I stood before the mirror with its lighted sconces, gazing grimly at my sober face while Cato tied my queue-ribbon and dusted my silken coat-skirts. Then I fastened the brilliant buckle under my chin, shook out the deep, soft lace at throat and wristband, and took my small-sword from Cato. "Mars' George," murmured the old man, "yo' look lak yo' is gwine wed wif mah li'l Miss Dorry." I stared at him angrily. "What put that into your head?" I demanded. "I dunno, suh; hit dess look dat-a-way to me, suh." "You're a fool," I said, sharply. "No, suh, I ain' no fool, Mars' George. I done see de sign! Yaas, suh, I done see de sign." "What sign?" The old man chuckled, looked slyly at my left hand, then chuckled again. "Mars' George, yo' is wearin' yo' weddin'-ring now!" "A ring! There is no ring on my hand, you rascal!" I said. "Yaas, suh; dey sho' is, Mars' George," he insisted, still chuckling. "I tell you I never wear a ring," I said, impatiently. "'Scuse me, Mars' George, suh," he said, humbly. And, lifting my left hand, laid it in his wrinkled, black palm, peering closely. I also looked, and saw at the base of my third finger a circle like the mark left by a wedding-ring. "That is strange," I said; "I never wore a ring in all my life!" "Das de sign, suh," muttered the old man; "das de Ormond sign, suh. Yo' pap wore de ghos'-ring, an' his pap wore it too, suh. All de Ormonds done wore de ghos'-ring fore dey wus wedded. Hit am dess dat-a-way. Mars' George--" He hesitated, looking up at me with gentle, dim eyes. "Miss Dorry, suh--" He stopped short, then dropped his voice to a whisper. "'Fore Miss Dorry git up outen de baid, suh, I done tote de bre'kfus in de mawnin'. An' de fustest word dat li'l Miss Dorry say, 'Cato,' she say, 'whar Mars' George?' she say. 'He 'roun' de yahd, Miss Dorry,' I say. ''Pears lak he gettin' mo' res'less an' mis'ble, Miss Dorry.' "'Cato,' she 'low, 'I spec' ma' haid gwine ache if I lie hyah in dishyere baid mo'n two free day. Whar ma' milk an' co'n pone, Cato?' "So I des sot de salver down side de baid, suh, an' li'l Miss Dorry she done set up in de baid, suh, an' hole out one li'l bare arm--" He laid a wrinkled finger on his lips; his dark face quivered with mystery and emotion. "One li'l bare arm," he repeated, "an' I see de sign!" "What sign?" I stammered. "De bride-sign on de ring-finger! Yaas, suh. An' I say, 'Whar yo' ring, Miss Dorry?' An' she 'low ain' nebber wore no ring. An' I say, 'Whar dat ring, Miss Dorry?' "Den Miss Dorry look kinder queer, and rub de ghos'-ring on de bridal-finger. "'What dat?' she 'low. "'Dasser ghos'-ring, honey.' "Den she rub an' rub, but, bless yo' heart, Mars' George! she dess natch'ly gwine wear dat pink ghos'-ring twill yo' slip de bride-ring on.... Mars' George! Honey! What de matter, chile?... Is you a-weepin', Mars' George?" "Oh, Cato, Cato!" I choked, dropping my head on his shoulder.