THE following evening about eight o'clock Floyd walked over to Baker's house. He found his friend seated alone before a big fire of red logs. “Hello! Come in, Nelson,” Pole called out, cordially, as he saw the young man through the open door-way. “Come in an' set down.”

The young merchant entered and took a vacant chair.

“How's your wife, Pole?” he asked.

“Huh, crazy, crazy—crazy as a bed-bug!” Baker laughed. “You'd think so ef you could see 'er. She spent all the evenin' at yore plantation, an' come home beamin' all over with what she's seed an' her plans.” The farmer jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “She's in thar packin' up scraps now. She knows we can't leave till day after to-morrow, but she says she wants to be doin' some'n' towards it, even ef she has to pack an' unpack an' pack again. My boy, she's the happiest creature God ever—I mean that you ever made, dern you. She has yore name on 'er tongue every minute in the day. You know she's always said she had as many childem as she wanted”—Pole laughed impulsively—“but she says now she'd go through it all ag'in ef she knowed it 'ud be a boy so she could call it after you.”

“Well, I certainly would take it as a great honor,” Floyd said. “Your children are going to make great men, Pole. They show it in their heads and faces.”

“Well, I hope so, Nelson.” Pole suddenly bent his head to listen. “That's Sally talkin' now,” he said, with a knowing smile. “She sometimes talks about all this to 'erse'f, she's so full of it, but she ain't talkin' to 'erse'f now. You kin bet yore bottom dollar she ain't, Nelson. I say she ain't an' I mean it, my boy.”

“Some one's in there, then?” said Floyd.

Pole looked steadily into the fire, not a muscle of his face changed. “Somebody come back from Cartersville this mornin',” he said, significantly.

Floyd's heart gave a big jump. “So I heard,” he said, under his breath.

“Well, she's in thar now. She'd heard we was goin' to move an' come over jest after supper. She was plumb happy to see Sally so tickled. I didn't mean to eave'drop, but I went in the entry jest now to hang up my bridle an' couldn't help it. It was so purty, I could 'a' listened all day—Sally puttin' on, an' tellin' 'er she'd send the carriage over fer 'er to spend the day, an' that Cynthia must be shore an' send in 'er cyard at the door so thar 'ud be no mistake, an' so on.”

Floyd made no response. He was studying Pole's face, digging into it with his eyes for something he felt lay just beneath the unruffled surface.

“Then I heard some'n' else,” Pole said; “an' I'm goin' to feel mean about totin' it to you, beca'se women has a right to the'r secrets, an' who they pick an' choose fer the'r life-mates ort to be a sacred matter, but this is a thing I think you have a right to be onto.”

“What is that, Pole?” Floyd seemed to be holding his breath. He was almost pale in his great suspense.

“Why I heard Cynthia deny up an' down flatfooted that she was engaged to Hillhouse. Lord, you ort to 'a' heard her snort when Sally told 'er it had been the general belief about here ever since her an' him went off to Cartersville. She was good mad. I know that fer I heard Sally tryin' to pacify 'er. I heard Cynthia say all of a sudden: 'My mother put that report into circulation. I know it now, and she had no right to do it.'”

Floyd breathed more freely, a gleam of hope was in his eyes, his face was flushed. He said nothing.

Pole suddenly drew his feet back from the fire. “Don't you want a drink o' fresh water, Nelson?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” Floyd said.

“Well, I do. Keep yore seat. Since I left off whiskey I'm a great water-drinker.”

Pole had been gone only a minute when Floyd heard light steps in the entry leading to the kitchen. He sprang up, for Cynthia stood in the door-way.

“Why—why,” she stammered, “Mr. Baker told me some one wanted to see me. I—I had no idea that you—”

“I want to see you bad enough, God knows, Cynthia,” Floyd found himself saying, “but I did not tell him so. That, you know, would not be respecting the message you sent me.”

“The message?” she said. “I'm sure I don't understand you.”

“I mean the message you sent me by your mother,” Floyd explained.

“But I didn't send you any message,” Cynthia said, still mystified, as she stared frankly into his eyes.

“I mean the—the night I came for you,” Floyd pursued, “the night I was so presumptuous as to think you'd run away with me.”

“Oh, did she—did my mother tell you—” Cynthia was beginning to understand. “Did she say that I—”

“She told me you said you wanted me never to bother you again.”

The girl lowered her head, the fire lighted up her face as she stood, her eyes on the rough floor. She was silent a moment as if in deep thought, then she looked into his eyes again. “I begin to see it all now,” she said. “I wondered why you—how you could have treated me that way after—after all you'd said.”

“Cynthia, what do you mean? Do, do tell me!” He leaned closer to her—she could feel his quick, excited breath. “Surely you could not believe I'd have left if you hadn't wished it. Oh, little girl, I have been the most miserable man alive over losing you. I know I am unworthy of you—I always shall be that—but losing you has nearly killed me. Your mother told me that awful night that you not only wanted me to let you alone, but that you were going to marry Hillhouse.”

Cynthia gave him a full, frank glance. “Nelson,” she said, “my mother made up most of what she told you that night. I did promise not to run away with you—she made me do that. You have no idea what she resorted to. She determined to thwart us. She made me believe her mind was wrong and that she would kill herself if I left.”

“But you went to her yourself, dear,” Floyd said, still in the dark, “and told her of our plans.”

“No, I didn't, Nelson. She overheard our talk the week before. She followed me out to the grape-arbor and heard every word of it.”

“Oh, I see—I see!” exclaimed Floyd; “she was at the bottom of it all.”

“Yes, her mind was frightfully upset. She came to me this morning and cried and told me that she had heard so many nice things about you of late that she was afraid she had wronged you. She thinks now that her mind was really unbalanced that night. I believe it myself, for no thoroughly sane person could have played the part she did. She persuaded herself that your intentions were not pure and she felt justified in taking any step to save me.”

“Oh, I remember now,” said Floyd. “She could easily have misunderstood my meaning that night, for I was in such a state of nervous excitement that I did not go into details as to my plans. After I left you I remembered, too, that I had not offered you a beautiful ring that I'd bought for you in Atlanta. It's in my trunk in my room. Even after I'd lost all hope of ever winning you, I could not bear to part with it.”

“Oh, Nelson, did you get me a ring?” She leaned towards him in childlike eagerness. “What kind of one was it?”

“The prettiest, whitest diamond I could buy in Atlanta,” Floyd said, almost holding his breath in suspense. “Oh, Cynthia, you say your mother kept you from meeting me that night. If you had come what would have been your decision?”

Cynthia's color rose; she avoided his hungry eyes as she looked down into the fire. The house was very still, and Pole Baker's voice suddenly rose into audibility.

“I tell you, I've jest got to have a kiss,” he said, “and I'm goin' to have it right this minute! Do you reckon I'm goin' to stand here idle an' them two in thar—”

“Pole, Pole, stop! Let me alone—behave yore-se'f!” cried Mrs. Baker. There was a shuffling of feet then all was quiet.

Floyd leaned towards Cynthia till his lips almost touched her pink ear. “If you had met me that night what would have been my fate?” he asked, tremblingly.

Cynthia hesitated a moment longer, then she looked straight into his eyes and said, simply: “I was ready to go with you, Nelson. I'd thought it all over. I knew—I knew I'd be unhappy without you. Yes, I was ready to go.”

“Thank God!” Floyd cried, taking her hands and holding them tenderly. “And Hillhouse, you are not engaged to him, then?”

“Oh no. He was very persistent at Cartersville, but I refused him there for the last time. There is a rich old maid in the town who is dead in love with him and admires his preaching extravagantly. He showed me his worst side when I gave him his final answer. He told me she had money and would marry him and that he was going to propose to her. Do you think I could have lived with a creature like that, after—after—”

She went no further. Floyd drew her into his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder, his eyes feasting on her beautiful flushed face.

“After what?” he said. “Say it, darling—say it!”

“After knowing you,” she said, turning her face so that he could not see her eyes. “Nelson, I knew all along that you would grow to be the good, strong man you have become.”

“You made me all I am,” he said, caressingly. “You and Pole Baker. Darling, let's go tell him.”

Floyd walked home with Cynthia half an hour later and left her at the door. She went into her mother's room, and, finding the old woman awake, she told her of the engagement.

There was no light in the room save that of the moonbeams falling through the windows. Mrs. Porter sat up in her bed. For a moment she was silent, and Cynthia wondered what she would say.

“I'm glad, very glad,” Mrs. Porter said, huskily. “I was afraid I'd ruined all your chances. I see my mistake now. I misjudged him. Cynthia, I reckon my mind was really upset. I took a wrong view of the whole thing, and now”—the old woman's voice broke—“and now I suppose you and he will always hate me.”

“Oh, mother, don't talk that way!” Cynthia sat down on the bed, put her arm about her mother, and kissed her. “After all, it was for the best. I didn't want to marry that way—this will be so much more satisfactory.”

“That's certainly true,” said Mrs. Porter, slightly mollified. “I was wrong, but, in the long run, it is better as it is.”

The next morning after breakfast Mrs. Porter told Nathan the news as he stood out under an apple-tree sharpening a wooden tooth for his big triangular harrow.

“I knowed she'd yank 'im,” he chuckled. “He certainly was the king-fish o' these matrimonial waters, an' with all the fishin'-poles along the bank, it jest tuck Nathan Porter's clear-headed daughter to jerk the hook into his gills. But you mighty nigh spiled it with yore everlastin' suspicions an' the long-legged galoot that you kept danglin' 'fore the'r eyes.”

THE END