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Updated: June 4, 2025
The May sun was low in the west when he turned from the road into the extended lawn which led up to the Barkdale mansion. Little beyond unsightly stumps was left of the beautiful groves by which it had been bordered. Vividly his memory reproduced the same hour, now years since, when he had ridden up that lawn at the head of his troopers, his sabre flashing in the last rays of the sun.
The wind, being adverse, necessitated several tacks, and on one of them the boat passed so near Webb and Amy that they recognized Mr. Barkdale, the clergyman, who, as he sped by, saluted them. When the boat had passed on about an eighth of a mile, it tacked so suddenly and sharply that the unwary minister was rolled out upon the ice.
Barkdale, and other friends have come and gone with their greetings; the old people are left alone beside their cheery fire. "Here we are, mother, all by ourselves, just as we were once before on Christmas night, when you were as fair and blooming as Amy or Gertrude. Well, my dear, the long journey seems short to-night. I suppose the reason is that you have been such good company."
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