“They are with their visitors, I suppose, and cannot leave; and perhaps they do not know that you are here; for if they did I think they would come running in anyhow—visitors or no visitors. Go find them, dear. They will be so delighted to see you, and they will introduce you to their young lady friends.” Harcourt got up, kissed the wrinkled forehead of the aged woman, and with a deep sigh left the room, passing into the front parlor. There he found Martha waiting for him. “Wot I tell yo’, young marse?” she inquired. “The truth, Martha, and a very distressing truth,” he sighed. “Doane yo’ say dat, young marse. Her ’lusions mak’ her so contented. An’ sometimes I doane fink dey’s altogedder ’lusions, nudder.” “What do you mean, Martha?” “Sometimes I fink dey is ’bout her, sure ’nough.” “Martha!” “Yes, I do, young marse—sometimes! W’y, w’en I year de ole madam talkin’ to de ole marster jus’ as ef he were here p’esen’, I tell yo’ it do gimmy de creeps! I feel like he were dere sure ’nough, on’y I couldn’ see him. Trufe I’m tellin’ yo’ young marse.” “Martha, you must not give such reins to your imagination.” “Wot dat yo’ say ’bout yain, young marse?” “I mean to say you must not think so.” “Can’t help ob it, sah. Now take tudder day. I was stan’in’ up fo’ my mist’ess, a holdin’ o’ a hank o’ yarn, stretch out ober my han’s, w’en all ob a sudden de ole madam take de hank offen my yists, an’ she say, quiet as yo’ please, de ole mist’ess do: “‘Dere’s yo’ marster, Marffy. Jaw de yockin-cha’ up to de fire fo’ him.’ “Well, I look youn’, but dere was nobody in de yoom but we two—de ole mist’ess an’ me. An’ she say ’gain: “‘W’y doane yo’ min’ wot I tell yo’, Marffy, ’oman? Set a cha’ fo’ yo’ marster.’ “Well, sah, I felt icicles meltin’ all ober my skin an’ tricklin’ down my backbone. Use as I were to de ole madam’s queer ’lucinations, my ha’r riz dat time, an’ my teef chattered. I felt jus’ as if a ghose was dere, dough I couldn’ see him. But ole mist’ess look at me stern like, an’ I took an’ push de cha’ up to de fire, an’ ole mist’ess say: “‘Set yo’ down dere, Everard. Dere, now! Put yo’ feet ter de fire—dat’s yight.’ “An’ den she began talkin’ ter him, an’ axin’ questions, an’ ’peared to fink he answered back, dough I heard no voice but hers, an’ likewise saw nobody but her. An’ p’esently, ’pears like he riz to leab, ’case she say, ole mist’ess did: “‘W’ere yo’ goin’? Mus’ yo’ go? Oh, well, if yo’ hab all dat to do, of co’se you mus’, but come back soon as yo’ get frough.’ “An’ den, in about de nex’ minute, ole mist’ess say to me: “‘Marffy, put back yo’ marster’s cha’.’