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"You mean Richard?" "Yes." "What has he to do with it?" Phyl did not hesitate nor turn her head away, though her cheeks were burning. "Silas Grangerson thinks I care for Mr. Pinckney, he said he would be even with him. I know he intends doing him some injury. I feel it and I want you to warn him to be careful without telling him, of course, what I have said."
A carriage was approaching, an English mail phaëton drawn by two high-stepping chestnuts and driven by a young man. It was Silas Grangerson. Returning to Grangerson's to make plans for the capture of Phyl, here she was on the road before him and going in the same direction. For a moment he could scarcely believe his eyes.
She went to the writing table now and taking a sheet of paper, wrote: Dear Richard, Seth Grangerson is bad again, and I am going over there now with Phyl. We mayn't be back to-night. I am taking the automobile. We will be back to-morrow most likely. Your affectionate Aunt, Maria Pinckney. She read the note over. If all went well then everything would be well.
There was an assurance about Silas Grangerson daunting in its simplicity and directness. Something that raised opposition to him in her heart, yet paralysed it. Instinct told her to avoid him, to drive him from her mind, ay and something more than instinct.
Your son has taken that girl off, Seth Grangerson, and may God have mercy upon him." "The red-headed girl?" said the Colonel. "Phyl," replied she, "you know quite well whom I mean." Colonel Grangerson made a few steps up and down the room to calm himself. Maria Pinckney was speaking to him in a tone which, had it been used by any one else, would have caused an explosion.
An old disused well faced the cabins. Phyl gave a little shudder as she looked around her. Her mind, still slightly confused by the accident and beaten upon by troubles, could find nothing with which to reply to the facts of the situation alone here with Silas Grangerson, lost, both of them, what explanation could she make, even to herself, of the position?
Emancipation no one would have dared to say the word to him, he'd have killed you with a look. The North never beat Grangerson, it beat Davis and one man and another but it never beat Grangerson, he carried on after the war just as he carried on before, told the darkies that emancipation was nigger talk and they believed him.
She would have been waiting breakfast for her. She saw the breakfast room, sunny and pleasant, the tea urn on the table, the garden through the open window Then came the thought what matter. All that was lost to her anyhow. It did not matter in the least what she did. She was running away with Silas Grangerson.
Do you know, I believe the Governor was gone once on Maria, years ago, but they never got married. He married my mother instead." Phyl forgot her resentment. The faint idea that Colonel Grangerson and Maria Pinckney had perhaps been more than friends in long gone days, had strayed across her mind, to be dismissed as a fancy. It interested her to find Silas confirming it.
'Scuse my fooling, won't you I wouldn't with a stranger, but you don't seem a stranger somehow though I don't know your name." "Phylice Berknowles," said Phyl, glancing up at him and half wondering how it was that, despite his good looks, his manhood, and their total unacquaintanceship, she felt as little constrained in his presence as though he were a boy. "And my name is Silas Grangerson.
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