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 maraudin' an' cussin' 'cause he aint got nuttin' ter do. I lay he gwi' back naix' year. Ef he does, I got some preachments ter make ter dem wuffless niggers d'yar, totin' de sins 'roun' like twuz' gol' an' silver."

It seemed as if Olivia were destined to suffer a good deal of secret mortification on Pembroke's account. That last neglect of his had cut her to the soul. She had waked up to the fact, however, that Pembroke had taken his first rebuff in good earnest, and that nothing was left for her but that hollow pretense of friendship which men and women who have been, or have desired to be, more to each other, must affect. It was rather a painful and uncomfortable feeling to take around with her, when listening to Mrs. Peyton's vigorous talk, or the Rev. Mr. Cole's harmless sermons, and still more harmless conversation. But it was there, and it was unconquerable, and she must simply adjust the burden that she might bear it.

The county was full of talk about Pembroke's speech. The older people were sure that some information of his father's great speeches in their court-house about 1849 must have reached Washington, and that Pembroke's future was predicated upon them. Then there was a good deal in the newspapers about it. The Richmond papers printed the speech in full, together with a genealogical sketch of his family since the first Pembroke came over, with a grant of land from Charles the Second in his pocket. Likewise, Pembroke's suc