance, that the latter was a gentleman of excessively regular habits; once each fortnight, making an excuse of business, he spent a day in Memphis, neither more nor less.  Norton told himself with satisfaction that Tom was destined to return to the surprise of his life from the next of these trips.  This conviction was the one thing which sustained Charley for some ten days.  They were altogether the longest ten days he had ever known, and he had about reached the limit of his endurance when Betty’s groom arrived with a letter which threw him into a state of ecstatic happiness.  The sober-minded Tom would devote the morrow to Memphis and business.  This meant that he would leave Belle Plain at sun-up and return after nightfall.

“You may not like Tom, but you can always count on him,” said Norton.  Then he ordered his horse and rode off in the direction of Raleigh, but before leaving the house, he scribbled a line or two to be handed Carrington, who had gone down to the nearest river landing.

It was nightfall when the Kentuckian returned, Hearing his step in the hall, Jeff came from the dining-room, where he was laying the cloth for supper.

“Mas’r Charley has rid to Raleigh, Sah,” said he; “but he done lef’ this fo’ me to han’ to yo”—­extending the letter.

Carrington took it.  He guessed its contents.  Breaking the seal he read the half dozen lines.

“To-morrow—­” he muttered under his breath, and slowly tore the sheet of note-paper into thin ribbons.  He turned to Jeff.  “Mr. Charley won’t be home until late,” he said.

“Then I ‘low yo’ want yo’ supper now, Sar?” But Carrington shook his head.

“No, you needn’t bother, Jeff,” he said, as he turned toward the stairs.

Ten minutes later and he had got together his belongings and was ready to quit Thicket Point.  He retraced his steps to the floor below.  In the hall he paused and glanced about him.  He seemed to feel her presence—­and very near—­to-morrow she would enter there as Norton’s wife.  With his pack under his arm he entered the dining-room in search of Jeff.

“Tell your master I have gone to Memphis,” he said briefly.

“Ain’t yo’ goin’ to have a hoss, Mas’r Carrington?” demanded Jeff in some surprise.  He had come to regard the Kentuckian as a fixture.