SOUTHERN HEARTS. [Illustration: From "THE WIFE OF LOTHARIO"--Part II.] SOUTHERN HEARTS _By_ FLORENCE HULL WINTERBURN _Author of_ "NURSERY ETHICS," _and_ "FROM THE CHILD'S STANDPOINT" NEW YORK THE F.M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 1900 COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY. _Southern Hearts._ MY VIRGINIA FRIENDS; ESPECIALLY TO THAT ONE OF THEM WHO LIVES IN MY MEMORY AS THE TYPE OF ALL THAT IS SINCERE, HOSPITABLE AND KINDLY IN THE SOUTHERN CHARACTER, THIS VOLUME IS CORDIALLY INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. SEVERAL of the stories in this volume have appeared in the magazines; three are entirely new. For courteous permission to reprint thanks are due the publishers of "Romance," "Godey's Magazine," "The Ladies' World," and "The Independent." CONTENTS. PAGE WHEN LOVE ENSLAVES 11 THE WIFE OF LOTHARIO 41 PETER WEAVER 153 A HALT AT DAWN 263 PINK AND BLACK 291 MRS. MAY'S PRIVATE INCOME 311 THE LAZIEST GIRL IN VIRGINIA 339 AN AWAKENING 365 APPLE BLOSSOMS 389 SOUTHERN HEARTS. WHEN LOVE ENSLAVES. IT was a beautiful morning of early October in the mountain region of Virginia. The old Fitzhugh homestead, now the property of an Englishman who had married the only daughter of the impoverished family and bought in the home from creditors with good British gold, reared its dull red sides from amid a mass of sugar maples, larches and sycamore trees, and seemed with its widely opened doors, to proclaim an endless hospitality. The passer-by caught a glimpse of rambling out-houses whose chimneys shed lazy wreaths of smoke from pine wood fires, and if near enough he might have sniffed the pleasant odor of savory cookery from the rear building where Aunt Rose, the old-time cook, exercised her skill to please her epicure master, or tempt the less robust appetite of her young mistress. Mrs. Meeks stood at this moment in the middle of the sitting-room, her arms clasped over a broom, and her dark eyes gazing upon the floor in front of her. But her meditations had nothing to do with the rug where the broom rested, nor yet with the sun-lit slope of the Blue Ridges that extended in all their wealth of autumn beauty in front of the open windows. She was thinking of Mr. Meeks. He had just left the house, and as not infrequently happened, had left the sting of sharp words behind him. Yet, not exactly sharp, either. Overbearing, dogmatical words, not intentionally cutting ones, for that was not the nature of the man; but words that, said in his tone of command, bore heavily upon sensitive feelings.