"Ah, yes--my compliments to little Mistress Judy. _That_ was what I came to say. Will you be so very kind, young sir, as to give my compliments to the elder of the major's daughters, and also to the major himself? Say, if you please, that Colonel Fielding has called this morning to pay his compliments to her and to her honored father. A man of honor, sir, a soldier, and a gentleman. Gad--sir--what more would you have? What more could any man be?" he said, suddenly turning upon his servant with a piteous touch of bewildered asperity. "_Toe_-be-shore, sir! _Toe_-be-shore!" said the old negro, soothingly. "I--I seem--to disremember something," the colonel went on, forgetting this momentary, formless annoyance. He sat still and silent for a space, trying to remember why he had come. He put his shapely hand to his high forehead in mild confusion. His thick, curling, silver hair fell around his face and upon his shoulders in rather wild disorder. "Little Judy is a mighty pretty girl--delicate, sweet, and fair as a sweet-brier blossom. No prettier nor sweeter girl ever footed the Virginia Reel in this whole Pennyroyal Region. You will give her and her honored father my message, if you please, young sir. 'Colonel Fielding's compliments and also Miss Alice Fielding's compliments to Major Bramwell and his daughter.' You will not forget?" "I will not forget, sir," said Lynn Gordon, as steadily as he could speak. "And--and what else was it? What else did I come for? Tell me this instant, you black rascal!" the colonel now cried, again turning upon his servant in excited, displeased bewilderment. "What do you mean--I say, sir--by sitting there without saying a word? What was it I wanted to say about that young John Stanley, who's eternally hanging round my house? What did somebody tell me about him--only this morning? What's the matter with you, can't you speak, boy?" The old negro's heavy lips were trembling so that he could not have spoken had there been anything to say. He sat bolt upright, gazing straight before him at the dust of the deserted highway; his ragged coat was as carefully buttoned as his fine livery used to be; he held the reins--broken and spliced with rope--over the poor old horse, which stood with a dejected droop, precisely as he used to hold the fine, strong, lines over his master's spirited bays. "Well--drive on home, then," the colonel said, after a moment's hesitation, suddenly recovering his usual mildness. "Perhaps I may remember--and if so you may fetch me back."