Mr. Galer sat on the piazza; but he waxed wroth every time he thought of young Black’s presumption. Stretching afar before his eyes were his own cotton-fields, girdled on one side by the winding curves of the Chattahoochee, and on the other by deep, green forests, and through the palpitant air of the summer noon floated a field song, chanted by the joyous mellow voices of his slaves. His heart swelled with the pride of riches. Sim Black, indeed! when Pamela could have the pick and choice of the country, by right of her beauty and her dowry. What if the young lawyer did possess a brilliant mind and an eloquent tongue, and culture far beyond the average man in that region? he had sprung from obscure origin, and his future honors were as yet but empty promises, while Josiah Williamson’s wealth and position were solid facts. That afternoon, as Pamela sat in her room bending listlessly over some gay patchwork, Mammy Susannah came in, and from under the kerchief folded across her bosom, drew a little note. "Honey, Elbert say, fo’ de lub o’ de Lawd not tu let old Mars know ’e fetch dis." Pamela sprang up, flushing and trembling, to receive her first love-letter. It was brief: "_Dearest:_—As your grandfather has forbidden me to enter his house again, I shall walk by the althea hedge in your garden this evening where, I pray you, meet me. "Your devoted Lover, "JOHN SIMPSON BLACK." Mr. Josiah Williamson came a-wooing that evening just as twilight fell and the whippoorwill began his plaintive serenade. The negroes understood his errand, from the groom, who put up his horse, to the pickaninny peeping around the corner of the house; and there were nods and winks exchanged as he came nimbly up the piazza steps arrayed in his finest broadcloth and newest, tightest neck-stock. He and Mr. Galer sat on the piazza and chatted awhile of plantation affairs, of the latest news from Washington, and of a public sale of slaves which had recently occurred in Roswell; and Miss Jane sat in the candle-lit parlor, knitting; but Pamela had disappeared. "Can I—ahem—speak to Miss Permely, this evening?" Mr. Williamson at last inquired. "Your note led me to hope so." "Yes; I want that matter settled. I’ll see if she’s with her aunt." But Miss Jane mused solitarily over the stocking heel, a great white winged moth circling about her meek head or diving ever and anon toward the flame of the candle. "Where is Permely?" Mr. Galer inquired, frowning. She dropped one of the long, shining needles with a clinking sound, and stooped to grope around the edge of her skirts for it. "Why, Jabez, I don’t know; I thought—" "Leave your thoughts out of the question, Jane, and go call her. She is hiding somewhere about the house." Miss Jane stood up and faced him, nerved to a fleeting courage. "Brother, don’t try to force the child into a loveless marriage. Think how young she is; think—"