It was in December, 1878, that John De Vere hurried up this street towards the home whose welcome lights glimmered through the falling snow; even the gaunt Lombardy poplars which lined the street were attractive in their soft mantle of white. At the extreme end of the street he turned into his grounds and ascended to the house by the winding road which led up to it. Being a scholarly man and an admirer of the Greek style of architecture, his house had been made to conform as nearly as possible to it. The broad piazza which extended around three sides commanded a fine view of the valley.
Springing up the broad steps, Mr. De Vere was soon in the midst of his family, who were seated at the supper-table. The family consisted of his mother, wife, and four children: Jack, a handsome young fellow of twenty-two; Celeste, a girl of twenty; Eletheer, sixteen; and Cornelia, six. Reuben and Margaret, the two blacks who served them, were husband and wife.
"Ugh!" said Mr. De Vere, "a bitter night
