“Come to the dinner-table, Kenrick. Where are you? Dreaming of Perdita? Or planning impracticable victories for your Yankee friends? Come and join me in a bottle of claret. It may be our last together. Only think of it, my dear fellow, I am to be made a Colonel! But that will not please you. Sink politics! We will ignore all that is disagreeable. There shall be no slavery,—no Rebeldom,—no Yankeedom. All shall be Arcadian. We will talk over old times, and compare notes in regard to Perdita. I don’t believe you are a tenth part as much in love as I am. Where has the enchantress gone? ‘O matchless sweetness! whither art thou vanished? O thou fair soul of all thy sex! what paradise hast thou enriched and blessed?’ Come, Kenrick, come; if only for auld lang syne, come and chat with me; for the day of action draws near, when there shall be no more chatting!” Sick at heart, Kenrick handed the card to Vance, who read it, and said: “The sooner a disagreeable duty is discharged, the better. Go, cousin, and let him know the character of that fell Power which he would serve. Let him know what reason he, of all men, has to love it!” “I’d rather face a battery than do it; but it must be done.” At the same moment Winslow and the negro entered. “I’ve arranged everything with Peek,” said the old man. “I’ve placed in his hands funds which I think will be sufficient.” “That reminds me that I must do the same,” said Vance; and, taking a large sum in bank-bills from his pocket-book, he gave it to Peek to use as he might see fit, first for the common cause, and secondly for prosecuting inquiries in regard to the kidnapped child of the Pontiac, and his own family. Peek carefully noted down dates and amounts in a memorandum-book, and then remarked, “Now I must see Captain Onslow.” “Give me that letter from his father, and I will myself deliver it,” said Kenrick. “But I promised to see him.” “That you can do this evening.” Peek gave up the letter, and Kenrick darted out of the room. Turning to Vance and Winslow, Peek remarked: “I thank you for your confidence, gentlemen. I’ll do my best to deserve it.” “I wish our banks deserved it as well,” said Vance; then he added: “And now, Peek, make your arrangements carefully, and be with the carriage at the door just under my window at nine o’clock precisely.” Peek compared watches with Vance, promised to be punctual, and took his leave. Vance rang the bell, and ordered a private dinner for two. Unlocking a drawer, he took from it two revolvers and handed one to Winslow, with the remark, “You are skilled in the use of the pistol, I suppose?” “Though I’ve been a planter and owned slaves, I must say _no_.” “Then a revolver would rather be a danger than a security.” And Vance thrust the pistols into the side pockets of his own coat. Dinner was brought in.