The Ashley plantation filled the whole of a small valley, shut in between two curving spurs of the Alleghanies, and watered by a branch of the Rappahannock. The Ashley house, an irregular but massive building of red sandstone, was situated at the foot of the mountain; behind it arose hoary rocks, intermingled or crowned by dark evergreens of pine and cedar; before it, at some distance, flowed the branch: around on every side within the vale were gardens, shrubberies, orchards, wheat and corn fields; and here and there, picturesquely placed, or half concealed by trees or jutting rocks, were the negro quarters; while more conspicuously, in the midst of the open fields, stood the barns and granaries. Altogether, the plantation, occupying the whole valley, and completely shut in by mountains, was an independent, isolated, little domain in itself. Now, upon the second day of March, the grass along the margin of the branch was already fresh and verdant, and the wheat fields sprouting greenly. The morning was very bright and fresh, and Mark walked into the garden that lay to the left of the house. There he found three or four negroes, under the direction of the gardener, engaged in clearing up beds, tying vines, trimming trees, and repairing arbours and garden seats. This place had not the luxurious beauty of the south, nor the fresh and vigorous life of the west; yet there was a solid, jolly, old homeliness about it, very comfortable even in contrast to those other scenes. Mark felt this, while alternately talking with the old gardener or contemplating the old home. He was interrupted by an irruption of that Goth and Vandal, Henry and Richard Ashley, who, rushing upon him, seized the one his right hand and the other his left, and boisterously informed him that breakfast was ready, and had “been waiting ever so long.” He returned their vehement greeting good-humouredly, and accompanied them into the house, and to the breakfast table, which was set in the old oak parlour where he had passed the preceding evening. Two ladies, in simple, graceful, morning dresses of white cambric, sat near the fire, occupied with a little delicate needlework; Colonel Ashley stood with his back to the chimney, with _the_ paper in his hand, and talking to them about _the_ speech. On seeing Mr. Sutherland, the old gentleman immediately stepped forward, welcomed him, and conducted him to the ladies, saying, “My dears, this is Mr. Sutherland; Mr. Sutherland, my”—— But before another syllable was spoken, the elder lady had lifted her face, started up with a blush of pleasure, and extended her hand, exclaiming— “Mark Sutherland! Is it possible!” “Mrs. Vivian! Miss Vivian!” exclaimed Mark, extending a hand to each, impulsively. “Why, how strange that we should meet here!” said Valeria. “A most pleasant surprise, indeed!” responded Mark. “The surprise as well as the pleasure is mutual, I assure you! But how did it happen?” “I am sure I do not know.”