THEODOSIA returned to the Oaks, but her spirit remained with Aaron. She refused to leave her plantation, fearful lest his letters might be delayed in getting to her, even by a single day. Her sleeping and her waking alike merged into a long feverish anxiety. What was he doing now? Had they started? What did the ever-mounting crop of rumors amount to? Was it true that he had been tried and acquitted in the Mississippi Territory? Was it true that General Wilkinson had suddenly turned traitor to the cause and denounced him? Or were these but the usual newspaper lies and speculations, influenced by politics and unworthy of notice?

She had received only two brief cipher letters from him, saying that all was well, and that no matter what she heard she must not be upset; for matters were progressing to his utmost satisfaction.

These calmed her for the time, but now in March it had been weeks since she had heard from him. Every day she sent the flatboat to Georgetown to await possible news there. And there was no news: even the newspapers were silent.

She had moods of wild hope. Everything must be going well. Silence was the best indication of it. The flotilla had started down the river; the Spaniards had ceded the west bank without a murmur; he was already triumphantly in possession of New Orleans. Perhaps they had crossed the Sabine on their way into Mexico. The news would be delayed, of course; Aaron would himself restrict it. He would have the power to do so. Power! Her heart swelled with exultation. She saw him already crowned, surrounded by a cheering people. 'Long live the Emperor, Aaron the First!'

'It is so. It must be so,' she whispered to herself a dozen times a day. But these moments of delicious optimism alternated with foreboding and despair. She grew thin and pale. Sleep eluded her.

Joseph spent most of his time in Columbia, acting, she thought angrily, as though his tuppenny-ha'penny office in the state legislature were of paramount importance. When he did return to the Oaks, he refused to discuss 'X'. The whole matter worried him exceedingly.

In April, her long uncertainty was ended. She was sitting on the porch in the warm afternoon sunshine with Gampy at her knee. The sturdy five-year-old was reading aloud to her, his small face puckered with concentration, his fresh little voice hardly stumbling over the long words. 'The dog is an es-estimable animal, and by reason of his fidelity merits our admir-admiration. '

'That's very good, darling,' she said, smoothing his cumbled hair, which was no longer golden red, but a rich dark auburn like her own.

'Will Gamp be pleased with me when he hears me read so well?' asked the child. Under her guidance he had come to direct every effort toward the approval of the faraway grandfather whom he still remembered and loved.