It was at the close of an afternoon in May, that a party might have been
seen gathered around a table covered with all those delicacies that, in the
household of a rich Southern planter, are regarded as almost necessaries of
life. In the centre stood a dish of ripe strawberries, their plump red
sides peeping through the covering of white sugar that had been plentifully
sprinkled over them. Geeche limes, almost drowned in their own rich syrup,
temptingly displayed their bronze-coloured forms just above the rim of the
glass that contained them. Opposite, and as if to divert the gaze from
lingering too long over their luscious beauty, was a dish of peaches
preserved in brandy, a never-failing article in a Southern matron's
catalogues of sweets. A silver basket filled with a variety of cakes was in
close proximity to a plate of corn-flappers, which were piled upon it like
a mountain, and from the brown tops of which trickled tiny rivulets of
butter. All these dainties, mingling their various odours with the aroma of
the tea and fine old java that came steaming forth from the richly chased
silver pots, could not fail to produce a very appetising effect.

There was nothing about Mr. Garie, the gentleman who sat at the head of the
table, to attract more than ordinary attention. He had the ease of manner
usual with persons whose education and associations have been of a highly
refined character, and his countenance, on the whole, was pleasing, and
indicative of habitual good temper.

Opposite to him, and presiding at the tea-tray, sat a lady of marked
beauty. The first thing that would have attracted attention on seeing her
were her gloriously dark eyes. They were not entirely black, but of that
seemingly changeful hue so often met with in persons of African extraction,
which deepens and lightens with every varying emotion. Hers wore a subdued