Miss. May looked at me inquiringly. “Cousin Kirk was never attentive to me,” said she. “He is attentive enough now,” I laughed; and she looked at me as if about to say something--but bit her red lips. Jeanie certainly avoided me. When Raoul came back to talk to his fiancée, her sister made pretext of a headache and lay down. The train was not a quick one, and stopped long periods at several stations, during which Raoul was obviously nervous. His brow only cleared when we got to Bristol, Va., about sunset. Here we stopped an hour for supper, half of which we four devoted to a walk. The town consisted principally of a long straight street, lined by low two-story brick shops; the one-story shops had false fronts and presented an appearance of uniformity. Boots, saddles, guns, groceries, and drygoods were the articles they sold. I had noticed that Raoul kept persistently on one side of the street, and when I started to cross over, to look at a particularly gorgeous embroidered Mexican saddle on the other side, he held me back. “This street,” said he, “is the State line between Virginia and Tennessee. I think we had better keep on the Virginia side.” “How odd,” said Jeanie, “to have a town divided against itself!” “It is a great convenience,” answered Mr. Raoul. “When my father and Colonel Carington had their dispute about the last constitutional convention, both were candidates for the governorship, my father in Tennessee and the colonel in Virginia. The constitution of Tennessee disqualified a man who fought a duel from holding office. So my father stood on the Virginia side of the street and the colonel in Tennessee. The distance between the sidewalks is just about right, as you see. There was a warrant out against my father in Tennessee and the colonel in Virginia.” “And did they fight?” I asked. “Oh, yes--and the sheriffs looked on, but they couldn’t cross the street. And the colonel, he allowed he was shot accidentally by a bullet from another State. The case went up to the Supreme Court, but they allowed they couldn’t say any duel was fought in Tennessee, and the Constitution does not disqualify a man for shooting, but only just for duelling.” At this point a prolonged whistling recalled us to the station. Here we found an elegant Pullman car added to the train for our accommodation, “with the superintendent’s compliments to Mr. Raoul.” The darky porters in it were smiling broadly, and on the table was a huge bouquet of orange-blossoms. In the morning we woke up--or Raoul woke me up--at the station for White Sulphur. He had a telegram signed “Emily Pennoyer,” which warned him to lose no time, that Kirk Bruce was on the night express.