“Why did you not come in?” Paul inquired. But the man did not answer; he simply entered and placed the bags upon the floor. Henley now asked him another question, but the fellow did not even look at him, and left the room without saying a word. Suddenly Paul remembered that he had seen him before. It was the dumb man who had met them on their arrival. It was the only servant he had seen. Could it be possible that these people kept no other? When Henley had completed his toilet, he blew out the candle and then groped his way down to the hall, where he found Miss Guir and Ah Ben awaiting him. The girl came forward to greet her guest, and to reveal her presence, the fire having died away and the hanging lamp affording but a dull, copperish glow, barely sufficient to indicate the furniture and outlines of the room. Dorothy was radiant, but peculiarly so. She was unlike the girls to whom he was accustomed in the city. Moreover, her manner was more quiet, more earnest and dignified than theirs. She looked more charming than ever in a white gown, while her burnished hair was held in place by a tall Spanish comb, and decorated with a flower. To be sure, the details of her costume were only suggested in the vague, uncertain light, but her pose and manner were unusually impressive. “I hope you will not think that all Virginians are as inhospitable as we appear to be, Mr. Henley,” she exclaimed, with a graciousness that was quite bewitching. “I'm sure,” said Henley, “that I have never been treated with greater consideration by any one; my room is simply perfect!” “In its way, yes; but its way is that of a century past. But what I was referring to in the matter of special negligence was the time we have kept you from food.” “Do you know,” Paul replied, “that I have been so absorbed with the many strange things I have seen since my arrival that I have scarcely had time to think of food?” “But I told you that you would be expected to have a good appetite.” “And I have. In fact, when I think of it, I am ravenous,” he answered. “Then follow me,” she said, leading the way toward a heavily-curtained door upon the right. They passed into a narrow passage, and then, turning to the left, entered a softly-lighted room. Paul was amazed at the sight that met his eyes. A round table, set for two, loaded with flowers, cut glass, and silver, and lighted with wax candles grouped under a large central shade of yellow silk, with a deep fringe of the same material. The distant parts of the room were in comparative shadow forming a proper setting for the soft candle-light in the center. Evidently no one else was expected, and Dorothy, taking her seat upon one side of the cloth, requested Paul to sit opposite. “And will not Ah Ben be with us?” inquired Henley, glancing around to see if the old man were not coming. “I'm afraid not,” replied Dorothy; “he rarely dines at this hour.”