"We'll talk it over after supper," said the host. "Pallas, our guests are hungry. The river breeze sharpens the appetite." Pallas wanted no further hint. Perfectly content that she had the means of satisfying any amount of hunger, she retired, with her subordinate husband, to dish up the feast. "I 'spect I'll spile half dese tings, I'se so flusterated. Did you mind whar' I put dat pepper, Saturn? I declar' I can't say wedder I put it in de gravy or in de coffee. I jes' turn 'round and put it in de _suthin'_ on de stove, wile I was tinkin' how cur'us tings happens. Dear! dear! I put it in de coffee, sure 'nuff, and now dat's all to be trowed away! 'Spect tings won't be fit to eat. Why don' you fly round and grin' more coffee? You is de stupidest nigger!" In spite of small tribulations, however, the supper was served in due season and with due seasoning. Gay conversation prevailed; but Alice, though bright and attentive, felt uneasy. Her glance frequently wandered to the windows and open doors. A certain dark figure had so often started up in unexpected places, and seemed to hover about so when least expected, that she could not be entirely at her ease. It was true that several men were on guard, and that Ben had not been heard of for a week; but he was so sly, so subtle, she felt almost as if he might drop out of the roof or come up out of the earth at any instant. Philip was warned to be on the look-out. He laughed and said he was a match for Ben in a fair fight, and if the other had no fire-arms, he could take care of himself. Long after the rest of the party, fatigued with their journey, had retired for the night, David Wilde, Alice, Philip, and Virginia sat up, talking over the past, present, and future. Alice, who had never known the particulars of her mother's marriage and death, except as she had gathered hints from her old nurse, now listened with tearful eyes to brief explanations of the past.