"
Marston points his finger, and laughs heartily. "I wish we had seven
lives to live, and they were all as happy as most of our planters
could desire to make them."
The Elder understood the delicate hint, but desiring to avoid
placing himself in an awkward position before the Deacon, began to
change the conversation, criticising the merits of several old
pictures hung upon the walls. They were much valued by Marston, as
mementoes of his ancestry: of this the Elder attempted in vain to
make a point. During this conversation, so disguised in meaning, the
mulatto servant stood at the door waiting Marston's commands. Soon,
wine and refreshments were brought in, and spread out in old
plantation style. The company had scarcely filled glasses, when a
rap sounded at the hall door: a servant hastened to announce a
carriage; and in another minute was ushered into the room the
graceful figure of a young lady whose sweet and joyous countenance
bespoke the absence of care. She was followed by a genteelly-dressed
young man of straight person and placid features.
"Oh! Franconia," said Marston, rising from his seat, grasping her
hand affectionately, and bestowing a kiss on her fair cheek, for it
was fair indeed.
Taking her right hand in his left, he added, "My niece, gentlemen;
my brother's only daughter, and nearly spoiled with attentions." A
pleasant smile stole over her face, as gracefully she acknowledged
the compliment. In another minute three or four old negroes, moved
by the exuberance of their affection for her, gathered about her,
contending with anxious faces for the honour of seeing her
comfortable.
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