"Brother, mother is married; what does it mean?" She clung to him, placed her curly head on his bosom and wept. Robert restrained his own tears and sought to soothe his sister. "Will that man Hugh Price come to live at our house?" she asked. "Yes." "But I can never love him. I don't know what it is to love any but you and mother. I don't remember my own father; but you do, Robert?" "Yes." "Was he like Mr. Price?" "No. He was a grand, noble man, with a kind heart." "Will he let us live at home, now that he has come?" she asked. Robert, though his own heart was heavy, and he felt gloomy and sad, strove to look on the bright side. "Yes, he cannot drive us from home," he said. "But mother will love us no longer." "She will, sister. No man can rob us of mother's love." Then they went apart to discuss their sorrow alone, and, as the shades of evening gathered over the scene, their relatives began a search for them. The children were found in the chimney corner clasped in each other's arms sobbing. Although kind friends and loving relatives did all in their power to console them, they refused to be comforted. Robert remembered that noble father who had so often held him on his knee, that poor father whose mysterious fate was unknown, and he thought how wicked it was for his mother to marry the fox-hunting, gin-tippling cavalier, Hugh Price. He sobbed himself to sleep and dreamed that his father was watching him from out the great, green ocean where he had lain all these years. Price was seeking to repay him the blows he had laid on his shoulders, when the face of the dead man was seen struggling in the green waters, but so choked and entangled among seaweeds that he was forced to give up the effort. A great monster of the deep swallowed his father, and, uttering a shriek, he awoke. The child was trembling from head to foot, while a cold sweat broke out all over his body. Next morning the negro slave who had brought the children to Flower de Hundred came for them. Taking Robert aside, he said: "I dun tole yer, Mass Robert, dat a calamity war comin'. It am come--De Missus am married to dat fellah wat ye walloped wid de stick. Hi! but I wish ye kill um." The long journey to Jamestown was made. They left at sunrise one morning and rode until noon, when they halted in the wilderness to allow the horses an hour to rest and graze, while they lay on a blanket spread on the grass under a tree. Robert and his sister fell asleep, and the negro was nodding, when a snake came gliding through the grass toward the sleeping children. Sam awoke in a moment and, seizing a stout stick, struck the snake and killed it before it could reach the children. They were awakened by the blow and, trembling at their narrow escape, once more set out for Jamestown.