old age, because grandfather and grandmother lived there and _their_ grandparents before them. These old houses scattered at wide intervals up and down the shores of the Chesapeake Bay and its tributaries, and under the Easterly shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains, and in and out among the hills and through the forests between them—these old houses, spotting the verdure of new settlements like iron-mould—these old houses, many of them still inhabited by the old families, while both decay together, still blossoming out occasionally with young life, young children, remind me strongly of old mouldering tombs from which fresh blooming flowers are springing. “Let’s leave all things just _so_, Hagar, love,” said Sophie, as the two were making a tour of the old Hall, opening and examining old closets and chests with a view of determining what should be taken, what left, what burnt and what given away. “We will lock up all the rest without examination. I have not nerves for it, Hagar. It is like dissecting a heart, to explore the treasures and memorials and relics of the long ago dead. Let us leave them so.” “Let’s make a general bonfire of them,” said Hagar, “I never like these relics, they come across me unpleasantly, very—why should people accumulate them—storing up pangs against some day of pangs. ‘Let the dead past bury its dead;’ _en avant_ is my motto. Sophie looked at her with her brown eyes dilating in reverie. “Perhaps you are right after all—these relics awaken mournful, not to say maudlin feelings that might sleep but for their sight; nevertheless, _I_ could not destroy these things, neither can I consent to their destruction.” It was finally agreed in consultation that all things should remain just as they were, that the Hall should be closed, and left in charge of old Cumbo and Tarquinius. * * * * * “Where are you going, Hagar?” said Raymond, as she sauntered from the breakfast-room off into the yard. “To see Starlight. I have not seen him since our marriage, and I was accustomed to go to his stall every morning when Tarquinius carried his oats.” “Why did you not ask me to attend you?” inquired Raymond, as he drew her hand under his arm. “Because, Mr. Raymond,” flashed Hagar’s eyes and teeth, “I love to shake you _off_ some time! when you set like a trammel—besides you do not like Starlight.” Raymond replied by drawing her arm closer and holding her hand tighter, while her pointers, Remus and Romulus, seeing her, sprang to her, bounded around her, and she stopped to caress them with her free hand. Raymond an instant looked annoyed, then raising the loaded end of his riding-whip, struck them away. Hagar snatched her hand from his arm, and all the fire of her race and nation was burning in the indignant gaze she flashed upon his brow that still remained unfurrowed by a frown in its superb calmness.