Rachel could not be thus easily deceived. She remembered an old house in England, looking out upon the sea, and the flirtation carried on all summer there between her mistress, then a beautiful young girl of seventeen, and the tall, handsome man, whom they called Richard Harrington. She remembered, too, the white-haired, gouty man, who, later in the autumn, came to that old house, and whose half million Grace had married, saying, by way of apology, that if Richard chose to waste his life in humoring the whims of his foolish father, she surely would NOT waste hers with him. SHE would see the world! Alas, poor Grace. She had seen the world and paid dearly for the sight, for, go where she might, she saw always one face, one form; heard always one voice murmuring in her ear, "Could you endure to share my burden?" No, she could not, she said, and so she had taken upon herself a burden ten-fold heavier to bear--a burden which crushed her spirits, robbed her cheek of its youthful bloom, after which she sent no regret when at last it disappeared, leaving her free to think again of Richard Harrington. It was a terrible blow to her that he was blind, and talk as she might about the faintness of the morning, old Rachel knew the real cause of her distress, and when alone with her, said, by way of comfort, "Law, now, Miss Grace, 'taint worth a while to take on so. Like 'nough he'll be cured--mebby it's nothin' but them fetch-ed water- falls--CAT-A-RATS, that's it--and he can have 'em cut out. I wouldn't go to actin' like I was love-sick for a man I 'scarded oncet." Grace was far too proud to suffer even her faithful Rachel thus to address her, and turning her flashing eyes upon the old woman, she said haughtily, "How dare you talk to me in this way--don't you know I won't allow it? Besides, what reason have you for asserting what you have?" "What reason has I? Plenty reason--dis chile ain't a fool if she is a nigger, raised in Georgy, and a born slave till she was turned of thirty. Your poor marm who done sot me free, would never spoke to me that way. What reason has I? I'se got good mem'ry--I 'members them letters I used to tote forrid and back, over thar in England; and how you used to watch by the winder till you seen him comin', and then, gal-like, ran off to make him think you wasn't particular 'bout seein' him. But, it passes me, what made you have ole money bags. I never could see inter that, when I knowd how you hated his shiny bald head, and slunk away if he offered to tache you with his old, soft, flappy hands. You are glad he's in Heaven, yon know you be; and though I never said nothin', _I_ knowd you was glad that Squire Herrin'ton was come back to Collingwood, just as I knowd what made you choke like a chicken with the pip when Edith tole you he was blind. Can't cheat dis chile," and adjusting her white turban with an air of injured dignity, Rachel left her mistress, and returned to the kitchen.