“Massa,” exclaimed Pompey, breaking in on Paul’s murmurings, “you is just like your fadder; he would have forgiven her if she would have done what was fair by him after they were married. You see she liked to torment him, and she did, once too often. Well, Paul, is you going away tomorrow now?” asked the negro, looking fondly at his young master. “Yes, Pompey, I am going if nothing happens to prevent me, as I have a great mystery to solve and I cannot do it if I stay here.” “Why Massa, de ’riginal ob dat picture is dead; Massa told Missus so; I heard him tell her.” “My man, there is a mystery about it and I must find it out!” exclaimed the young man in a decisive tone. He placed the papers carefully back and handed the box to his servant, saying, “Keep this carefully, Pompey, as by and by the papers will be of great importance to me.” “I will do as you tells me,” answered the servant, taking the box from his young master’s hand. Many injunctions were given for the future, then each one returned to his respective chamber, but not to sleep, as Pompey was thinking of his young master, who was going away early the next morning and would not tell him where he was going or when he should hear from him. “Poor soul, I’s afraid he will neber come back. Oh, how I lub dat boy. May de good Lawd watch ober him and keep him from bad company!” Thus the negro mused until daylight dawned. Paul threw himself on the bed but could not sleep. He was deeply troubled as he lay thinking of his mother’s troubles, the mortgage, and lastly of his journey on the morrow, and as morning dawned he had made up his mind where he should go. “I do not care; I will take the stage for New York and trust to Providence for the rest.” Thus he pondered until the servant’s bell rang. He hastily dressed and went down stairs. As he made his appearance earlier than usual Pompey said, “Guess you did not rest bery well, Massa?” “No,” answered Paul, “I did not. Please hurry breakfast, as I have a long ride this morning, Pompey, and should be on the road.” Soon breakfast was ready, and after eating Paul bade his servants goodbye and started for the village. Soon the same stage that bore Nettie on her homeward journey bore the sad, broken-hearted young man from his once happy home. One desire caused him to travel. Perhaps he would be able to find a person who resembled the picture he had closely hidden in his pocket, or, find his lost love. It was a year since Nettie returned home. Time drearily passed by and brought momentarily each day the same longing thought: “Where is Paul?” She had read of Paul’s mother’s death in the village paper and it deeply grieved her to hear that he was all alone with no relative to bear the sorrow with him—no one to console him in this trial. Warren had written her a letter, stating Paul had started to the city.