How soft had been the day, how tender the tone of every voice. The road under the moon was white and from a persimmon tree in an old field came the trill of a mockingbird. Two happy men were riding toward an old home.

"And here is where he fell," said Alf. "I am tempted to get down and pray. Bill, you don't know what it is to be freed from the conviction that you have killed a man. He might not have died then if it had not been for me, but, thank God, I didn't kill him. Yes, here is where I eased him down. I remembered afterward that I had not seen a drop of his blood and I was deeply thankful for it. We can almost see the General's house from here. You saw the old man to-day when he came up and shook hands with me. He hardly knew what he was about, and he said, 'Alf, what's your father doing?' But his eyes were full of tears and he had to wipe them when I told him that I was going to buy the old Morton place. He thinks you are a great man, Bill, and I honor him for it. To-night we will sleep in our room and early to-morrow morning I'm going over to see Millie. Do you think I ought to go to-night? No, I will wait and dream over it."In the old room we sat and peacefully smoked our pipes. And after I had gone to bed, and when I thought Alf was asleep, I heard him talking to himself. No, it was not talk, it was a chant, and it reminded me of his mother. I said nothing and I sank to sleep, and strange, mystic words were in my ears, soothing me down to forgetful slumber.

We were aroused early at morning by the rattle of a wagon at the door. The old people—Guinea had come back. Alf dressed quickly and ran down stairs, and I stuffed my ears that I might hear no sound from below. After a long time, and while I sat looking out of the window, the old man came up.

"By jings, I must have got that dispatch of yourn before you sent it. Mighty glad to see you again. But don't go down stairs yet. Everybody down there is as foolish as a chicken with his neck wrung. I tell you the Lord works things out in his own way. Sometimes we may think that we could run things better, but I don't believe we could! and, thurfore, I say, kiver to kiver. Ah, Lord, what a time we have had. Yes, sir, a time if there ever was one. Alf has jest told me what you intend to do, but if you think that you are goin' to crowd a lot of money off on me you are wrong. Give us this old house and see that we don't need nothin'—but, of course, you'll do that. I thought I'd let 'em fight to a finish up yander, but I didn't. They looked at me so pitiful that I called an old feller that happened to be passin' along and told him that he might have 'em. I've got to have a Sam and a Bob. Old Craighead, that lives about ten miles from here, has some of the finest in the world. Always wanted 'em, but they were so high that I couldn't tip-toe and reach 'em. Reckon you could fix it so I could git a couple?"

"You shall have as many as you want—all of them."

"I'm a thousand times obleeged to you. Yes, sir; sometimes we think we could run things better than He does, but I don't reckon we could. We seen young Lundsford as we driv along jest now. And I think he'll be over here putty soon, but don't you worry. No, sir, we ain't got nothin' to worry about now. Believe it would push us to scratch up a worry, don't you? By jings, though, I hardly know what to do; I step around here like a blind sheep in a barn, as the feller says. Well, it's gettin' pretty quiet down there now. Alf got away as soon as he could, and has gone over to the General's. Hush a minit. Thought I heard Chyd's voice. Well, I'm going to poke round a little, and it's not worth while to tell you to make yourself at home."

He went out, and I heard him humming a tune as he tramped slowly down the stairs. I took a seat near the window. Voices reached me, and, looking down through the branches of a mulberry tree, I saw Guinea sitting on a bench, and near her stood Chyd Lundsford. In his hand he held a switch and with it he was slowly cutting at a bloom on a vine that grew about the tree. He was talking. Guinea's face was turned upward and her hands were clasped behind her head. I could look down into her eyes, but she did not see me, and I felt a sense of self-reproach at thus watching her, listening for her to speak, and I thought to get up, but my legs refused to move, and I sat there, looking down into her eyes. Her face was pale and her lips, which had seemed to me in bloom with the rich juice of life, were now drawn thin.

"Of course, I was wrong," he said, "but I'm not the first man that ever did a wrong. And I should think that as a broad-minded and generous woman you could forgive me. I don't think that you can find any man who would take any better care of you than I would. I've got no romance about me, and why should I have? I can just remember seeing the trail of that monster called advancement—that mighty thing called progress, though in the guise of war, and that thing swallowed the romance of this country. I say that I can remember seeing the fading trail, but I know its history and I know that if it did not swallow romance it should have done so. I don't suppose I could ever think as much of any woman as I do of you, and I know that no woman could make my house so bright and cheerful. I was afraid of any complication that might hurt my prospects as a physician, my standing in the opinion of a careful and discriminating public; so, influenced by that sense of self-protection, I broke our engagement. But now I beg of you to renew it."

"On your knees!" she said, without looking at him.

"Now, Guinea, that's ridiculous. I am willing to make all sorts of amends——"

"On your knees!" she said.

"I see that there is no use to appeal to your reason. I suppose, however, that the way to reason with a woman is to gratify her whim and then appeal to her sense. It is a foolish thing to do, but in order to secure a hearing I will do as you say."

He sank upon his knees. She glanced down at him and then looked up at the sky. He began to talk, but she stopped him with a motion of her hand.

"You have heard the preacher say that we must be born again," she said. "I have been born again—born into the kingdom of love, and I find myself in a rapturous heaven. Get up." He obeyed, and she continued. "And you are so far from this kingdom that I cannot see you—you are off somewhere in the dark, and to me your words are cold. But there is one who stands in the light and I must go to him."

I sprang from my seat and hastened down the stairs. My heart beat fast, and I trembled. I was frightened like a child, like a timid overgrown boy, who is called to the table to sit beside a girl whom he slyly worships; and I ran away—down the path to the spring. I heard her calling me, and I stood there trembling, waiting for a holy spirit that was searching for me; and worship made me dumb. She came down the path, and, seeing me, hastened toward me with her head bent forward and her hands held out. And I caught her in my arms, swept her off the ground and held her to my beating heart.

And over the stones the water was laughing, and the strip of green moss-land flashed in the sun. I saw the old man walking up the ravine, with his hands behind him, and I caught the faint sound of a tune he was humming. Slowly her arms came from about my neck, and hand in hand we walked toward the house, she in the shining path, I on the green sward; and as we drew near we saw Alf and Millie, standing under a tree, waiting for us.

Transcriber's Note:

Variations in hyphenated words and inconsistencies
in dialect have been retained as they appear in
the original publication.