"I will remember that; so many people have tried to say something comforting about my turnout and failed; but it does well enough." They were off then, Edward driving awkwardly. It was the first time he had ever drawn the reins over a mule. "How do you make it go fast?" he asked, finally, in despair. "Oh, dear," she answered, "we don't try. We know the mule." Her laugh was infectious. They traveled the public roads, with their borders of wild grape, crossed gurgling streams under festoons of vines and lingered in shady vistas of overhanging boughs. Several times they boldly entered private grounds and passed through back yards without hailing, and at last they came to their destination. There were two huge stone posts at the entrance, with carved balls of granite upon them. A thick tangle of muscadine and Cherokee roses led off from them right and left, hiding the trail of the long-vanished rail fence. In front was an avenue of twisted cedars, and, closing the perspective, a glimpse of white columns and green blinds. The girl's face was lighted with smiles; it was for her a new experience, this journeying with a man alone; his voice melodious in her hearing; his eyes exchanging with hers quick understandings, for Edward was happy that morning--happy in his forgetfulness. He had thrown off the weight of misery successfully, and for the first time in his life there was really a smile in his heart. It was the dream of an hour; he would not mar it. Her voice recalled him. "I have always loved 'The Cedars.' It wears such an air of gentility and refinement. It must be that something of the lives gone by clings to these old places." "Whose is it?" She turned in surprise. "Oh, this is where we were bound--Gen. Evan's. I have a note for him." "Ah!" The exclamation was one of awe rather than wonder. She saw him start violently and grow pale. "Evan?" he said, with emotion. "You know him?" "Not I." He felt her questioning gaze and looked into her face. "That is, I have been introduced to him, only, and I have heard him speak." After a moment's reflection: "Sometime, perhaps, I shall tell you why for the moment I was startled." She could not understand his manner. Fortunately they had arrived at the house. Confused still, he followed her up the broad steps to the veranda and saw her lift the antique knocker. "Yes, ma'am, de general's home; walk in, ma'am; find him right back in the liberry." With that delightful lack of formality common among intimate neighbors in the south, Mary led the way in. She made a pretty picture as she paused at the door. The sun was shining through the painted window and suffused her form with roseate light. "May I come in?"