She was afraid of the Colonel, and kept aloof from him as much as possible, rarely seeing him except at meal times, and then saying very little to him and never dreaming how closely he watched her, attributing every pecularity, and she had many, to the Harris taint, of which he had a mortal terror.  But however much or little there might have been of the Harris blood in her, the few who knew her found her charming, as she grew from childhood into a beautiful girl of eighteen, apparently forgetful of everything pertaining to her Florida home.  The doll-house, with all the expensive toys bought for her, had been banished to a room in the attic, and with them finally went Judy and Mandy Ann.  The red cloak she seemed to prize more than all her possessions.  It was more in keeping with her surroundings than Judy, and she often wrapped it around her as she sat upon the piazza, when the day was cool, and sometimes wore it on her shoulders to breakfast in the morning.  Once she asked the Colonel where it came from, and he answered “Savannah,” and went on reading his paper with a scowl on his forehead which warned her she was on dangerous ground.  He was not fond of questions, and she did not often trouble him with them, but lived her silent life, increasing in beauty with every year, and guarded so closely from contact with the outer world that she scarcely had an intimate acquaintance.

It was not the Colonel’s wish that she should have any.  Indeed, he hardly knew what he did want.  He was aristocratic, and exclusive, and wished to make her so, and keep her from contact with the common herd, as he secretly designated the people around him.  He knew she was beautiful, with an imperiousness of manner she took from him, and a sweet yielding graciousness she took from her mother.  Sometimes a smile, or turn of her head, or kindling in her eyes, would bring the dead woman so vividly to his mind that he would rise suddenly and leave the room, as if a ghost were haunting him.  On these occasions he was sterner than usual with Eudora, who chafed under the firm rein held upon her, and longed to be free.

The Colonel had it in his mind to take her to Europe, hoping to secure a desirable marriage for her.  He should tell her husband, of course, who she was, knowing that money and position would atone for the Harris blood, and feeling that in this way he would be entirely freed from the page of life which did not now trouble him much.  He was still Crompton of Crompton, with his head as high as ever.  The Civil War had swept over the land like a whirlwind.  Tom Hardy had been among the first to enlist in the Southern army, and been killed in a battle.  The Colonel had heard of his death with a pang, and also with a certain feeling of relief, knowing that he was about the only one who possessed a knowledge of his folly, or his whereabouts.  There was still Jake, who wrote occasionally, asking for his lill Miss and telling of Mandy Ann, whom the war had made free, and who had married Ted, and was living in her own house outside the clearing.  Everything was out of the way except Eudora, who, before he had proposed his trip to Europe, took herself from him in a most summary manner.  The restraint laid upon her was becoming more than she could bear, and she rebelled against it.