They presented a striking picture--one bowed beneath the weight of four-score years, his countenance shrunken and wrinkled, his long, thin lock glistening in the sunlight with the frosts of time; the other just budding into womanhood, fair as a poet’s dream, with hair that vied with the gold of the sun and eyes of a heavenly blue. She was leaning gently on the arm of her aged companion as they stood in the doorway of their southern home, gazing upon the surrounding landscape, until his eye had caught sight of an object in the distance which had startled the foregoing dialogue. “I see him, grandpa!” she exclaimed, as her gaze followed the direction he pointed out. “He seems to be coming this way, Mara. Who can it be?” “I cannot tell, grandpa. Oh, in these terrible times I tremble lest every comer be a foe.” “Nay, child; I think we have nothing to fear. Ah, he heads more to the south. He is not coming here.” The maiden drew a breath of relief, and as the strange rider disappeared from sight a minute later, she said: “He is gone. I am so glad, too. But, grandpa, have you forgotten that you were to go to Hammond’s for me? You will have to start at once, while I shall have to look after my work.” “Yes, yes, Mara, my child. But hark! Dinah is calling for you now. I never saw such a troublesome nigger.” With the words he went into the house, leaving her still standing in the doorway. She was about to follow her grandparent, when a moving object in the distance caught her gaze. It looked like a man moving at the top of his speed. “Who can it be?” she said, speaking aloud. “He is coming this way, too.” Not a little surprised and anxious she continued to watch and wait. “It must be the horseman grandpa and I saw on the ridge,” she mused. “And he is certainly coming here. I suppose I ought to rouse the folks, but little good that will do. Poor old grandpa is our only protection.” The approach of the stranger was no longer a matter of doubt. In a few minutes he was within plain view. The maiden saw that he was young--not more than twenty-one or twenty-two. He was handsome, too. Quite tall, broad-shouldered and with a countenance that Apollo might have envied. But there was a haggard look upon his face, and he carried his left arm in a sling. His step, too, seemed uneasy and she saw that he had gone about as far as nature would permit him. “A northern man--an accursed Yankee!” she exclaimed under her breath, somewhat fiercely. No one else had appeared in sight as far as she could see. “Help, fair lady!” cried the wounded stranger, when he had come within a short distance. “I can go no further!” She quickly sprang to his side and kindly lent her aid to his falling strength. With her assistance he reached the doorway, where he sank upon the threshold pale and faint. “Let me get you a glass of wine,” she said, disappearing into the house. Gone but a minute, she placed the cordial to his lips, when he drank a strong draught.