“Chunk and Aun’ Jinkey brought you back to earth right sudden, didn’t they?” and her laugh rang out merrily.

“Sister,” cried Mr. Baron, running out on the veranda, “what on earth—­I thought I heard Louise laugh way off toward the quarters.”

“You did.”

“What! has she broken all bounds, defied all authority, and gone utterly wild in her rebellion?”

Mrs. Whately made a gesture of half irritable protest.  Meantime, Mrs. Baron, hearing her husband’s voice, came out and exclaimed, “Is that Louise and the Yankee yonder going off alone?”

“They are not ‘going off.’  You and brother may join them if you wish.  They simply intend to watch the people at the quarters a little while, and I will wait here for them.”

“Sarah Whately!” gasped Mrs. Baron, “can you mean to say that you have permitted our ward to do such an indelicate thing?  She has never been permitted to go out alone in the evening with any young man, and the idea that she should begin with a Yankee!”

“She is not alone.  She is always within call and most of the time in sight.  I will make one more effort to bring you both to reason,” added Mrs. Whately, warmly, “and then, if we continue to differ so radically, I will return home in the morning, after giving Louise to understand that she can always find a refuge with me if it is necessary.  Can you think I would let the girl whom my son hopes to marry do an indelicate thing?  Pardon me, but I think I am competent to judge in such matters.  I will be answerable for her conduct and that of Lieutenant Scoville also, for he is a gentleman if he is our enemy.  I tell you again that your course toward Louise will drive her to open, reckless defiance.  It is a critical time with her.  She is my niece as well as your ward, and it is the dearest wish of myself and son that she should be bound to us by the closest ties.  I will not have her future and all our hopes endangered by a petty, useless tyranny.  If you will treat her like a young lady of eighteen I believe she will act like one.”

Mrs. Baron was speechless in her anger, but her husband began, “Oh, well, if he were a Southern officer—­”

Then the blood of her race became too hot for Mrs. Whately’s control, and she sprang up, saying, “Well, then, go and tell him to his face that he’s a vile Yankee, a Goth and Vandal, a ruthless invader, unworthy of a moment’s trust, and incapable of behaving like a gentleman!  Take no further protection at his hands.  How can you be so blind as not to see I am doing the best thing possible to retain Louise within our control and lead her to fulfil our hopes?  I ask you again, how are you going to make Louise do what you wish?  You cannot be arbitrary with even one of your own slaves any longer.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Baron, “I wash my hands of it all,” and she retired to her room.  Mr. Baron sat down in a chair and groaned aloud.  It was desperately hard for him to accept the strange truth that he could not order every one on the place, his niece included, to do just what pleased him.  Never had an autocratic potentate been more completely nonplussed; but his sister’s words, combined with events, brought him face to face with his impotence so inexorably that for a time he had nothing to say.