Just then the old darkey who had been playing such tunes as “Cooney in de Holler” and “Jim along o’ Josey” struck up a plaintive melody on his fiddle. They were nearing home. Overhead a waning moon was low in the heavens, athwart which, now and then, sped a meteor; all was still, save for the lapping of waves against the sides of the boats or the sound of the light breeze in the sails. One could not realize that soon from shore to shore would reverberate the cannon’s booming, and that terror would overspread the fair and quiet land. CHAPTER V. _Some Coquetries._ While the long summer days lasted, Robert Clinton remained a guest at Mr. Tom Hopkins’s. It was a pet scheme of Rhoda’s father that she should marry the young New Yorker, and he trusted to his sister to further the scheme; yet, as is so often the case, neither of the two most concerned seemed to evince any great heartiness in the matter. Rhoda, as was proper, received from Mr. Clinton such attentions as he was bound to pay to the niece of his hostess, but there was scarcely a day that did not see him riding down the road toward the neighboring plantation of Mr. William Hopkins, with the excuse to Mr. Kendall that Will Hopkins had promised him a young hound, and he wanted to look after the training of the animal, or he and James were going crabbing or sailing. On one of the days in the latter part of the summer, Lettice was sitting on a sunken gray slab in the old graveyard, with Lutie lying at her feet in the tall grass. Lettice was soberly setting neat stitches in a delicate bit of cambric. There were many things on her mind, and she had fled to this quiet spot for reflection. She was silent so long that at last Lutie raised a timid voice, “Huccome yuh so qui’t, Miss Letty?” “Because I want to think,” returned Lettice. Lutie raised herself on her elbow and peeped through the thicket of green; just beyond in the garden old Unc’ Eph’am was pottering about, watering the flowers, which he did, rain or shine. It was his only duty; and since the old man was fast losing his wits, but still retained his habits, he never failed to give the flowers their daily watering, whether they needed it or not. “Dey a gemp’an comin’ up de lane, Miss Letty,” drawled Lutie. “Is there?” A faint little blush tinged Lettice’s cheek. “Yass, miss. He dat dan’ified Mars Clinton, dat ain’t nuvver rid behin’ de houn’s, Jubal say.” “Jubal is a goose.” “Is yuh gwine to de house, Miss Letty? Shall I fetch yo book and yo wuck-bag?” A smile flickered around Lettice’s lips. “No,” she answered, “I am going to stay here.” Lutie sighed, and sank back again in the grass; she didn’t “y’arn fo’ de grabeyard” at any time, and hoped for an excuse which would set her free to go elsewhere. Lettice looked at her with an amused expression. “I believe you are scared to stay here, even in the daytime, Lutie,” she remarked.