great rapidity. It was becoming increasingly natural for him to act,
simply, without thought, as his inner man bade. What yesterday was
uneasiness, and to-day seemed assurance, was apt by to-morrow to attain
convincingness. It was not that he appeared to value himself too highly.
Instead, he made no attempt at valuation; he went his way like wind or
wave. He took the armchair at the head of the Monticello table with the
simplicity of a child, and the bearing of a general who sups with his
officers after a victorious field.

The unfolding of the petal was not missed by his companions. Adam
Gaudylock, with a glance, half shrewd and half affectionate, for the man
whom he had known from boyhood, sank into the opposite seat with a light
and happy laugh. It mattered little to Adam where he sat in life,
provided that it was before a window. The overseer, a worthy, plain man,
had a thought of old Gideon Rand, but, remembering in time Mr.
Jefferson's high opinion of the man now occupying his chair, sat down
and unfolded his damask napkin with great care. Mr. Pincornet, indeed,
raised his eyebrows and made a backward movement from the table, but at
that moment a mulatto boy appeared with a plate of waffles. The light
from the wax candles burned, too, in certain crimson decanters. "Sit
down, sit down, Mr. Pincornet!" said Rand, and the dancing master took
the remaining place.

An hour later Rand pushed back his heavy chair and rose from the table,
ending the meal with as little ceremony as he had used in beginning it.
"I shall go write to Mr. Jefferson," he announced, as the four passed
into the hall. "You, Adam, what will you do?"

"First I'll smoke and then I'll sleep," said Adam. The moonlight
streamed in upon them through the open hall door. "I'll smoke outside.