CHAPTER XI.

AUN' JINKEY'S WARNING.

Perkins

HE night passed like a lull in the storm. THE reported that the negroes were quiet, contenting themselves with whispering and watchfulness. Aun' Jinkey smoked and dozed in her chair, listening to every sound, but no "squinch-owl" renewed her fears. The family at the mansion were too perturbed to sleep much, for all knew that the morrow must bring decisive events. The three soldiers sent after the recreant trooper returned from a bootless chase and were allowed to rest, but Whately saw to it that there was a vigilant watch kept by relief of guards on the part of the others. He was not very greatly encouraged by his mother's report, but as the hours passed the habits of his life and the tendencies of his nature asserted themselves with increasing force. He would marry his cousin on the morrow; he would not be balked in his dearest hope and wish. The very resistance of the girl stimulated his purpose, for throughout all his life nothing so enhanced his desire for any thing as difficulty and denial. The subduing the girl's high spirit into subservience to his own was in itself a peculiarly alluring prospect, and he proved how little he appreciated her character by whiling away part of the night over "Taming of the Shrew." A creature of fitful impulse, nurtured into an arrogant sense of superiority, he banished all compunctions, persuading himself easily into the belief that as soldier, officer, and lover he was taking the

manly course in going straight forward. "The idea of consulting a whimsical girl at such a time," he muttered, “when a Yankee horde may descend on the plantation within fortyeight hours."

Miss Lou was quite as sleepless as himself, and also did a great deal of thinking. She had too much pride to hide and mope in her room. Her high, restless spirit craved action, and she determined to brave whatever happened with the dignity of courage. She would face them all and assert what she believed to be her rights before them all, even the clergyman himself. She therefore appeared at the breakfast table with just enough color in her cheeks and fire in her eyes to enhance her beauty.

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'Ah, this is something like," exclaimed her uncle. "I knew sleep and thought would bring back good sense."

Mrs. Whately kissed her effusively and Mrs. Baron formally, the girl submitting with like mien in both instances. Her cousin, in accordance with his mood and the policy he had adopted, bowed gallantly and with a touch of grandiloquence in his tone said, "I again apologize before all for my most unfortunate act last evening."

She only bowed silently in reply.

Then Whately assumed the air of one who had many and weighty matters on his mind, his whole conversation conforming to the accepted belief that they were facing a terrible emergency, and that he, as the practical head of the family at such a time, must act decisively for the best good and safety of all. "If I could be governed in this instance," he said, 66 only by patriotic feeling I would advise the destruction of all the forage on the place if convinced that the Yanks were coming this way, but that would incite them to every possible outrage. Still, I truly believe that it would be best for you and aunt to go with us this evening." "No," said Mr. Baron, "I've settled that."

"Haven't you negroes that you can trust to take the stock off into the woods for concealment?"

"After Chunk's rascality I won't trust any of them."

"Well, I shall adopt that plan at our place this morning and leave as little of value within reach as I can help."

By a sort of tacit agreement it was thought best not to say any thing to Miss Lou except as Mrs. Whately broached the subject, it being believed that a quiet ignoring of her will and a manifest purpose to carry out their own would have the most weight in breaking down her opposition. Indeed it was a shrewd policy, hard for the young girl to bear up against. Mrs. Baron had been enjoined not to cross her in little things. The busy housekeeper was too preoccupied to do so had she been disposed, but it troubled and incensed the girl to the last degree to see her bustling about, preparing for the wedding as if it would take place as a matter of Mrs. Whately's affectionate smiles and encouraging words were even harder to endure. That good lady acted as if Miss Lou were a timid and coy maiden, who merely needed heartening and reassuring in order to face a brief ordeal, and then all would be well. Her cousin gallantly lifted her hand to his lips and then rode away with part of his men, saying cheerfully, "I'll manage every thing for the best."

course.

A vague terror seized upon the girl and she again sought the refuge of Aun' Jinkey's cabin. She must have some one to speak to who understood her, who felt for her. She found that Mrs. Baron had been there before her, urging the completion of certain tasks. Indeed, the old woman was ironing a white muslin dress which looked very bridal-like. Miss Lou recognized it as her own gown, which might naturally be worn on such an occasion.

"Who brought that here?" she asked quickly.

"Ole miss, honey. She said you cud war dis or de one you hab on, des ez you pleases."

"Aun' Jinkey," said the girl in an awed whisper, "do you think they can marry me against my will?”

"Miss Lou, I declar ter you I'se been smokin' en projeckin' ober dat mos' all night."

"Well?"

"Hit 'pears ter me a orfully mux-up question. Yere yo' gyardins, ole mars'r en ole miss. Dey's des had dere say on dis plantashon sence I wuz a gyurl. You wuz trus' ter dem ter be took keer on en you tole me how he manage yo' prop'ty. He call you he ward. I des dunno w'at po'r dat ward business gib 'im. I'se yeared en my day ob young gyurls mar'ed yere en mar'ed dar en dey ain' sayin' much 'bout who dey mar'y. Folks say dat wuz de way wid ole miss. I reckermember dem days en I year ole mars'r's fader talk'n wid her fader 'bout w'at dey call set'l'ments en po'tions. Den ole miss's mammy tole me how her young miss wuz cool ez a cowcumber, en how she say her folks know bes' en she sat'sfied; en den how she gib her min' ter w'at she call her trosso. Why honey, I des doin' up tings ob dat ar trosso yit."

"That's just the trouble with aunt," said Miss Lou scornfully. "I don't believe she ever had heart enough to love with."

"Well, I reck'n ole mars'r is projeckin' dis away. Ole miss, she settle down en tuck hole strong. She des kin'er fall inter he ways en mek tings hum wid de yard en house folks. She des a nachel-bawn housekeeper, en we uns all had ter stan' roun' en do ez she sed sud'n, we sutn'y did; en ole mars'r, he tink hit be des de same wid you."

“But it won't, mammy. I'm not like my aunt." "Dat you ain', honey, bless de Lawd! Ole miss neber stan' 'twix me en a whip, en she neber run fer my pipe en let

her shol'er ache whiles I smokes like a ole himage. I'se only des a s'plainin' how dey feels 'bout yo' marʼage."

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'Ah, but mammy, you know how I feel about it. I won't marry my cousin if I can help it."

"Hit's yo' feelin's, honey, w'at des riles up my in'erds so I kyant hardly wuk. Dat's whar my projeckin' gins out, en I'se kin'er stump'd 'bout hit. Dey's gwine right 'long wid dere prep'rations des ez ef dey cud do ez dey pleased. Dunno w'at de law is 'bout hit ef dere is any law in dese mux-up times. I'se des took clar off my foots wid all de goin's on. De fiel'-han's at de quarters is bilin' ober wid 'citement, en dey's sayin' de Linkum men's comin' ter upset ebry ting. Whar dey get de news fum I dunno. Dey sez ole mars'r is 'stracted en ole miss des put her thin lips tergedder ez ef she gwine ter hab her way ter de las' minit. Ez fer Marse Whately, you knows he al'ays hab his way, en ef dere isn't eny way he mek it. You sez de min'ster en folks is comin'? Hit des stumps me fer dem ter go on so ef dey hasn't de po'r."

"Well, then," said the girl desperately, "they will have to use force all the way through. I'll never give my

consent."

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P'raps w'en de min'ster see dat he woan mar'y you." "That's just my hope," said the girl, “I”—

A quick step was heard and a moment later Mrs. Baron entered the cabin. Ostensibly she came for some of the articles which Aun' Jinkey had ironed, but Miss Lou knew she was under surveillance and she departed without a word. On entering her room she found that her little trunk had been packed and locked in her absence and that the key was gone. She felt that it was but another indignity, another phase of the strong quiet pressure urging her towards the event she so dreaded. A hunted, half-desperate look came into her eyes, but she did not waver in her purpose.