a little while."
"Well, it's a little better than if he had come while we were in the old yellow house. We've a nice porch here, and a front yard shaded with grand old oaks; and no neighbors near enough to watch every movement."
"A good many conveniences, too," added her mother, cheerily, "and a beautiful view of river and town. I think, too, that we can manage to give him a room to himself, and to feed him well, with the help of Rupert's garden, the cow and the chickens."
The expectation of this visit was a real blessing to the family; to Mrs. Keith and Mildred in especial—just at this time; giving occupation to their thoughts as well as hands, in the necessary preparation for the proper accommodation and entertainment of the coming guest; thus preventing much of the sadness the loss of Miss Stanhope's loved society would have caused them.
The next arrival of the semi-weekly stage brought Horace Dinsmore, his servant and luggage to their door.
Mr. Dinsmore was a dark-eyed, handsome youth of distinguished appearance and with the air of a prince of the blood royal; yet evidently a kind master; for his man John, a spruce young negro, seemed to take the greatest pride and pleasure in waiting upon "Massa Horace" and anticipating his every wish.
While warmly welcoming her young relative, Mrs. Keith was somewhat dismayed at the unexpected sight of the servant—house room being so scarce; but the difficulty was obviated by placing a cot-bed in the empty loft of the newly erected stable at the foot of the garden.
"How very thoughtless and selfish in Cousin Horace to bring that fellow along," Mildred said to her mother.
"No, my dear, not when we consider that they have always been together and neither would know very well how to do without the other. I was the thoughtless one not to remember that and expect John."
"Always together, mother?"
"Yes; they are nearly the same age—John a few months older than his young master—and were playfellows in infancy.
"John's mother was Horace's 'mammy' as the children down south call their nurses; and I think loved her white nursling even better than her own children.
"John's affection for Horace is probably as great, and it would come near breaking his heart to be separated from him."
Horace Dinsmore had paid a visit to Lansdale the year before the removal of the Keiths to Indiana. The impression he had then made upon his young cousins was not at all favorable; he was silent, morose and seemed to take little or no interest in anybody or anything.
"He is not like himself," Mrs. Keith had said to Aunt Wealthy again and again; "he is in trouble, some great sorrow has come to him."
But they did not succeed in winning his confidence; he rejected their sympathy, locked up his secret in his own bosom, and left them as sad and moody as when he came.
He was changed for the better now; was cheerful, at times even gay, and showed much interest in them and their affairs, making them valuable presents; for he had large means and a generous nature.
Some gifts—of dress-goods, jewelry and children's toys, he had brought with him, and in addition he presented Mildred and Rupert each with a town lot in the immediate neighborhood of their new home.
Mr. Keith, in his sturdy pride of independence, was inclined to reject these last; but his wife said,
"No, Stuart, do not; you will hurt Horace's feelings; the land is very cheap, the price of it nothing to him with his large wealth; I know it is a real pleasure to him to give it to the children."
Mr. Keith yielded the point and said nothing.
Mr. Dinsmore, not being a religious man, and belonging to a very proud and aristocratic family, was not one to mingle with those he denominated "the common herd," as his cousin well knew. Therefore only a few of their acquaintances—the educated and refined—were invited to meet him and accompany them on some little excursions—riding, boating, and fishing—gotten up for his entertainment.
He made himself agreeable on these occasions;—an easy thing for him to do with his handsome person, polished manners and good conversational powers—but soon let it be known to his relatives that he decidedly preferred exclusively family parties. After that they had only such while he staid, which was for several weeks.
Chapter Nineteenth.
"Seldom shall she hear a tale
So sad, so tender, and so true."
Horace Dinsmore showed much interest in Mildred, seemed to like to watch her, let her employment be what it might, and to have her company in long solitary walks and drives.
Several times he remarked to her mother that she was growing very lovely in person and was a girl of fine mind; adding that he sincerely hoped she would not throw herself away upon some country boor.
The two—Mrs. Keith and Mr. Dinsmore—were alone in the sitting-room, one pleasant afternoon early in September, when this remark was made for the third or fourth time; alone except that little Annis was playing about the floor, apparently absorbed with Toy and her doll.
Mrs. Keith was sewing, her cousin who had been pacing to and fro, now standing before her.
She lifted her head with a startled look.
"Horace, don't forget that you and Mildred are cousins."
He colored slightly, then laughingly answered to her thought rather than her words,
"Don't be alarmed, Marcia; I'm not thinking of her in that way at all."
His face suddenly clouded as with some gloomy recollection.
"Marcia," he said, taking a chair near her side, "my visit is drawing to a close and there is something I must tell you before I go; I came with the purpose of doing so, but hitherto my heart has failed me. We seem to be alone in the house and perhaps there will be no better time than this."
"I think not," she said, "we can secure ourselves from intrusion by locking the door."
He rose, turned the key, and came back.
He did not speak again for a moment, but sat watching Annis with a peculiar expression which excited his cousin's surprise and curiosity and not for the first time either; she had noted it before; the child seemed to both attract and repel him.
More than once Mrs. Keith had seen him snatch her up suddenly with a gesture of strong affection, only to set her down the next minute and turn away as if from something painful to look upon.
"What is it you see in my baby, Horace?" she asked, laying her hand affectionately upon his arm.
"She is a sweet, pretty little thing, yet it gives me more pain than pleasure to look at her," he said sighing and passing his hand across his brow.
"You cannot imagine why it should," he went on, smiling sadly into his cousin's wondering face, "because there is a page in my past life that you have never read."
