Bruno looked surprised, as well he might, at the question; but there was something in Bergan's tone that made him answer at once, and frankly; "I don' know,--de servants do say she done it to please her father." Bergan laid his hand impressively on the old negro's shoulder. "Bruno, I must see her at once. Her happiness--more than her happiness, the honor and peace of the whole family--is at stake. Find some way to let her know, quietly, that I am here, and that I must see her for one moment. Hurry! there's no time to waste." Bruno was so thoroughly mastered by Bergan's earnestness, that he started swiftly toward the cottage, without a word. As he ascended the piazza steps, however, he began to be appalled at the difficulty of the task that he had undertaken. Looking into the window, he saw Carice standing at the farther end of the long parlor, with her bridesmaids clustered around her. He could neither get at her, nor she escape, without challenging a good deal of wondering observation. While he stood hesitating, Godfrey Bergan came out into the hall, and caught sight of his troubled face. "Well, Bruno, what do you want?" "I--jes' wanted to speak to Miss Carice," stammered the negro. The request was an odd one, at that moment; still, Mr. Bergan might have been moved to grant it, as the whim of an old and faithful servant, if the negro's disturbed face and faltering tone had not excited his suspicions that something unusual was on foot. "What is the matter?" he asked. "What do you want to speak to her for?" Bruno was wholly unprepared for this question. Vainly he racked his brains for a plausible answer, but nothing better rewarded his efforts than,--"I jes' wanted to speak to her, dat's all;"--a reply so little congruous with his frightened face and voice, that Mr. Bergan's suspicions were confirmed. He stepped out on the piazza, and closed the door behind him. "How, Bruno," said he, sternly, "I want to know what this means. Come, no shuffling; tell the truth." Bruno's self-possession gave way entirely. "I--I--I--it's only Mr. Arling." Mr. Bergan started. "My nephew, Bergan Arling, do you mean?" "Yes, massa." "What--where?" "Out dar, under de larches, massa." "And he--he dared to ask for my daughter?" Mr. Bergan's voice shook with anger. Bruno tried to explain, not very coherently. "He didn't mean no harm, massa, I'se _sartain_. He said her happiness and all you'se happiness, was at de stake." "Did he!" muttered Mr. Bergan, scornfully. "Hark you, Bruno, not a word of this to anybody--to _anybody_, mind you! Now, go back to your dance,--I'll see Mr. Arling." Bergan's impatience had brought him from under the larches to a point commanding a view of the path to the cottage. He was both surprised and disappointed to see his uncle instead of Carice; nevertheless, he came frankly forward to meet him, holding out his hand.