Part 13 (2/2)

Oswald Waring never distinguished himself at the university, or anywhere else, for anything but good nature, generosity, and reckless extravagance. He never graduated; but at the close of his third year, being some months past his legal majority, he left the university finally, and went on a tour through the Northern States and Canada, before embarking for Europe. He was accompanied, as usual, by Valentine.

And the youth did not avail himself of that opportunity to leave his master, perhaps from the fascination of their easy, careless, roving life, as well as the affection that bound them together.

Mr. Waring had reached New York, on his return from Canada, and was making a short stay in that city, previous to embarking for his European travels, when he received a letter from his father's attorney, Mr.

Pettigrew, announcing the death of old Madam Waring, and the extreme illness of Colonel Waring, and pressing for the immediate return of his son.

Mr. Waring lost no time in commencing his homeward journey, and attended by his favorite, in less than a fortnight from the day of leaving New York, he reached the city near to which was his father's plantation.

But there fatal news met him. He was too late. The virulent fever of that lat.i.tude had quickly done its work; and Colonel Waring's funeral had taken place the week previous. As this result had been dreaded by Oswald, the shock of hearing of it lost half its force. There was nothing to do but to hasten to the plantation, to examine into the confused condition of affairs there. Leaving a note for Mr. Pettigrew to meet him there the next day, Oswald took a carriage, and, with Valentine by his side, drove rapidly out to the plantation. They were met by Phaedra, who had been tacitly left in sole charge of the house, and who saluted her young master with grave respect, and greeted her long absent son with a silent pressure of the hand, deferring all expression of interest in or affection for Valentine, until they should be alone together.

The next morning Mr. Pettigrew arrived, and the examination of the condition of the estate of the deceased began.

The lawyer expressed his opinion that there was no will of his late client in existence; and, further, that none had ever been made by him.

Colonel Waring had never spoken to him, as his legal adviser, upon the subject, as he would have been likely to have done had he contemplated making one. Colonel Waring was a hale, sanguine man, in the prime of life, and not likely to entertain the thought of the contingency of his own death. And the fever that terminated his existence had been too sudden in its attack and delirium--insensibility and death had followed with too fatal rapidity, to admit of such a possibility as his executing his will. However, a search for a possible one was inst.i.tuted; the library, secretaries, bureau, strong boxes--in fact, the whole house was ransacked for a will, or some memento of one; but neither will, nor sign of will, could be discovered.

Perhaps the person most deeply interested in the search was Phaedra. As soon as her quick intelligence discovered that there was a doubt relative to the existence of a will, her interest became intense. When coming into the house to attend her young master or the lawyer, she paused, loitered near them; and, whenever she was allowed to do so, she a.s.sisted in the search with a zeal not equaled by either of the others.

And when at last this search was abandoned as fruitless, she looked so unutterably wretched, as she hurried from the room, that both gentlemen gazed after her in astonishment.

”Why, what is the matter with Phaedra?” inquired Mr. Waring, looking interrogatively at the lawyer.

”She is disappointed, most probably.”

”But in what respect? I do not understand.”

”She was a favorite slave, was she not?”

”Yes--that is to say, she was a very faithful servant to my late father, and was very well treated. But what has that to do with it?”

”Why, that she probably expected to be left free by your father's will.”

”And that accounts for her anxiety that the will should be found.”

”I think so.”

”What a fool that woman must be! Free, indeed! Why should she want to be free--at her age, too. What can be her object? What would she do if she were free? How in the world came she to get such an idea into her head?

Who could have put it there, do you think?”

”No one, I suppose.”

”But how should she ever think of such nonsense as her freedom?”

”It is a notion they all have, I believe.”

”A notion! I should think it was a notion, and a very foolish one, on her part; I am really half inclined to cure her of her folly by setting her free, and letting her try her freedom on, to see how it fits.

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