she was almost home.

Betty was not unexcited by the prospect. She would be the
mistress of the most splendid place in West Tennessee. She
secretly aspired to be a brilliant hostess. She could remember
when the doors of Belle Plain were open to whoever had the least
claim to distinction--statesmen and speculators in land; men who
were promoting those great schemes of improvement, canals and
railroads; hard-featured heroes of the two wars with England--a
diminishing group; the men of the modern army, the pathfinders,
and Indian fighters, and sometimes a titled foreigner. She
wondered if Tom had maintained the traditions of the place. She
found that Carrington had heard of Belle Plain. He spoke of it
with respect, but with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, for how
could he feel enthusiasm when he must begin his chase after
fortune with bare hands?--he suffered acutely whenever it was
mentioned. The days, like any other days, dwindled. The end of
it all was close at hand. Another twenty-four hours and
Carrington reflected there would only be good-by to say.

"We will reach New Madrid to-night," he told her. They were
watching the river, under a flood of yellow moonlight.

"And then just another day--Oh, I can hardly wait!" cried Betty
delightedly. "Soon I shall hope to see you at Belle Plain, Mr.
Carrington," she added graciously.

"Thank you, your--your family--" he hesitated.

"There's only just Tom--he's my half-brother. My mother was left