But Axie was not deceived, either. She knew it was not all well between the young couple, and as soon as she had sent in the dessert, she started up stairs in quest of her boy, finding him in the chamber where his mother had died, and kneeling by the bed in such an abandonment of grief that, without waiting to consider whether she was wanted or not, she went softly to his side, and laying her hard old hands pityingly on his bowed head, spoke to him lovingly and soothingly, just as she used to speak to him when he was a little boy, and sat in her broad lap to be comforted. “Thar, thar, honey; what is it that has happened you? Suffin dreffle, or you wouldn’t be kneelin’ here in de cold an’ dark, wid only yer mother’s sperrit for company. What is it, chile? Can’t you tell old Axie? Is it _her_ that’s a vexin’ you so? Oh, Mars’r Everard, how could you do it? Tell old Axie, won’t you?” And he did tell her how the marriage occurred, and when, and that it was this which had caused the trouble between him and his father. He said nothing against Josephine, except that he had lived to see and regret his mistake, and that it was impossible for him to live with her as his wife. And Axie took his side at once, and replied: “In course you can’t, honey, I seen that the fust thing. She hain’t like you, nor Miss Beatrice, nor Miss Rossie. She’s pretty, with them eyes and long winkers, an’ she’s kind of teterin’ an’ soft; but can’t cheat dis chile. ’Tain’t the real stuff like your mother was. Sposin’ I go and paint my face all over with whitenin’. I ain’t white for all dat. Thar’s nobody but ole black nigger under de whitewash, for bless your soul, de thick lips and de wool will show, an’ it’s just de same with no ’count white folks. But don’t you worry, I’ll stan’ by you. Course you can’t live with her. I’ll make a fire an’ fetch you some supper, an’ you’ll feel better in de mornin’,—see if you don’t.”