“She spoke fust (’twuz Miss Anne had done come out dyar to meet Marse Chan), an’ she sez, jes’ ez cold ez a chill, ’Well, seh, I granted your favor.  I wished to relieve myse’f of de obligations you placed me under a few months ago, when you made me a present of my father, whom you fust insulted an’ then prevented from gittin’ satisfaction.’

“Marse Chan he didn’ speak fur a minit, an’ den he said:  ’Who is with you?’ Dat wuz ev’y wud.

“‘No one,’ sez she; ‘I came alone.’

“‘My God!’ sez he, ‘you didn’ come all through those woods by yourse’f at this time o’ night?’

“‘Yes, I’m not afraid,’ sez she, (An’ heah dis nigger!  I don’ b’lieve she wuz.)

“De moon come out, an’ I cotch sight o’ her stan’in’ dyar in her white dress, wid de cloak she had wrapped herse’f up in drapped off on de groun’, an’ she didn’ look like she wuz ‘feared o’ nuthin’.  She wuz mons’us purty ez she stood dyar wid de green bushes behine her, an’ she hed jes’ a few flowers in her breas’—­ right hyah—­and some leaves in her sorrel hyar; an’ de moon come out an’ shined down on her hyar an’ her frock an’ ’peared like de light wuz jes’ stan’in’ off it ez she stood dyar lookin’ at Marse Chan wid her head tho’d back, jes’ like dat mawnin’ when she pahss Marse Chan in de road widout speakin’ to ‘im, an’ sez to me, ‘Good-mawnin’, Sam.’

“Marse Chan, he den tole her he hed come to say good-bye to her, ez he wuz gwine ‘way to de war nex’ mawnin’.  I wuz watchin’ on her, an’ I tho’t, when Marse Chan tole her dat, she sort o’ started an’ looked up at ‘im like she wuz mighty sorry, an’ ‘peared like she didn’ stan’ quite so straight arfter dat.  Den Marse Chan he went on talkin’ right fars’ to her; an’ he tole her how he had loved her ever sence she wuz a little bit o’ baby mos’, an’ how he nuver ’membered de time when he hedn’t ’spected to marry her.  He tole her it wuz his love for her dat hed made ’im stan’ fust at school an’ collige, an’ hed kep’ ‘im good an’ pure; an’ now he wuz gwine ’way, wouldn’t she let it be like ’twuz in ole times, an’ ef he come back from de war wouldn’ she try to think on him ez she use’ to do when she wuz a little guirl?

“Marse Chan he had done been talkin’ so serious, he hed done tuk Miss Anne’s han’, an’ wuz lookin’ down in her face like he wuz list’nin’ wid his eyes.

“Arfter a minit Miss Anne she said somethin’, an’ Marse Chan he cotch her urr han’ an’ sez: 

“‘But if you love me, Anne?’

“When he said dat, she tu’ned her head ’way from ‘im, an’ wait’ a minit, an’ den she said—­right clear: 

“‘But I don’ love yo’.’ (Jes’ dem th’ee wuds!) De wuds fall right slow—­like dirt falls out a spade on a coffin when yo’s buryin’ anybody, an’ seys, ‘Uth to uth.’  Marse Chan he jes’ let her hand drap, an’ he stiddy hisse’f ‘g’inst de gate-pos’, an’ he didn’ speak torekly.  When he did speak, all he sez wuz: 

“‘I mus’ see you home safe.’