No personal anxiety
could cloud his comely face, nor any grievance of his own sharpen the edge
of his peculiar suavity. It was only when he rose to go that he voiced, for
a single instant, his recognition of the general danger, and replied to the
Major's inquiry about his health with the remark, "Ah, grave times make
grave faces, sir."
Then he bowed over Mrs. Lightfoot's hand, and with his arm about Betty went
out to the carriage.
"The Major's an old man, daughter," he observed, as they rolled rapidly
back to Uplands.
"You mean he has broken--" said Betty, and stopped short.
"Since Dan went away." As the Governor completed her sentence, he turned
and looked thoughtfully into her face. "It's hard to judge the young, my
dear, but--" he broke off as Betty had done, and added after a pause, "I
wonder where he is now?"
Betty raised her eyes and met his look. "I do not know," she answered, "but
I do know that he will come back;" and the Governor, being wise in his
generation, said nothing more.
That afternoon he went down into the country to inspect a decayed
plantation which had come into his hands, and returning two days later, he
rode into Leicesterburg and up to the steps of the little post-office,
where, as usual, the neighbouring farmers lounged while they waited for an
expected despatch, or discussed the midday mail with each newcomer. It was
April weather, and the afternoon sunshine, having scattered the loose
clouds in the west, slanted brightly down upon the dusty street, the little
whitewashed building, and the locust tree in full bloom before the porch.
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