Theo had as yet seen nothing of the country except Clifton, and she longed more than ever for a sight of the sea. But it turned out that that was not so simple. The horses needed rest, or the coachman was drunk, or a spoke had broken in one of the wheels; the latter a simple matter to fix, thought Theo, in her first innocence, until she discovered that an excess of service often resulted in nothing being done. If the wheelwright was ailing, as he usually was, then the wheel must wait until he felt better. No one else would dream of touching it.

How different it will be when we are in our own home, thought Theo. Yet here, too, lay cause for disquiet. Though she had not yet seen the Oaks, she had now heard enough about the place to realize that it was uninhabitable in its present state.

'Then let us start at once to make it habitable,' she urged Joseph. 'If the roof leaks, it can be mended. If, as you say, the house is too small, we can build a wing.'

'To be sure,' he answered readily. 'But little can be done during the summer. The fever months will soon begin. In a week or two we shall move southward to Sullivan's Island.'

'With the family?' she asked in a small voice.

'Of course with the family'. Joseph stared; and she said no more.

Today, having momentarily escaped them, Theo walked swiftly down the plantation road toward the river, hurrying lest she should be caught by any more delays or admonitions. Once out of sight of the house, she gathered her muslin skirts high and ran in an access of freedom and released spirits. Her yellow chip straw hat flopped crazily about her face. Panting, she laughed at herself and ran the faster, plunging off the road and down a shady bypath into the forest. She reached an open clearing beneath a grove of longleaf pines, sank down on the moss, and fanned her face with her hat.

It was enchanting to be quiet and free: ecstasy to be alone. The thought startled her. She began to count back. She had literally not been entirely alone for more than half an hour since her marriage. Even her one delight, the letters she wrote to and received from her father, were read or written surrounded by white faces or black.