They had made no further progress when Raquel appeared upon the scene again with a request from Aunt Chloe, "Would Mahs Doctor come roun' an' tell her jest what ailed her most, she got so many cu'eous compercations." He followed to see what the complications were, and thus it happened that Judithe was left alone to look around her new possessions. But she did not look far. After a brief glance about she returned to the last portrait, studying the frank, handsome face critically. "And thou wert the man," she murmured. "Why don't such men bear faces to suit their deeds, that all people may avoid the evil of them? Fair, strong, and appealing!" she continued, enumerating the points of the picture, "and a frank, honest gaze, too; but the painter had probably been false in that, and idealized the face. Yet I have seen eyes that were as honest looking, cover a vile soul, so why not this one?" The eyes that were as honest looking were the deep sea-blue eyes she had described once to Dumaresque, confessing with light mockery their witchcraft over her; she thanked God those days were over. She had now something more to dream over than sentimental fancies. She heard the quick beat of horse hoofs coming up the avenue and stopping at the door; then, a man's voice: "Good morning, Jeff--any of our folks over from the Terrace?" "Yes, sah; good mawn, sah; leastwise I jest saw Miss Gertrude go in; they all stayen' ovah at Terrace; I reckon she rode back for something. I reckon you find her in library; window's open thah." The man's voice replied from the hall, "All right," and he opened the door. "Good morning, little woman," he said, cheerily, boyishly. "When I saw Hector at the gate with the side saddle I thought--" What he thought was left unfinished. The slender figure in grey turned from the window, and throwing back the veil with one hand extended the other to him, with an amused smile at his mistake. "_Judithe_!" He had crossed the room; he held her hand in both of his; he could not otherwise believe in the reality of her presence. In dreams he had seen her so often thus, with the smile and the light as of golden stars deep in the brown eyes. "Welcome to Loringwood, Col. McVeigh," she said, softly. "Your welcome could make it the most delightful homecoming of my life," he said, looking down at her, "if I dared be sure I was quite welcome to your presence." "I am your mother's guest," and she met his gaze with cordial frankness; "would that be so if--oh, yes, you may be very sure I am pleased to see you home again, and especially pleased to see you here." "You are? Judithe, I beg pardon," as she raised her brows in slight question. "I am not accountable this morning, Marquise; with a little time to recover myself in, I may grow more rational. To find you here is as much a surprise as though I had met you alone at sea in an open boat."