“When Ravenel drives four-in-hand,
      There’s something in his style and way
      That takes us to a by-gone day
    Of statelier times and manners grand: 
          When ladies gay,
          In bright array,
      And patch and powder held their sway.”

“I rather fancy that last!” he cried, repeating it: 

          “When ladies gay,
          In bright array,
      And patch and powder held their sway.

    “When Ravenel drives four-in-hand,
      The days of chivalry return,
      Hearts with an old-time passion burn,
    And lords and ladies fill the Strand,
      Our thoughts in that old time abide
    When Raleigh lived
          And Rizzio died,
    And fair Queen Mary sinned and sighed—­
          That olden land,
          That golden land,
    When Ravenel drives four-in-hand.

“To you, Mr. Ravenel!” he cried, draining his glass.

“Thank you, McDermott,” Francis answered, with a pleased smile, “you have, indeed, the gift of rhyme.”  And Katrine knew as Frank spoke that his distrust of Dermott had been laid aside for the present, and that he was in a state of mind to grant anything which Dermott might demand of him.

The thought troubled her after she had left them together for the coffee and cigars.  She had believed for a long time, as she had told Frank in the rose-garden, that Dermott was in Carolina on some business connected with Ravenel, and she had an instinct that the affair was to be brought to a head to-night.

From her place in the hall she could see that Dermott had brought his chair around to Frank’s side at the table, and she heard him say: 

“You know—­or probably, with your celestial indifference to business affairs, Ravenel, you don’t know that there is a small piece of land on the other side of the Silver Fork which belongs to your estate.  In looking up some old titles I discovered it.  It’s like this.”  He drew a note-book from his pocket, drawing as he talked.  “Here’s Loon Mountain.  Here’s the Silver Fork.  Here’s the Way-Home River.  Ye’ve the right, I discover, to the land marked R. It’s, as you know, of small value to you, and I’m wanting it.  It’s a vagary of mine.  I may be going to raise eagles on it.”

[Illustration]

At the words, Katrine, who had been retuning an old guitar, took alarm and was alert on the instant.  Striking it quickly, insistently, she came to the door of the dining-room, which framed her beauty like a picture.

“I’m going to sing you an Irish song, a real Irish song!” she cried, gayly, touching the strings.  The men turned, and Francis, with the land on the other side of the Silver Fork clear out of his mind at sight of her, came near the doorway where she stood.

“Come all ye men and fair maids
And listen to my song,
I’ll sing of Bloomin’ Caroline,
Who never did a wrong.