The grape-vines still blossom fragrantly in the backyards of the old-fashioned dwellings, where negro slaves used to flit in and out, and, at evening still, sweet negro melodies float along the highways. Awhile ago, when Johnson Carter was a child, turbaned mammies used to fry chickens and make beaten biscuits to sell at the railway station--then a mere wayside shed with a platform. They saved many a famished traveler in the days when dining-cars were few and far between. Though, curiously enough, there were never any parts to a chicken but its legs. Tradition paints them as chicken centipedes, though hunger relished even a drumstick and a soggy, beaten biscuit. Little pickaninnies hung about, too, peddling chincapins, while an elderly matron of a sow disported herself in the adjacent gutter. But behind them, and in spite of them, the town stood enfolded in its lovely verdure and its blossomings, like an ancient bride in a constantly rejuvenated wedding garment, smiling and peaceful and secure. Daniel Carter loved the town. Ambition might lead him elsewhere, but his heart would linger affectionately here. There was an unbreakable tie--he had suffered here, both in the flesh and in the spirit. He had lived his happy childhood here, whole and sound. He had climbed the hills and raced across the meadows. Then came his accident, the long interval of pain, and the deadly certainty, at last, that he was crippled. But through it all the trees had rustled their new leaves and the heavenly hills had lifted up their heads. Pain forges a tie deeper than the ties of joy. Dan loved the town. As he walked down the old street to-day its familiarity eased the pang at his heart. His pain was vicarious, he imagined how Virginia Denbigh would suffer when she knew. He raged, too, against his brother--the brother whom he had always loved and trusted! For there had been a bond between the two elder Carter boys, cemented by the death of the two children who came between Daniel and Leigh. Now, a reflection of his father’s anger at William sent the blood up to Daniel’s pale forehead. He was very sensitive for the honor of the Carters, and William’s conduct--in Daniel’s eyes--constituted a high breach of honor, it was conduct, in fact, unbecoming a gentleman. And Virginia Denbigh----? Words failed; a kind of blind fury seized him; he longed to cross the ocean, or to meet the steamer in New York, and drag the strong, powerfully built William all the way upon his knees to Virginia’s feet, to beg her pardon.