By a preconcerted signal he summoned Aun’ Jinkey who was much affected by the thought that she was bidding her grandson a good-by which might be final, but oppressed with fear, she was at the same time eager he should go.  Putting into his hands a great pone of corn bread she urged, “Des light out, Chunk, light out sud’n.  ’Twix de baid news en Miss Lou en w’at Perkins do ef he cotch you, I des dat trembly, I kyant stan’.”

“Perkins asleep, granny.  I’se off now fer good, but I comin’ back fer you some day.”

He disappeared, and too perturbed to think of sleep the old woman tottered back to her chimney-corner.  A few moments later she shuddered at the hooting of a screech-owl, even though she surmised Chunk to be the bird.  Not so Zany, who answered the signal promptly.  In a tentative way Chunk sought to find if she was then ready to run away, but Zany declared she couldn’t leave Miss Lou “lookin ez if she wuz daid.”  Thinking it might be long indeed before she saw her suitor again, she vouchsafed him a very affectionate farewell which Chunk remorselessly prolonged, having learned in his brief campaigning not to leave any of the goods the gods send to the uncertainties of the future.  When at last he tore himself away, he muttered, “Speck she need a heap ob scarin’ en she git all she wants.  Ef dat ar gyurl doan light out wid me nex’ time I ax her, den I eats a mule.”  And then Chunk apparently vanished from the scene.

The next morning Miss Lou awoke feeble, dazed and ill.  In a little while her mind rallied sufficiently to recall what had happened, but her symptoms of nervous prostration and lassitude were alarming.  Mrs. Whately was sent for, and poor Mr. Baron learned, as by another surgical operation, what had been his share in imposing on his niece too severe a strain.  Mrs. Waldo whispered to Miss Lou, “Your mammy has told me enough to account for the shock you received and your illness.  Your secret is safe with me.”

Meantime the good lady thought, “It will all turn out for the best for the poor child.  Such an attachment could only end unhappily, and she will get over it all the sooner if she believes the Yankee officer dead.  How deeply her starved nature must have craved sympathy and affection to have led to this in such a brief time and opportunity!”

As may be supposed, Aun’ Jinkey had been chary of details and had said nothing of Scoville’s avowal.  The mistress of the plantation looked upon her niece’s illness as a sort of well earned “judgment for her perversity,” but all the same, she took care that the strongest beef tea was made and administered regularly.  Mrs. Whately arrived and became chief watcher.  The stricken girl’s physical weakness seemed equalled only by a dreary mental apathy.  There was scarcely sufficient vital force left even for suffering, a fact recognized by the aunt in loving and remorseful solicitude.