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"
But
,
father
!
"
protests
the
young
lady
,
"
why
should
I
no
wait
for
you
?
You
are
not
going
to
stay
here
?
"
Yancey
experiences
a
shock
of
apprehension
.
"
It
is
my
wish
,
daughter
,
that
you
do
as
I
tell
you
.
Let
that
be
sufficient
.
"
Yancey
's
confidence
returns
.
Not
quite
.
He
knows
enough
of
that
proud
spirit
to
be
in
doubt
whether
it
may
yield
obedience
--
even
to
the
parental
command
.
It
gives
way
;
but
with
an
unwillingness
ill
disguised
,
even
in
the
presence
of
that
crowd
of
attentive
spectators
.
The
two
ride
off
;
the
young
planter
taking
the
lead
,
his
charge
slowly
following
--
the
former
scarce
able
to
conceal
his
exultation
,
the
latter
her
chagrin
.
Yancey
is
more
distressed
than
displeased
,
at
the
melancholy
mood
of
his
companion
.
How
could
it
be
otherwise
,
with
such
a
sorrow
at
her
heart
?
Of
course
he
ascribes
it
to
that
.
He
but
half
interprets
the
cause
.
Were
he
to
look
steadfastly
into
the
eye
of
Louise
Poindexter
,
he
might
there
detect
an
expression
,
in
which
sorrow
for
the
past
is
less
marked
,
than
fear
for
the
future
.
They
ride
on
through
the
trees
--
but
not
beyond
ear-shot
of
the
people
they
have
left
behind
them
.
Suddenly
a
change
comes
over
the
countenance
of
the
Creole
--
her
features
lighting
up
,
as
if
some
thought
of
joy
,
or
at
least
of
hope
,
had
entered
her
soul
.
She
stops
reflectingly
--
her
escort
constrained
to
do
the
same
.
"
Mr
Yancey
,
"
says
she
,
after
a
short
pause
,
"
my
saddle
has
got
loose
.
I
can
not
sit
comfortably
in
it
.
Have
the
goodness
to
look
to
the
girths
!
"
