Their life at Viamede, for the few weeks of their stay, seemed much like a repetition of her visit there the year before with her father.

They took the same rides, walks and drives; glided over the clear waters of the bayou in the same boat; sought out each spot of beauty or interest he had shown her; were, if possible, even more constantly together, reading, writing, or engaged with music in library or drawing-room, seated side by side on veranda or lawn enjoying conversation, book or periodical; or, it might be, silently musing, hand in hand, by the soft moonlight that lent such a witchery to the lovely landscape.

A pleasanter honeymoon could hardly have been devised.
In one thing, however, they were disappointed: they had hoped to be left entirely to each other; but it was impossible to conceal their presence at Viamede from the hospitable neighbors, and calls and invitations had to be received and returned.

But, both being eminently fitted to shine in society, and each proud to display the other, this state of things did not, after all, so greatly interfere with their enjoyment.
In fact, so delightful did they find their life in that lovely country that they lingered week after week till nearly six had slipped away, and letters from home began to be urgent for their return.

Mr.Dinsmore was wearying for his daughter, Mrs.Travilla for her son, and scarcely less for the daughter so long vainly hoped for.
Every day a servant was despatched to the nearest post-office with their mail, generally returning as full handed as he went.