He divined her thought, though her tear-filled eyes spoke sorrow rather than reproach.
"Yes," he said sadly, "which I have abandoned. Yes, Laura, abandoned, fully and forever."
The colonel was greatly moved, but his resolution remained unshaken.
"Laura," he said, taking both her hands in his, "I swear that I should be glad to have you with me. Come away! The place is not fit for you to live in!"
"No, Henry! it cannot be! I could not go! My duty holds me here! God would not forgive me if I abandoned it. Go your way; live your life. Marry some other woman, if you must, who will make you happy. But I shall keep, Henry--nothing can ever take away from me--the memory of one happy summer."
"No, no, Laura, it need not be so! I shall write you. You'll think better of it. But I go to-night--not one hour longer than I must, will I remain in this town. I must bid your mother and Graciella good-bye."
He went into the house. Mrs. Treadwell was excited and sorry, and would have spoken at length, but the colonel's farewells were brief.
"I cannot stop to say more than good-bye, dear Mrs. Treadwell. I have spent a few happy months in my old home, and now I am going away. Laura will tell you the rest."
"It was a shame!" she declared. "Peter was a good old nigger, and it wouldn't have done anybody any harm to leave him there. I'd rather be buried beside old Peter than near any of the poor white trash that dug him up--so there! I'm so sorry you're going away; but I hope, sometime," she added stoutly, "to see you in New York! Don't forget!"
"I'll send you my address," said the colonel.
It was a few weeks later. Old Ralph Dudley and Viney had been buried. Ben Dudley had ridden in from Mink Run, had hitched his horse in the back yard as usual, and was seated on the top step of the piazza beside Graciella. His elbows rested on his knees, and his chin upon his hand. Graciella had unconsciously imitated his drooping attitude. Both were enshrouded in the deepest gloom, and had been sunk, for several minutes, in a silence equally profound. Graciella was the first to speak.
"Well, then," she said with a deep sigh, "there is absolutely nothing left?"
"Not a thing," he groaned hopelessly, "except my horse and my clothes, and a few odds and ends which belong to me. Fetters will have the land--there's not enough to pay the mortgages against it, and I'm in debt for the funeral expenses."