"Yes, ma'am, and Master Horace, and Miss Rosie too. Yes; and some of the men-servants. Mr. Dinsmore's man John was one o' them, and he's come back, and frae him I learned a' was richt with our friends."

"Oh call him in and let me hear all he can tell!" entreated the old lady.

The request was immediately complied with, and John gave a graphic and in the main correct account of the whole affair.

His tale was to all his auditors one of intense, thrilling, painful interest. They lost not a word and when he had finished his story the old lady cross-questioned him closely. "Did he know who had warned Mr.

Travilla? were any of the raiders recognized?"

Both of these questions John answered in the negative. "At least," he corrected himself, "he had not heard that any one was recognized: they were all completely disguised, and they had carried away their dead and wounded; both the shot and the scalded."

At that moment Mr. Dinsmore's family carriage drove up, and John bowed and retired.

There were tearful embraces between the sisters and other relatives, and between Rose and the elder Mrs. Carrington.

"I feel as if you had been in terrible danger." said Sophie, wiping her eyes. "John has just been telling us all about it. What a mercy that Mr.

Travilla was warned in time!"

"By whom, Horace? if it be not an improper question," asked the old lady, turning to Mr. Dinsmore.

"By a detective, Mrs. Carrington, who was secretly present at their meeting and heard all the arrangements."

"He then knew who were the members appointed to be of the attacking party?"

Mr. Dinsmore bowed a.s.sent.

"Was George one?"

"My dear madam I did not see the detective, but their raids are usually made by men coming from a distance."

"You are evading my question. I implore you to tell me all you know.

George did not come down to breakfast; had evidently not occupied his bed last night, and this seems to explain his absence. I know, too, that he has bitterly hated Travilla since--since his arrest and imprisonment.

Will you not tell me? Any certainty is to be preferred to this--this horrible suspense. I would know the worst."

Thus adjured Mr. Dinsmore told her George had been appointed one of the party, but that he could not say that he was actually there. Also he suppressed the fact that the appointment had been by George's own request.

She received the communication in silence, but the anguish in her face told that she felt little doubt of her nephew's guilt. And as days and weeks rolled on bringing no news of him, her suspicions settled into a sad certainty; with the added sorrowful doubt whether he were living or dead.

Chapter Twentieth.

"Before We end our pilgrimage, 'tis fit that we Should leave corruption, and foul sin behind us.

But with washed feet and hands, the heathen dared not Enter their profane temples: and for me To hope my pa.s.sage to eternity Can be made easy, till I have shook off The burthen of my sins in free confession, Aided with sorrow and repentance for them, Is against reason."

--Ma.s.sINGER.

It began to be noticed that Wilkins Foster also had disappeared. It was said that he had not been seen since the raid upon Fairview, and the general supposition was that he had taken part in the outrage, received a wound in the affray and, on the advent of the troops, had fled the country.

His mother and sisters led a very retired life seldom going from home except to attend church and even there they had been frequently missing of late.

Elsie had been much engaged in efforts to comfort her old friend, Mrs.

Carrington, and to entertain Mr. Lilburn, who was still at Ion; little excursions to points of interest in the vicinity, and visits to the plantations of the different families of the connection, who vied with each other in doing him honor, filled up the time to the exclusion of almost everything else, except the home duties which she would never allow herself to neglect.

Baskets of fruit and game, accompanied by kind messages, had found their way now and again from Ion to the cottage home of the Fosters, but weeks had pa.s.sed since the sweet face of Ion's mistress had been seen within its walls.

Elsie's tender conscience reproached her for this, when after an absence of several Sabbaths Mrs. Foster again occupied her pew in the church of which both were members.

The poor lady was clad in rusty black, seemed to be aging fast, and the pale, thin face had a weary, heart-broken expression that brought the tears to Elsie's eyes.

When the service closed she took pains to intercept Mrs. Foster, who was trying to slip away unnoticed, and taking her hand in a warm clasp, kindly inquired concerning the health of herself and family.

"About as usual, Mrs. Travilla," was the reply.

"I am glad to hear it. I feared you were ill. You are looking weary; and no wonder after your long walk. You must let us take you home. There is plenty of room in the carriage, as the gentlemen came on horseback; and it will be a real pleasure to me to have your company."

The sincere, earnest, kindly tone and manner quite disarmed the pride of the fallen gentlewoman, and a momentary glow of grateful pleasure lighted up her sad face.

"But it will take you fully a mile out of your way," she said, hesitating to accept the proffered kindness.

"Ah, that is no objection; it is so lovely a day for a drive," said Elsie, leading the way to the carriage.

"This seems like a return of the good old times before the war!" sighed Mrs. Foster leaning back upon the softly cushioned seat, as they bowled rapidly along. "Ah Mrs. Travilla, if we could but have been content to let well enough alone! I have grown weary, inexpressibly weary of all this hate, bitterness and contention; and the poverty--Ah well, I will not complain!" and she closed her lips resolutely.

"It was a sad mistake," Elsie answered; echoing the sigh, "and it will take many years to recover from it."

"Yes, I shall not live to see it."

"Nor I, perhaps; not here, but yonder in the better land," Elsie answered with a smile of hope and gladness.

Mrs. Foster nodded a.s.sent; her heart too full for utterance, nor did she speak again till the carriage drew up before her own door.

Then repeating her thanks, "You have not been here for a long time, Mrs.

Travilla," she said, "I know I have not returned your calls, but--" she paused seemingly again overcome with emotion.

"Ah, that shall not keep me away, if you wish me to come," returned Elsie.

"We would be very glad; hardly any one else so welcome."

"I fear I have neglected you, but shall try to come soon. And shall be pleased at any time to see you at Ion," Elsie answered as the carriage drove on.

A day or two afterward she fulfilled her promise, and was admitted by Annie, the eldest daughter.

She, too, looked pale and careworn, and had evidently been weeping.

"O, Mrs. Travilla!" she exclaimed, and burst into a fresh flood of tears.

Elsie, her own eyes filling with sympathetic drops, put her arm about her, whispering, "My poor dear child! what can I do to comfort you?"