then of others on finger, knee, and instep. The younger bore himself very
erect and haughty, yet I saw the two were fashioned in one mould. On up
the steps and into the church they went, Mr. Fontaine before and we after
them. They took their seats in the great pew with the curious carving on
the back, which I had never before seen occupied.

"Who are the gentlemen, mother?" I whispered, so soon as I could
get her ear.

"It is Colonel Byrd and his son come back from London," she answered.
"Now take your eyes off them and attend the service."

Take my eyes off them I did, by a great effort of will, but I fear I
heard little of the service, for my mind was full of the great house on
the river-bank, which it had once been my fortune to visit. Mr. Fontaine
had taken me with him in his chaise for a pastoral call at quite the
other end of his parish, and as we returned, we were caught in a sudden
storm of rain. My companion had hesitated for a moment, and then turned
his horse's head through a gateway with a curious monogram in iron at the
top, along an avenue of stately tulip-trees, and so to the door of a
massive square mansion of red brick, which stood on a little knoll
overlooking the James. The door was closed and the windows shuttered, but
half a dozen negroes came running from the back at the sound of our
wheels and took us in out of the storm. A mighty fire was started in the
deep fireplace, and as I stood steaming before it, I looked with dazzled
eyes at the great carved staircase, at the paintings and at the books, of
which there were many hundreds.

Presently the old overseer, whom Mr. Fontaine addressed as Murray, and
who had grown from youth to trembling age in the Byrd service, came in to