summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/69920-h/69920-h.htm
blob: 4cb0abdc2cd8c0d92710b033a3b6bc3b9959c64d (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777

<!DOCTYPE html>
<html lang="en">
<head>
    <meta charset="UTF-8">
    <title>
      Holly | Project Gutenberg
    </title>

    <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">

    <style>

/* DACSoft styles */

body {
    margin-left: 10%;
    margin-right: 10%;
}

/* General headers */
h1 {
    text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
    clear: both;
}

/* Chapter headers */
h2 {
    text-align: center;
    font-weight: bold;
    margin: .75em 0;
}

div.chapter {
    page-break-before: always;
}

.nobreak {
    page-break-before: avoid;
}

/* Indented paragraph */
p {
    margin-top: .51em;
    margin-bottom: .49em;
    text-align: justify;
    text-indent: 1em;
}

/* Unindented paragraph */
.noi {text-indent: 0em;}

/* Centered unindented paragraph */
.noic {
    text-indent: 0em;
    text-align: center;
}

/* Non-standard paragraph margins */
.p2 {margin-top: 2em;}
.p4 {margin-top: 4em;}
.p6 {margin-top: 6em;}

.pad2 {
    margin-top: 2em;
    margin-bottom: 2em;
}

/* Horizontal rules */
hr {
    width: 33%;
    margin-top: 2em;
    margin-bottom: 2em;
    margin-left: 33.5%;
    margin-right: 33.5%;
    clear: both;
}

hr.tb {
    width: 35%;
    margin-top: 1em;
    margin-bottom: 1em;
    margin-left: 32.5%;
    margin-right: 32.5%;
}

hr.chap {
    width: 65%;
    margin-left: 17.5%;
    margin-right: 17.5%;
}

/* Tables */
table {
    margin-left: auto;
    margin-right: auto;
}

td {
    padding: 5px;
}

th {
    padding: 5px;
    font-weight: normal;
}

/* Table cell alignments */
.tdl {
    text-align: left;
}

.tdrb {
    text-align: right;
    vertical-align: bottom;
}

/* Physical book page and line numbers */
.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
    /*  visibility: hidden;  */
    position: absolute;
    right: 3%;
/*    left: 92%;  */
    font-size: x-small;
    font-style: normal;
    font-weight: normal;
    font-variant: normal;
    text-align: right;
    color: gray;
} /* page numbers */

/* Blockquotes */
.blockquot {
    margin-top: 1em;
    margin-left: 10%;
    margin-right: 10%;
    margin-bottom: 1em;
}

/* Alignment */
.flright {
    float: right;
}

.x-ebookmaker .flright {
    float: right;
}

/* Text appearance */
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}

/* Small fonts and lowercase small-caps */
.smfont {
    font-size: .8em;
}

.smfontr {
    font-size: .75em;
    text-align: right;
}

/* Illustration caption */
.caption  {
    font-size: .75em;
    font-weight: bold;
}

/* Images */
img {
    max-width: 100%; /* no image to be wider than screen or containing div */
    height:auto;     /* keep height in proportion to width */
}

.illowe6 {width: 6em;}

.figcenter {
    margin: auto;
    text-align: center;
    page-break-inside: avoid;
    max-width: 90%; /* div no wider than screen, even when screen is narrow */
}

.figcenter2 {
    margin: auto;
    text-align: center;
    page-break-inside: avoid;
    max-width: 50%; /* div no wider than 1/2 screen, even when screen is narrow */
}

.figleft {
    float: left;
    clear: left;
    margin-left: 0;
    margin-bottom: 1em;
    margin-top: 1em;
    margin-right: 1em;
    padding: 0;
    text-align: center;
    page-break-inside: avoid;
    max-width: 35%;
}

/* comment out next line and uncomment the following one for floating figleft on ebookmaker output */
/* .x-ebookmaker .figleft {float: none; text-align: center; margin-right: 0;} */
.x-ebookmaker .figleft {float: left;}

.figright {
    float: right;
    clear: right;
    margin-left: 1em;
    margin-bottom: 1em;
    margin-top: 1em;
    margin-right: 0;
    padding: 0;
    text-align: center;
    page-break-inside: avoid;
    max-width: 35%;
}

/* comment out next line and uncomment the following one for floating figright on ebookmaker output */
/* .x-ebookmaker .figright {float: none; text-align: center; margin-left: 0;} */
.x-ebookmaker .figright {float: right;}

/* Poetry */
.poetry {
    display: block;
    text-align: left;
    margin-left: 10%;
    margin-right: 10%;
}

.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;}

.poetry .verse {
    padding-left: 3em;
    text-indent: -3em;
}

/* Poetry indents */
.poetry .indent0 {padding-left: 3em;}
.poetry .indent1 {padding-left: 3.5em;}
.poetry .indent2 {padding-left: 4em;}
.poetry .indent3 {padding-left: 4.5em;}

/* Transcriber's notes */
.tnote {
    background-color: #E6E6FA;
    margin-left: 10%;
    margin-right: 10%;
    padding: .5em;
}

.tntitle {
    font-size: 1.25em;
    font-weight: bold;
    text-align: center;
    clear: both;
}

/* Title page borders and content. */
.title {
    font-size: 1.75em;
    font-weight: bold;
    text-align: center;
    clear: both;
}

.halftitle {
    font-size: 1.5em;
    text-align: center;
    clear: both;
}

.subtitle {
    font-size: 1.5em;
    text-align: center;
    clear: both;
}

.author {
    font-size: 1.25em;
    text-align: center;
    clear: both;
}

.works {
    font-size: .75em;
    text-align: center;
    clear: both;
}

/* Advertisement formatting. */
.adauthor {
    font-size: 1.25em;
    text-align: center;
    clear: both;
}

/* Hanging indent. */
.hang {
    text-indent: -2em;
    padding-left: 3em;
}

    </style>
</head>

<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69920 ***</div>


<div class="figcenter" id="cover_sm">
  <img src="images/cover_sm.jpg" alt="cover" title="cover">
</div>




<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p class="noi halftitle">HOLLY</p>
</div>




<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<div class="figcenter" id="i_frontis">
  <img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" alt="" title="">
  <div class="caption">
    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_76">HOLLY PLACED HER HAND IN HIS AND LEAPED LIGHTLY TO THE GROUND</a></p>
  </div>
</div>
</div>




<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<div class="figcenter" id="title_pg">
  <img src="images/title_pg.jpg" alt="title page" title="title page">
</div>
</div>




<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<h1 class="nobreak">HOLLY</h1>

<p class="noi subtitle"><i>The Romance of a Southern Girl</i></p>

<p class="p2 noic">BY</p>

<p class="noi author">RALPH HENRY BARBOUR</p>

<p class="noi works">AUTHOR OF “A MAID IN ARCADY,” “KITTY<br>
OF THE ROSES,” “AN ORCHARD<br>
PRINCESS,” ETC.</p>

<p class="p2 noic"><i>With illustrations by</i></p>

<p class="noic">EDWIN F. BAYHA</p>

<div class="pad2">
<div class="figcenter" id="logo">
  <img class="illowe6" src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" title="logo">
</div>
</div>

<p class="noi adauthor">PHILADELPHIA &amp; LONDON<br>
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY<br>
1907</p>
</div>




<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p class="noic"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1907<br>
By The Curtis Publishing Company</span></p>

<p class="p2 noic"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1907<br>
By J. B. Lippincott Company</span></p>

<p class="p4 noic">Published October, 1907</p>

<p class="p6 noic"><i>Electrotyped and Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company<br>
The Washington Square Press, Philadelphia, U. S. A.</i></p>
</div>




<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p class="noic">TO</p>

<p class="noi author">JESSIE LATSHAW KING</p>
</div>




<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">LIST OF CHAPTERS</h2>
</div>


<p class="noic"><a href="#I">I</a><br>
<a href="#II">II</a><br>
<a href="#III">III</a><br>
<a href="#IV">IV</a><br>
<a href="#V">V</a><br>
<a href="#VI">VI</a><br>
<a href="#VII">VII</a><br>
<a href="#VIII">VIII</a><br>
<a href="#IX">IX</a><br>
<a href="#X">X</a><br>
<a href="#XI">XI</a><br>
<a href="#XII">XII</a><br>
<a href="#XIII">XIII</a><br>
<a href="#XIV">XIV</a></p>





<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="ILLUSTRATIONS">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
</div>


<table>
<colgroup>
  <col style="width: 85%;">
  <col style="width: 10%;">
</colgroup>
<tr>
  <th>&#160;</th>
  <th class="smfontr">PAGE</th>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_frontis"><span class="smcap">Holly Placed Her Hand
in His and Leaped Lightly to the
Ground </span></a>&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;<span class="flright"> <i>Frontispiece</i></span></td>
  <td class="tdrb">&#160;</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_fp144"><span class="smcap">Presently the New Rental
Agreement was Signed</span></a></td>
  <td class="tdrb">144</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_fp216"><span class="smcap">The Major Held the Little
Bunch of Leaves and Berries over Holly’s Head</span></a></td>
  <td class="tdrb">217</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_fp258">“<span class="smcap">Keep Away! You’ve Killed
Him</span>”</a></td>
  <td class="tdrb">258</td>
</tr>
</table>


<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span></p>

<p class="noi title" id="HOLLY">HOLLY</p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I.</h2>
</div>


<p>Holly’s eighteenth birthday was but a
fortnight distant when the quiet stream of
her life, which since her father’s death six
years before had flowed placidly, with but
few events to ripple its tranquil surface,
was suddenly disturbed....</p>

<p>To the child of twelve years death, because
of its unfamiliarity and mystery, is
peculiarly terrible. At that age one has become
too wise to find comfort in the vague
and beautiful explanations of tearfully-smiling
relatives—explanations in which
Heaven is pictured as a material region
just out of sight beyond the zenith; too selfishly
engrossed with one’s own loneliness
and terror to be pacified by the contemplation
of the radiant peace and beatitude attained
by the departed one in that ethereal<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span>
and invisible suburb. And at twelve one is
as yet too lacking in wisdom to realize the
beneficence of death.</p>

<p>Thus it was that when Captain Lamar
Wayne died at Waynewood, in his fiftieth
year, Holly, left quite alone in a suddenly
empty world save for her father’s sister,
Miss India Wayne, grieved passionately
and rebelliously, giving way so abjectly to
her sorrow that Aunt India, fearing
gravely for her health, summoned the family
physician.</p>

<div class="figcenter2" id="i_p011">
  <img src="images/i_p011.jpg" alt="Holly" title="Holly">
</div>

<p>“There is nothing physically wrong with
her,” pronounced the Old Doctor, “nothing
that I can remedy with my poisons.
You must get her mind away from her sorrow,
my dear Miss India. I would suggest
that you take her away for a time;
give her new scenes; interest her in new
affairs. Meanwhile ... there is no harm....”
The Old Doctor wrote a prescription
with his trembling hand ... “a
simple tonic ... nothing more.”</p>

<p>So Aunt India and Holly went away. At
first the thought of deserting the new grave<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span>
in the little burying-ground within sight of
the house moved Holly to a renewed madness
of grief. But by the time Uncle Randall
had put their trunk and bags into the
old carriage interest in the journey had
begun to assuage Holly’s sorrow. It was
her first journey into the world. Save for
visits to neighboring plantations and one
memorable trip to Tallahassee while her
father had served in the State Legislature,
she had never been away from Corunna.
And now she was actually going into another
State! And not merely to Georgia,
which would have been a comparatively
small event since the Georgia line ran east<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span>
and west only a bare half-dozen miles up
the Valdosta road, but away up to Kentucky,
of which, since the Waynes had come
from there in the first part of the century,
Holly had heard much all her life.</p>

<p>As the carriage moved down the circling
road Holly watched with trembling lips the
little brick-walled enclosure on the knoll.
Then came a sudden gush of tears and convulsive
sobs, and when these had passed
they were under the live-oaks at the
depot, and the train of two cars and a rickety,
asthmatic engine, which ran over the
six-mile branch to the main line, was posing
importantly in front of the weather-beaten
station.</p>

<p>Holly’s pulses stirred with excitement,
and when, a quarter of an hour later,—for
Aunt India believed in being on time,—she
kissed Uncle Ran good-bye, her eyes were
quite dry.</p>

<p>That visit had lasted nearly three
months, and for awhile Holly had been surfeited
with new sights and new experiences
against which no grief, no matter how poignant,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span>
could have been wholly proof. When,
on her return to Waynewood, she paid her
first visit to her father’s grave, the former
ecstasy of grief was absent. In its place
was a tender, dim-eyed melancholy, something
exaltedly sacred and almost sweet,
a sentiment to be treasured and nourished
in reverent devotion. And yet I think it
was not so much the journey that accomplished
this end as it was a realization
which came to her during the first month
of the visit.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p013">
  <img src="images/i_p013.jpg" alt="father's grave" title="father's grave">
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span></p>

<p>In her first attempts at comforting the
child, and many times since, Aunt India
had reminded Holly that now that her
father had reached Heaven he and her
mother were together once more, and that
since they had loved each other very dearly
on earth they were beyond doubt very
happy in Paradise. Aunt India assured
her that it was a beautiful thought. But it
had never impressed Holly as Miss India
thought it should. Possibly she was too
self-absorbed in her sorrow to consider it
judicially. But one night she had a dream
from which she awoke murmuring happily
in the darkness. She could not remember
very clearly what she had dreamed, although
she strove hard to do so. But she
knew that it was a beautiful dream, a dream
in which her father and her mother,—the
wonderful mother of whom she had no
recollection,—had appeared to her hand in
hand and had spoken loving, comforting
words. For the first time she realized Aunt
India’s meaning; realized how very, very
happy her father and mother must be together<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span>
in Heaven, and how silly and selfish
she had been to wish him back. All in the
instant there, in the dim silence, the dull
ache of loneliness which had oppressed her
for months disappeared. She no longer
seemed alone; somewhere,—near at hand,—was
sympathy and love and heart-filling
comradeship. Holly lay for awhile very
quiet and happy in the great four-poster
bed, and stared into the darkness with
wide eyes that swam in grateful tears.
Then she fell into a sound, calm sleep.</p>

<p>She did not tell Aunt India of her dream;
not because there was any lack of sympathy
between them, but because to have shared
it would have robbed it of half its dearness.
For a long, long time it was the most
precious of her possessions, and she hugged
it to her and smiled over it as a mother over
her child. And so I think it was the dream
that accomplished what the Old Doctor
could not,—the dream that brought, as
dreams so often do, Heaven very close to
earth. Dreams are blessed things, be they
day-dreams or dreams of the night; and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span>
even the ugly ones are beneficent, since at
waking they make by contrast reality more
endurable.</p>

<p>If Aunt India never learned the cause
she was at least quick to note the result.
Holly’s thin little cheeks borrowed tints
from the Duchess roses in the garden, and
Aunt India graciously gave the credit to
Kentucky air, even as she drew her white
silk shawl more closely about her slender
shoulders and shivered in the unaccustomed
chill of a Kentucky autumn.</p>

<p>Then followed six tranquil years in which
Holly grew from a small, long-legged, angular
child to a very charming maiden of
eighteen, dainty with the fragrant daintiness
of a southern rosebud; small of stature,
as her mother had been before her, yet
possessed of a gracious dignity that added
mythical inches to her height; no longer
angular but gracefully symmetrical with
the soft curves of womanhood; with a fair
skin like the inner petal of a La France
rose; with eyes warmly, deeply brown,
darkened by large irises; a low, broad forehead<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span>
under a wealth of hair just failing of
being black; a small, mobile mouth, with
lips as freshly red as the blossoms of the
pomegranate tree in the corner of the yard,
and little firm hands and little arched feet
as true to beauty as the needle to the pole.
God sometimes fashions a perfect body,
and when He does can any praise be too
extravagant?</p>

<p>For the rest, Holly Wayne at eighteen—or,
to be exact, a fortnight before—was
perhaps as contradictory as most girls
of her age. Warm-hearted and tender, she
could be tyrannical if she chose; dignified
at times, there were moments when she
became a breath-taking madcap of a girl,—moments
of which Aunt India strongly but
patiently disapproved; affectionate and
generous, she was capable of showing a
very pretty temper which, like mingled
flash of lightning and roar of thunder, was
severe but brief; tractable, she was not
pliant, and from her father she had inherited
settled convictions on certain subjects,
such for instance as Secession and Emancipation,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span>
and an accompanying dash of contumacy
for the protection of them.</p>

<p>She was fond of books, and had read
every sombre-covered volume of the British
Poets from fly-leaf to fly-leaf. She preferred
poetry to prose, but when the first
was wanting she put up cheerfully with the
latter. The contents of her father’s modest
library had been devoured with a fine catholicity
before she was sixteen. Recent books
were few at Corunna, and had Holly been
asked to name her favorite volume of fiction
she would have been forced to divide
the honor between certain volumes of The
Spectator, St. Elmo, and The Wide, Wide
World. She was intensely fond of being
out of doors; even in her crawling days her
negro mammy had found it a difficult task
to keep her within walls; and so her reading
had ever been <i lang="es">al fresco</i>. Her favorite
place was under the gnarled old fig-tree at
the end of the porch, where, perched in a
comfortable crotch of trunk and branch, or
asway in a hammock, she spent many of
her waking hours. When the weather kept<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span>
her indoors, she never thought of books at
all. Those stood with her for filtered sunlight,
green-leaf shadows, and the perfume-laden
breezes.</p>

<p>Her education, begun lovingly and
sternly by her father, had ended with a
four-years’ course at a neighboring Academy,
supplying her with as much knowledge
as Captain Wayne would have considered
proper for her. He had held to old-fashioned
ideas in such matters, and had
considered the ability to quote aptly from
Pope or Dryden of more appropriate value
to a young woman than a knowledge of
Herbert Spencer’s absurdities or a bowing
acquaintance with Differential Calculus.
So Holly graduated very proudly from the
Academy, looking her sweetest in white
muslin and lavender ribbons, and was quite,
quite satisfied with her erudition and contentedly
ignorant of many of the things
that fit into that puzzle which we are
pleased to call Life.</p>

<p>And now, in the first week of November
in the year 1898, the tranquil stream of her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span>
existence was about to be disturbed. Although
she could have no knowledge of it,
as yet, Fate was already poising the stone
which, once dropped into that stream, was
destined to cause disquieting ripples, perplexing
eddies, distracting swirls and, in
the end, the formation of a new channel.
And even now the messenger of Fate was
limping along with the aid of his stout cane,
coming nearer and nearer down the road
from the village under the shade of the water-oaks,
a limp and a tap for every beat
of Holly’s unsuspecting heart.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="II">II.</h2>
</div>


<p>Holly sat on the back porch, her slippered
feet on the topmost step of the flight
leading to the “bridge” and from thence to
the yard. She wore a simple white dress
and dangled a blue-and-white-checked sun-bonnet
from the fingers of her right hand.
Her left hand was very pleasantly occupied,
since its pink palm cradled Holly’s
chin. Above the chin Holly’s lips were
softly parted, disclosing the tips of three
tiny white teeth; above the mouth, Holly’s
eyes gazed abstractedly away over the
roofs of the buildings in the yard and the
cabins behind them, over the tops of the
Le Conte pear-trees in the back lot, over
the fringe of pines beyond, to where, like a
black speck, a buzzard circled and dropped
and circled again above a distant hill. I
doubt if Holly saw the buzzard. I doubt
if she saw anything that you or I could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span>
have seen from where she sat. I really
don’t know what she did see, for Holly was
day-dreaming, an occupation to which she
had become somewhat addicted during the
last few months.</p>

<p>The mid-morning sunlight shone warmly
on the back of the house. Across the bridge,
in the kitchen, Aunt Venus was moving
slowly about in the preparation of dinner,
singing a revival hymn in a clear, sweet
falsetto:</p>

<div class="poetry">
  <div class="stanza">
    <div class="verse indent0">“Lord Gawd of Israel,</div>
    <div class="verse indent1">Lord Gawd of Israel,</div>
    <div class="verse indent1">Lord Gawd of Israel,</div>
    <div class="verse indent3">I’s gwan to meet you soon!”</div>
  </div>
</div>

<p>To the right, in front of the disused office,
a half-naked morsel of light brown humanity
was seated in the dirt at the foot
of the big sycamore, crooning a funny little
accompaniment to his mother’s song, the
while he munched happily at a baked sweet
potato and played a wonderful game with
two spools and a chicken leg. Otherwise
the yard was empty of life save for the
chickens and guineas and a white cat<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span>
asleep on the roof of the well-house. Save
for Aunt Venus’s chant and Young Tom’s
crooning (Young Tom to distinguish him
from his father), the morning world was
quite silent. The gulf breeze whispered in
the trees and scattered the petals of the
late roses. A red-bird sang a note from
the edge of the grove and was still. Aunt
Venus, fat and forty, waddled to the
kitchen door, cast a stern glance at Young
Tom and a softer one at Holly, and disappeared
again, still singing:</p>

<div class="poetry">
  <div class="stanza">
    <div class="verse indent0">“Lord Gawd of Israel,</div>
    <div class="verse indent1">Lord Gawd of Israel,</div>
    <div class="verse indent1">Lord Gawd of Israel,</div>
    <div class="verse indent3">Wash all mah sins away!”</div>
  </div>
</div>

<p>Back of Holly the door stood wide open,
and at the other end of the broad, cool hall
the front portal was no less hospitably
placed. And so it was that when the messenger
of Fate limped and thumped his
way up the steps, crossed the front porch
and paused in the hall, Holly heard and
leaped to her feet.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span></p>

<p>“Is anyone at home in this house?”
called the messenger.</p>

<p>Holly sped to meet him.</p>

<p>“Good-morning, Uncle Major!”</p>

<p>Major Lucius Quintus Cass changed his
cane to his left hand and shook hands with
Holly, drawing her to him and placing a
resounding kiss on one soft cheek.</p>

<p>“The privilege of old age, my dear,”
he said; “one of the few things which reconcile
me to gray hairs and rheumatism.”
Still holding her hand, he drew back, his
head on one side and his mouth pursed
into a grimace of astonishment. “Dearie
me,” he said ruefully, with a shake of his
head, “where’s it going to stop, Holly?
Every time I see you I find you’ve grown
more radiant and lovely than before!
’Pears to me, my dear, you ought to have
some pity for us poor men. Gad, if I was
twenty years younger I’d be down on my
knees this instant!”</p>

<p>Holly laughed softly and then drew her
face into an expression of dejection.</p>

<p>“That’s always the way,” she sighed.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span>
“All the real nice men are either married
or think they’re too old to marry. I
reckon I’ll just die an old maid, Uncle
Major.”</p>

<p>“Rather than allow it,” the Major replied,
gallantly, “I’ll dye my hair and
marry you myself! But don’t you talk
that way to me, young lady; I know what’s
going on in the world. They tell me the
Marysville road’s all worn out from the
travel over it.”</p>

<p>Holly tossed her head.</p>

<p>“That’s only Cousin Julian,” she said.</p>

<p>“Humph! ‘Only Cousin Julian,’ eh?
Well, Cousin Julian’s a fine-looking beau,
my dear, and Doctor Thompson told me
only last week that he’s doing splendidly,
learning to poison folks off real natural
and saw off their legs and arms so’s it’s a
genuine pleasure to them. I reckon that
in about a year or so Cousin Julian will be
thinking of getting married. Eh? What
say?”</p>

<p>“He may for all of me,” laughed Holly.
But her cheeks wore a little deeper tint,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span>
and the Major chuckled. Then he became
suddenly grave.</p>

<p>“Is your Aunt at home?” he asked, in a
low voice.</p>

<p>“She’s up-stairs,” answered Holly.
“I’ll tell her you’re here, sir.”</p>

<p>“Just a moment,” said the Major, hurriedly.
“I—oh, Lord!” He rubbed his
chin slowly, and looked at Holly in comical
despair. “Holly, pity the sorrows of a
poor old man.”</p>

<p>“What have you been doing, Uncle Major?”
asked Holly, sternly.</p>

<p>“Nothing, ’pon my word, my dear!
That is—well, almost nothing. I thought
it was all for the best, but now——” He
stopped and shook his head. Then he
threw back his shoulders, surrendered his
hat and stick to the girl, and marched resolutely
into the parlor. There he turned,
pointed upward and nodded his head silently.
Holly, smiling but perplexed, ran
up-stairs.</p>

<p>Left alone in the big, square, white-walled
room, dim and still, the Major unbuttoned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span>
his long frock coat and threw the
lapels aside with a gesture of bravado.
But in another instant he was listening
anxiously to the confused murmur of
voices from the floor above and plucking
nervously at the knees of his trousers.
Presently a long-drawn sigh floated onto
the silence, and—</p>

<p>“Godamighty!” whispered the Major;
“I wish I’d never done it!”</p>

<p>The Major was short in stature and generous
of build. Since the war, when a
Northern bullet had almost terminated the
usefulness of his right leg, he had been a
partial cripple and the enforced quiescence
had resulted in a portliness quite out of
proportion to his height. He had a large
round head, still well covered with silky
iron-gray hair, a jovial face lit by restless,
kindly eyes of pale blue, a large, flexible
mouth, and an even more generous nose.
The cheeks had become somewhat pendulous
of late years and reminded one of the
convenient sacks in which squirrels place
nuts in temporary storage. The Major<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span>
shaved very closely over the whole expanse
of face each morning and by noon was
tinged an unpleasant ghastly blue by the
undiscouraged bristles.</p>

<p>Although Holly called him “Uncle” he
was in reality no relation. He had ever
been, however, her father’s closest friend
and on terms of greater intimacy than
many near relations. Excepting only
Holly, none had mourned more truly at
Lamar Wayne’s death. The Captain had
been the Major’s senior by only one year,
but seeing them together one would have
supposed the discrepancy in age much
greater. The Major always treated the
Captain like an older brother, accepting
his decisions with unquestioning loyalty,
and accorded him precedence in all things.
It was David and Jonathan over again.
Even after the war, in which the younger
man had won higher promotion, the Major
still considered the Captain his superior
officer.</p>

<p>The Major pursued an uncertain law
practice and had served for some time as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span>
Circuit Judge. Among the negroes he was
always “Major Jedge.” That he had
never been able to secure more than the
simplest comforts of life in the pursuit of
his profession was largely due to an unpractical
habit of summoning the opposing
parties in litigation to his office and settling
the case out of court. Add to this
that fully three-fourths of his clients were
negroes, and that “Major Jedge” was too
soft-hearted to insist on payment for his
services when the client was poorer than
he, and you can readily understand that
Major Lucius Quintus Cass’s fashion of
wearing large patches on his immaculately-shining
boots was not altogether a
matter of choice.</p>

<div class="figright" id="i_p029">
  <img src="images/i_p029.jpg" alt="Miss India's entrance" title="Miss India's entrance">
</div>

<p>The Major had not long to wait for an
audience. As he adjusted his trouser-legs
for the third time the sound of soft footfalls
on the bare staircase reached him.
He glanced apprehensively at the open
door, puffed his cheeks out in a mighty
exhalation of breath, and arose from his
chair just as Miss India Wayne swept into<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span>
the room. I say swept advisedly, for in
spite of the lady’s diminutive stature she
was incapable of entering a room in any
other manner. Where other women
walked, Miss India swept; where others
bowed, Miss India curtseyed; where others
sat down, Miss India subsided. Hers were
the manners and graces of a half-century
ago. She was fifty-four years old, but
many of those years had passed over her
very lightly. Small, perfectly proportioned,
with a delicate oval face surmounted
by light brown hair, untouched as
yet by frost and worn in a braided coronet,
attired in a pale lavender gown of many
ruffles, she was for all the world like a
little Chelsea figurine. She smiled upon
the Major a trifle anxiously as she shook
hands and bowed graciously to his compliments.
Then seating herself erectly on the
sofa—for Miss India never lolled—she
folded her hands in her lap and looked
calmly expectant at the visitor. As the
visitor exhibited no present intention of
broaching the subject of his visit she took<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span>
command of the situation, just as she was
capable of and accustomed to taking command
of most situations.</p>

<p>“Holly has begged me not to be hard on
you, Major,” she said, in her sweet, still
youthful voice. “Pray what have you
been doing now? You are not here, I trust,
to plead guilty to another case of reprehensible
philanthropy?”</p>

<p>“No, Miss Indy, I assure you that you
have absolutely reformed me, ma’am.”</p>

<p>Miss India smiled in polite incredulity,
tapping one slender hand upon the other
as she might in the old days at the White
Sulphur have tapped him playfully, yet
quite decorously, with her folded fan. The
Major chose not to observe the incredulity
and continued:</p>

<p>“The fact is, my dear Miss Indy, that I
have come on a matter of more—ah—importance.
You will recollect—pardon me,
pray, if I recall unpleasant memories to
mind—you will recollect that when your
brother died it was found that he had unfortunately
left very little behind him in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span>
the way of worldly wealth. He passed onward,
madam, rich in the love and respect
of the community, but poor in earthly possessions.”</p>

<p>The Major paused and rubbed his bristly
chin agitatedly. Miss India bowed silently.</p>

<p>“As his executor,” continued the Major,
“it was my unpleasant duty to offer this
magnificent estate for sale. It was purchased,
as you will recollect, by Judge Linderman,
of Georgia, a friend of your
brother’s——”</p>

<p>“Pardon me, Major; an acquaintance.”</p>

<p>“Madam, all those so fortunate as to
become acquainted with Captain Lamar
Wayne were his friends.”</p>

<p>Miss India bowed again and waived the
point.</p>

<p>“Judge Linderman, as he informed me
at the time of the purchase, bought the
property as a speculation. He was the
owner of much real estate throughout the
South. At his most urgent request you
consented to continue your residence at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span>
Waynewood, paying him rent for the property.”</p>

<p>“But nevertheless,” observed Miss India,
a trifle bitterly, “being to a large extent
an object of his charity. The sum
paid as rent is absurd.”</p>

<p>“Nominal, madam, I grant you,” returned
the Major. “Had our means allowed
we should have insisted on paying
more. But you are unjust to yourself
when you speak of charity. As I pointed
out—or, rather, as Judge Linderman
pointed out to me, had you moved from
Waynewood he would have been required
to install a care-taker, which would have
cost him several dollars a month, whereas
under the arrangement made he drew a
small but steady interest from the investment.
I now come, my dear Miss Indy, to
certain facts which are—with which you
are, I think, unacquainted. That that is so
is my fault, if fault there is. Believe me,
I accept all responsibility in the matter
and am prepared to bear your reproaches
without a murmur, knowing that I have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span>
acted for what I have believed to be the
best.”</p>

<p>Miss India’s calm face showed a trace of
agitation and her crossed hands trembled
a little.</p>

<p>The Major paused as though deliberating.</p>

<p>“Pray continue, Major,” she said.
“Whatever you have done has been done,
I am certain, from motives of true friendship.”</p>

<p>The Major bowed gratefully.</p>

<p>“I thank you, madam. To resume, about
four years ago Judge Linderman became
bankrupt through speculation in cotton.
That, I believe, you already knew. What
you did not know was that in meeting his
responsibilities he was obliged to part with
all his real estate holdings, Waynewood
amongst them.”</p>

<p>The Major paused, expectantly, but the
only comment from his audience, if comment
it might be called, was a quivering
sigh of apprehension which sent the Major
quickly on with his story.</p>

<p>“Waynewood fell into the hands of a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span>
Mr. Gerald Potter, of New York, a broker,
who——”</p>

<p>“A Northerner!” cried Miss India.</p>

<p>“A Northerner, my dear lady,” granted
the Major, avoiding the lady’s horrified
countenance, “but, as I have been creditably
informed, a thorough gentleman and
a representative of one of the foremost
New York families.”</p>

<p>“A gentleman!” echoed Miss India,
scornfully. “A Northern gentleman! And
so I am to understand that for four years
I and my niece have been subsisting on the
charity of a Northerner! Is that what you
have come to inform me, Major Cass?”</p>

<p>“The former arrangement was allowed
to continue,” answered the Major, evenly,
“being quite satisfactory to the new owner
of the property. I regret, if you will pardon
me, the use of the word charity, Miss
India.”</p>

<p>“You may regret it to your soul’s content,
Major Cass,” replied Miss India,
with acerbity. “The fact remains—the
horrible, dishonoring fact! I consider<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span>
your course almost—and I had never
thought to use the word to you, sir—insulting!”</p>

<p>“It is indeed a harsh word, madam,”
replied the Major, gently and sorrowfully.
“I realize that I have been ill-advised in
keeping the truth from you, but in a calmer
moment you will, I am certain, exonerate
me from all intentions unworthy of my
love for your dead brother and of my respect
for you.” There was a suggestive
tremble in the Major’s voice.</p>

<p>Miss India dropped her eyes to the hands
which were writhing agitatedly in her lap.
Then:</p>

<p>“You are right, my dear friend,” she
said, softly. “I was too hasty. You will
forgive me, will you not? But—this news
of yours—is so unexpected, so astounding——!”</p>

<p>“Pray say no more!” interposed the
Major, warmly. “I quite understand your
agitation. And since the subject is unpleasant
to you I will conclude my explanation
as quickly as possible.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span></p>

<p>“There is more?” asked Miss India,
anxiously.</p>

<p>“A little. Mr. Potter kept the property
some three years and then—I learned these
facts but a few hours since—then became
involved in financial troubles and—pardon
me—committed suicide. He was found at
his desk in his office something over a year
ago with a bullet in his brain.”</p>

<p>“Horrible!” ejaculated Miss India, but—and
may I in turn be pardoned if I do
the lady an injustice—there was something
in her tone suggesting satisfaction with the
manner in which a just Providence had
dealt with a Northerner so presumptuous
as to dishonor Waynewood with his ownership.
“And now?” she asked.</p>

<p>“This morning I received a letter from
a gentleman signing himself Robert Winthrop,
a business partner of the late unfortunate
owner of the property. In the
letter he informs me that after arranging
the firm’s affairs he finds himself in possession
of Waynewood and is coming here
to look it over and, if it is in condition to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span>
allow of it, to spend some months here.
He writes—let me see; I have his letter
here. Ah, yes. H’m:</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>“‘My health went back on me after I had got affairs
fixed up, and I have been dandling my heels about a
sanitarium for three months. Now the physician advises
quiet and a change of scene, and it occurs to
me that I may find both in your town. So I am
leaving almost at once for Florida. Naturally, I
wish to see my new possessions, and if the house is
habitable I shall occupy it for three or four months.
When I arrive I shall take the liberty of calling on
you and asking your assistance in the matter.’”</p>
</div>

<p>The Major folded the letter and returned
it to the cavernous pocket of his coat.</p>

<p>“I gather that he is—ah—uninformed
of the present arrangement,” he observed.</p>

<p>“That, I think, is of slight importance,”
returned Miss India, “since by the time
he arrives the house will be quite at his
disposal.”</p>

<p>“You mean that you intend to move
out?” asked the Major, anxiously.</p>

<p>“Most certainly! Do you think that I—that
either Holly or I—would continue to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span>
remain under this roof a moment longer
than necessary now that we know it belongs
to a—a Northerner?”</p>

<p>“But he writes—he expresses himself
like a gentleman, my dear lady, and I feel
certain that he would be only too proud
to have you remain here——”</p>

<p>“I have never yet seen a Northern gentleman,
Major,” replied Miss India, contemptuously,
“and until I do I refuse to
believe in the existence of such an anomaly.”</p>

<p>The Major raised his hands in a gesture
of helpless protestation.</p>

<p>“Madam, I had the honor of fighting the
Northerners, and I assure you that many
of them are gentlemen. Their ways are
not ours, I grant you, nor are their manners,
but——”</p>

<p>“That is a subject upon which, I recollect,
you and my brother were never able
to agree.”</p>

<p>The Major nodded ruefully. The momentary
silence was broken at last by Miss
India.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span></p>

<p>“I do not pretend to pit my imperfect
knowledge against yours, Major. There
may be Northerners who have gentlemanly
instincts. That, as may be, I refuse to be
beholden to one of them. They were our
enemies and they are still <em>my</em> enemies.
They killed my brother John; they
brought ruin to our land.”</p>

<p>“The killing, madam, was not all on
their side, I take satisfaction in recalling.
And if they brought distress to the South
they have since very nobly assisted us to
restore it.”</p>

<p>“My brother has said many times,” replied
the lady, “that he might in time forgive
the North for knocking us down but
that he could never forgive it for helping
us up. You have heard him say that, Major?”</p>

<p>“I have, my dear Miss India, I have.
And yet I venture to say that had the Lord
spared Lamar for another twenty years
he would have modified his convictions.”</p>

<p>“Never,” said Miss India, sternly;
“never!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span></p>

<p>“You may be right, my dear lady, but
there was something else I have often
heard him say.”</p>

<p>“And pray what is that?”</p>

<p>“A couplet of Mr. Pope’s, madam:</p>

<div class="poetry">
  <div class="stanza">
    <div class="verse indent0">“‘Good nature and good sense must ever join;</div>
    <div class="verse indent2">To err is human; to forgive, divine.’”</div>
  </div>
</div>

<p>“I reckon, however,” answered the lady,
dryly, “that you never heard him connect
that sentiment with the Yankees.”</p>

<p>The Major chuckled.</p>

<p>“Deftly countered, madam!” he said.
And then, taking advantage of the little
smile of gratification which he saw: “But
this is a subject which you and I, Miss India,
can no more agree upon than could
your brother and myself. Let us pass it
by. But grant me this favor. Remain at
Waynewood until this Mr. Winthrop arrives.
See him before you judge him,
madam. Remember that if what he writes
gives a fair exposition of the case, he is
little better than an invalid and so must
find sympathy in every woman’s heart.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span>
There is time enough to go, if go you must,
afterwards. It is scarcely likely that Mr.
Winthrop could find better tenants. And no
more likely that you and Holly could find
so pleasant a home. Do this, ma’am.”</p>

<p>And Miss India surrendered; not at
once, you must know, but after a stubborn
defence, and then only when mutineers
from her own lines made common cause
with the enemy. Before the allied forces
of the Major’s arguments and her own womanly
sympathy she was forced to capitulate.
And so when a few moments later
Holly, after a sharp skirmish of her own
in which she had been decisively beaten by
Curiosity, appeared at the door, she found
Aunt India and the Major amicably discussing
village affairs.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="III">III.</h2>
</div>


<p>Robert Winthrop, laden with bag, overcoat
and umbrella, left the sleeping-car in
which he had spent most of the last eighteen
hours and crossed the narrow platform
of the junction to the train which was
to convey him the last stage of his journey.
It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon—for
the Florida Limited, according
to custom, had been two hours late—and
Winthrop was both jaded and dirty; and I
might add that, since this was his first experience
with Southern travel, he was also
somewhat out of patience.</p>

<p>Choosing the least soiled of the broken-springed,
red-velveted seats in the white
compartment of the single passenger car,
he set his bag down and sank weariedly
back. Through the small window beside
him he saw the Limited take up its jolting
progress once more, and watched the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span>
station-agent deposit his trunk in the
baggage-car ahead, which, with the single
passenger-coach, comprised the Corunna
train. Then followed five minutes during
which nothing happened. Winthrop sighed
resignedly and strove to find interest in
the view. But there was little to see from
where he sat; a corner of the station, a
section of platform adorned with a few
bales of cotton, a crate of live chickens,
and a bag of raw peanuts, a glimpse of the
forest which crept down to the very edge
of the track, a wide expanse of cloudless
blue sky. Through the open door and windows,
borne on the lazy sun-warmed air,
came the gentle wheezing of the engine
ahead, the sudden discordant chatter of a
bluejay, and the murmurous voices of two
negro women in the other compartment.
There was no hint of Winter in the air,
although November was almost a week
old; instead, it was warm, languorous,
scented with the odors of the forest and
tinged at times with the pleasantly acrid
smell of burning pitch-pine from the engine.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span>
It was strangely soft, that air, soft
and soothing to tired nerves, and Winthrop
felt its influence and sighed. But this time
the sigh was not one of resignation; rather
of surrender. He stretched his legs as well
as he might in the narrow space afforded
them, leaned his head back and closed his
eyes. He hadn’t realized until this moment
how tired he was! The engine
sobbed and wheezed and the negroes
beyond the closed door murmured on.</p>

<p>“Your ticket, sir, if you please.”</p>

<p>Winthrop opened his eyes and blinked.
The train was swaying along between
green, sunlit forest walls, and at his side
the conductor was waiting with good-humored
patience. Winthrop yielded the last
scrap of his green strip and sat up. Suddenly
the wood fell behind on either side,
giving place to wide fields which rolled
back from the railroad to disappear over
tiny hills. They were fertile, promising-looking
fields, chocolate-hued, covered with
sere, brown cotton-plants to which here and
there tufts of white still clung. Rail fences<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span>
zigzagged between them, and fire-blackened
pine stumps marred their neatness.
At intervals the engine emitted a doleful
screech and a narrow road crossed the
track to amble undecidedly away between
the fields. At such moments Winthrop
caught glimpses
of an occasional
log cabin with
its tipsy, clay-chinked
chimney
and its invariable
congress of lean
chickens and leaner dogs. Now and then
a commotion along the track drew his
attention to a scurrying, squealing drove of
pigs racing out of danger. Then for a time
the woods closed in again, and presently
the train slowed down before a small station.
Winthrop reached tentatively toward
his bag, but at that instant the sign came
into sight, “Cowper,” he read, and settled
back again.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p046">
  <img src="images/i_p046.jpg" alt="Cowper" title="Cowper">
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span></p>

<p>Apparently none boarded the train and
none got off, and presently the journey began
once more. The conductor entered,
glanced at Winthrop, decided that he
didn’t look communicative and so sat himself
down in the corner and leisurely bit
the corner off a new plug of tobacco.</p>

<p>The fields came into sight again, and
once a comfortable-looking residence gazed
placidly down at the passing train from
the crest of a nearby hill. But Winthrop
saw without seeing. His thoughts were reviewing
once more the chain of circumstances
which had led link by link to the
present moment. His thoughts went no
further back than that painful morning
nearly two years before when he had discovered
Gerald Potter huddled over his
desk, a revolver beside him on the floor,
and his face horrible with the stains of
blood and of ink from the overturned ink-stand.
They had been friends ever since
college days, Gerald and he, and the shock
had never quite left him. During the subsequent
work of disentangling the affairs<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span>
of the firm the thing haunted him like a
nightmare, and when the last obligation
had been discharged, Winthrop’s own
small fortune going with the rest, he had
broken down completely. Nervous prostration,
the physician called it. Looking
back at it now Winthrop had a better name
for it, and that was, Hell. There had been
moments when he feared he would die, and
interminable nights when he feared he
wouldn’t, when he had cried like a baby
and begged to be put out of misery. There
had been two months of that, and then they
had bundled him off to a sanitarium in the
Connecticut hills. There he, who a few
months before had been a strong, capable
man of thirty-eight, found himself a weak,
helpless, emaciated thing with no will of
his own, a mere sleeping and waking automaton,
more interested in watching the
purple veins on the backs of his thin hands
than aught else in his limited world. At
times he could have wept weakly from self-pity.</p>

<p>But that, too, had passed. One sparkling<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span>
September morning he lay stretched at
length in a long chair on the uncovered veranda,
a flood of inspiriting sunlight upon
him, and a little breeze, brisk with the cool
zest of Autumn, stirring his hair. And he
had looked up from the white and purple
hands and had seen a new world of green
and gold and blue spread before him at his
feet, a twelve-mile panorama of Nature’s
finest work retouched and varnished overnight.
He had feasted his eyes upon it
and felt a glad stirring at his heart. And
that day had marked the beginning of a
new stage of recovery; he had asked, “How
long?”</p>

<p>The last week in October had seen his release.
He had returned to his long-vacant
apartment in New York fully determined to
start at once the work of rebuilding his
fallen fortunes. But his physician had interposed.
“I’ve done what I can for you,”
he said, “and the rest is in your own hands.
Get away from New York; it won’t supply
what you need. Get into the country somewhere,
away from cities and tickers. Hunt,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span>
fish, spend your time out of doors. There’s
nothing organically wrong with that heart
of yours, but it’s pretty tired yet; nurse it
awhile.”</p>

<p>“The programme sounds attractive,”
Winthrop had replied, smilingly, “but it’s
expensive. Practically I am penniless.
Give me a year to gather the threads up
again and get things a-going once more,
and I’ll take your medicine gladly.”</p>

<p>The physician had shrugged his shoulders
with a grim smile.</p>

<p>“I have never heard,” he replied, “that
the hunting or fishing was especially good
in the next world.”</p>

<p>“What do you mean?” asked Winthrop,
frowning.</p>

<p>“Just this, sir. You say you can’t afford
to take a vacation. I say you can’t afford
not to take it. I’ve lived a good deal longer
than you and I give you my word I never
saw a poor man who wasn’t a whole lot
better off than any dead one of my acquaintance.
I don’t want to frighten you,
but I tell you frankly that if you stay here<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span>
and buckle down to rebuilding your business
you’ll be a damned poor risk for any
insurance company inside of two weeks.
It’s better to live poor than to die rich.
Take your choice.”</p>

<p>Winthrop had taken it. After all, poverty
is comparative, and he realized that
he was still as well off as many a clerk
who was contentedly keeping a family on
his paltry twenty or thirty dollars a week.
He sub-rented his apartment, paid what
bills he owed out of the small balance
standing to his name at the bank, and considered
the question of destination. It
was then that he had remembered the piece
of property in Florida which he had taken
over for the firm and which, having been
the least desirable of the assets, had escaped
the creditors. He went to the telephone
and called up the physician.</p>

<p>“How would Florida do?” he had asked.
“Good place to play invalid, isn’t it?”</p>

<p>“I don’t care where you go,” was the
response, “so long as there’s pure air and
sunshine there, and as long as you give<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span>
your whole attention to mending yourself.”</p>

<p>He had never been in Florida, but it appealed
to him and he believed that, since
he must live economically, there could be
no better place; at least there would be no
rent to pay. So he had written to Major
Cass, whose name he had come across in
looking over his partner’s papers, and had
started South on the heels of his letter.
The trip had been a hard one for him, but
now the soft, fragrant air that blew against
his face through the open car window was
already soothing him with its caressing
touch and whispering fair promises of
strengthening days. A long blast of the
whistle moved the conductor to a return
of animation and Winthrop awoke from
his thoughts. The train was slowing down
with a grinding of hand-brakes. Through
the window he caught glimpses of gardens
and houses and finally of a broad, tree-lined
street marching straight away from
the railroad up a sloping hill to a gray
stone building with a wooden cupola which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span>
seemed to block its path. Then the station
threw its shadow across him and the
train, with many jerks and much rattling
of coupling, came to a stop.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p054">
  <img src="images/i_p054.jpg" alt="Corunna" title="Corunna">
</div>

<p>“Corunna,” drawled the conductor.</p>

<p>Outside, on the platform which ran in
front of the station on a level with the car
floors, Winthrop looked about him with
mingled amusement and surprise. In most
places, he thought, the arrival of the daily
train was an event of sufficient importance
to people the station platform with spectators.
But here he counted just three
persons beside himself and the train crew.
These were the two negresses who had
travelled with him and the station agent.
There was no carriage in sight; not even
a dray for his trunk. He applied to the
agent.</p>

<p>“Take that street over yonder,” said
the agent, “and it’ll fetch you right square
to the Major’s office, sir. I’ll look after
your bag until you send for it. You tell
the nigger to ask me for it, sir.”</p>

<div class="figright" id="i_p055">
  <img src="images/i_p055.jpg" alt="Winthrop's bags" title="Winthrop's bags">
</div>

<p>So Winthrop yielded the bag, coat and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span>
umbrella and started forth. The station
and the adjoining freight-shed stood, neutral-hued,
under the wide-spreading
branches of several magnificent live-oaks,
in one of which, hidden somewhere in
the thick greenery, a thrush was singing.
This sound, with that of the panting of
the tired engine, alone stirred the somnolent
silence of mid-afternoon. A road,
deep with white sand, ambled away beneath
the trees in the direction of the wide
street which Winthrop had seen from the
car and to which he had been directed. It
proved to be a well-kept thoroughfare
lined with oaks and bordered by pleasant
gardens in front of comfortable, always
picturesque and sometimes handsome<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span>
houses. The sidewalks were high above
the street, and gullies of red clay, washed
deep by the heavy rains, divided the two.
In front of the gates little bridges crossed
the gullies. The gardens were still aflame
with late flowers and the scent of roses was
over all. Winthrop walked slowly, his
senses alert and enravished. He drew in
deep breaths of the fragrant air and sighed
for very contentment.</p>

<p>“Heavens,” he said under his breath,
“the place is just one big rest cure! If I
can’t get fixed up here I might as well give
up trying. I wonder,” he added a moment
later, “if every one is asleep.”</p>

<p>There was not a soul in sight up the
length of the street, but from one of the
houses came the sound of a piano and, as
he glanced toward its embowered porch, he
thought he caught the white of a woman’s gown.</p>

<p>“Someone’s awake, anyhow,” he
thought. “Maybe she’s a victim of insomnia.”</p>

<p>The street came to an end in a wide<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span>
space surrounded by one- and two-story
stores and occupied in the centre by a
stone building which he surmised to be the
court-house. He bore to the right, his eyes
searching the buildings for the shingle of
Major Cass. A few teams were standing
in front of the town hitching-rails, and perhaps
a dozen persons, mostly negroes, were
in view. He had decided to appeal for information
when he caught sight of a modest
sign on a corner building across the
square. “L. Q. Cass, Counsellor at Law,”
he read. The building was a two-story affair
of crumbling red brick. The lower
part was occupied by a general merchandise
store, and the upper by offices. A
flight of wooden steps led from the sidewalk
along the outside of the building to
the second floor. Winthrop ascended, entered
an open door, and knocked at the first
portal. But there was no reply to his demands,
and, as the other rooms in sight
were evidently untenanted, he returned to
the street and addressed himself to a youth
who sat on an empty box under the wooden<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span>
awning of the store below. The youth was
in his shirt-sleeves and was eating sugar-cane,
but at Winthrop’s greeting he rose
to his feet, wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand and answered courteously:</p>

<p>“Waynewood is about three-quarters of
a mile, sir,” he replied to the stranger’s
inquiry. “Right down this street, sir, until
you cross the bridge over the branch.
Then it’s the first place.”</p>

<p>He was evidently very curious about the
questioner, but strove politely to restrain
that curiosity until the other had moved
away along the street.</p>

<p>The street upon which Winthrop now
found himself ran at right angles with that
up which he had proceeded from the station.
Like that, it was shaded from side to
side by water-oaks and bordered by gardens.
But the gardens were larger, less
flourishing, and the houses behind them
smaller and less tidy. He concluded that
this was an older part of the village. Several
carriages passed him, and once he
paused in the shade to watch the slow approach<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span>
and disappearance of a creaking
two-wheeled cart, presided over by a white-haired
old negro and drawn by a pair of
ruminative oxen. It was in sight quite five
minutes, during which time Winthrop
leaned against the sturdy bole of an oak
and marvelled smilingly.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p058">
  <img src="images/i_p058.jpg" alt="two-wheeled cart and oxen" title="two-wheeled cart and oxen">
</div>

<p>“And in New York,” he said to himself,
“we swear because it takes us twenty minutes
to get to Wall Street on the elevated!”</p>

<p>He went on, glad of the rest, passing
from sunlight to shadow along the uneven
sidewalk and finally crossing the bridge, a
tiny affair over a shallow stream of limpid
water which trickled musically over its bed
of white sand. Beyond the bridge the sidewalk
ceased and he went on for a little distance
over a red clay road, rutted by
wheels and baked hard by the sun. Then
a picket fence which showed evidence of
having once been whitewashed met him and
he felt a sudden stirring within him. This
was Waynewood, doubtless, and it belonged
to him. The thought was somehow
a very pleasant one. He wondered why.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span>
He had possessed far more valuable real
estate in his time but he couldn’t recollect
that he had ever thrilled before at the
thought of ownership.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p061">
  <img src="images/i_p061.jpg" alt="Waynewood" title="Waynewood">
</div>

<p>“Oh, there’s magic in this ridiculous
air,” he told himself whimsically. “Even
a toad would look romantic here, I dare
say. I wonder if there is a gate to my domain.”</p>

<p>Behind the fence along which he made
his way was an impenetrable mass of
shrubbery and trees. Of what was beyond,
there was no telling. But presently the
gate was before him, sagging wide open on
its rusted hinges. From it a straight path,
narrow and shadowy, proceeded for some
distance, crossed a blur of sunlight and
continued to where a gleam of white
seemed to indicate a building. The path
was set between solid rows of oleander
bushes whose lanceolate leaves whispered
murmurously to Winthrop as he trod the
firm, moss-edged path.</p>

<p>The blur of sunlight proved to be a break
in the path where a driveway angled across<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span>
it, curving on toward the house and backward
toward the road where, as Winthrop
later discovered, it emerged through a gate
beyond the one by which he had entered.
He crossed the drive and plunged again
into the gloom of the oleander path. But
his journey was almost over, for a moment
later the sentinel bushes dropped away
from beside him and he found himself at
the foot of a flower garden, across whose
blossom-flecked width a white-pillared,
double-galleried old house stared at him
in dignified calm. The porches were untenanted
and the wide-open door showed
an empty hall. To reach that door Winthrop
had to make a half circuit of the
garden, for directly in front of him a great
round bed of roses and box barred his way.
In the middle of the bed a stained marble
cupid twined garlands of roses about his
naked body. Winthrop followed the path
to the right and circled his way to the drive
and the steps, the pleasure of possession
kindling in his heart. With his foot on the
lowest step he paused and glanced about<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span>
him. It was charming! Find his health
here? Oh, beyond a doubt he would.
Ponce de Leon had searched in this part of
the world for the Fountain of Youth. Who
knew but that he, Robert Winthrop, might
not find it here, hidden away in this fragrant,
shaded jungle? And just then his
wandering glance fell on a sprawling fig-tree
at the end of the porch, at a white figure<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span>
perched in its branches, at a girl’s
fresh young face looking across at him
with frank and smiling curiosity.</p>

<p>Winthrop took off his hat and moved toward
the fig-tree.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">IV.</h2>
</div>


<p>The Major had accomplished his errand
and had taken his departure, accompanied
down the oleander path as far as the gate
by Holly. He was very well satisfied with
his measure of success. Miss India had
consented to remain at Waynewood until
the arrival of the new owner, and if the
new owner proved to be the kind of man
the Major hoped him to be, things would
work out quite satisfactory. Of course
a good deal depended on Robert Winthrop’s
being as much of an invalid as the
Major had pictured him to Miss India.
Let him appear on the scene exhibiting a
sound body and rugged health and all the
Major’s plans would be upset; Miss India’s
sympathy would vanish on the instant,
and Waynewood would be promptly
abandoned to the enemy.</p>

<p>The Major’s affection for Miss India<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span>
and Holly was deep and sincere, and
the idea of their leaving Waynewood
was intolerable to him. The thing mustn’t
be, and he believed he could prevent
it. Winthrop, on arrival, would of course
call upon him at once. Then he would
point out to him the advantage of retaining
such admirable tenants, acquaint him
with the terms of occupancy, and prevail
upon him to renew the lease, which had
expired some months before. It was not
likely that Winthrop would remain in Corunna
more than three months at the most,
and during his stay he could pay Miss India
for his board. Yes, the Major had
schemed it all out between the moment of
receiving that disquieting letter and the
moment of his arrival at Waynewood. And
his schemes looked beyond the present crisis.
In another year or so Julian Wayne,
Holly’s second cousin, would have finished
his term with Doctor Thompson at Marysville
and would be ready to begin practice
for himself, settle down and marry Holly.
Why shouldn’t Julian buy Waynewood?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span>
To be sure, he possessed very little capital,
but it was not likely that the present owner
of Waynewood would demand a large price
for the property. There could be a mortgage,
and Julian was certain to make a success
of his profession. In this way Waynewood
would remain with the Waynes and
Miss India and Holly could live their lives
out in the place that had always been home
to them. So plotted the Major, while Fate,
outwardly inscrutable, doubtless chuckled
in her sleeve.</p>

<div class="figcenter2" id="i_p065">
  <img src="images/i_p065.jpg" alt="Major Cass" title="Major Cass">
</div>

<p>At the gate the Major had shaken hands
with Holly and made a request.</p>

<p>“My dear,” he had said, “when you return
to the house your Aunt will have
something to tell you. Be guided by her.
Remember that there are two sides to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span>
every question and that—ah—time alters
all things.”</p>

<p>“But, Uncle Major, I don’t know what
you’re talking about,” Holly had declared,
laughing.</p>

<p>“I know you don’t, my dear; I know
you don’t. And I haven’t time to tell
you.” He had drawn his big silver watch
from his vest and glanced at it apprehensively.
“I promised to be at my office
an hour ago. I really must hurry back.
Good-bye, my dear.”</p>

<p>“Good-bye,” Holly had answered. “But
I think you’re a most provoking, horrid
old Uncle Major.”</p>

<p>But if the Major had feared mutiny on
the part of Holly he might have spared
himself the uneasiness. Holly had heard of
the impending event from Aunt India at
the dinner table with relish. Of course
it was disgusting to learn that Waynewood
was owned by a Northerner, but doubtless
that was an injustice of Fate which would
be remedied in good time. The exciting
thing was that they were to have a visitor,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span>
a stranger, someone from that fearsomely
interesting and, if reports were to be credited,
delightfully wicked place called New
York; someone who could talk to her of
other matters than the prospects of securing
the new railroad.</p>

<p>“Auntie, is he married?” she had asked,
suddenly.</p>

<p>“My dear Holly, what has that to do
with it?”</p>

<p>“Well, you see,” Holly had responded,
demurely, “I’m not married myself, and
when you put two people together who are
not married, why, something may happen.”</p>

<p>“Holly!” protested Miss India, in horror.</p>

<p>“Oh, I was only in fun,” said Holly, with
a laugh. “Do you reckon, Auntie dear,
that I’d marry a Northerner?”</p>

<p>“I should certainly trust not,” replied
Miss India, severely.</p>

<p>“Not if he had millions and millions of
money and whole bushels of diamonds,”
answered Holly, cheerfully. “But is he
married, Auntie?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span></p>

<p>“I’m sure I can’t say. The Major believes
him to be a man of middle age, possibly
fifty years old, and so it is quite likely
that he has a wife.”</p>

<p>“And he is not bringing her with him?”</p>

<p>“He said nothing of it in his letter, my
dear.”</p>

<p>“Then I think she’s a very funny kind of
a wife,” replied Holly, with conviction.
“If he is an invalid, I don’t see why she
lets him come away down here all alone.
I wouldn’t if I were she. I’d be afraid.”</p>

<p>“I don’t reckon he’s as much of an invalid
as all that.”</p>

<p>“Oh, I wasn’t thinking about his health
then,” answered Holly. “I’d be afraid
he’d meet someone he liked better than me
and I wouldn’t see him again.”</p>

<p>“Holly, where do you get such deplorable
notions?” asked her Aunt severely.
“It must be the books you read. You read
altogether too much. At your age, my
dear, I assure you I——”</p>

<p>“I shall be eighteen in just twelve
days,” interrupted Holly. “And eighteen<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span>
is grown-up. Besides, you know very well
that wives do lose their husbands sometimes.
There was Cousin Maybird Fairleigh——”</p>

<p>“I decline to discuss such vulgar subjects,”
said Miss India, decisively. “Under
the circumstances I think it just as
well to forget the relationship, which is of
the very slightest, my dear.”</p>

<p>“But it wasn’t Cousin Maybird’s fault,”
protested Holly. “She didn’t want to
lose him, Aunt India. He was a very nice
husband; very handsome and distinguished,
you know. It was all the fault of
that other woman, the one he married after
the divorce.”</p>

<p>“Holly!”</p>

<p>“Yes?”</p>

<p>“We will drop the subject, if you
please.”</p>

<p>“Yes, Auntie.”</p>

<p>Holly smiled at her plate. Presently:</p>

<p>“When is this Mr. Winthrop coming?”
she asked.</p>

<p>“He didn’t announce the exact date of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span>
arrival,” replied Miss India. “But probably
within a day or two. I have ordered
Phœbe to prepare the West Chamber for
him. He will, of course, require a warm
room and a good bed.”</p>

<p>“But, Auntie, the carpet is so awful in
the West Room,” deplored Holly.</p>

<p>“That is his affair,” replied Aunt India,
serenely, as she arose from the table. “It
is his carpet.”</p>

<p>Holly looked surprised, then startled.</p>

<p>“Do you mean that everything here belongs
to him?” she asked, incredulously.
“The furniture and pictures and books
and—and everything?”</p>

<p>“Waynewood was sold just as it stood
at the time, my dear. Everything except
what is our personal property belongs to
Mr. Winthrop.”</p>

<p>“Then I shall hate him,” said Holly,
with calm decision.</p>

<p>“You must do nothing of the sort, my
dear. The place and the furnishings belong
to him legally.”</p>

<p>“I don’t care, Auntie. He has no right<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span>
to them. I shall hate him. Why, he owns
the very bed I sleep in and my maple bureau
and——”</p>

<p>“You forget, Holly, that those things
were bought after your father died and do
not belong to his estate.”</p>

<p>“Then they’re really mine, after all?
Very well, Auntie dear, I shan’t hate him,
then; at least, not so much.”</p>

<p>“I trust you will not hate him at all,”
responded Miss India, with a smile. “Being
an invalid, as he is, we must——”</p>

<p>“Shucks!” exclaimed Holly. “I dare
say he’s just making believe so we won’t
put poison in his coffee!”</p>

<p>In the middle of the afternoon, what time
Miss India composed herself to slumber
and silence reigned over Waynewood,
Holly found a book and sought the fig-tree.
The book, for having been twice read,
proved none too enthralling, and presently
it had dropped unheeded to the ground and
Holly, leaning comfortably back against
the branches, was day-dreaming once more.
The sound of footsteps on the garden path<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span>
roused her, and she peered forth just as
the intruder began his half circuit of the
rose-bed.</p>

<p>Afterwards Holly called herself stupid
for not having guessed the identity
of the intruder at once. And yet, it
seems to me that she was very excusable.
Robert Winthrop had been
pictured to her as an invalid, and invalids
in Holly’s judgment were persons
who lay supinely in easy chairs, lived on
chicken broth, guava jelly and calomel, and
were alternately irritatingly resigned or
maddeningly petulant. The expected invalid
had also been described as middle-aged,
a term capable of wide interpretation
and one upon which the worst possible
construction is usually placed. The
Major had suggested fifty; Holly with unconscious
pessimism imagined sixty. Add
to this that Winthrop was not expected
before the morrow, and that Holly’s
acquaintance with the inhabitants of the
country north of Mason and Dixon’s line
was of the slightest and that not of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span>
sort to prepossess her in their favor, and
I think she may be absolved from the
charge of stupidity. For the stranger
whose advent in the garden had aroused
her from her dreams looked to be under
forty, was far from matching Holly’s idea
of an invalid, and looked quite unlike the
one or two Northerners she had seen. To
be sure the man in the garden walked
slowly and a trifle languidly, but for that
matter so did many of Holly’s townsfolk.
And when he paused at last with one foot
on the lower step his breath was coming a
bit raggedly and his face was too pale for
perfect health. But these facts Holly
failed to observe.</p>

<p>What she did observe was that the stranger
was rather tall, quite erect, broad of
shoulder and deep of chest, somewhat too
thin for the size of his frame, with a pleasant,
lean face of which the conspicuous features
were high cheek-bones, a straightly
uncompromising nose and a pair of nice
eyes of some shade neither dark nor light.
He wore a brown mustache which, contrary<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span>
to the Southern custom, was trimmed quite
short; and when he lifted his hat a moment
later Holly saw that his hair, dark
brown in color, had retreated well away
from his forehead and was noticeably
sprinkled with white at the temples. As
for his attire, it was immaculate; black
derby, black silk tie knotted in a four-in-hand
and secured with a small pearl pin,
well-cut grey sack suit and brown leather
shoes. In a Southerner Holly would have
thought such carefulness of dress foppish;
in fact, as it was, she experienced a
tiny contempt for it even as she acknowledged
that the result was far from displeasing.
Further observations and conclusions
were cut short by the stranger,
who advanced toward her with hat in hand
and a puzzled smile.</p>

<p>“How do you do?” said Winthrop.</p>

<p>“Good evening,” answered Holly.</p>

<p>There was a flicker of surprise in Winthrop’s
eyes ere he continued.</p>

<p>“I’m afraid I’m trespassing. The fact
is, I was looking for a place called Waynewood<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span>
and from the directions I received in
the village I thought I had found it. But
I guess I’ve made a mistake?”</p>

<p>“Oh, no,” said Holly; “this is Waynewood.”</p>

<p>Winthrop was silent a moment, striving
to reconcile the announcement with her
presence: evidently there were complications
ahead. At last:</p>

<p>“Oh!” he said, and again paused.</p>

<p>“Would you like to see my Aunt?”
asked Holly.</p>

<p>“Er—I hardly know,” answered Winthrop,
with a smile for his own predicament.
“Would it sound impolite if I asked
who your Aunt is?”</p>

<p>“Why, Miss India Wayne,” answered
Holly. “And I am Holly Wayne. Perhaps
you’ve got the wrong place, after
all?”</p>

<p>“Oh, no,” was the reply. “You say this
is Waynewood, and of course there can’t
be two Waynewoods about here.”</p>

<p>Holly shook her head, observing him
gravely and curiously. Winthrop frowned.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span>
Apparently there were complications
which he had not surmised.</p>

<p>“Will you come into the house?” suggested
Holly. “I will tell Auntie you wish
to see her.” She prepared to descend
from the low branch upon which she was
seated, and Winthrop reached a hand to
her.</p>

<p>“May I?” he asked, courteously.</p>

<p><a href="#i_frontis">Holly placed her hand in his and leaped
lightly to the ground</a>, bending her head
as she smoothed her skirt that he might
not see the ridiculous little flush which had
suddenly flooded her cheeks. Why, she
wondered, should she have blushed. She
had been helped in and out of trees and
carriages, up and down steps, all her life,
and couldn’t recollect that she had ever
done such a silly thing before! As she led
the way along the path which ran in front
of the porch to the steps, she discovered
that her heart was thumping with a most
disconcerting violence. And with the discovery
came a longing for flight. But
with a fierce contempt for her weakness<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span>
she conquered the panic and kept her
flushed face from the sight of the man behind
her. But she was heartily glad when
she had reached the comparative gloom of
the hall. Laying aside her bonnet, she
turned to find that her companion had
seated himself in a chair on the porch.</p>

<p>“You won’t mind if I wait here?” he
asked, smiling apologetically. “The fact
is—the walk was——”</p>

<p>Had Holly not been anxious to avoid his
eyes she would have seen that he was fighting
for breath and quite exhausted. Instead
she turned toward the stairs, only
to pause ere she reached them to ask:</p>

<p>“What name shall I say, please?”</p>

<p>“Oh, I beg your pardon! Winthrop,
please; Mr. Robert Winthrop, of New
York.”</p>

<p>Holly wheeled about.</p>

<p>“Mr. Winthrop!” she exclaimed.</p>

<p>“If you please,” answered that gentleman,
weakly.</p>

<p>“Why,” continued Holly, in amazement,
“then you aren’t an invalid, after all!”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span>
She had reached the door now and was
looking down at him with bewilderment.
Winthrop strove to turn his head toward
her, gave up the effort and smiled strainedly
at the marble Cupid, which had begun
an erratic dance amongst the box and
roses.</p>

<p>“Oh, no,” he replied in a whisper. “I’m
not—an invalid—at all.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span></p>

<p>Then he became suddenly very white and
his head fell back over the side of the chair.
Holly gave one look and, turning, flew like
the wind up the broad stairway.</p>

<div class="figcenter2" id="i_p078">
  <img src="images/i_p078.jpg" alt="Robert Winthrop" title="Robert Winthrop">
</div>

<p>“Auntie!” she called. “Aunt India!
Come quickly! He’s fainted!”</p>

<p>“Fainted? Who has fainted?” asked
Miss India, from her doorway. “What
are you saying, child?”</p>

<p>“Mr. Winthrop! He’s on the porch!”
cried Holly, her own face almost as white
as Winthrop’s.</p>

<p>“Mr. Winthrop! Here? Fainted? On
the porch?” ejaculated Miss India, dismayedly.
“Call Uncle Ran at once. I’ll
get the ammonia. Tell Phœbe to bring
some feathers. And get some water yourself,
Holly.”</p>

<p>In a moment Miss India, the ammonia
bottle in hand, was—I had almost said
scuttling down the stairs. At least, she
made the descent without wasting a moment.</p>

<p>“The poor man,” she murmured, as she
looked down at the white face and inert<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span>
form of the stranger. “Holly! Phœbe!
Oh, you’re here, are you? Give me the
water. There! Now bathe his head, Holly.
Mercy, child, how your hand shakes!
Have you never seen any one faint before?”</p>

<p>“It was so sudden,” faltered Holly.</p>

<p>“Fainting usually is,” replied Miss India,
as she dampened her tiny handkerchief
with ammonia and held it under Winthrop’s
nose. “Do not hold his head too
high, Holly; that’s better. What do you
say, Phœbe? Why, you’ll just stand there
and hold them until I want them, I reckon.
Dead? Of course he isn’t dead, you foolish
girl. Not the least bit dead. There, his
eyelids moved; didn’t you see them? He
will be all right in a moment. You may
take those feathers away, Phœbe, and tell
Uncle Ran to come and carry Mr. Winthrop
up to his room. And do you go
up and start the fire and turn the bed
down.”</p>

<p>Winthrop drew a long breath and opened
his eyes.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p>

<p>“My dear lady,” he muttered, “I am so
very sorry to bother you. I don’t——”</p>

<p>“Sit still a moment, sir,” commanded
Miss India, gently. “Holly, I told you to
hold his head. Don’t you see that he is
weak and tired? I fear the journey was
too much for you, sir.”</p>

<p>Winthrop closed his eyes for a moment,
nodding his head assentingly. Then he sat
up and smiled apologetically at the ladies.</p>

<p>“It was awfully stupid of me,” he said.
“I have not been very well lately and I
guess the walk from the station was longer
than I thought.”</p>

<p>“You walked from the depot!” exclaimed
Miss India, in horror. “It’s no
wonder then, sir. Why, it’s a mile and a
quarter if it’s a step! I never heard of
anything so—so——!”</p>

<p>Miss India broke off and turned to the
elderly negro, who had arrived hurriedly
on the scene.</p>

<p>“Uncle Ran, carry Mr. Winthrop up to
the West Chamber and help him to retire.”</p>

<p>“My dear lady,” Winthrop protested.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span>
“I am quite able to walk. Besides, I have
no intention of burdening you with——”</p>

<p>“Uncle Ran!”</p>

<p>“Yes’m.”</p>

<p>“You heard what I said?”</p>

<p>“Yes’m.”</p>

<p>Uncle Randall stooped over the chair.</p>

<p>“Jes’ you put yo’ ahms roun’ my neck,
sir, an’ I’ll tote you mighty cahful an’
comfable, sir.”</p>

<p>“But, really, I’d rather walk,” protested
Winthrop. “And with your permission,
Miss—Miss Wayne, I’ll return to the village
until——”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span></p>

<p>“Uncle Ran!”</p>

<p>“Yes, Miss Indy, ma’am, I heahs you.
Hol’ on tight, sir.”</p>

<p>And in this ignoble fashion Winthrop
took possession of Waynewood.</p>

<div class="figcenter2" id="i_p082">
  <img src="images/i_p082.jpg" alt="Uncle Ran carries Mr. Winthrop" title="Uncle Ran carries Mr. Winthrop">
</div>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="V">V.</h2>
</div>


<p>True to his promise, Uncle Ran bore
Winthrop “careful and comfortable” up
the wide stairs, around the turn and along
the upper hall to the West Chamber, lowering
him at last, as tenderly as a basket of
eggs, into a chair. In spite of his boasts,
Winthrop was in no condition to have
walked up-stairs unaided. The fainting
spell, the first one since he had left the
sanitarium, had left him feeling limp and
shaky. He was glad of the negro’s assistance
and content to have him remove his
shoes and help him off with his coat, the
while he examined his quarters with lazy
interest.</p>

<p>The room was very large, square, high-ceilinged.
The walls were white and guiltless
of both paper and pictures. Four
large windows would have flooded the room
with light had not the shades been carefully<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span>
drawn to within two feet of the sills.
As it was, from the windows overlooking
the garden and opening onto the gallery
the afternoon sunlight slanted in, throwing
long parallelograms of mellow gold
across the worn and faded carpet. The
bed was a massive affair of black walnut,
the three chairs were old and comfortable,
and the big mahogany-veneer table in the
centre of the room was large enough to
have served for a banquet. On it was a
lamp, a plate of oranges whose fragrance
was pleasantly perceptible, and a copy of
Pilgrim’s Progress bound in the “keepsake”
fashion of fifty years ago. The fire-place
and hearth were of soft red bricks
and a couple of oak logs were flaring
brightly. A formidable wardrobe, bedecked
with carved branches of grapes,
matched the bed, as did a washstand backed
by a white “splasher” bearing a design of
cat-tails in red outline. The room seemed
depressingly bare at first, but for all of
that there was an air of large hospitality
and plain comfort about it that was somewhat<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span>
of a relief after the over-furnished,
over-decorated apartments with which
Winthrop was familiar.</p>

<p>As his baggage had not come Miss India’s
command could not be literally
obeyed, and Uncle Ran had perforce to be
satisfied with the removal of Winthrop’s
outer apparel and his installation on the
bed instead of in it.</p>

<p>“I’ll get yo’ trunk an’ valise right away,
sir,” he said, “before they close the depot.
Is there anything else I can do for you,
Mr. Winthrop? Can I fetch you a lil’
glass of sherry, sir?”</p>

<p>“Nothing, thanks. Yes, though, you
might open some of those windows before
you go. And look in my vest pocket and
toss me a cigarette case you’ll find there.
I saw matches on the mantel, didn’t I?
Thanks. That’s all. My compliments to
Miss Wayne, and tell her I am feeling
much better and that I will be down to
dinner—that is, supper.”</p>

<p>“Don’t you pay no ’tention to the bell,”
said Uncle Ran, soothingly. “Phœbe’ll<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span>
fetch yo’ supper up to you, sir. I’ll jes’
go ’long now and get yo’ trunk.”</p>

<p>Uncle Ran closed the door softly behind
him and Winthrop was left alone. He
pulled the spread over himself, gave a sigh
of content, and lighted a cigarette with
fingers that still trembled. Then, placing
his hands beneath his head, he watched the
smoke curl away toward the cracked and
flaking ceiling and gave himself up to his
thoughts.</p>

<p>What an ass he had made of himself!
And what a trump the little lady had been!
He smiled as he recalled the manner in
which she had bossed him around. But
who the deuce was she? And who was the
young girl with the big brown eyes? What
were they doing here at Waynewood, in his
house? He wished he had not taken things
for granted as he had, wished he had made
inquiries before launching himself southward.
He must get hold of that Major Cass
and learn his bearings. Perhaps, after all,
there was some mistake and the place
didn’t belong to him at all! If that was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span>
the case he had made a pretty fool of himself
by walking in and fainting on the front
porch in that casual manner! But he
hoped mightily that there was no mistake,
for he had fallen in love at first sight with
the place. If it was his he would fix it up.
Then he sighed as he recollected that until
he got firmly on his feet again such a thing
was quite out of the question.</p>

<p>The cigarette had burned itself down
and he tossed it onto the hearth. The light
was fading in the room. Through the open
windows, borne on the soft evening air,
came the faint tinkling of distant cow-bells.
For the rest the silence held profoundly
save for the gentle singing of the fire.
Winthrop turned on to his side, pillowed
his head in his hand and dropped to sleep.
So soundly he slept that when Uncle Ran
tiptoed in with his trunk and bag he never
stirred. The old negro nodded approvingly
from the foot of the bed, unstrapped
the trunk, laid a fresh log on the fire, and
tiptoed out again. When Winthrop finally
awoke he found a neat colored girl lighting<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span>
the lamp, while beside it on the table a
well-filled tray was laid.</p>

<p>“I fetched your supper, Mr. Winthrop,”
said Phœbe.</p>

<div class="figright" id="i_p089">
  <img src="images/i_p089.jpg" alt="Phœbe" title="Phœbe">
</div>

<p>“Thank you, but I really meant to go
down. I—I think I fell asleep.”</p>

<p>“Yes, sir. Miss Indy say good-night,
and she hopes you’ll sleep comfable, sir.”</p>

<p>“Much obliged,” muttered Winthrop.</p>

<p>“I’ll be back after awhile to fetch away
the tray, sir.”</p>

<p>“All right.”</p>

<p>When he was once more alone he arose
and laughed softly.</p>

<p>“Confound the woman! She’s a regular
tyrant. I wonder if she’ll let me get up
to-morrow. Oh, well, maybe she’s right.
I don’t feel much like making conversation.
Hello! there’s my trunk; I must have
slept soundly, and that’s a fact!”</p>

<p>Unlocking the trunk, he rummaged
through it until he found his dressing-gown
and slippers. With those on he
drew a chair to the table and began his
supper.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span></p>

<p>“Nice diet for an invalid,” he thought,
amusedly, as he uncovered the hot biscuits.</p>

<p>But he didn’t object to them, for he
found himself very hungry; spread with
the white, crumbly unsalted butter which
the repast provided he found them extremely
satisfactory. There was cold
chicken, besides, and egg soufflé, fig preserve
and marble cake, and a glass of milk.
Winthrop’s gaze lingered on the milk.</p>

<p>“No coffee, eh?” he muttered. “Not
suitable for invalids, I suppose; milk much
better.”</p>

<p>But when he had finished his meal the
glass of milk still remained untouched and
he observed it thoughtfully. “I fancy Miss
Wayne will see this tray when it goes down
and she’ll feel hurt because I haven’t
drunk that infernal stuff.” His gaze wandered
around the room until it encountered
the washstand. “Ah!” he said, as
he arose. When he returned to the table
the glass was quite empty. Digging his
pipe and pouch from his bag he filled the
former and was soon puffing enjoyably,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span>
leaning back in the easy-chair and watching
the smouldering fire.</p>

<p>“Even if I have to get out of here,” he
reflected, “I dare say there’s a hotel or
boarding-house in the village where I could
put up. I’m not going back North yet
awhile, and that’s certain. But if there’s
anything wrong with my title to Waynewood
why shouldn’t they let me stay here
now that I’m established? That’s a good
idea, by Jove! I’ll get my trunk unpacked
right away; possession is nine points, they
say. I dare say these folks aren’t so well
off but what they’d be willing to take a
respectable gentleman to board.”</p>

<p>A fluttering at his heart warned him and
he laid aside his half-smoked pipe regretfully
and began to unpack his trunk and
bag. In the midst of the task Phœbe appeared
to rearrange his bed and bear away
the tray, bidding him good-night in her
soft voice as she went.</p>

<p>By half-past seven his things were in
place and, taking up one of the books
which he had brought with him, he settled<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span>
himself to read. But voices in the hall below
distracted his attention, and presently
footsteps sounded on the stairway, there
was a tap at his door and Phœbe appeared
again.</p>

<p>“Excuse me, sir,” said Phœbe, “but Major
Cass say can he see you——”</p>

<p>“Phœbe!” called the Major from below.</p>

<p>“Yes, sir?”</p>

<p>“You tell Mr. Winthrop that if he’s feeling
too tired to see me to-night I’ll call
again to-morrow morning.”</p>

<p>“Yes, sir.” Phœbe turned to Winthrop.
“The Major say——”</p>

<p>“All right. Ask the Major to come up,”
interrupted Winthrop, tossing aside his
book and exchanging dressing-gown for
coat and waistcoat. A moment later the
Major’s halting tread sounded outside the
open door and Winthrop went forward to
meet him.</p>

<p>“I’m honored to make your acquaintance,
Mr. Winthrop,” said the Major, as
they shook hands.</p>

<p>“Glad to know you, Major,” replied<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span>
Winthrop. “Come in, please; try the arm-chair.”</p>

<p>The Major bowed his thanks, laid his
cane across the table and accepted the
chair which Winthrop pushed forward.
Winthrop drew a second chair to the other
side of the fire-place.</p>

<p>“A fire, Mr. Winthrop,” observed the
Major, “is very acceptable these cool evenings.”</p>

<p>“Well, I haven’t felt the need of it myself,”
replied Winthrop, “but it was here
and it seemed a shame to waste it. I’ll
close the windows if you like.”</p>

<p>“Not at all, not at all; I like fresh air.
I couldn’t have too much of it, sir, if it
wasn’t for this confounded rheumatism of
mine. With your permission, sir.” The
Major leaned forward and laid a fresh log
on the fire. Winthrop arose and quietly
closed the windows.</p>

<p>“Do you smoke, Major? I have some
cigars here somewhere.”</p>

<p>“Thank you, sir, if they’re right
handy.” He accepted one, held it to his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span>
nose and inhaled the aroma, smiled approvingly
and tucked it into a corner of his
mouth. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t light
it,” he said.</p>

<p>“Certainly,” replied Winthrop.</p>

<p>“I never learned to smoke, Mr. Winthrop,”
explained the Major, “and I
reckon I’m too old to begin now. But
when I was a boy, and afterwards, during
the war, I got a lot of comfort out of chewing,
sir. But it’s a dirty habit, sir, and I
had to give it up. The only way I use tobacco
now, sir, is in this way. It’s a compromise,
sir.” And he rolled the cigar
around enjoyably.</p>

<p>“I see,” replied Winthrop.</p>

<p>“I trust you are feeling recovered from
the effects of your arduous journey?” inquired
the Major.</p>

<p>“Quite, thank you. I dare say Miss
Wayne told you what an ass I made of
myself when I arrived?”</p>

<p>“You refer to your—ah—momentary indisposition?
Yes, Miss India informed
me, and I was very pleased to learn of it.”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span>
Winthrop stared in surprise. “You are
feeling better now, sir?”</p>

<p>“Oh, yes; quite fit, thank you.”</p>

<p>“I’m very glad to hear it. I must apologize
for not being at the station to welcome
you, sir, but I gathered from your letter
that you would not reach Corunna before
to-morrow, and I thought that perhaps you
would telegraph me again. I was obliged
to drive into the country this afternoon
on business, and only learned of your visit
to my office when I returned. I then took
the liberty of calling at the earliest moment.”</p>

<p>“And I’m very glad you did,” answered
Winthrop, heartily. “There’s a good deal
I want to talk to you about.”</p>

<p>“I am quite at your service, sir.”</p>

<p>“Thanks, Major. Now, in the first place,
where am I?”</p>

<p>“Your pardon, Mr. Winthrop?” asked
the Major, startledly.</p>

<p>“I mean,” answered the other, with a
smile, “is this Waynewood and does it belong
to me?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span></p>

<p>“This is certainly Waynewood, sir, and
I have gathered from your letter that you
had come into possession of it.”</p>

<p>“All right. Then who, if I may ask the
question without seeming impertinent, who
are the ladies down-stairs?”</p>

<p>“Ah, Mr. Winthrop, I understand your
question now,” returned the Major. “Allow
me to explain. I would have done so
before had there been opportunity, but
your letter said that you were leaving New
York at once and I presumed that there
would be no time for an answer to reach
you.”</p>

<p>“Quite right, Major.”</p>

<p>“The ladies are Miss India Wayne and
her niece, Miss Holly Wayne, sister and
daughter respectively of my very dear and
much lamented friend Captain Lamar
Wayne, whose home this was for many
years. At his death I found myself the
executor of his will, sir. He left this estate
and very little else but debts. I did the
best I could, Mr. Winthrop, but Waynewood
had to go. It was sold to a Judge<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span>
Linderman of Georgia, a very estimable
gentleman and a shining light of the State
Bar. As he had no intention of living here
I made an arrangement with him whereby
Miss India and her niece might remain
here in their home, sir, paying a—a nominal
rent for the place.”</p>

<p>“A very convenient arrangement, Major.”</p>

<p>“I am glad to hear you say so,” replied
the Major, almost eagerly. “Judge Linderman,
however, was a consarned fool,
sir, and couldn’t let speculation alone. He
was caught in a cotton panic and absolutely
ruined. Waynewood then passed to your
late partner, Mr. Potter. The arrangement
in force before was extended with his
consent, and the ladies have continued to
reside here. They are paying”—(the Major
paused and spat voluminously into the
fire)—“they are paying, Mr. Winthrop,
the sum of five dollars a month rent.”</p>

<p>“A fair figure, I presume, as rents go
hereabouts,” observed Winthrop, subduing
a smile.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span></p>

<p>The Major cleared his throat. Then he
leaned across and laid a large hand on
Winthrop’s knee.</p>

<p>“A small price, Mr. Winthrop, and
that’s the truth. And I don’t deny that
after the property fell into Mr. Potter’s
hands I was troubled right smart by my
conscience. As long as it was Judge Linderman
it was all right; he was a Southerner,
one of us, and could understand.
No offense intended, Mr. Winthrop. But
afterwards when I wrote Mr. Potter of the
arrangement in force and—ah—suggested
its continuance, I felt that maybe I was
taking advantage of his absence from the
scene. To be sure the amount was all that
the ladies could afford to pay, and it isn’t
likely that Mr. Potter could have found
more satisfactory tenants. Still, I dare
say it was my place to tell him that the
figure was pretty cheap, and let him try
and do better with the property. I reckon
I allowed my interest in my clients to sway
my judgment, Mr. Winthrop. But I made
up my mind when I got your letter and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span>
learned you were coming here that I’d explain
things to you, sir, and let you do as
you thought best.”</p>

<p>“In regard to——?”</p>

<p>“In regard to re-renting, sir.”</p>

<p>“But I had intended occupying the house
myself, Major.”</p>

<p>“So I gathered, sir, so I gathered. But
of course you couldn’t know what the circumstances
were, Mr. Winthrop. It isn’t as
though the place was family property, sir,
with you; not as though it was your birthplace
and home. It’s just a house and a few
acres of ground to you, sir; it has no—ah—sentimental
value. You follow me, sir?”</p>

<p>“Yes, and you are beginning to make
me feel like an interloper, Major Cass.”</p>

<p>“God forbid, sir! I had no such intention,
I assure you, sir. I am sure no one
could be more welcome at any time to
Waynewood, and I trust, sir, that we shall
often have the pleasure of seeing you here,
sir.”</p>

<p>Winthrop’s laugh held a touch of exasperation.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span></p>

<p>“But, Great Scott! Major, you’re proposing
to turn me out of my own house!”</p>

<p>“Bless your soul, sir, don’t say that!
Dear, dear! Does it sound that way to
you? My apologies, Mr. Winthrop! I
won’t say another word, sir!”</p>

<p>The Major rolled the cigar agitatedly
about in the corner of his loose mouth.</p>

<p>“Look here,” said Winthrop, “let’s understand
each other, Major. I have come
into possession of this property and we’ll
allow for the sake of the argument that it
holds no sentimental value for me. Now
what do you propose I should do? Sign a
new rental and pack up my things and go
home again?”</p>

<p>“Nothing of the kind, sir, I assure you!
What I meant to convey was that as you
were intending to stay here in Corunna
only two or three months, you could perhaps
be quite as comfortable in the Palmetto
House as at Waynewood. The Palmetto
House, sir, is a very well-managed
hotel, sir, and you would receive the most
hospitable treatment.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span></p>

<p>“Thanks for your frankness, Major.
This Palmetto House is in the village?”</p>

<p>“It is, sir. It faces the court-house on
the south.”</p>

<p>“And it has a large garden in front
of it, with trees and vines and roses
and a marble Cupid dancing in a bed of
box?”</p>

<p>The Major shook his head regretfully.</p>

<p>“Well, Major, the place I’ve taken a
fancy to boasts of just those attractions.
Don’t you think that perhaps we could
somehow arrange it so that I could stay
there?”</p>

<p>“Do you mean, sir, that you would be
willing to remain here as—as a paying
guest?” asked the Major, eagerly.</p>

<p>Winthrop shrugged his shoulders.</p>

<p>“Why not? If the ladies are agreeable.
At first sight there may be something a
trifle anomalous in the idea of the owner
of a property who has journeyed several
hundred miles to occupy it petitioning for
the privilege of being allowed to remain as
a boarder, but, of course, I have the limitations<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span>
of the Northerner and doubtless fail
to get the correct point of view.”</p>

<p>But Winthrop’s irony was quite lost on
the Major.</p>

<p>“My dear sir, you have taken a great
load from my mind,” exclaimed the latter.
“I had hoped that the difficulty might be
surmounted in just the way you propose,
but somehow I gathered after meeting you
that you—ah—resented the presence of the
ladies.”</p>

<p>“Nonsense!” said Winthrop, a trifle impatiently.
“Miss Wayne and her niece are
quite welcome to remain here as long as
they like. I was, however, naturally surprised
to find anyone in possession. By
all means let us renew the rental agreement.
Meanwhile, if the ladies are agreeable,
I will remain here and pay board and
room-rent. I dare say my visit will not
cover more than three months. And I will
try to be as little trouble as possible.”</p>

<p>“Then the matter is settled,” answered
the Major, with a gratified smile. “Unless——”
He paused.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span></p>

<p>“More difficulties?” asked Winthrop,
patiently.</p>

<p>“I hope not, sir, but I won’t deny that
Miss India may spoil our plans.”</p>

<div class="figcenter2" id="i_p104">
  <img src="images/i_p104.jpg" alt="Miss India Wayne" title="Miss India Wayne">
</div>

<p>“You mean that she may not want to
take a boarder?”</p>

<p>“Well, it’s this way, Mr. Winthrop.”
The Major cleared his throat. “Miss
Wayne has always been prejudiced against
Northerners, but——”</p>

<p>“Really? But she seemed kindness itself
this afternoon.”</p>

<p>“I’m delighted to hear it, sir, delighted!
And allow me to say, Mr. Winthrop, sir,
that you couldn’t have played a stronger
card than you did.”</p>

<p>“Card? What do you mean, Major?”</p>

<p>“I mean that in losing consciousness as
you did, sir, you accomplished more than I
could have accomplished in an hour’s argument.
It was very well done, sir, for I assure
you that it was only by representing
you as an invalid that I was able to prevail
on Miss India to remain here, sir, until
your arrival. When I found that I had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span>
missed you at the office I feared that you
would perhaps unwittingly give the impression
of being a—a well man, sir, and
thus prejudice the lady against you. But
as it happened, sir, you played just the
card calculated to win the trick.”</p>

<p>“But, Great Scott!” exclaimed Winthrop,
exasperatedly; “you don’t think for
a moment, do you, that I deliberately simulated<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span>
illness in order to work on her sympathies?”</p>

<p>“Of course not,” said the Major, earnestly.
“How could you have known? No,
no; I merely congratulated you on the fortunate—ah—coincidence,
sir.”</p>

<p>“Oh! Then I am to understand that as
a well man Miss Wayne will refuse to harbor
me, but as an invalid she will consent
to do so—for a consideration?”</p>

<p>“Exactly, Mr. Winthrop; that is just
how it stands, sir.”</p>

<p>“And having once been accepted will it
be necessary for me to continue to pose as
an invalid for the rest of my stay?” he
asked dryly.</p>

<p>“We-ell,” answered the Major, hesitatingly,
“I don’t deny that it would help,
but I don’t reckon it’ll be absolutely necessary,
sir.”</p>

<p>Winthrop smiled.</p>

<p>“I’m glad to hear it, for I’m rather tired
of being an invalid, and I don’t think I
should enjoy even making believe for very
long. May I ask whether Miss Wayne’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span>
dislike for persons from my section of the
country is ineradicable, Major?”</p>

<p>“I sincerely hope not, sir!” replied the
Major, earnestly. “Her brother’s views
on the subject were very—ah—settled, sir,
and Miss India had the highest respect for
his opinions. But she has never had the
fortune, I believe, to meet with a real
Northern gentleman, Mr. Winthrop.”
And the Major bowed courteously.</p>

<p>“And the niece? Miss——?”</p>

<p>“Holly, sir. Well, she is guided largely
by her Aunt, Mr. Winthrop, and doubtless
clings to many of her father’s convictions,
but she has a well-developed sense of justice
and a warm heart, sir, and I believe
her prejudices can be dispelled.”</p>

<p>“Well, I appear to be in the enemy’s
country, with a vengeance,” said Winthrop.
“How about you, Major? Are you
also down on us?”</p>

<p>“No, Mr. Winthrop. I don’t deny, sir,
that shortly after the war I felt resentment,
but that sentiment has long since
disappeared. I am honored with the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span>
friendship of several very estimable Northern
gentlemen, sir. Nor must you think
the sentiment hereabouts prejudicial to
your people, Mr. Winthrop. Corunna
is off the track of the tourist, to be sure;
we have no special attractions here; no big
hotels, sir, to cater to him; but once in a
while a Northerner wanders to our town
and we have grown to appreciate his many
very excellent qualities, sir.”</p>

<p>“That’s comforting. I had begun to feel
like a pariah.”</p>

<p>“My dear sir!” expostulated the Major.
“Disabuse your mind of such wrong ideas,
Mr. Winthrop. I shall take pleasure in
convincing you that any ill-feeling engendered
by the late unpleasantness has quite
passed away. I shall esteem it a great
privilege to be allowed to introduce you to
some of our more prominent citizens, sir.”</p>

<p>“Thank you very much,” answered Winthrop.
“The privilege will be mine, Major.
Must you go?”</p>

<p>“Yes, we mustn’t forget that you are not
yet as strong as we hope to have you after<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span>
you have been under the treatment of our
climate for awhile, sir. Good-night, Mr.
Winthrop. I have enjoyed our little talk,
and it has been a pleasure to meet a gentleman
of your attainments, sir.”</p>

<p>“You are very good,” Winthrop replied.
“It has been a pleasure to meet you, Major.
And may I leave the negotiations in
your hands?”</p>

<p>“You may, sir. I hope to be able to inform
you to-morrow that our plan is successful.”</p>

<p>“Yes. And in regard to the price to be
paid, Major; I’ll leave that entirely with
you as I haven’t any idea what is right.”</p>

<p>“You may do so, sir. And possibly
some day at your convenience you will
drop in at my office and we will attend to
the matter of the new lease?”</p>

<p>“With pleasure, Major. Good-night,
sir.”</p>

<p>Winthrop remained at the door until the
Major had reached the lower hall. Then
he closed it and, hands in his pockets, returned
to the fire-place and stared frowningly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span>
into the coals. Mechanically he
reached his pipe from the mantel and
lighted it with an ember. And presently,
as he smoked, the frown disappeared and
he laughed softly.</p>

<p>“Of all the ridiculous situations!” he
muttered.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">VI.</h2>
</div>


<p>Holly came softly down the stairs, one
small hand laid upon the broad mahogany
rail to steady her descent, her little slippered
feet twinkling in and out from beneath
the hem of her gingham skirt, her
lithe young body swaying in unconscious
rhythm with the song she was singing under
her breath. It was not yet seven
o’clock, and no one save the servants was
astir. Holly had always been an early
riser, and when the weather permitted the
hour before breakfast was spent by her in
the open air. On warm mornings she kept
to the grateful shade of the porch, perching
herself on the joggling-board and gently
jouncing herself up and down the while she
stared thoughtfully out across the garden
into the cool green gloom of the grove, an
exercise undoubtedly beneficial to the liver
but one which would have resulted with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span>
most persons in a total disinclination for
breakfast. On those terribly cold winter
mornings when the water-pail on the back
porch showed a film of ice, she slipped
down the oleander
path and out
on to the road
for a brisk walk
or huddled herself
in a sun-warmed
corner
at the back of the house. But this morning,
which held neither the heat of summer
nor the tang of frost, when, after unlatching
the front door and swinging it creakingly
open, she emerged on to the porch,
she stood for a moment in the deep shadow
of it, gazing happily down upon the
pleasant scene before her.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p111">
  <img src="images/i_p111.jpg" alt="Waynewood" title="Waynewood">
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span></p>

<p>Directly in front of her spread the fragrant
quadrangle of the garden, the paths,
edged with crumbling bricks set cantwise
in the dark soil, curving and angling between
the beds in formal precision. In
the centre, out of a tangle of rose-bushes
and box, the garlanded Cupid, tinged to
pale gold by the early sunlight, smiled
across at her. About him clustered tender
blooms of old-fashioned roses, and the path
was sprinkled with the fallen petals. Beyond,
the long tunnel between the oleanders
was still filled with the lingering shadows
of dawn. To right and left of the centre
bed lay miniature jungles of overgrown
shrubs; roses, deutzias, cape jasmines,
Japan quinces, sweet shrubs and all the
luxuriant hodge-podge of a Southern garden
somewhat run to seed, a little down at
the heels maybe, but radiantly beautiful
in its very disorder.</p>

<div class="figleft" id="i_p114a">
  <img src="images/i_p114a.jpg" alt="flowers" title="flowers">
</div>

<p>On the far side, the garden was bordered
with taller shrubs—crépe-myrtles, mimosas,
camelias, which merged imperceptibly
into the trees of the grove. To the right,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span>
beyond the bordering path, a few pear-trees
showed their naked branches and a
tall frankincense tree threw delicate shadow-tracery
over the corner bed. To the
left were Japan plums and pomegranates
and figs, half hiding the picket fence, and
a few youthful orange-trees, descendants
of sturdy ancestors who had lost their lives
in the freeze three years before. A huge
magnolia spread its shapely branches over
one of the beds, its trunk encircled by a
tempting seat. Ribbon-grass swayed gently
here and there above the rioting shrubbery,
and at the corner of the porch, where
a gate gave on to the drive, a clump of banana-trees,
which had almost but not quite
borne fruit that year, reared their succulent
green stems in a sunny nook and
arched their great broad leaves, torn and
ribboned by the winds, with tropical effect.
Near at hand, against the warm red
chimney, climbed a Baltimore Belle, festooning
the end of the house for yards
with its tiny, glossy leaves. The shadow
of the house cut the garden sharply into<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span>
two triangles, the dividing line between
sunlight and shade crossing the pedestal
of the smiling Cupid. Everywhere glistened
diamonds of dew, and over all, growing
more intense each instant as the sunlight
and warmth grew in ardor, was the
thrilling fragrance of the roses and the
box, of damp earth and awakening leaves.</p>

<div class="figcenter2" id="i_p114b">
  <img src="images/i_p114b.jpg" alt="more flowers" title="more flowers">
</div>

<p>While Holly’s mother had lived the garden
had been her pride and delight. It had
been known to fame all through that part
of the State and the beauty of the Wayne
roses was a proverb. But now the care
of it fell to Uncle Ran, together with the
care of a bewildering number of other
things, and Uncle Ran had neither the time
nor the knowledge to maintain its former
perfection. Holly loved it devotedly, knew
it from corner to corner. At an earlier
age she had plucked the blossoms for dolls
and played with them for long hours on
the seat under the magnolia. The full-blown
roses were grown-up ladies, with
beautiful outspread skirts of pink, white
or yellow, and little green waists. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span>
half-opened roses were young ladies, and
tiny white violets, or waxen orange-blooms
or little blossoms of the deutzia were the
babies. For the men, although Holly seldom
bothered much with men, there were
the jonquils or the oleanders. She knew
well where the first blue violets were to be
found, where the white jonquils broke first
from their green calyces, where the little
yellow balls of the opopanax were sweetest,
what rose-petals were best adapted to
being formed into tiny sacs and exploded
against the forehead, and many other wonderful
secrets of that fair domain. But
in spite of all this, Holly was no gardener.</p>

<div class="figright" id="i_p115">
  <img src="images/i_p115.jpg" alt="still more flowers" title="still more flowers">
</div>

<p>She loved flowers just as she loved the
deep blue Florida sky with its hazy edges,
the soft wind from the Gulf, the golden
sunlight, the birds and bees and butterflies—just
as she loved everything that
was quickened with the wonderful breath
of Nature. There was something of the
pagan in Holly when it came to devotion
to Nature. And yet she had no ability to
make things grow. From her mother she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span>
had inherited the love of trees and plants
and flowers but not the gift of understanding
them. Doubtless the Druids, with all
their veneration for the
oak and mistletoe,
would have been sorely
puzzled had they had to
rear their leafy temples
from planted acorns.</p>

<div class="figleft" id="i_p116">
  <img src="images/i_p116.jpg" alt="Holly with pink roses" title="Holly with pink roses">
</div>

<p>Holly went down the
steps and, holding her
gown away from the
moisture-beaded
branches, buried her
face in a cluster of pink
roses. Then, struck by
a thought, she returned
to the house, reappearing
a moment later with
her hands encased in a pair of old gloves,
and carrying scissors.</p>

<p>Aunt India didn’t believe in bringing
flowers into the house. “If the Lord had
intended us to have them on the tables and
mantels,” she said, “He’d have put them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span>
there. But He didn’t; He meant them to
be out of doors and we ought to be satisfied
to admire them where He’s put them.”
Usually Holly respected
her Aunt’s prejudice, but
to-day seemed in a way a
special occasion. The
Cloth of Gold roses
seemed crying to be gathered,
and their stems
snipped gratefully under
the scissors as she made
her way along the edge of
the bed. Her hands were
almost full of the big yellow
blooms when footsteps
sounded on the
porch and she glanced up
to see Winthrop descending the steps.
She wondered with sudden dismay whether
she was going to blush as she had yesterday,
and, for fear that she was, leaned far
over the refractory cluster she was cutting.
Winthrop’s footsteps approached along
the sandy walk, and—</p>

<div class="figright" id="i_p117">
  <img src="images/i_p117.jpg" alt="Mr. Winthrop" title="Mr. Winthrop">
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span></p>

<p>“Good-morning, Miss Holly,” he said.</p>

<p>“Good-morning,” answered Holly, and,
having won her prize started to straighten
up. “I hope——”</p>

<p>But instead of finishing the polite inquiry
she said “<em>Oh!</em>” A branch of the
rose-bush had caught in her hair, and the
more she tugged the more firmly it held.</p>

<p>“Still a moment,” said Winthrop. He
leaned over and disentangled the thorns.
“There you are. I hope I didn’t pull very
hard?”</p>

<p>“Thank you,” murmured Holly, raising
a very red face. Winthrop, looking down
into it, smiled; smiled for no particular
reason, save that the morning air was very
delightful, the morning sunlight very warm
and cheering, and the face before him very
lovely to look at. But Holly, painfully
aware of her burning cheeks, thought he
was smiling at her blushes. “What a silly
he must think me!” she reflected, angrily.
“Blushing every time he comes near!”
She busied herself with the roses for a moment.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span></p>

<p>“You’ve got more than you can manage,
haven’t you?” asked Winthrop. “Suppose
you entrust them to me; then you’ll
have your hands free.”</p>

<p>“I can manage very nicely, thank you,”
answered Holly, a trifle haughtily.</p>

<p>Winthrop’s smile deepened.</p>

<p>“Do you know what I think, Miss
Holly?” he asked.</p>

<p>“No,” said Holly, looking about her in a
very preoccupied way in search of more
blossoms.</p>

<p>“I think you’re a little bit resentful because
I’ve come to share your Eden. I believe
you were playing that you were Eve
and that you were all alone here except
for the serpent.”</p>

<p>“Playing!” said Holly, warmly.
“Please, how old do you think I am, Mr.
Winthrop?”</p>

<p>“My dear young lady,” answered Winthrop,
gravely, “I wouldn’t think of even
speculating on so serious a subject. But
supposing you are very, very old, say seventeen—or
even eighteen!—still you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span>
haven’t, I hope, got beyond the age of
make-believe. Why, even I—and, as you
will readily see, I have one foot almost in
the grave—even I sometimes make-believe.”</p>

<p>“Do you?” murmured Holly, very
coldly.</p>

<p>There was silence for a moment during
which Holly added further prizes to her
store and Winthrop followed her and
watched her in mingled admiration and
amusement—admiration for the grace and
beauty and sheer youth of her, amusement
at her evident resentment.</p>

<p>“I’m sorry,” he said presently, slowly
and thoughtfully.</p>

<p>“At what?” Holly allowed herself a
fleeting look at his face. It was very serious
and regretful, but the smile still lurked
in the dark eyes, and Holly’s vanity flew
to arms again.</p>

<p>“Sorry that I’ve said something to displease
you,” returned Winthrop. “You
see, I was hoping to make friends with you,
Miss Holly.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span></p>

<p>Holly thought of a dozen questions to
ask, but heroically refrained.</p>

<p>“I gathered from Major Cass last evening,”
continued Winthrop, “that Northerners
are not popular at Waynewood.
But you seemed a very kind young lady,
and I thought that if I could only win you
over to my side you might intercede for
me with your aunt. You see, I’d like very
much to stay here, but I’m afraid Miss
Wayne isn’t going to take to the idea. And
now I’ve gone and antagonized the very
person I meant to win for an ally.”</p>

<p>“I don’t see why you can’t stay here if
you want to,” answered Holly. “Waynewood
belongs to you.”</p>

<p>“But what would I do here all alone?”
asked Winthrop. “I’m a frightfully helpless,
ignorant chap. Why, I don’t even
know how to cook a beefsteak! And as
for beaten biscuit——!”</p>

<p>Holly smiled, in spite of herself.</p>

<p>“But you could hire some servants, I
reckon.”</p>

<p>“Oh, I shouldn’t know how to manage<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span>
them, really. No, the only way in which
I can remain here is as your guest, Miss
Holly. I’ve asked Major Cass to tell Miss
Wayne that, and I’ve no doubt but what he
will do all he can for me, but I fancy that
a word from you would help a lot, Miss
Holly. Don’t you think you could tell your
aunt that I am a very respectable sort of a
fellow, one who has never been known to
give any trouble? I have been with some
of the best families and I can give references
from my last place, if necessary.”</p>

<p>“I reckon you don’t know Aunt India,”
laughed Holly. “If she says you can’t
stay, you can’t, and it wouldn’t do a mite
of good if I talked myself black in the
face.”</p>

<p>Holly turned toward the house and he
followed.</p>

<p>“You think, then,” he asked, “that
there’s nothing more we can do to influence
Fate in my behalf?”</p>

<div class="figleft" id="i_p124">
  <img src="images/i_p124.jpg" alt="Holly" title="Holly">
</div>

<p>Holly ran lightly up the steps, tossed the
flowers in a heap on the porch, and sat
down with her back against a pillar. Then<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span>
she pointed to the opposite side of the
steps.</p>

<p>“Sit down there,” she commanded.</p>

<div class="figright" id="i_p125">
  <img src="images/i_p125.jpg" alt="Robert" title="Robert">
</div>

<p>Winthrop bowed and obeyed. Holly
clasped her hands about her knees, and
looked across at him with merry eyes.</p>

<p>“Mr. Winthrop.”</p>

<p>“Madam?”</p>

<p>“What will you give me if I let you
stay?”</p>

<p>“Pardon my incredulity,” replied Winthrop,
“but is your permission all that is
necessary?”</p>

<p>Holly nodded her head many times.</p>

<p>“If I say you can stay, you can,” she
said, decisively.</p>

<p>“Then in exchange for your permission
I will give you half my kingdom,” answered
Winthrop, gravely.</p>

<p>“Oh, I don’t think I could use half a
kingdom. It would be like owning half a
horse, wouldn’t it? Supposing I wanted
my half to go and the other half
wouldn’t?”</p>

<p>“Then take it all.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span></p>

<p>“No, because I reckon your kingdom’s
up North, and I wouldn’t want a kingdom
I couldn’t live in. It will have to be something
else, I reckon.”</p>

<p>“And I have so little with me,”
mourned Winthrop. “I dare say you
wouldn’t have any use for a winter overcoat
or a pair of patent-leather shoes?
They’re about all I have to offer.”</p>

<p>“No,” laughed Holly; “anyhow, not the
overcoat. Do you think the shoes would
fit me?”</p>

<p>She advanced one little slippered foot
from beyond the hem of her skirt. Winthrop
looked, and shook his head.</p>

<p>“Honestly, I’m afraid not,” he said.
“I don’t believe I ever saw a shoe that
would fit you, Miss Holly.”</p>

<p>Holly acknowledged the compliment
with a ceremonious bow and a little laugh.</p>

<p>“I didn’t know you Northerners could
pay compliments,” she said.</p>

<p>“We are a very adaptable people,” answered
Winthrop, “and pride ourselves on
being able to face any situation.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span></p>

<p>“But you haven’t told me what you’ll
give me, Mr. Winthrop.”</p>

<p>“I have exhausted my treasures, Miss
Holly. There remains only myself. I
throw myself at your feet, my dear young
lady; I will be your slave for life.”</p>

<p>“Oh, I thought you Northerners didn’t
believe in slavery,” said Holly.</p>

<p>“We don’t believe in compulsory slavery,
Miss Holly. To be a slave to Beauty
is always a pleasure.”</p>

<p>“Another compliment!” cried Holly.
“Two before breakfast!”</p>

<p>“And the day is still young,” laughed
Winthrop.</p>

<p>“Oh, I won’t demand any more, Mr.
Winthrop; you’ve done your duty already.”</p>

<p>“As you like; I am your slave.”</p>

<p>“How lovely! I never had a slave before,”
said Holly, reflectively.</p>

<p>“I fear your memory is poor, Miss
Holly. I’ll wager you’ve had, and doubtless
still have, a score of them quite as
willing as I.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span></p>

<p>Holly blushed a little, but shook her
head.</p>

<p>“Not I. But it’s a bargain, Mr. Winthrop.
I won’t keep you for life, though;
when you leave here I’ll give you your
‘freedance,’ as the negroes say. But while
you are here you are to do just as I tell
you. Will you?” she added, sternly.</p>

<p>“I obey implicitly,” answered Winthrop.
“And now?”</p>

<p>“Why, you may stay, of course. Besides,
it was all arranged last evening.
Uncle Major and Auntie fixed it all up between
them after he came down from seeing
you. You are to have the room you
are in and the one back of it, if you want
it, and you are to pay three dollars and
a-half a week; one dollar for your room
and two dollars and a-half for your
board.”</p>

<p>“But—isn’t that——?”</p>

<p>“Please don’t!” begged Holly. “I
don’t know anything about it. If it’s too
much, you must speak to Aunt India or
Major Cass.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span></p>

<p>“I was about to suggest that it seemed
ridiculously little,” said Winthrop.
“But——”</p>

<p>“Gracious!” exclaimed Holly. “Uncle
Major thought it ought to be more, but
Auntie wouldn’t hear of it. Do you think
it should be?”</p>

<p>“Well, I’m scarcely a disinterested
party,” laughed Winthrop, “but it doesn’t
sound much, does it?”</p>

<p>“Three dollars and a-half!” said Holly,
slowly and thoughtfully. Then she nodded
her head vigorously. “Yes, it sounds a
whole lot.” She laughed softly. “It’s
very funny, though, isn’t it?”</p>

<p>“What?” he asked, smiling in sympathy.</p>

<p>“Why, that you should be paying three
dollars and a-half a week for the privilege
of being a slave!”</p>

<p>“Ah, but that’s it,” answered Winthrop.
“It is a privilege, as you say.”</p>

<p>“Oh!” cried Holly, in simulated alarm.
“You’re at it again, Mr. Winthrop!”</p>

<p>“At it? At what?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span></p>

<p>“Compliments, compliments, sir! You’ll
have none left for this evening if you don’t
take care. Just think; you might meet a
beautiful young lady this evening and not
have any compliments for her! Wouldn’t
that be dreadful?”</p>

<p>“Horrible,” answered Winthrop. “I
shudder.”</p>

<p>“Are you hungry?” asked Holly, suddenly.</p>

<p>“Hungry? No—yes—I hardly know.”</p>

<p>“You’re probably starving, then,” said
Holly, jumping up and sweeping the roses
into her arms. “I’ll see if breakfast isn’t
nearly ready. Auntie doesn’t come down
to breakfast very often, and it’s my place
to see that it’s on time. But I never do,
and it never is. Do you love punctuality,
Mr. Winthrop?”</p>

<p>“Can’t bear it, Miss Holly.”</p>

<p>She stood a little way off, smiling down
at him, a soft flush in her cheeks.</p>

<p>“You always say just the right thing,
don’t you?” She laughed. “How do you
manage it?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span></p>

<p>“Long practice, my dear young lady.
When you’ve lived as long as I have you
will have discovered that it is much better
to say the right thing than the wrong—even
when the right thing isn’t altogether
right.”</p>

<p>“Yes, I reckon so, but—sometimes it’s
an awful temptation to say the wrong, isn’t
it? Are you awfully old? May I guess?”</p>

<p>“I shall be flattered.”</p>

<p>“Then—forty?”</p>

<p>Winthrop sighed loudly.</p>

<p>“Too much? Wait! Thirty—thirty-seven?”</p>

<p>“Thirty-eight.”</p>

<p>“Is that very old? I shall be eighteen
in a few days.”</p>

<p>“Really? Then, you see, I have already
lived twice as long as you have.”</p>

<p>“Yes,” Holly nodded, thoughtfully.
“Do you know, I don’t think I want to live
to be real, real old; I think I’d rather die
before—before that.”</p>

<p>“And what do you call real, real old?”
asked Winthrop.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span></p>

<p>“Oh, I don’t know; fifty, I reckon.”</p>

<p>“Then I have twelve years longer to
live,” said Winthrop, gravely.</p>

<p>Holly turned a pair of startled eyes upon
him.</p>

<p>“No, no! It’s different with you; you’re
a man.”</p>

<p>“Oh, that makes a difference?”</p>

<p>“Lots! Men can do heaps of things,
great, big things, after they’re old, but a
woman——” She paused and shrugged
her shoulders in a funny, exaggerated
way that Winthrop thought charming.
“What is there for a woman when she’s
that old?”</p>

<p>“Much,” answered Winthrop, gravely,
“if she has been a wise woman. There
should be her children to love and to love
her, and if she has married the right man
there will be that love, too, in the afternoon
of her life.”</p>

<p>“Children,” murmured Holly. “Yes,
that would be nice; but they wouldn’t be
children then, would they? And—supposing
they died before? The woman would<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span>
be terribly lonely, wouldn’t she—in the
afternoon?”</p>

<p>Winthrop turned his face away and
looked out across the sunlit garden.</p>

<p>“Yes,” he said, very soberly; “yes, she
would be lonely.”</p>

<p>Something in his tones drew Holly’s attention.
How deep the lines about his
mouth were this morning, and how gray
the hair was at his temples; she had not
noticed it before. Yes, after all, thirty-eight
was quite old. That thought or some
other moved her to a sudden sentiment of
pity. Impulsively she tore one of the big
yellow roses from the bunch and with her
free hand tossed it into his lap.</p>

<p>“Do you know, Mr. Winthrop,” she said,
softly, “I reckon we’re going to be friends,
you and I,—that is, if you want to.”</p>

<p>Winthrop sprang to his feet, the rose in
his hand.</p>

<p>“I do want to, Miss Holly,” he said,
earnestly. Somehow, before she realized
it, Holly’s hand was in his. “I want it
very much. I haven’t very many friends,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span>
I guess, and when one gets toward forty he
doesn’t find them as easily as he did. Is
it a bargain, then? We are to be friends,
very good friends, Miss Holly?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” answered Holly, simply, “very
good friends.”</p>

<p>Her dark eyes looked seriously into his
for a moment. Then she withdrew her
hand, laughed softly under her breath and
turned toward the door. But on the threshold
she looked back over her shoulder,
the old mischief in her face.</p>

<p>“But don’t you go and forget that
you’re my slave, Mr. Winthrop,” she said.</p>

<p>“Never! You have fettered me with
roses.”</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="VII">VII.</h2>
</div>


<div class="figcenter2" id="i_p133">
  <img src="images/i_p133.jpg" alt="Holly and Robert at breakfast" title="Holly and Robert at breakfast">
</div>

<p>Miss India made no exception that morning
to her general rule, and Holly presided
over the coffee cups. The table was rather
large, and although Winthrop’s place was
in the middle, facing the open door onto
the back porch, there was quite an expanse
of emptiness between him and his hostess.
Through the door and across the bridge to
the kitchen Phœbe trotted at minute intervals
to bring fresh relays of hot biscuits
and buckwheat cakes. The dining-room
was rather shabby. The walls were papered
in dark brown, and the floor was covered<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span>
with linoleum. A mahogany sideboard,
which took up quite ten feet of one
end of the room, looked sadly out of its
element. Three pictures in tarnished gilt
frames hung by thick green cords very
close to the ceiling, so that Winthrop was
spared the necessity of close examination,
something which they did not invite. But
for all its shabbiness there was something
comfortable about the room, something
homey that made the old dishes with their
chipped edges and half-obliterated ornamentation
seem eminently suitable, and
that gave Winthrop a distinct sensation of
pleasure.</p>

<p>He found that, in spite of his previous
uncertainty, he was very hungry, and, although
he had hard work to keep from
grimacing over the first taste of the coffee,
he ate heartily and enjoyed it all. And
while he ate, Holly talked. Sometimes he
slipped in a word of comment or a question,
but they were not necessary so far as
Holly was concerned. There was something
almost exciting for her in the situation.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span>
To have an audience who was quite
fresh and sympathetic was an event in her
life, and there are so many, many things
one has to say at eighteen. And Winthrop
enjoyed it almost as much as Holly. Her
<em>naive</em> views of life amused even while they
touched him. She seemed very young for
her age, and very unsophisticated after
the Northern girls Winthrop knew. And
he found her voice and pronunciation
charming, besides. He loved the way she
made “I” sound like “Ah,” the way she
narrowed some vowels and broadened others,
her absolute contempt for the letter
“r.” The soft drawl of Southern speech
was new to him, and he found it fascinating.
Once Holly stopped abruptly in the
middle of a sentence, laid her left hand
palm downwards on the edge of the table
and struck her knuckles sharply with the
handle of her knife.</p>

<p>“What’s the matter?” inquired Winthrop,
in surprise.</p>

<p>“Punishment,” answered Holly, gravely,
the chastised hand held against her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span>
lips. “You see there are three words that
Auntie doesn’t like me to use, and when
I do use them I rap my knuckles.”</p>

<p>“Oh,” smiled Winthrop, “and does it
help?”</p>

<p>“I don’t reckon it’s helped much yet,”
said Holly, “but maybe it will. It sure
does hurt, though.”</p>

<p>“And may I ask what the words are?”</p>

<p>“One is ‘Fiddle.’ Does that sound very
bad to you?”</p>

<p>“N-no, I think not. What does it signify,
please?”</p>

<p>“Oh, you just say ‘Fiddle’ when—when
something happens you don’t like.”</p>

<p>“I see; ‘Fiddle;’ yes, quite expressive.
And the others?”</p>

<p>“‘Shucks’ is one of them.”</p>

<p>“Used, I fancy, in much the same sense
as ‘Fiddle’?”</p>

<p>Holly nodded.</p>

<p>“Only—only not so much so,” she
added.</p>

<p>“Certainly not,” replied Winthrop. “I
understand. For instance, if you fell down<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span>
stairs you’d say ‘Fiddle!’ but if you
merely bumped your head you’d say
‘Shucks!’”</p>

<p>“Yes,” laughed Holly.</p>

<p>“And the third prohibited word?” asked
Winthrop.</p>

<p>“That’s—that’s——” Holly bent her
head very meekly over her plate—“that’s
‘Darnation!’”</p>

<p>“Expressive, at least,” laughed Winthrop.
“That is reserved, I suppose, for
such extraordinary occasions as when you
fall from a sixth-story window?”</p>

<p>“No; I say that when I stick a needle
into my finger,” answered Holly. “It
seems to suit better than ‘Fiddle’ or
‘Shucks;’ don’t you think so, Mr. Winthrop?”</p>

<p>“Well, I don’t remember ever having
stuck a needle into my finger, but I’ll try
it some time and give you my candid opinion
on the question.”</p>

<p>After breakfast Winthrop wandered out
into the garden and from thence into the
grove beyond. There were pines and cedars<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span>
here, and oaks, and other trees which
he didn’t know the names of. The gray-green
Spanish moss draped an occasional
limb, and at times there was some underbrush.
Finding the drive, he followed it
toward the gate, but before reaching the
latter he struck off again through a clearing
and climbed a little knoll on the summit
of which a small brick-walled enclosure
guarded by three huge oaks attracted his
attention and aroused his curiosity. But
he didn’t open the little iron gate when
he reached it. Within the square enclosure
were three graves, two close together
near at hand, one somewhat removed.
From where he leaned across the crumbling
wall Winthrop could read the inscriptions
on the three simple headstones.
The farther grave was that of “John
Wayne, born Fairfield, Kentucky, Feb. 1,
1835; fell at Malvern Hill, July 1, 1862; interred
in this spot July 28, 1862.”</p>

<p>The nearer of the two graves which lay
together was that, as Winthrop surmised,
of Holly’s mother. Behind the headstone<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span>
a rose-bush had been planted, and this
morning one tiny bloom gleamed wanly in
the shadow of the wall. “To the Beloved
Memory of Margaret Britton, Wife of Lamar
Wayne; Sept. 3, 1853–Jan. 1, 1881.
Aged 27 years. ‘The balmy zephyrs, silent
since her death, Lament the ceasing of
a sweeter breath.’”</p>

<p>Winthrop’s gaze turned to the stone beside
it.</p>

<p>“Here lies,”—he read—“the Body of
Captain Lamar Wayne, C. S. A., who
was born in Fairfield, Kentucky, Aug, 4,
1842, and died at Waynewood, Sept. 21,
1892, aged 50 years. ‘Happier for me that
all our hours assign’d, Together we had
lived; ev’n not in death disjoined.’”</p>

<p>Here, thought Winthrop, was hint of a
great love. He compared the dates. Captain
Wayne had lived twelve years after
his wife’s death. Winthrop wondered if
those years had seemed long to him. Probably
not, since he had Holly to care for—Holly,
whom Winthrop doubted not, was
very greatly like her mother. To have the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span>
child spared to him! Ah, that was much.
Winthrop’s eyes lifted from the quiet
space before him and sought the distant
skyline as his thoughts went to another
grave many hundred miles away. A mocking-bird
flew into one of the oaks and sang
a few tentative notes, and then was silent.
Winthrop roused himself with a sigh and
turned back down the knoll toward the
house, which stood smiling amidst its
greenery a few hundred yards away.</p>

<p>As he entered the hall he heard Holly
in converse with Aunt Venus on the back
porch, and as he glanced through the doorway
she moved into sight, her form silhouetted
against the sunlight glare. But he
gave her only a passing thought as he
mounted the stairs to his room. The spell
of the little graveyard on the knoll and of
that other more distant one was still with
him, and remained until, having got his
hat and cane, he passed through the open
gate and turned townward on the red clay
road.</p>

<p>Major Cass was seated in his cushioned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span>
arm-chair with his feet on his desk and a
sheepskin-covered book spread open on his
knees when Winthrop obeyed the invitation
to enter.</p>

<p>“Ah, Mr. Winthrop, sir, good-morning,”
said the Major, as he tossed the book on to
the desk and climbed to his feet. “Your
rest has done you good, sir; I can see that.
Feeling more yourself to-day, eh?”</p>

<p>“Quite well, thanks,” answered Winthrop,
accepting the arm-chair which his
host pushed toward him. “I thought I’d
come down and hear the verdict and attend
to the matter of the rental.”</p>

<p>“Yes, yes,” said the Major. “Very kind
of you, sir.”</p>

<p>He limped to a cupboard in one corner
and returned with a jug and two not overly
clean glasses, which he set on the desk,
brushing aside a litter of papers and books.
“You will join me, Mr. Winthrop, in a
little liquor, sir, I trust?”</p>

<p>“A very little, then,” answered Winthrop.
“I’m still under doctor’s orders,
you know.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span></p>

<p>“As little as you like,” rejoined the Major,
courteously, “but we must drink to the
success of our conspiracy, sir. The matter
is all arranged. Miss India was—ah—surprisingly
complacent, sir.” The Major
handed the glass to Winthrop with a bow.
“Your very good health, sir!”</p>

<p>During the subsequent talk, in which the
Major explained the terms of the bargain
as Winthrop had already learned them
from Holly, the visitor was able to look
about him. The room was small and
square save for the projecting fire-place
at one side. A window on the front overlooked
the street which led to Waynewood,
while through another on the side of the
building Winthrop could see the court-house<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span>
behind its border of oaks, the stores
across the square and, peering from behind
the court-house, the end of the Palmetto
House with its long gallery. It was
Saturday, and the town looked quite busy.
Ox-carts, farm wagons drawn by mules,
and broken-down buggies crawled or jogged
past the window on their way to the
hitching-place. In front of the court-house,
in the shade, were half-a-dozen carts
loaded with bales of cotton, and the owners
with samples in hand were making the
round of the buyers. The sidewalks were
thronged with negroes, and the gay medley
of the voices came through the open window.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p142">
  <img src="images/i_p142.jpg" alt="Corunna" title="Corunna">
</div>

<p>A set of shelves occupied the end of the
room beside the door and were filled to
overflowing with yellow law books. The
mantel was crowded with filing cases and
a few tin boxes. Beside the front window a
small, old-fashioned safe held more books.
Besides these there was only the plain
oak desk, two chairs and the aforementioned
cupboard to be seen, if one excepts<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span>
the wall decorations in the shape of colored
advertisements and calendars and a box
filled with sawdust beside the arm-chair.
The Major had tucked a greenish and very
damp cigar in the corner of his mouth, and
Winthrop soon discovered the necessity
for the box.</p>

<p><a href="#i_fp144">Presently the new rental agreement was
signed</a> and the Major, after several abortive
attempts, flung open the door of the
safe and put it carefully away in one of
the compartments. Then he took up his
broad-brimmed black felt hat and reached
for his cane.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_fp144">
  <img src="images/i_fp144.jpg" alt="" title="">
  <div class="caption">
    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_144">PRESENTLY THE NEW RENTAL AGREEMENT WAS SIGNED</a></p>
  </div>
</div>

<p>“And now, Mr. Winthrop,” he said,
“we’ll just take a walk around the town,
sir; I’d like you to meet some of our citizens,
sir.”</p>

<p>Winthrop good-naturedly acquiesced
and preceded the Major down the stairs.
During the next hour-and-a-half Winthrop
was impressively introduced to and warmly
welcomed by some two dozen of Corunna’s
foremost citizens, from ’Squire Parish,
whom they discovered buying a bale of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span>
cotton in the dim recess of his hardware
store, to Mr. “Cad” Wilson, who wiped
his hand on a towel before reaching it
across the bar to add his welcome.</p>

<p>“Not one of the aristocracy,” explained
the Major, as they took their way out after
drinking Winthrop’s health in Bourbon,
“but a gentleman at heart, sir, in spite of
his business, sir. When in need of liquid
refreshment, Mr. Winthrop, you will find
his place the best in town, sir, and you may
always depend on receiving courteous
treatment.”</p>

<p>The post-office, toward which they bent
their steps after breasting Mr. “Cad” Wilson’s
swinging doors, proved to be a veritable
stamping-ground for Corunna’s celebrities.
There Winthrop was introduced
to the Reverend Mr. Fillock, the Presbyterian
minister; to Mr. “Ham” Somes, the
proprietor of the principal drug store; to
Colonel Byers, in from his plantation a
few miles outside of town to look up an
express shipment, and the postmaster himself,
Major Warren, who displayed an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span>
empty sleeve and, as Winthrop’s guide explained,
still never took a drink without
preceding it with the toast, “Secession,
sah!”</p>

<p>When Colonel Byers alluded to the missing
express package the Major chuckled.</p>

<p>“Colonel,” he said, “’taint another of
those boxes of hardware, is it?”</p>

<p>The Colonel laughed and shook his head,
and the Major turned to Winthrop with
twinkling eyes.</p>

<p>“You see, Mr. Winthrop, the Colonel got
a box of hardware by express some years
ago; from Savannah, wan’t it, Colonel?”</p>

<p>“Atlanta, sir.”</p>

<p>“Well, anyhow, the Colonel was busy
and didn’t get into town right away, and
one day he got a letter from the express
agent, saying: ‘Please call for your box
of hardware as it’s leaking all over the
floor.’”</p>

<p>The Colonel appeared to enjoy the story
quite as much as the Major, and Winthrop
found their mirth quite as laugh-provoking
as the tale.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span></p>

<p>“And I have heard that the Colonel
never got to town in as quick time as he
did then!”</p>

<p>“Morning, Harry,” said the Major,
turning to the newcomer. “I reckon you
heard just about right, Harry. I want to
introduce you to my friend Mr. Winthrop,
of New York, sir. Mr. Winthrop, shake
hands with Mr. Bartow. Mr. Bartow, sir,
represents us at the Capital.”</p>

<p>“I’m honored to make your acquaintance,
sir,” said the Honorable Mr. Bartow.
“You are staying with us for awhile,
sir?”</p>

<p>“Yes, probably for a few months,” replied
Winthrop.</p>

<p>“Good, sir; I am pleased to hear it. You
must give me the pleasure of taking dinner
with me some day, sir. I’ll get the
Major to arrange it at your convenience.”</p>

<p>“And bring Mr. Winthrop out to Sunnyside,
Lucius,” said the Colonel. “Some
Sunday would be best, I reckon.”</p>

<p>Winthrop accepted the invitations—or
perhaps the Major did it for him—and after<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span>
shaking hands with the Colonel and the
Honorable Harry Bartow he was conducted
forth by his guide. Their course along
the sunlit street was often interrupted,
and Winthrop’s list of acquaintances grew
with each interruption. It was quite evident
that being vouched for by Major Lucius
Quintus Cass stood for a good deal,
and in every case Winthrop’s welcome was
impressively courteous. Once or twice the
Major was stopped by men to whom Winthrop
was not introduced. After one such
occasion the Major said, as they went on:</p>

<p>“Not one of our kind, Mr. Winthrop;
his acquaintance would be of no benefit,
sir.”</p>

<p>Winthrop noticed that not once did the
Major in his introductions allude to the
former’s ownership of Waynewood. And
evidently the Major concluded that the fact
required elucidation, for when they had
finally returned to the corner where stood
the Major’s office the latter said:</p>

<p>“You may have observed, Mr. Winthrop,
that I have not mentioned your<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span>
ownership of Waynewood. I thought it as
well not to, sir, for as you do not intend to
take possession this winter there can be
no harm in allowing folks to remain in ignorance
of—ah—the change. It will make
it much easier, sir, for Miss India and her
niece. You agree with me?”</p>

<p>“Entirely,” replied Winthrop, suppressing
a smile. “We will keep the fact
a secret for awhile, Major.”</p>

<p>“Quite so, sir, quite so. And now, sir,
I should be delighted if you would take
dinner with me at the hotel, if you will be
so kind.”</p>

<p>But Winthrop declined and, thanking
the other for his kindness, shook hands and
turned his steps homeward, or, at least, toward
Waynewood; he had begun to doubt
his possession of that place.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII">VIII.</h2>
</div>


<p>Winthrop had been at Waynewood a
week—a week of which one day had been
so like the next that Winthrop remembered
them all with impartial haziness and content.
It was delightful to have nothing
more startling to look forward to than a
quail-shoot, a dinner at Sunnyside, or a
game of whist in town; to have each day
as alike in mellowness and sunshine as they
were similar in events, pass softly across
the garden, from shadow to shadow, the
while he watched its passage with tranquilly
smiling eyes and inert body from
the seat under the magnolia or a chair on
the quiet porch.</p>

<p>The past became the flimsiest of ghosts,
the future a mere insignificant speck on
the far horizon. What mattered it that
once his heart had ached? That he was
practically penniless? That somewhere<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span>
men were hurrying and striving for
wealth? The sky was hazily blue, the sunlight
was wine of gold, the southern breeze
was the soothing touch of a soft and fragrant
hand that bade him rest and sleep, for
there was no yesterday and no morrow,
and the taste of lotus was sweet in his
mouth. The mornings danced brightly
past to the lilt of bird song; the afternoons
paced more leisurely, crossing the tangled
garden with measured, somnolent tread so
quiet that not a leaf stirred, not a bird
chirped in the enfolding silence; the evenings
grew from purple haze, fragrant with
wood-smoke, to blue-black clarity set with
a million silver stars whose soft radiance
bathed the still world with tender light.
Such days and such nights have a spell,
and Winthrop was bound.</p>

<p>And Holly? Fate, although she was still
unsuspecting of the fact, had toppled the
stone into the stream and the ripples were
already widening. Winthrop’s coming had
been an event. Holly had her friends, girls
of her own age, who came to Waynewood<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span>
to see her and whom she visited in town,
and young men in the early twenties who
walked or drove out in the evenings, when
their duties in the stores and offices were
over, and made very chivalrous and distant
love to her in the parlor. But for all
that many of the days had been long with
only Aunt India, who was not exactly
chatty, and the servants to talk to. But
now it was different. This charming and
delightfully inexplicable Northerner was
fair prey. He was never too busy to listen
to her; in fact, he was seldom busy at all,
unless sitting, sometimes with a closed
book in one’s lap, and gazing peacefully
into space may be termed being busy. They
had quite exciting mornings together very
often, exciting, at least, for Holly, when
she unburdened herself of a wealth of reflections
and conclusions and when he listened
with the most agreeable attention in
the world and always said just the right
thing to tempt her tongue to more brilliant
ardor.</p>

<p>And then in the afternoons, while Aunt<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span>
India slept and Holly couldn’t, just because
the blood ran far too fast in her young
veins, there were less stimulating but very
comforting talks in the shade of the porch.
And sometimes they walked, but,—for
Holly had inherited the characteristic disinclination
for overindulgence in that form
of exercise,—not very frequently. Holly
would have indorsed the proverb—Persian,
isn’t it?—which says, in part, that it
is easier to sit than to stand and easier to
lie down than to sit. And Winthrop at
this period would have agreed with her.
Judged by Northern standards, Holly
might have been deemed lazy. But we
must remember that Holly came of people
who had never felt the necessity of physical
exertion, since there had always been
slaves at hand to perform the slightest
task, and for whom the climate had prohibited
any inclination in that direction.
Holly’s laziness was that of a kitten, which
seldom goes out to walk for pleasure but
which will romp until its breath is gone
or stalk a sparrow for an hour untiringly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span></p>

<p>By the end of the first week she and
Winthrop had become the very good
friends they had agreed to be. They had
reached the point where it was no longer
necessary to preface their conversation
with an introduction. Now when Holly
had anything to say—and she usually did—she
plunged right in without any preliminary
shivers. As this morning when, having
given out the supplies for the day to
Aunt Venus, she joined Winthrop under
the magnolia, settling her back against the
trunk and clasping her hands about her
knees, “I reckon there are two sides to
everything,” she said, with the air of one
who is announcing the result of long study.</p>

<p>Winthrop, who had arisen at her approach
and remained standing until she
had seated herself, settled back again and
smiled encouragingly. He liked to hear
her talk, liked the soft coo of her voice,
liked the things she said, liked, besides, to
watch the play of expression on her face.</p>

<p>“Father always said that the Yankees
had no right to interfere with the South<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span>
and that it wasn’t war with them, it was
just homicide. Homicide’s where you kill
someone else, isn’t it? I always get it
mixed up with suicide.”</p>

<p>Winthrop nodded.</p>

<p>“That’s what he used to say, and I’m
sure he believed it or he’d never have said
it. But maybe he was mistaken. Was he,
do you think?”</p>

<p>“He might have been a trifle biased,”
said Winthrop.</p>

<p>Holly was silent a moment. Then——</p>

<p>“Uncle Major,” she continued, “used to
argue with him, but father always had the
best of it. I reckon, though, you Northerners
are sorry now, aren’t you?”</p>

<p>“Sorry that there was war, yes,” answered
Winthrop, smilingly; “but not
sorry for what we did.”</p>

<p>“But if it was wrong?” argued Holly.
“’Pears to me you ought to be sorry!
Just see the heaps and heaps of trouble
you made for the South! Julian says that
you ought to have paid us for every negro
you took away from us.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span></p>

<p>“Indeed? And who, may I ask, is Julian?”</p>

<p>“Julian Wayne is my cousin, my second
cousin. He graduated from medical college
last year. He lives in Marysville, over
yonder.” Holly nodded vaguely toward
the grove.</p>

<p>“Practising, is he?”</p>

<p>“He’s Dr. Thompson’s assistant,” said
Holly. “He’s getting experience. After
awhile he’s going to come to Corunna.”
There was a pause. “He’s coming over
to-morrow to spend Sunday.”</p>

<p>“Really? And does he make these trips
very often?”</p>

<p>“Oh, every now and then,” answered
Holly, carelessly.</p>

<p>“Perhaps there is an attraction hereabouts,”
suggested Winthrop.</p>

<p>“Maybe it’s Aunt India,” said Holly,
gravely.</p>

<p>Winthrop laughed.</p>

<p>“Is he nice, this Cousin Julian?” he
asked.</p>

<p>Holly nodded.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span></p>

<p>“He’s a dear boy. He’s very young yet,
only twenty-three.”</p>

<p>“And eighteen from twenty-three leaves
five,” teased Winthrop. “I’ve heard, I
think, that ten is the ideal disparity in
years for purposes of marriage, but doubtless
five isn’t to be sneezed at.”</p>

<p>Holly’s smooth cheeks reddened a little.</p>

<p>“A girl ought to marry a man much
older than herself,” she said, decisively.</p>

<p>“Oh! Then Julian won’t do?”</p>

<p>“I haven’t decided,” Holly laughed.
“Maybe. He’s nice. I wonder if you’ll
like him. Will you try to, please? He—he’s
awfully down on Northerners,
though.”</p>

<p>“That’s bad,” said Winthrop, seriously.
“Perhaps he won’t approve of me. Do
you think I’d better run away over Sunday?
I might go out to visit Colonel
Byers; he’s asked me.”</p>

<p>“Silly!” said Holly. “He won’t eat
you!”</p>

<p>“Well, that’s comforting. I’ll stay,
then. The dislike of Northerners seems to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span>
be a strong trait in your family, Miss
Holly.”</p>

<p>“Oh, some Northerners are quite nice,”
she answered, with a challenging glance.</p>

<p>“I wonder,” he asked, with intense diffidence,
“I wonder—if I’m included among
the quite nice ones?”</p>

<p>“What do you think, Mr. Winthrop?”</p>

<p>“Well, I’ve always thought rather well
of myself until I came to Corunna. But
now that I have learned just how poor a
lot Northerners are, I find myself rather
more modest.”</p>

<p>Winthrop sighed depressedly.</p>

<p>“I’ll change it,” said Holly, her eyes
dancing. “I’ll say instead that <em>one</em> Northerner
is very nice.”</p>

<p>“You said ‘quite nice’ before.”</p>

<p>“That just shows that I like you better
every minute,” laughed the girl.</p>

<p>Winthrop sighed.</p>

<p>“It’s a dangerous course you’re pursuing,
Miss Holly,” he said, sadly. “If you
aren’t awfully careful you’ll lose a good
slave and find a poor admirer.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span></p>

<p>“My admirers must be my slaves, too,”
answered Holly.</p>

<p>“I am warned. I thank you. I could
never play a dual rôle, I fear.”</p>

<p>Holly pouted.</p>

<p>“Then which do you choose?” she asked,
aggrievedly.</p>

<p>“To be your slave, my dear young lady;
I fancy that rôle would be more becoming
to middle-age and, at all events, far less
hazardous.”</p>

<p>“But if I command you to admire me
you’ll have to, you see; slaves must obey.”</p>

<p>“I haven’t waited for the command,”
replied Winthrop.</p>

<p>“You blow hot and cold, sir. First you
refuse to be my admirer and then you declare
that you do admire me. What am I
to believe?”</p>

<p>“That my heart and brain are at war,
Miss Holly. My heart says: ‘Down on
your knees!’ but my brain says: ‘Don’t
you do it, my boy; she’ll lead you a dance
that your aged limbs won’t take kindly to,
and in the end she’ll run out of your sight,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span>
laughing, leaving you to sorrow and liniment!”</p>

<p>“You have as good as called me a coquette,
Mr. Winthrop,” charged Holly, severely.</p>

<p>“Have I? And, pray, what have you
been doing for the last ten minutes but coquetting
with me, young lady? Tell me
that.”</p>

<p>“Have I?” asked Holly, with a soft little
laugh. “Do you mind?”</p>

<p>“Mind? On the contrary, do you know,
I rather like it? So go right ahead; you
are keeping your hand in, and at the same
time flattering the vanity of one who has
reached the age when to be used even for
target practice is flattering.”</p>

<p>“Your age troubles you a great deal,
doesn’t it?” asked Holly, ironically.
“Please, why do you always remind me of
it? Are you afraid that I’ll lose my heart
to you and that you’ll have to refuse me?”</p>

<p>“Well, you have seen me for a week,”
answered Winthrop, modestly, “and know
my irresistible charm.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span></p>

<p>Holly was silent a moment, her brown
eyes fixed speculatively on the man’s smiling
face. Then——</p>

<p>“You must feel awfully safe,” she said,
with conviction, “to talk the way you do.
And I reckon I know why.”</p>

<p>“And may I know, too?”</p>

<p>“No; that is, you do know already,
and I’m not going to tell you. Oh, what
time is it, please?”</p>

<p>Winthrop drew out his watch and then,
with a shrug, dropped it back into his
pocket.</p>

<p>“I can’t tell you. The fact is, I forgot
to wind it last night. Why should I wind
it, anyhow? What does it matter what
time it is in this place? If the sun is
there, I know it’s morning; if it’s somewhere
overhead, I know it’s noon; when it
drops behind the trees, I know it’s evening;
when it disappears, I know it’s night—and
I go to sleep. Watches and clocks
are anachronisms here. Like arctics and
fur overcoats.”</p>

<p>“I shall go and find out,” said Holly,
rising.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span></p>

<p>“Why waste time and effort in the pursuit
of unprofitable knowledge?” sighed
Winthrop. But he received no answer, for
his companion was already making her
way through the garden. Winthrop laid
his head back against the tree and, with
half-closed eyes, smiled lazily and contentedly
up into the brown-and-green leafage
above. And as he did so a thought came
to him, a most ridiculous, inappropriate
thought, a veritable serpent-in-Eden
thought; he wondered what “A. S. common”
was selling for! He drove the
thought away angrily. What nonsense!
If he wasn’t careful he’d find himself trying
to remember the amount of his balance
in bank! Odd what absurd turns the mind
was capable of! Well, the only way to
keep his mind away from idle speculation
was to turn his thoughts toward serious
and profitable subjects. So he wondered
why the magnolia leaves were covered with
green satin on top and tan velvet beneath.
But before he had arrived at any conclusion
Holly came back, bearing a glass containing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span>
a milky-white liquid and a silver
spoon.</p>

<div class="figright" id="i_p163">
  <img src="images/i_p163.jpg" alt="Holly bearing medicine" title="Holly bearing medicine">
</div>

<p>“It’s past the time,” she said.</p>

<p>“Then you shouldn’t have bothered to
bring it,” answered Winthrop, regretfully.
“But never mind; we’ll try and remember
it at supper time.”</p>

<p>“But you must take it now,” persisted
Holly, firmly.</p>

<p>“But I fear it wouldn’t
do any good. You see,
your Aunt said distinctly
an hour before meals.
The psychological moment
has passed, greatly
to my rel—regret.”</p>

<p>“Please!” said Holly,
holding the glass toward
him. “You know it’s doing
you heaps of good.”</p>

<p>“Yes, but that’s just it, don’t you see,
Miss Holly? If I continue to take it I’ll
be quite well in no time, and that would
never do. Would you deprive your Aunt
of the pleasure she is now enjoying of dosing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span>
me thrice a day with the most nauseous
mixture that was ever invented?”</p>

<p>“Shucks! It isn’t so terribly bad,”
laughed Holly.</p>

<p>Winthrop observed her sternly.</p>

<p>“Have you sampled it, may I ask?”</p>

<p>Holly shook her head.</p>

<p>“Then please do so. It will do you lots
of good, besides preventing you from making
any more well-meant but inaccurate
remarks. And you have been looking a
bit pale the last day or two, Miss Holly.”</p>

<p>Holly viewed the mixture dubiously, hesitatingly.</p>

<p>“Besides, you said ‘Shucks,’ and you
owe yourself punishment.”</p>

<p>“Well——” Holly swallowed a spoonful,
tried not to shiver, and absolutely
succeeded in smiling brightly afterwards.</p>

<p>“Well?” asked Winthrop, anxiously.</p>

<p>“I—I think it has calomel in it,” said
Holly.</p>

<p>“I feared it.” He shook his head and
warded off the proffered glass. “I am a
homœopath.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span></p>

<p>“You’re a baby, that’s what you are!”
said Holly, tauntingly.</p>

<p>“Ha! No one shall accuse me of cowardice.”
He clenched his hands. “Administer
it, please.”</p>

<p>Holly moved toward him until her skirt
brushed his knees. As she dipped the
spoon a faint flush crept into her cheeks.
Winthrop saw, and understood.</p>

<p>“No, give it to me,” he said. “I will
feed myself. Then, no matter what happens—and
I fear the worst!—you will not
be implicated.”</p>

<p>Holly yielded the glass and moved back,
watching him sympathetically while he
swallowed two spoonfuls of the medicine.</p>

<p>“Was it awfully bad?” she asked, as he
passed the glass to her with a shudder.</p>

<p>Winthrop reflected. Then:</p>

<p>“Frankly, it was,” he replied. “But it’s
a good deal like having your teeth filled;
it’s almost worth it for the succeeding glow
of courage and virtue and relief it brings.
Put it out of sight, please, and let us talk
of pleasant things.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span></p>

<p>“What?” asked Holly, as she sat down
once more on the bench.</p>

<p>“Well, let me see. Suppose, Miss Holly,
you tell me how you came to have such a
charming and unusual name.”</p>

<p>“My mother gave it to me,” answered
Holly, softly. “She was very fond of
holly.”</p>

<p>“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Winthrop.
“It was an impertinent question.”</p>

<p>“Oh, no. My mother only lived a little
while after I was born—about five weeks.
She died on New Year’s morning. On
Christmas Day father picked a spray of
holly from one of the bushes down by the
road. It was quite full of red berries and
so pretty that he took it in to my mother.
Father said she took it in her hands and
cried a little over it, and he was sorry he
had brought it to her. They had laid me
beside her in the bed and presently she
placed the holly sprig over me and kissed
me and looked at father. She couldn’t
talk very much then. But father understood
what she meant. ‘Holly?’ he asked,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span>
and mother smiled, and—and that was
‘how come.’” Holly, her hands clasped
between her knees, looked gravely and
tenderly away across the sunny garden.
Winthrop kept silence for a moment.
Then——</p>

<p>“I fancy they loved each other very
dearly, your father and mother,” he said.</p>

<p>“Oh, they did!” breathed Holly. “Father
used to tell me—about it. He always
said I was just like my mother. It—it
must have been beautiful. Do you
reckon,” she continued wistfully, “people
love that way nowadays?”</p>

<p>“To-day, yesterday, and to-morrow,”
answered Winthrop. “The great passions—love,
hate, acquisitiveness—are the same
now as in the beginning, and will never
change while the earth spins around. I
hope, Miss Holly, that the years will bring
you as great a love and as happy a one as
your mother’s.”</p>

<p>Holly viewed him pensively a moment.
Then a little flush crept into her cheeks
and she turned her head away.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span></p>

<p>“No,” she said, “I’m not dear and sweet
and gentle like my mother. Besides,
maybe I’d never find a man like my
father.”</p>

<p>“Perhaps not,” replied Winthrop, “although
I hope you will. But even if not, I
wouldn’t despair. Love is a very wonderful
magician, who transmutes clay into gold,
transforms baseness into nobility, and
changes caitiffs into kings.” He laughed
amusedly. “Great Scott! I’m actually
becoming rhetorical! It’s this climate of
yours, Miss Holly; there is something magical
about it; it creeps into one’s veins like
wine and makes one’s heart thump at the
sound of a bird’s song. Why, hang it, in
another week I shall find myself singing
love songs under your window on moonlight
nights!”</p>

<p>“Oh, that would be lovely!” cried Holly,
clapping her hands. “I haven’t been serenaded
for the longest time!”</p>

<p>“Do you mean that such things are
really done here?”</p>

<p>“Of course! The boys often serenade.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span>
When I came home from the Academy, Julian
and a lot of them serenaded me. It
was a white, white night and they stood
over there under my windows; I remember
how black their shadows were on the path.
Julian and Jim Stuart played guitars and
some of the others had banjos, and it was
heavenly!”</p>

<p>“And such things still happen in this
prematurely-aged, materialistic world!”
marvelled Winthrop. “It sounds like a
fairy tale!”</p>

<p>“I reckon it sounds silly to you,” said
Holly.</p>

<p>“Silly! Oh, my dear young lady, if you
could only realize how very, very rich you
are!”</p>

<p>“Rich?”</p>

<p>“Yes, rich and wise with the unparalleled
wealth and wisdom of Youth!
Hearken to the words of Age and Experience,
Miss Holly,” he continued, half jestingly,
half seriously. “The world belongs
to you and your kind; it is the Kingdom of
Youth. The rest of us are here on sufferance;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span>
but you belong. The world tolerates
Age, but to Youth it owes allegiance
and love. But your days are short in your
kingdom, O Queen, so make the most of
them; laugh and play and love and <em>live</em>;
above all, live! And above all be extravagant,
extravagant of laughter—and of
tears; extravagant of affection; run the
gamut of life every hour; be mad, be foolish—but
<em>live</em>! And so when the World
thrusts you to one side, saying: ‘The King
is dead! Long live the King!’ you will
have no regrets for a wasted reign, but
can say: ‘While I ruled, I lived!’”</p>

<p>“I—I don’t understand—quite!” faltered
Holly.</p>

<p>“Because you are too wise.”</p>

<p>“I reckon you mean too stupid,”
mourned Holly.</p>

<p>“Too wise. You are Youth, and Youth
is Perfect Wisdom. When you grow old
you will know more but be less wise. And
the longer you live the more learning will
come to you and the more wisdom will depart.
And in proof of this I point to myself<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span>
as an example. For no wise person
would try to convince Youth of its wisdom.”
Winthrop stopped and drew his
cigarette-case from his pocket. When he
had lighted a cigarette he smiled quizzically
across at the girl’s sober, half-averted face.
“It’s very warm, isn’t it?” he asked, with
a little laugh.</p>

<p>But Holly made no reply for a minute.
Then she turned a troubled face toward
him.</p>

<p>“Why did you say that?” she cried.
“You’ve made me feel sad!”</p>

<p>With a gesture of contrition Winthrop
reached across and laid his hand for an
instant on hers.</p>

<p>“My dear, I am sorry; forget it if it
troubles you; I have been talking nonsense,
sheer nonsense.”</p>

<p>But she shook her head, examining his
face gravely.</p>

<p>“No, I don’t reckon you have; but—I
don’t understand quite what you mean.
Only——” She paused, and presently
asked:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span></p>

<p>“Didn’t you live when you ruled? Are
you regretting?”</p>

<p>Winthrop shrugged his shoulders.</p>

<p>“That,” he answered, smilingly, “is the
sorry part of it; one always regrets.
Come, let’s go in to dinner. I heard the
bell, didn’t I?”</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="IX">IX.</h2>
</div>


<p>Winthrop thought that he could like
Julian Wayne if that youth would let him.
But it was evident from the moment of
their first meeting that Julian wasn’t going
to allow anything of the sort. He arrived
at Waynewood Saturday night, and
Winthrop, who had spent the evening with
the Major at ’Squire Parish’s house, did
not meet him until Sunday morning. He
was tall, dark haired and sallow complexioned,
and as handsome as any youth Winthrop
had ever seen. His features were
regular, with a fine, straight nose, wide
eyes, a strong chin and a good, somewhat
tense, mouth that matched with the general
air of imperiousness he wore. Winthrop
soon discovered that Julian Wayne retained
undiminished the old Southern doctrine
of caste and that he looked upon the
new member of the Waynewood household<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span>
with a polite but very frank contempt. He
was ardent, impetuous, and arrogant, but
they were traits of youth rather than of
character, and Winthrop, for his part,
readily forgave them. That he was head-over-heels
in love with Holly was evident
from the first, and Winthrop could have
liked him the more for that. But Julian’s
bearing was discouraging to any notions of
friendship which Winthrop might have entertained.
For Winthrop breakfast—which
Miss India attended, as was her
usual custom on Sundays—was an uncomfortable
meal. He felt very much like an
intruder, in spite of the fact that both Miss
India and Holly strove to include him in
the conversation, and he was relieved when
it was over.</p>

<p>Julian imperiously claimed Holly’s companionship
and the two went out to the
front porch. Miss India attended to the
matter of dinner supplies, and then returned
to her room to dress for church.
Being cut off from the porch, Winthrop
went up-stairs and took a chair and a book<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span>
out on to the gallery. But the voices of
the two below came up to him in a low,
eager hum, interspersed with occasional
words, and drew his mind from the book.
He was a little disappointed in Julian
Wayne, he told himself. He could have
wished a different sort of a man for
Holly’s husband. And then he laughed at
himself for inconsistency. Only two days
before he had been celebrating just the
youthful traits which Julian exhibited.
Doubtless the boy would make her a very
admirable mate. At least, he was thoroughly
in love with her. Winthrop strove
to picture the ideal husband for Holly and
found himself all at sea on the instant, and
ended by wondering whimsically how long
he would allow Julian undisputed possession
of her if he were fifteen—even ten—years
younger!</p>

<p>Later they all walked to church, Julian
and Holly leading the way, as handsome a
couple as had ever passed under the whispering
oak-trees, and Winthrop and Miss
India pacing staidly along behind—at a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span>
discreet interval. Miss India’s bearing toward
him amused Winthrop even while it
piqued him. She was the most kind, most
courteous little woman in the world to him,
displaying a vast interest in and sympathy
for his invalidism, and keeping an anxious
watch over his goings and comings in the
fear that he would overtax his strength.
And yet all the while Winthrop knew as
well as he knew his name that she resented
his ownership of her home and would be
vastly relieved at his departure. And
knowing this, he, on every possible occasion,
set himself to win the little lady’s
liking, with, he was forced to acknowledge,
scant prospect of success.</p>

<p>Winthrop sat between Miss India and
Holly, with Julian at the end of the pew. It
was his first sight of the little, unadorned
Episcopal church, for he had not accompanied
the ladies the previous Sunday. It
was a plain, uncompromising interior in
which he found himself. The bare white
walls were broken only by big, small-paned
windows of plain glass. The pews were of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span>
yellow pine and the pulpit and stiff chairs
on either side were of the same. The only
note of decoration was found in the vase
of roses which stood beside the big closed
Bible. A cottage organ supplied the music.
But there was color in the congregation,
for the younger women wore their
best dresses and finest hats, and Winthrop
concluded that all Corunna was at church.
For awhile he interested himself in discovering
acquaintances, many of them
scarcely recognizable to-day in their black
coats and air of devoutness. But the possibilities
of that mode of amusement were
soon exhausted, since the Wayne pew was
well past the middle of the church. After
the sermon began Winthrop listened to it
for awhile. Probably it was a very excellent
and passably interesting sermon, but
the windows were wide open and the
languorous air waved softly, warmly in,
and Winthrop’s eyes grew heavier and
heavier and the pulpit mistier and mistier
and the parson’s voice lower and lower
and....</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span></p>

<p>He opened his eyes very suddenly, for
Holly had reached forth and brought the
toe of her shoe into sharp contact with his
ankle. He turned to find her watching him
with grave face and laughing eyes, and he
looked his thanks. Then his eyes roved by
to encounter the hostile stare of Julian,
who had witnessed the incident and was
jealously resenting the intimacy it denoted.</p>

<p>After church the party delayed at the
door to greet their friends. Julian, with
the easy courtesy that so well became him,
shook hands with fully half the congregation,
answering and asking questions in
his pleasant, well-bred drawl. Winthrop
wondered pessimistically if he had in mind
the fact that in another year or so he would
be dependent on these persons for his
bread and butter. But Julian’s punctiliousness
gave Winthrop his chance. Miss
India and Holly had finished their share
of the social event and had walked slowly
out on to the porch, followed by Winthrop.
Presently Julian emerged through the door<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span>
in conversation with Mrs. Somes, and Winthrop
turned to Holly.</p>

<p>“There comes your cousin,” he said.
“Shall we start on ahead and let them follow?”</p>

<p>There was a little flicker of surprise in
the brown eyes, followed by the merest
suggestion of a smile. Then Holly moved
toward the steps and Winthrop ranged
himself beside her.</p>

<p>“A little discipline now and then has a
salutary effect, Miss Holly,” he remarked,
as they passed out through the gate.</p>

<p>“Oh, are you doing this for discipline?”
asked Holly, innocently.</p>

<p>“I am doing it to please myself, discipline
your cousin, and—well, I don’t know
what the effect on you may be.”</p>

<p>“I believe you’re hinting for compliments,
Mr. Winthrop!”</p>

<p>“Maybe; I’ve been feeling strangely
frivolous of late. By the way, please accept
my undying gratitude for that kick.”</p>

<p>“You ought to be grateful,” answered
Holly, with a laugh. “In another moment<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span>
your head would have been on Auntie’s
shoulder and—I hope you don’t snore, Mr.
Winthrop?”</p>

<p>“Heavens! Was it as bad as that? I
<em>am</em> grateful! Fancy your Aunt’s horror!”
And Winthrop laughed at the
thought.</p>

<p>“Oh, Auntie would have just thought
you’d fainted and had you carried home
and put to bed,” said Holly.</p>

<p>“I wonder how much you know?” mused
Winthrop, turning to look down into her
demure face.</p>

<p>“About what, Mr. Winthrop?”</p>

<p>“About my—my invalidism.”</p>

<p>“Why, you’re a very sick man, of
course,” replied Holly. “Auntie is quite
worried about you at times.”</p>

<p>Winthrop laughed.</p>

<p>“But you’re not, I suspect. I fancy you
have guessed that I am something of an
impostor. Have you?”</p>

<p>“Mh-mh,” assented Holly, smilingly.</p>

<p>“I thought so; you’ve been so fearfully
attentive with that—lovely medicine of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span>
late. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself to
cause me so much affliction?”</p>

<p>“Aren’t you ashamed to impose on two
unsuspecting ladies?”</p>

<p>“Well, seeing that I haven’t fooled you
I don’t think you need to say ‘two.’ But
I’m not altogether to blame, Miss Holly.
It was that scheming Uncle Major of yours
that beguiled me into it. He declared up
and down that if I wanted to remain at
Waynewood the only thing to do was to
continue being an invalid. And now—well,
now I don’t dare get well!”</p>

<p>Holly laughed gayly.</p>

<p>“If you had owned up before, you would
have been spared a good many doses of
medicine,” she said. “It was lots of fun
to make you take it! But now I don’t
reckon I’ll have the heart to any more.”</p>

<p>“Bless you for those words!” said Winthrop,
devoutly. “That infernal medicine
has been the one fly in my ointment, the
single crumbled leaf in my bed of roses.
Hereafter I shall be perfectly happy.
That is, if I survive the day. I fancy your<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span>
cousin may call me out before he leaves
and put a bullet into me.”</p>

<p>“Why?” asked Holly, innocently.</p>

<p>“Jealousy, my dear young lady.
Haven’t I carried you off from under his
nose?”</p>

<p>“I don’t reckon I’d have gone if I hadn’t
wanted to,” said Holly, with immense dignity.</p>

<p>“That makes it all the worse, don’t you
see? He is convinced by this time that I
have designs on you and looks upon me as
a hated rival. I can feel his eyes boring
gimlet-holes in my back this moment.”</p>

<p>“It will do him good,” said Holly, with
a little toss of her head.</p>

<p>“That’s what I thought,” said Winthrop.
“But I doubt if he is capable of
taking the same sensible view of it.”</p>

<p>“I’m afraid you don’t like him,” said
Holly, regretfully.</p>

<p>“My dear Miss Holly,” he expostulated,
“he doesn’t give me a chance. I am as dirt
under his feet. I think I might like him
if he’d give me chance. He’s as handsome<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span>
a youngster as I’ve ever seen, and I fancy
I can trace a strong resemblance between
him and the portrait of your father in the
parlor; the eyes are very like.”</p>

<p>“Others have said that,” answered
Holly, “but I never could see the resemblance;
I wish I could.”</p>

<p>“I assure you it’s there.”</p>

<p>“Julian is very silly,” said Holly,
warmly. “And I shall tell him so.”</p>

<p>“Pray don’t,” begged Winthrop. “He
doubtless already dislikes me quite heartily
enough.”</p>

<p>“He has no right to be rude to you.”</p>

<p>Winthrop smiled ruefully.</p>

<p>“But he isn’t; that’s the worst of it!
He’s scrupulously polite—just as one
would be polite to the butler or the man
from the butcher’s! No, don’t call him to
account, please; we shall get on well
enough, he and I. Maybe when he discovers
that I am not really trying to steal you
away from him he will come off his high
horse. I suppose, however, that the real
reason for it all is that he resents my intrusion<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span>
at Waynewood—quite in the popular
manner.”</p>

<p>He regretted the latter remark the instant
he had made it, for Holly turned a
distressed countenance toward him.</p>

<p>“Oh, have we been as bad as all that?”
she cried, softly. “I’m so sorry! But
really and really you mustn’t think that
we don’t like you to be at Waynewood!
You won’t, will you? Please don’t! Why,
I—I have been so happy since you came!”</p>

<p>“Bless you,” answered Winthrop,
lightly, “I really meant nothing. And if
you are willing to put up with me, why,
the others don’t matter at all. But I’m awfully
glad to know that you haven’t found
me a bother, Miss Holly.”</p>

<p>“How could I? You’ve been so nice and—and
chummy! I shan’t want you to go
away,” she added, sorrowfully. “I feel
just as though you were a nice, big elder
brother.”</p>

<p>“That’s just what I am,” replied Winthrop,
heartily, “a big elder brother—<em>and</em>
a slave—and <em>always</em> an admirer.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span></p>

<p>“And I shall tell Julian so,” added
Holly.</p>

<p>“I wouldn’t, really.”</p>

<p>“But why?”</p>

<p>“Oh, well, you’ll just make him more
jealous and unhappy, my dear. Or, at
least, that’s the effect it would have on me
were I in his place, and I fancy lovers are
much the same North and South.”</p>

<p>“Jealousy is nasty,” said Holly, sententiously.</p>

<p>“Many of our most human sentiments
are,” responded Winthrop dryly, “but we
can’t help them.”</p>

<p>Holly was silent a moment. Then——</p>

<p>“Would you mind not calling me ‘my
dear’?” she asked.</p>

<p>“Have I done that? I believe I have. I
beg your pardon, Miss Holly! Really, I
had no intention of being—what shall I
say?—familiar.”</p>

<p>“Oh, it isn’t that,” replied Holly earnestly,
“but it makes me feel so terribly
young! If you’d like to call me Holly, you
may.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span></p>

<p>“Thank you,” answered Winthrop as
they entered the gate and passed into the
noonday twilight of the oleander path.
“But that is a privilege I don’t deserve,
at all events, not yet. Perhaps some day,
maybe the day I dance at your wedding,
I’ll accept the honor.”</p>

<p>“Just see how many, many roses are
out!” cried Holly.</p>

<p>They went on to the house in silence.</p>

<p>Dinner was a pleasanter meal for Winthrop
than breakfast had been, principally
because the Major and a Miss Virginia
Parish, a maiden lady of uncertain age and
much charm of manners, were present.
The Major observed and resented Julian’s
polite disregard of Winthrop and after
dinner took him to task for it. The ladies
were in the parlor, Winthrop had gone up-stairs
to get some cigars, and the Major
and Julian were at the end of the porch.
It was perhaps unfortunate that Winthrop
should have been forced to overhear a part
of the conversation under his window.</p>

<p>“You don’t treat the gentleman with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span>
common civility,” remonstrated the Major,
warmly.</p>

<p>“I am not aware that I have been discourteous
to him,” responded Julian in his
drawling voice.</p>

<p>The Major spluttered.</p>

<p>“Gad, sir, what do you mean by discourteous?
You can’t turn your back on
a man at his own table without being discourteous!
Confound it, sir, remember
that you’re under his roof!”</p>

<p>“I do remember it,” answered Julian
quickly. “I’m not likely to forget it, sir.
But how did it become his roof? How
did he get hold of it? Some damned Yankee
trick, I’ll wager; stole it, as like as
not!”</p>

<p>“Tut, tut, sir! What language is that,
Julian? Mr. Winthrop——”</p>

<p>But Winthrop waited to hear no more.
With the cigars he joined them on the
porch, finding the Major very red of face
and looking somewhat like an insulted turkey-cock,
and Julian with a sombre sneer
on his dark face. Julian declined the proffered<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span>
cigar and presently left the others
alone, taking himself off in search of
Holly. The Major waved a hand after
him, and scowled angrily.</p>

<p>“Just like his father,” he grunted.
“Hot-headed, stubborn, badly balanced,
handsome as the devil and bound to come
just such a cropper in the end.”</p>

<p>“You mean that his father was unfortunate?”
asked Winthrop idly, as he
lighted his cigar.</p>

<p>“Shot himself for a woman, sir. Most
nonsensical proceeding I ever heard of.
The woman wasn’t worth it, sir.”</p>

<p>“They seldom are,” commented Winthrop,
gravely, “in the opinion of others.”</p>

<p>“She was married,” continued the Major,
unheeding the remark, “and had children;
fine little tots they were, too. Husband
was good as gold to her. But she had
to have Fernald Wayne to satisfy her
damned vanity. I beg your pardon, Mr.
Winthrop, but I have no patience with that
sort of women, sir!”</p>

<p>“You don’t understand them.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span></p>

<p>“I don’t want to, sir.”</p>

<p>“You couldn’t if you did,” replied Winthrop.</p>

<p>The Major shot a puzzled glance at him,
rolling his unlighted cigar swiftly around
in the corner of his mouth. Then he deluged
the Baltimore Bell with tobacco-juice
and went on:</p>

<p>“Fernald was plumb out of his head
about her. His own wife had been dead
some years. Nothing would do but she
must run away with him. Well——”</p>

<p>“Did the lady live here?” asked Winthrop.</p>

<p>“Godamighty, no, sir! We don’t breed
that kind here, sir! She lived in New Orleans;
her husband was a cotton factor
there. Well, Fernald begged her to run
away with him, and after a lot of hemming
and hawing she consented. They made an
appointment for one night and Fernald
was there waiting. But the lady didn’t
come. After awhile he went back to his
hotel and found a note. She was sorry,
but her husband had bought tickets for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span>
the opera for that evening. Eh? What?
There was soul for you, Mr. Winthrop!”</p>

<p>Winthrop nodded.</p>

<p>“So the lover blew his brains out, eh?”</p>

<p>“Shot a hole in his chest; amounted to
about the same thing, I reckon,” answered
the Major, gloomily. “Now what do you
think of a woman that’ll do a thing like
that?”</p>

<p>“Well, I don’t know but what a good
opera is to be preferred to an elopement,”
answered Winthrop. “There, there, Major,
I don’t mean to be flippant. The fact
is we hear of so many of these ‘crimes of
passion’ up our way nowadays that we
take them with the same equanimity that
we take the weather predictions. The woman
was just a good sample of her sort as
the man was doubtless a good sample of
his. He was lucky to be out of it, only he
didn’t realize it and so killed himself.
That’s the deuce of it, you see, Major; a
man who can look a thousand fathoms
into a woman’s eyes and keep his judgment
from slipping a cog is—well, he just isn’t;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span>
he doesn’t exist! And if he did you and
I, Major, wouldn’t have anything to do
with him.”</p>

<p>“Shucks!” grunted the Major, half in
agreement, half in protest.</p>

<p>“But I hope this boy won’t follow his
father’s lead, just the same,” said Winthrop.</p>

<p>“No, no,” answered the Major, energetically;
“he won’t, he won’t. He—he’s better
fitted for hard knocks than his dad was.
I—we had just had a few words and I was—ah—displeased.
Shall we join the ladies
inside, Mr. Winthrop?”</p>

<p>The Major drove back to town in his
side-bar buggy behind his aged gray mule
at sunset, taking Miss Parish with him.
Miss India retired to her room, and Julian
and Holly strolled off together down the
road. Winthrop drew the arm-chair up to
the fireplace in his room and smoked and
read until supper time. At that meal only
he and Holly and Julian were present, and
the conversation was confined principally
to the former two. Julian was plainly out<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span>
of sorts and short of temper; his wooing,
Winthrop concluded, had not gone very
well that day. Holly seemed troubled, but
whether over Julian’s unhappiness or his
impoliteness Winthrop could not guess.
After supper they went out to the porch
for a while together, but Winthrop soon
bade them good-night. For some time
through the opened windows he could hear
the faint squeaking of the joggling-board
and the fainter hum of their low voices. At
ten Julian’s horse was brought around,
and he clattered away in the starlit darkness
toward Marysville. He heard Holly
closing the door down-stairs, heard her feet
patter up the uncarpeted stairway, heard
her humming a little tune under her breath.
The lamp was still lighted on his table, and
doubtless the radiance of it showed under
the door, for Holly’s footsteps came
nearer and nearer along the hall until—</p>

<p>“Good-night, slave!” she called, softly.</p>

<p>“Good-night, Miss Holly,” he answered.</p>

<p>He heard her footsteps dying away, and
finally the soft closing of a door.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span>
Thoughtfully he refilled his pipe and went
back to the chair in front of the dying
fire....</p>

<p>The ashes were cold and a chill breeze
blew through the open casements. Winthrop
arose with a shiver, knocked the
ashes from his pipe and dropped it on the
mantel.</p>

<p>“There’s no fool like an old—like a middle-aged
fool,” he muttered, as he blew
out the lamp.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="X">X.</h2>
</div>


<div class="figcenter2" id="i_p194">
  <img src="images/i_p194.jpg" alt="Aunt Venus" title="Aunt Venus">
</div>

<p>Holly’s birthday was quite an event at
Waynewood. Aunt Venus outdid herself
and there never was such a dinner, from
the okra soup to the young guineas and on
to the snowy syllabub and the birthday
cake with its eighteen flaring pink candles.
Uncle Major was there, as were two of
Holly’s girl friends, and the little party of
six proved most congenial. Holly was in
the highest spirits; everyone she knew had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span>
been so kind to her. Aunt India had given
her dimity for a new dress and a pair of
the gauziest white silk stockings that ever
crackled against the ear. The dimity was
white sprinkled with little Dresden flowers
of deep pink. Holly and Rosa and Edith
had spent fully
an hour before
dinner in enthusiastic
planning
and the fate of
the white dimity
was settled. It
was to be made
up over pale pink, and the skirt was
to be quite plain save for a single deep
flounce at the bottom. Rosa had just
the pattern for it and Holly was to drive
out to Bellair in a day or so and get it.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span>
The Major had brought a blue plush case
lined with maroon satin and holding three
pairs of scissors, a bodkin, and two ribbon-runners.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p195">
  <img src="images/i_p195.jpg" alt="Holly's birthday cake" title="Holly's birthday cake">
</div>

<p>“I don’t know what those flat gimcracks
are for, Holly,” he said, as she kissed him,
“but ‘Ham’ he said he reckoned you’d
know what to do with them. I told him,
‘Ham, you’re a married man and I’m a
bachelor, and don’t you go and impose on
my ignorance. If there’s anything indelicate
about those instruments you take ’em
out.’ But he said as long as I didn’t see
’em in use it was all right and proper.”</p>

<p>Julian had sent a tiny gold brooch and
Winthrop had presented a five-pound box
of candy. Of the two the candy made the
more pronounced hit. It had come all the
way from New York, and was such an imposing
affair with its light blue moire-paper
box and its yards of silk ribbon!
And then the wonderful things inside!
Candied violets and rose- and chrysanthemum-petals,
grapes hidden in coverings of
white cream, little squares of fruit-cake<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span>
disguised as plebeian caramels, purple
raisins and white almonds buried side by
side in amber glacé, white and lavender
pellets that broke to nothing in the mouth
and left a surprising and agreeable flavor
of brandy, little smooth nuggets of gold
and silver and a dozen other fanciful
whims of the confectioner. The girls
screamed and laughed with delight, and
the Major pretended to feel the effects of
three brandy-drops and insisted on telling
Miss India about his second wife. There
had been other gifts besides. Holly’s old
“mammy” had walked in, three miles, with
six-guinea-eggs in a nest of gray moss;
Phœbe had gigglingly presented a yard of
purple silk “h’ar ribbon,” Aunt Venus
had brought a brown checked sun-bonnet of
her own making, and even Young Tom,
holding one thumb tightly between his
teeth and standing embarrassedly on one
dusty yellow foot, had brought his gift, a
bundle of amulets rolled out of newspaper
and artistically dyed in beet juice. Yes,
everyone had been very kind to Holly, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span>
her eighteenth birthday was nothing short
of an occasion.</p>

<p>In the afternoon Holly and Rosa and
the Major piled into his buggy and went
for a ride, while Miss India retired for her
nap, and Winthrop and Edith sat on the
porch. Miss Bartram was a tall, graceful,
golden-haired beauty of nineteen, with
sentimental gray eyes and an affectation
of world-weariness which Winthrop found
for a time rather diverting. They perched
on the joggling-board together and discussed
Holly, affinities, Julian Wayne, love,
Richmond, New York, Northern customs—which
Miss Edith found very strange and
bizarre—marriage in the abstract, marriage
in the concrete as concerned with
Miss Edith, flowers, Corunna, Major Cass,
milk-shakes, and many other subjects.
The girl was a confirmed flirt, and Winthrop
tired of her society long before relief
came in the shape of a laughing trio borne
into sight behind a jogging gray mule. After
supper they played hearts, after a fashion
introduced by Miss Bartram. Whoever<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span>
held the queen of spades when a game was
ended received a smudge on the face
from each of the other players, whose privilege
it was to rub one finger in the soot
of the fireplace and inscribe designs on the
unfortunate one’s countenance. As the
queen of spades and Major Cass developed
an affinity early in the evening the latter
was a strange and fearsome sight when
the party broke up. The Major was to
take Miss Edith back to town with him, and
the latter entered the buggy to a chorus of
remonstrances from the other girls.</p>

<p>“Oh, don’t you go with him!” cried
Rosa. “Your face will be a perfect sight
by the time you reach home!”</p>

<p>“I really think, Major,” laughed Winthrop,
“that maybe you’d better wash the
side of your face next to Miss Bartram.”</p>

<p>“Don’t you-all worry so much,” responded
the Major. “Miss Edith isn’t
saying anything, is she? She knows it’s
dark and no one’s going to see her face
when she gets home. I don’t know what’s
coming to the ladies these days. When I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span>
was younger they didn’t let a little thing
like a grain of smut interfere with a kiss
or two.”</p>

<p>“Then don’t you let him have more than
two, Edith,” said Holly. “You heard
what he said.”</p>

<p>“Merely a figure of speech, ladies,” replied
the Major. “I’ve heard there wasn’t
such a thing as a single kiss and I reckon
there ain’t such a thing as a pair of ’em;
eh, Mr. Winthrop?”</p>

<p>“Always come by the dozen, as I understand
it,” answered Winthrop.</p>

<p>Miss Edith gave a shriek.</p>

<p>“I’m powerful glad I’m not riding home
with you, Mr. Winthrop!”</p>

<p>“Oh, it washes off quite easily, really!”</p>

<p>The buggy trundled out of sight around
the corner of the drive to an accompaniment
of laughter and farewells. Miss
Rosa was to spend the night at Waynewood,
and she and Holly and Winthrop
returned to the joggling-board, the girls
spreading wraps over their shoulders.
There were clouds in the sky, and the air<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span>
held promise of rain. Holly was somewhat
silent and soon dropped out of the conversation
altogether. Winthrop and Rosa
talked of books. Neither, perhaps, was a
great reader, but they had read some books
in common and these they discussed. Winthrop
liked Miss Rosa far better than Miss
Bartram. She was small, pretty in a soft-featured
way, quiet of voice and manner,
and all-in-all very girlish and sweet. She
was a few months younger than Holly.
She lived with her brother, Phaeton Carter,
on his plantation some eight miles out
on the Quitman road. Her parents were
dead, but before their deaths, she told him
wistfully, she had been all through the
North and knew Washington well. Her
father had served as Representative for
two terms. She aroused Winthrop’s sympathies;
there seemed so little ahead of
her; marriage perhaps some day with one
of their country neighbors, and after that
a humdrum existence without any of the
glad things her young heart craved. His
sympathy showed in his voice, which could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span>
be very soft and caressing when it wanted
to, and if Rosa dreamed a little that night
of an interesting Northerner with sympathetic
voice and eyes it wasn’t altogether
her fault. Meanwhile they were getting on
very well, so well that they almost forgot
Holly’s existence. But they were reminded
of it very suddenly. Holly jumped
off the board and seized Rosa by the hand.</p>

<p>“Bed time,” she announced, shortly.</p>

<p>“Oh, Holly!” cried the girl, in dismay.
“Why, it can’t be half-past ten yet!”</p>

<p>“It’s very late,” declared Holly, severely.
“Come along!”</p>

<p>Rosa allowed herself to be dragged off
the seat and into the house. Winthrop followed.
At the foot of the stairs he said
good-night, shaking hands as the custom
was.</p>

<p>“Good-night, Mr. Winthrop,” said
Rosa, regretfully, smiling a trifle shyly at
him across the rail.</p>

<p>“Good-night, Miss Carter. We’ll settle
our discussion when there is no ogress
about to drag you away. Good-night, Miss<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span>
Holly. I hope there’ll be many, many
more birthdays as pleasant as this one.”</p>

<p>“Good-night,” answered Holly, carelessly,
her hand lying limply in his. “I’m
not going to have any more birthdays—ever;
I don’t like birthdays.” The glance
which accompanied the words was hard,
antagonistic. “Will you please lock the
door, Mr. Winthrop?”</p>

<p>“I’m sorry,” thought Winthrop, as he
made his way to his room. “She’s only
a child, and a child’s friendship is very
jealous. I should have remembered that.”</p>

<div class="figleft" id="i_p204">
  <img src="images/i_p204.jpg" alt="Hunting" title="Hunting">
</div>

<p>Miss Rosa returned to Bellair the next
afternoon, and with her departure Holly’s
spirits returned. Winthrop smiled and
sighed at the same time. It was all so
palpable, so childish and—so sweet. There
was the disturbing thought. Why should
he find his heart warming at the contemplation
of Holly’s tiny fit of jealousy?
Was he really going to make a fool of himself
and spoil their pleasant comradeship
by falling in love with her? What arrant
nonsense! It was the silly romantic atmosphere<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span>
that was doing the mischief!
Hang it all, a man could fall in love with
an Alaskan totem-pole here if he was in
company with it for half an hour! There
were three very excellent reasons why he
mustn’t let himself fall in love with Holly
Wayne, and it was plainly his duty to keep
a watch on himself. With that thought in
mind he spent more time away from
Waynewood than theretofore, throwing
himself on the companionship of the Major,
who was always delighted to have him
drop in at his office or at the Palmetto
House, where he lived; or riding out to
Sunnyside to spend the day with Colonel
Byers. The Major had loaned him a shotgun,
an antiquated 12-bore, and with this
and ’Squire Parish’s red setter Lee, he
spent much time afield and had some excellent
sport with the quail. Holly accused him
many times of being tired of her company,
adding once that she was sorry she wasn’t
as entertaining as Rosa Carter, whereupon
Winthrop reiterated his vows of fealty, but
declared that his lazy spell had passed,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span>
that he was at last acclimated and no
longer satisfied with sweet inaction. And
Holly professed to believe him, but in her
heart was sure that the fault lay with her
and decided that when she was married to
Julian she would make him take her travelling
everywhere so that she could talk as
well as Rosa.</p>

<div class="figleft" id="i_p206">
  <img src="images/i_p206.jpg" alt="December rains" title="December rains">
</div>

<p>December came in with a week of rainy
days, during which the last of the roses
were beaten from their stalks and the garden
drooped dank and disconsolate. Blue
violets, moist and fragrant under their
dripping leaves, were the only blooms the
garden afforded those days. Holly, to
whose pagan spirit enforced confinement
in-doors brought despair, took advantage
of every lift of the clouds to don a linen
cluster, which she gravely referred to as
her rain-coat, and her oldest sun-bonnet,
and get out amidst the drenched foliage.
Those times she searched the violet-beds
and returned wet and triumphant to the
house. Winthrop coming back from a
tramp to town one afternoon rounded the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span>
curve of the carriage-road just as she regained
the porch.</p>

<p>“Violets?” he asked, his eyes travelling
from the little cluster of blossoms and
leaves in her hand to the soft pink of her
cool, moist cheeks.</p>

<p>“Yes, for the guest chamber,” answered
Holly.</p>

<p>“You are expecting a visitor?” he asked,
his thoughts turning to Julian Wayne.</p>

<p>“Stupid!” said Holly. “Your room is
the guest room. Didn’t you know it?
Wait, please, and I’ll put them in water for
you.”</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p207">
  <img src="images/i_p207.jpg" alt="Mr. Winthrop's room" title="Mr. Winthrop's room">
</div>

<p>She came back while Winthrop was taking
off his rain-coat. The violets were
nodding over the rim of a little glass.
Winthrop thanked her and bore them up-stairs.
The next morning Holly came
from her Aunt’s room, the door of which
was opposite Winthrop’s across the broad
hall. His door was wide open and on the
bureau stood the violets well in the angle
of a two-fold photograph frame of crimson
leather. Holly paused in the middle of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span>
the hall and looked. It was difficult to see
the photographs, but one was the likeness
of a child, while the other, in deeper
shadow, seemed to be that of a woman.
She had never been in the room since Winthrop
had taken possession, but this morning
the desire to enter was strong. She
listened, glancing apprehensively at the
closed door of her Aunt’s room. There
was no danger from that direction, and she
knew that Winthrop had gone to the village.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span>
Fearsomely, with thumping heart
and cheeks that alternately paled and
flushed, she stole across the floor to the
bureau. Clasping her hands behind her,
lest they should unwittingly touch something,
she leaned over and examined the
two portraits. The one on the left was
that of a young woman of perhaps twenty-two
years. So beautiful was the smiling
oval face with its great dark eyes that
Holly almost gasped as she looked. The
dress, of white shimmering satin, was cut
low, and the shoulders and neck were perfect.
A rope of small pearls encircled the
round throat and in the light hair, massed
high on the head, an aigrette tipped with
pearls lent a regal air to beauty. Holly
looked long, sighing she scarcely knew
why. Finally she drew her eyes away and
examined the other photograph, that of a
sturdy little chap of four or five years, his
feet planted wide apart and his chubby
hands holding tight to the hoop that
reached to his breast. Round-faced, grave-eyed
and curly-haired, he was yet a veritable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span>
miniature of Winthrop. But the eyes
were strongly like those in the other picture,
and Holly had no doubts as to the
identity of each subject. Holly drew away,
gently restored a fallen violet, and hurried
guiltily from the room.</p>

<p>Winthrop did not return for dinner that
day, but sent a note by a small colored boy
telling them that he was dining with the
Major. Consequently the two ladies were
alone. When the dessert came on Miss
India said:</p>

<p>“I think Mr. Winthrop would relish
some of this clabber for his supper, Holly.
It will do him good. I’ll put it in the safe,
my dear, and don’t let me forget to get it
out for him this evening.”</p>

<p>“I don’t reckon he cares much for clabber,
Auntie.”</p>

<p>“Not care for clabber! Nonsense, my
dear; everyone likes clabber. Besides, it’s
just what he ought to have after taking
dinner at the hotel; I don’t reckon they’ll
give him a thing that’s fit to eat. When
your father was alive he took me to Augusta<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span>
with him once and we stopped at a
hotel there, and I assure you, Holly, there
wasn’t a thing I could touch! Such tasteless
trash you never saw! I always pity
folks that have to live at hotels, and I do
wish the Major would go to Mrs. Burson’s
for his meals.”</p>

<p>“But the Bursons live mighty poorly,
Auntie.”</p>

<p>“Because they have to, my child. If the
Major went there Mrs. Burson could spend
more on her table. She has one of the best
cooks in the town.” Holly made no reply
and presently Miss India went on: “Have
you noticed,” she asked, “how Mr. Winthrop
has improved since he came here,
Holly?”</p>

<p>“Yes, Auntie. He says himself that he’s
much better. He was wondering the other
day whether it wasn’t time to stop taking
the medicine.”</p>

<p>“The tonic? Sakes, no! Why, that’s
what’s holding him up, my dear, although
he doesn’t realize it. I reckon he’s a much
sicker man than he thinks he is.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span></p>

<p>“He appears to be able to get around
fairly well,” commented Holly. “He’s always
off somewhere nowadays.”</p>

<p>“Yes, and I’m afraid he’s overdoing it,
my dear. I must speak to him about it.”</p>

<p>“Then we mightn’t get any more quail
or doves, Auntie.”</p>

<p>“It would be just as well. Why he
wants to kill the poor defenceless creatures
I don’t see.”</p>

<p>“But you know you love doves, Auntie,”
laughed Holly.</p>

<p>“Well, maybe I do; but it isn’t right to
kill them, <em>I</em> know.”</p>

<p>“Doesn’t it seem strange,” asked Holly
presently, her eyes on the bread she was
crumbling between her fingers, “that Mr.
Winthrop never says anything about his
wife?”</p>

<p>“I’ve never yet heard him say he had a
wife,” answered Miss India.</p>

<p>“Oh, but we know that he has. Uncle
Major said so.”</p>

<p>“I don’t reckon the Major knows very
much about it. Maybe his wife’s dead.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span></p>

<p>“Oh,” said Holly, thoughtfully. Then:
“No, I don’t think she could be dead,” she
added, with conviction. “Do you—do you
reckon he has any children Auntie?”</p>

<p>“Sakes, child, how should I know? It’s
no concern of ours, at any rate.”</p>

<p>“I reckon we can wonder, though. And
it is funny he never speaks of her.”</p>

<p>“Northerners are different,” said Miss
India sagely. “I reckon a wife doesn’t
mean much to them, anyhow.”</p>

<p>“Don’t you think Mr. Winthrop is nice,
Auntie?”</p>

<p>“I’ve seen men I liked better and a heap
I liked worse,” replied her Aunt, briefly.
“But I’ll say one thing for Mr. Winthrop,”
she added, as she arose from her
chair and drew her shawl more closely
around her shoulders, “he has tact; I’ve
never heard him allude to the War. Tact
and decency,” she murmured, as she picked
her keys from the table. “Bring the
plates, Phœbe.”</p>

<p>Four Sundays passed without the appearance
of Julian. Winthrop wondered.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span>
“Either,” he reflected, “they have had a
quarrel or he is mighty sure of her. And
it can’t be a quarrel, for she gets letters
from him at least once a week. Perhaps
he is too busy at his work to spare the
time, although——” Winthrop shook his
head. He had known lovers who would
have made the time.</p>

<p>The rainy weather passed northward
with its draggled skirts, and a spell of
warm days ushered in the Christmas season.
The garden smiled again in the sunlight,
and a few of the roses opened new
blooms. Winthrop took a trip to Jacksonville
a week before Christmas, spent two
days there, and purchased modest gifts for
Miss India, Holly, and the Major. The
former had flatteringly commissioned him
to make a few purchases for her, and Winthrop,
realizing that this showed a distinct
advance in his siege of the little lady’s liking,
spent many anxious moments in the
performance of the task. When he returned
he was graciously informed that he
had purchased wisely and well. Christmas<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span>
fell on Saturday that year and Julian put
in an appearance Friday evening. Christmas
morning they went to church and at
two o’clock sat down to a dinner at which
were present besides the family and Winthrop,
Major Cass, Edith Bartram, and
Mr. and Mrs. Burson. Burson kept the livery
stable and was a tall, awkward, self-effacing
man of fifty or thereabouts, who
some twenty years before had in an unaccountable
manner won the toast of the
county for his bride. A measure of Mrs.
Burson’s former beauty remained, but on
the whole she was a faded, depressing little
woman, worn out by a long struggle
against poverty.</p>

<p>The Major, who had been out in the
country in the morning, arrived late and
very dusty and went up to Winthrop’s
room to wash before joining the others.
When he came down and, after greeting
the assembled party, tucked his napkin under
his ample chin, he turned to Winthrop
with twinkling eyes.</p>

<p>“Mr. Winthrop, sir,” he said, “I came<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span>
mighty near not getting out of your room
again, sir. I saw that picture on your bureau
and fell down and worshipped. Gad,
sir, I don’t know when I’ve seen a more
beautiful woman, outside of the present
array! Yes, sir, I came mighty near staying
right there and feasting my eyes instead
of my body, sir. And a fine-looking
boy, too, Mr. Winthrop. Your family, I
reckon, sir?”</p>

<p>“My wife and son,” answered Winthrop,
gravely.</p>

<p>The conversation had died abruptly and
everyone was frankly attentive.</p>

<p>“I envy you, sir, ’pon my word, I do!”
said the Major emphatically, between
spoonfuls of soup. “As handsome a woman
and boy as ever I saw, sir. They are
well, I trust, Mr. Winthrop?”</p>

<p>“The boy died shortly after that portrait
was taken,” responded Winthrop.
There were murmurs of sympathy.</p>

<p>“Dear, dear, dear,” said the Major, laying
down his spoon and looking truly distressed.
“I had no idea, Mr. Winthrop——!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span>
You’ll pardon me, sir, for my—my
unfortunate curiosity.”</p>

<p>“Don’t apologize, Major,” answered
Winthrop, smilingly. “It has been six
years, and I can speak of it now with some
degree of equanimity. He was a great boy,
that son of mine; sometimes I think that
maybe the Lord was a little bit envious.”</p>

<p>“The picture of you, sir,” said the Major,
earnestly. “But your lady, sir? She
is—ah—well, I trust?”</p>

<p>“Quite, I believe,” answered Winthrop.</p>

<p>“I am glad to hear it. I trust some day,
sir, you’ll bring her down and give us the
pleasure of meeting her.”</p>

<p>“Thank you,” Winthrop replied, quietly.</p>

<p>Holly began an eager conversation with
Julian and the talk became general, the
Major holding forth on the subject of Cuban
affairs, which were compelling a good
deal of attention in that winter of 1897–8.
After dinner they went out to the porch,
but not before the Major had, unnoticed,
stationed himself at the dining-room door
with a sprig of mistletoe in his hand.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span>
Holly and Julian reached the door together
and with a portentous wink at Julian <a href="#i_fp216">the
Major held the little bunch of leaves and
berries over Holly’s head</a>. Winthrop, the
last to leave the room, saw what followed.
Julian imprisoned Holly’s hands in front
of her, leaned across her shoulder and
pressed a kiss on her cheek. There was a
little cry of alarm from Holly, drowned by
the Major’s chuckle and Julian’s triumphant
laugh. Holly’s eyes caught sight of
the mistletoe, the blood dyed her face, and
she smiled uncertainly.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_fp216">
  <img src="images/i_fp216.jpg" alt="" title="">
  <div class="caption">
    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_217">THE MAJOR HELD THE LITTLE BUNCH OF LEAVES AND BERRIES OVER
HOLLY’S HEAD</a></p>
  </div>
</div>

<p>“He caught you, my dear,” chuckled the
Major.</p>

<p>“You’re a traitor, Uncle Major,” she
answered, indignantly. With a quick gesture
she seized the mistletoe from his grasp
and threw it across the room. As she
turned, her head in air, her eyes encountered
Winthrop’s and their glances clung
for an instant. He wondered afterwards
what she had read in his eyes for her own
grew large and startled ere the lids fell
over them and she turned and ran out<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span>
through the hall. The rest followed laughing.
Winthrop ascended to his room,
closed his door, lighted a pipe and sat
down at an open window. From below
came the sound of voices, rising and falling,
and the harsh song of a red-bird in the
magnolia-tree. From the back of the
house came the sharp explosions of firecrackers,
and Winthrop knew that Young
Tom was beatifically happy. The firecrackers
had been Winthrop’s “Chrismus
gif.” But his thoughts didn’t remain long
with the occupants of the porch or with
Young Tom, although he strove to keep
them there. There was something he must
face, and so, tamping the tobacco down in
his pipe with his finger, he faced it.</p>

<p>He was in love with Holly.</p>

<p>The sudden rage of jealousy which had
surged over him down there in the dining-room
had opened his eyes. He realized
now that he had been falling in love with
her, deeper and deeper every day, ever
since his arrival at Waynewood. He had
been blinding himself with all sorts of excuses,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span>
but to-day they were no longer convincing.
He had made a beastly mess of
things. If he had only had the common
sense to look the situation fairly in the face
a month ago! It would have been so simple
then to have beat a retreat. Now he
might retreat as far as he could go without
undoing the damage. Well, thank Heaven,
there was no harm done to anyone save
himself! Then he recalled the startled
look in Holly’s brown eyes and wondered
what she had read in his face. Could she
have guessed? Nonsense; he was too old
to parade his emotions like a school-boy.
Doubtless he had looked annoyed, disgusted,
and Holly had seen it and probably
resented it. That was all. Had he unwittingly
done anything to cause her to suspect?
He strove to remember. No, the
secret was safe. He sighed with relief.
Thank Heaven for that! If she ever
guessed his feelings what a fool she would
think him, what a middle-aged, sentimental
ass! And how she would laugh! But no,
perhaps she wouldn’t do just that; she was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span>
too kind-hearted; but she would be amused.
Winthrop’s cheeks burned at the thought.</p>

<p>Granted all this, what was to be done?
Run away? To what end? Running away
wouldn’t undo what was done. Now that
he realized what had happened he could
keep guard on himself. None suspected,
none need ever suspect, Holly least of all.
It would be foolish to punish himself unnecessarily
for what, after all, was no offense.
No; he would stay at Waynewood;
he would see Holly each day, and he would
cure himself of what, after all, was—could
be—only a sentimental attachment evolved
from propinquity and idleness. Holly was
going to marry Julian; and even were she
not——. Winthrop glanced toward the
photograph frame on the bureau—there
were circumstances which forbade him entering
the field. Holly was not for him.
Surely if one thoroughly realized that a
thing was unobtainable he must cease to
desire it in time. That was common sense.
He knocked the ashes from his pipe and
arose.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span></p>

<p>“That’s it, Robert, my boy,” he muttered.
“Common sense. If you’ll just
stick to that you’ll come out all right.
There’s nothing like a little, hard, plain
common sense to knock the wind out of
sentiment. Common sense, my boy, common
sense!”</p>

<p>He joined the others on the porch and
conducted a very creditable flirtation with
Miss Edith until visitors began to arrive,
and the big bowl of eggnog was set in the
middle of the dining-room table and banked
with holly. After dark they went into town
and watched the fireworks on the green surrounding
the school-house. Holly walked
ahead with Julian, and Winthrop thought
he had never seen her in better spirits. She
almost seemed to avoid him that evening,
but that was perhaps only his fancy.
Returning, there were only Holly and Julian
and Winthrop, for Miss Bartram and
the Bursons returned to their homes and
the Major had been left at Waynewood
playing bezique with Miss India. For
awhile the conversation lagged, but Winthrop<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span>
set himself the task of being agreeable
to Julian and by the time they reached
the house that youth had thawed out and
was treating Winthrop with condescending
friendliness. Winthrop left the young pair
on the porch and joined the Major and
Miss India in the parlor, watching their
play and hiding his yawns until the Major
finally owned defeat.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XI">XI.</h2>
</div>


<p>Holly had grown older within the last
two months, although no one but Aunt India
realized it. It was as though her eighteenth
birthday had been a sharp line of
division between girlhood and womanhood.
It was not that Holly had altered either in
appearance or actions; she was the same
Holly, gay or serious, tender or tyrannical,
as the mood seized her; but the change was
there, even if Miss India couldn’t quite put
her finger on it. Perhaps she was a little
more sedate when she was sedate, a little
more thoughtful at all times. She read less
than she used to, but that was probably because
there were fewer moments when she
was alone. She was a little more careful
of her attire than she had been, but that
was probably because there was more reason
to look well. Miss India felt the
change rather than saw it.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span></p>

<p>I have said that no one save Miss India
realized it, but that is not wholly true. For
Holly herself realized it in a dim, disquieting
way. The world in which she had spent
her first eighteen years seemed, as she
looked back at it, strangely removed from
the present one. There had been the same
sky and sunshine, the same breezes and
flowers, the same pleasures and duties, and
yet there had been a difference. It was
as though a gauze curtain had been rolled
away; things were more distinct, sensations
more acute; the horizon was where it
always had been, but now it seemed far
more distant, giving space for so many details
which had eluded her sight before. It
was all rather confusing. At times it
seemed to Holly that she was much happier
than she had been in that old world,
and there were times when the contrary
seemed true, times when she became oppressed
with a feeling of sorrowfulness. At
such moments her soft mouth would droop
at the corners and her eyes grow moist;
life seemed very tragic in some indefinable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span>
way. And yet, all the while, she knew in
her heart that this new world—this
broader, vaster, clearer world—was the
best; that this new life, in spite of its tragedy
which she felt but could not see, was
the real life. Sorrow bit sharper, joy was
more intense, living held a new, fierce zest.
Not that she spent much time in introspection,
or worried her head with over-much
reasoning, but all this she felt confusedly
as one groping in a dark room feels unfamiliar
objects without knowing what they
may be or why they are there. But Holly’s
groping was not for long. The door of understanding
opened very suddenly, and the
light of knowledge flooded in upon her.</p>

<div class="figleft" id="i_p226">
  <img src="images/i_p226.jpg" alt="Uncle Ran" title="Uncle Ran">
</div>

<p>January was a fortnight old and Winter
held sway. The banana-trees drooped
blackened and shrivelled, the rose-beds
were littered with crumpled leaves, and
morning after morning a film of ice, no
thicker than a sheet of paper, but still real
ice, covered the water-pail on its shelf on
the back porch. Uncle Ran groaned with
rheumatism as he laid the morning fires,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span>
and held his stiffened fingers to the blaze
as the fat pine hissed and spluttered. To
Winthrop it was the veriest farce of a winter,
but the other inhabitants of Waynewood
felt the cold keenly. Aunt India kept
to her room a great deal, and when she did
appear down-stairs she seemed tinier than
ever under the great gray shawl. Her face
wore a pinched and anxious expression, as
though she were in constant fear of actually
freezing to death.</p>

<p>“I don’t understand what has gotten
into our winters,” she said one day at dinner,
drawing her skirts forward so they
would not be scorched by the fire which
blazed furiously at her back. “They used
to be at least temperate. Now one might
as well live in Russia or Nova Zembla!
Phœbe, you forgot to put the butter on the
hearth and it’s as hard as a rock. You’re
getting more forgetful every day.”</p>

<div class="figcenter2" id="i_p227">
  <img src="images/i_p227.jpg" alt="Removing the greenery" title="Removing the greenery">
</div>

<p>It was in the middle of the month, one
forenoon when the cold had moderated so
that one could sit on the porch in the sunshine
without a wrap and when the southerly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span>
breeze held a faint, heart-stirring
promise of Spring—a promise speedily
broken,—that Winthrop came back to the
house from an after-breakfast walk over
the rutted clay road and found Holly removing
the greenery from the parlor walls
and mantel. She had spread a sheet in the
middle of the room and was tossing the
dried and crackling holly and the gummy
pine plumes onto it in a heap. As Winthrop
hung up his hat and looked in upon
her she was standing on a chair and, somewhat
red of face, was striving to reach
the bunch of green leaves and red berries
above the half-length portrait of her
father.</p>

<p>“You’d better let me do that,” suggested
Winthrop, as he joined her.</p>

<p>“No,” answered Holly, “I’m——going
to——get it——There!”</p>

<p>Down came the greenery with a shower
of dried leaves and berries, and down
jumped Holly with a triumphant laugh.</p>

<p>“Please move the chair over there,” she
directed.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span></p>

<p>Winthrop obeyed, and started to step up
onto it, but Holly objected.</p>

<p>“No, no, no,” she cried, anxiously.
“I’m going to do it myself. It makes me
feel about a foot high and terribly helpless
to have folks reach things down for me.”</p>

<p>Winthrop smiled and held out his hand
while she climbed up.</p>

<p>“There,” said Holly. “Now I’m going
to reach that if I—have to—stretch myself—out
of—shape!” It was a long reach,
but she finally accomplished it, laid hold of
one of the stalks and gave a tug. The tug
achieved the desired result, but it also
threw Holly off her balance. To save herself
she made a wild clutch at Winthrop’s
shoulder, and as the chair tipped over she
found herself against his breast, his arms
about her and her feet dangling impotently
in air. Perhaps he held her there an instant
longer than was absolutely necessary,
and in that instant perhaps his heart beat
a little faster than usual, his arms held her
a little tighter than before, and his eyes
darkened with some emotion not altogether<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span>
anxiety for her safety. Then he placed her
very gently on her feet and released her.</p>

<p>“You see,” he began with elaborate unconcern,
“I told you——”</p>

<p>Then he caught sight of her face and
stopped. It was very white, and in the
fleeting glimpse he had of her eyes they
seemed vast and dark and terrified.</p>

<p>“It startled you!” he said, anxiously.</p>

<p>She stood motionless for a moment, her
head bent, her arms hanging straight.
Then she turned and walked slowly toward
the door.</p>

<p>“Yes,” she said, in a low voice; “it——I
feel——faint.”</p>

<div class="figright" id="i_p231">
  <img src="images/i_p231.jpg" alt="“I feel faint.”" title="“I feel faint.”">
</div>

<p>Very deliberately she climbed the stairs,
passed along the hall, and entered her
room. She closed the door behind her and
walked, like one in a dream, to the window.
For several minutes she stared unseeingly
out into the sunlit world, her hands
strained together at her breast and her
heart fluttering chokingly. The door of
understanding had opened and the sudden
light bewildered her. But gradually things<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span>
took shape. With a little sound that was
half gasp, half moan, she turned and fell
to her knees at the foot of her bed, her
tightly-clasped hands thrown out across
the snowy quilt and her cheek pillowed on
one arm. Tears welled slowly from under
her closed lids and seeped scorchingly
through her sleeve.</p>

<p>“Don’t let me, dear God,” she sobbed,
miserably, “don’t let me! You don’t want
me to be unhappy, do you? You know he’s
a married man and a Northerner! And I
didn’t know, truly I didn’t know until just
now! It would be wicked to love him,
wouldn’t it? And you don’t want me to be
wicked, do you? And you’ll take him
away, dear God, where I won’t see him
again, ever, ever again? You know I’m
only just Holly Wayne and I need your
help. You mustn’t let me love him! You
mustn’t, you mustn’t....”</p>

<p>She knelt there a long time, feeling very
miserable and very wicked,—wicked because
in spite of her prayers, which had
finally trailed off into mingled sobs and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span>
murmurs, her thoughts flew back to Winthrop
and her heart throbbed with a
strange, new gladness. Oh, how terribly
wicked she was! It seemed to her that she
had lied to God! She had begged Him to
take Winthrop away from her and yet her
thoughts sought him every moment! She
had only to close her own eyes to see his,
deep and dark, looking down at her, and to
read again their wonderful, fearsome message;
to feel again the straining clasp of
his arms about her and the hurried thud
of his heart against her breast! She felt
guilty and miserable and happy.</p>

<p>She wondered if God would hear her
prayer and take him away
from her. And suddenly she
realized what that would
mean. Not to see him
again—ever! No, no; she
couldn’t stand that! God must help her
to forget him, but He mustn’t take him
away. After all, was it so horribly wicked
to care for him as long as she never let
him know? Surely no one would suffer<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span>
save herself? And she—well, she could
suffer. It came to her, then, that perhaps
in this new world of hers it was a woman’s
lot to suffer.</p>

<p>Her thoughts flew to her mother. She
wondered if such a thing had ever happened
to her. What would she have done
had she been in Holly’s place? Holly’s
tears came creeping back again; she
wanted her mother very much just
then....</p>

<p>As she sat at the open window, the faint
and measured tramp of steps along the
porch reached her. It was Winthrop, she
knew. And at the very thought her heart
gave a quick throb that was at once a joy
and a pain. Oh, why couldn’t people be
just happy in such a beautiful world?
Why need there be disappointments, and
heartaches? If only she could go to him
and explain it all! He would take her hand
and look down at her with that smiling
gravity of his, and she would say quite
fearlessly: “I love you very dearly. I
can’t help it. It isn’t my fault, nor yours.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span>
But you must make it easy for me, dear.
You must go away now, but not for ever; I
couldn’t stand that. Sometimes you must
come back and see me. And when you are
away you will know that I love you more
than anything in the world, and I will know
that you love me. Of course, we must
never speak again of our love, for that
would be wicked. And you wouldn’t want
me to be wicked. We will be such good,
good friends always. Good-bye.”</p>

<p>You see, it never occurred to her that
Winthrop’s straining arms, his quickening
heart-throbs, and the words of his eyes,
might be only the manifestation of a quite
temporal passion. She judged him by herself,
and all loves by that which her father
and mother had borne for each other.
There were still things in this new world
of hers which her eyes had not discerned.</p>

<p>She wondered if Winthrop had understood
her emotion after he had released
her from his arms. For an instant, she
hoped that he had. Then she clasped her
hands closely to her burning cheeks and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span>
thought that if he had she would never have
the courage to face him again! She hoped
and prayed that he had not guessed.</p>

<p>Suddenly, regretfully for the pain she
must cause him, she recollected Julian.
She could never marry him now. She
would never, never marry anyone. She
would be an old maid, like Aunt India.
The prospect seemed rather pleasing than
otherwise. With such a precious love in
her heart she could never be quite lonely,
no matter if she lived to be very, very old!
She wondered if Aunt India had ever loved.
And just then Phœbe’s voice called her
from below and she went to the door and
answered. She bathed her hot cheeks and
wet eyes in the chill water, and with a long
look about the big square room, which
seemed now to have taken on the sacredness
of a temple of confession, she went
down-stairs.</p>

<p>Winthrop had not guessed. She knew
that at once when she saw him. He was
eagerly anxious about her, and blamed
himself for her fright.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span></p>

<p>“I ought never to have let you try such
foolishness,” he said, savagely. “You
might have hurt yourself badly.”</p>

<p>“Oh,” laughed Holly, “but you were
there to catch me!”</p>

<p>There was a caressing note in her voice
that thrilled him with longing to live over
again that brief moment in the parlor.
But he only answered, and awkwardly
enough, since his nerves were taut: “Then
please see that I’m there before you try it
again.”</p>

<p>They sat down at table with Miss India,
to whom by tacit consent no mention was
made of the incident, and chattered gayly
of all things save the one which was crying
at their lips to be spoken. And Holly kept
her secret well.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XII">XII.</h2>
</div>


<p>January and Winter had passed together.
February was nearly a week old.
Already the garden was astir. The violet-beds
were massed with blue, and the green
spikes of the jonquils showed tiny buds.
There was a new balminess in the air, a
new languor in the ardent sunlight. The
oaks were tasseling, the fig-trees were
gowning themselves in new green robes of
Edenic simplicity, the clumps of Bridal
Wreath were sprinkled with flecks of white
that promised early flowering and the
pomegranates were unfolding fresh leaves.
On the magnolia burnished leaves of tender
green squirmed free from brown sheaths
like moths from their cocoons. The south
wind blew soft and fresh from the Gulf,
spiced with the aroma of tropic seas.
Spring was dawning over Northern Florida.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span></p>

<p>It was Saturday afternoon, and Holly
was perched in the fig-tree at the end of
the porch, one rounded arm thrown back
against the dusky trunk to pillow her head,
one hand holding her forgotten book, one
slender ankle swinging slowly like a dainty
pendulum from under the hem of her skirt.
Her eyes were on the green knoll where
the oaks threw deep shadow over the red-walled
enclosure, and her thoughts wandered
like the blue-jay that flitted restlessly
through garden and grove. Life was a
turbid stream, these days, filled with perplexing
swirls—a stream that rippled with
laughter in the sunlight, and sighed in its
shadowed depths, and all the while flowed
swiftly, breathlessly on toward—what?</p>

<div class="figright" id="i_p239">
  <img src="images/i_p239.jpg" alt="Julian Wayne on horseback" title="Julian Wayne on horseback">
</div>

<p>The sound of a horse’s hoofs on the road
aroused Holly from her dreams. She
lifted her head and listened. The hoof-beats
slackened at the gate, and then drew
nearer up the curving drive. The trees
hid the rider, however, and Holly could
only surmise his identity. It could
scarcely be Mr. Winthrop, for he had gone<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span>
off in the Major’s buggy early in the forenoon
for an all-day visit to Sunnyside.
Then it must be Julian, although it was unlike
him to come so early. She slipped
from her seat in the tree and walked toward
the steps just as horse and rider
trotted into sight. It was Julian—Julian
looking very handsome and eager as he
threw himself from the saddle, drew the
reins over White Queen’s head and strode
toward the girl.</p>

<p>“Howdy, Holly?” he greeted. “Didn’t
expect to see me so early, I reckon.” He
took her hand, drew her to him, and had
kissed her cheek before she thought to deny
him. She had grown so used to having him
kiss her when he came and departed, and
his kisses meant so little, that she forgot.
She drew herself away gravely.</p>

<p>“I’ll call Uncle Ran,” she said.</p>

<p>“All right, Holly.” Julian threw himself
on to the steps and lighted a cigarette,
gazing appreciatively about him. How
pretty it was here at Waynewood! Some
day he meant to own it. He was the only<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span>
male descendant of the old family, and it
was but right and proper that the place
should be his. In a year or two that interloping
Yankee would be glad enough to
get rid of it. Then he would marry Holly,
succeed to the Old Doctor’s practice
and—— Suddenly he recollected that odd
note of Holly’s and drew it from his
pocket. Nonsense, of course, but it had
worried him a bit at first. She had been
piqued, probably, because he had not been
over to see her. He flicked the letter with
his finger and laughed softly. The idea of
Holly releasing him from their engagement!
Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure
that there was any engagement; for the
last three years there had been a tacit understanding
that some day they were to be
married and live at Waynewood, but Julian
couldn’t remember that he had ever out-and-out
asked Holly to marry him. He
laughed again. That was a joke on Holly.
He would ask her how she could break
what didn’t exist. And afterwards he
would make sure that it did exist. He had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span>
no intention of losing Holly. No, indeed!
She was the only girl in the world for him.
He had met heaps of pretty girls, but never
one who could hold a candle to his sweetheart.</p>

<p>Holly came back followed by Uncle Ran.
The horse was led away to the stable, and
Holly sat down on the top step at a little
distance from Julian. Julian looked
across at her, admiration and mischief in
his black eyes.</p>

<p>“So it’s all over between us, is it,
Holly?” he asked, with a soft laugh. Holly
looked up eagerly, and bent forward with
a sudden lighting of her grave face.</p>

<p>“Oh, Julian,” she cried, “it’s all right,
then? You’re not going to care?”</p>

<p>Julian looked surprised.</p>

<p>“Care about what?” he asked, suspiciously.</p>

<p>“But I explained it all in my note,” answered
Holly, sinking back against the pillar.
“I thought you’d understand, Julian.”</p>

<p>“Are you talking about this?” he asked,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span>
contemptuously, tapping the letter against
the edge of the step. “Do you mean me
to believe that you were in earnest?”</p>

<p>“Yes, quite in earnest,” she answered,
gently.</p>

<p>“Shucks!” said Julian. But there was a
tone of uneasiness in his contempt. “What
have I done, Holly? If it’s because I
haven’t been getting over here to see you
very often, I want you to understand that
I’m a pretty busy man these days. Thompson’s
been getting me to do more and
more of his work. Why, he never takes a
night call any more himself; passes it over
to me every time. And I can tell you that
that sort of thing is no fun, Holly. Besides,”—he
gained reassurance from his
own defence—“you didn’t seem very particular
about seeing me the last time I was
here. I reckoned that maybe you and the
Yankee were getting on pretty well without
me.”</p>

<p>“It isn’t that,” said Holly. “I—I told
you in the letter, Julian. Didn’t you read
it?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span></p>

<p>“Of course I read it, but I couldn’t understand
it. You said you’d made a mistake,
and a lot of foolishness like that, and
had decided you couldn’t marry me.
Wasn’t that it?”</p>

<p>“Yes, that was it—in a way,” answered
Holly. “Well, I mean it, Julian.”</p>

<p>Julian stared across impatiently.</p>

<p>“Now don’t be silly, Holly! Who’s been
talking about me? Has that fellow Winthrop
been putting fool notions into your
head?”</p>

<p>“No, Julian.”</p>

<p>“Then what—— Oh, well, I dare say
I’ll be able to stand it,” he said, petulantly.</p>

<p>“Don’t be angry, Julian, please,” begged
Holly. “I want you to understand it,
dear.”</p>

<p>Holly indulged in endearments very seldom,
and Julian melted.</p>

<p>“But, hang it, Holly, you talk as though
you didn’t care for me any more!” he exclaimed.</p>

<p>“No, I’m not talking so at all,” she answered,
gently. “I do care for you—a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span>
heap. I always have and always will.
But I—I don’t love you as—as a girl loves
the man who is to be her husband, Julian.
I tried to explain that in my letter. You
see, we’ve always been such good friends
that it seemed sort of natural that we
should be sweethearts, and then I reckon
we just fell into thinking about getting
married. I don’t believe you ever asked
me to marry you, Julian; I—I just took it
for granted, I reckon!”</p>

<p>“Nonsense!” he exclaimed.</p>

<p>“I don’t reckon you ever did,” she persisted,
with a little smile for his polite disclaimer.
“But I’ve always thought of
marrying you, and it seemed all right until—until
lately. I don’t reckon I ever
thought much about what it meant. We’ve
always been fond of each other and so it—it
seemed all right, didn’t it?”</p>

<p>“It <em>is</em> all right, Holly,” he answered,
earnestly. He changed his seat to where
he could take her hand. “You’ve been
thinking about things too much,” he went
on. “I reckon you think that because I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span>
don’t come over oftener and write poetry
to you and all that sort of thing that I don’t
love you. Every girl gets romantic notions
at some time or other, Holly, and I
reckon you’re having yours. I don’t blame
you, Sweetheart, but you mustn’t get the
notion that I don’t love you. Why, you’re
the only woman in the world for me,
Holly!”</p>

<p>“I don’t reckon you’ve known so very
many women, Julian,” said Holly.</p>

<p>“Haven’t I, though? Why, I met dozens
of them when I was at college.” There
was a tiny suggestion of swagger. “And
some of them were mighty clever, too, and
handsome. But there’s never been anyone
but you, Holly, never once.”</p>

<p>Holly smiled and pressed the hand that
held hers captive.</p>

<p>“That’s dear of you, Julian,” she answered.
“But you must get over thinking
of me—in that way.”</p>

<p>He drew back with an angry flush on his
face and dropped her hand. There was an
instant’s silence. Then:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span></p>

<p>“You mean you won’t marry me?” he
demanded, hotly.</p>

<p>“I mean that I don’t love you in the
right way, Julian.”</p>

<p>“It’s that grinning Yankee!” he cried.
“He’s been making love to you and filling
your head with crazy notions. Oh, you
needn’t deny it! I’m not blind! I’ve seen
what was going on every time I came
over.”</p>

<p>“Julian!” she cried, rising to her feet.</p>

<p>“Yes, I have!” he went on, leaping up
and facing her. “A fine thing to do, isn’t
it?” he sneered. “Keep me dangling on
your string and all the while accept attentions
from a married man! And a blasted
Northerner, too! Mighty pleased your
father would have been!”</p>

<p>“Julian! You forget yourself!” said
Holly, quietly. “You have no right to talk
this way to me!”</p>

<p>“It’s you who forget yourself,” he answered,
slashing his riding-whip against
his boots. “And if I haven’t the right to
call you to account I’d like to know who<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span>
has! Miss Indy’s blind, I reckon, but I’m
not!”</p>

<p>Holly’s face had faded to a white mask
from which her dark eyes flashed furiously.
But her voice, though it trembled, was quiet
and cold.</p>

<p>“You’ll beg my pardon, Julian Wayne,
for what you’ve said before I’ll speak to
you again. Mr. Winthrop has never made
love to me in his life.”</p>

<p>She turned toward the door.</p>

<p>“You don’t dare deny, though, that you
love him!” cried Julian, roughly.</p>

<p>“I don’t deny it! I won’t deny it!”
cried Holly, facing him in a blaze of wrath.
“I deny nothing to you. You have no right
to know. But if I did love Mr. Winthrop,
married though he is, I’d not be ashamed
of it. He is at least a gentleman!”</p>

<p>She swept into the house.</p>

<p>“By God!” whispered Julian, the color
rushing from his face. “By God! I’ll kill
him! I’ll kill him!” He staggered down
the steps, beating the air with his whip. A
moment later, Holly, sitting with clenched<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span>
hands and heaving breast in her room,
heard him shouting for Uncle Ran and his
horse. Ten minutes later he was riding
like a whirlwind along the Marysville road,
White Queen in an ecstasy of madness as
the whip rose and fell.</p>

<p>But by the time the distance was half
covered Julian’s first anger had cooled,
leaving in its place a cold, bitter wrath
toward Winthrop, to whom he laid the
blame not only of Holly’s defection but of
his loss of temper and brutality. He was
no longer incensed with Holly; it was as
plain as a pikestaff that the sneaking Yankee
had bewitched her with his damned
grinning face and flattering attentions, all
the while, doubtless, laughing at her in his
sleeve! His smouldering rage blazed up
again and with a muttered oath Julian
raised his whip. But at Queen’s sudden
snort of terror he let it drop softly again,
compunction gripping him. He leaned forward
and patted the wet, white neck soothingly.</p>

<p>“Forgive me, girl,” he whispered. “I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span>
was a brute to take it out on you. There,
there, easy now; quiet, quiet!”</p>

<p>On Monday Holly received a letter from
him. It was humbly apologetic, and self-accusing.
It made no reference to Winthrop,
nor did it refer to the matter of the
broken engagement; only—</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p248">
  <img src="images/i_p248.jpg" alt="Julian writing to Holly" title="Julian writing to Holly">
</div>

<p>“Try and forget my words, Holly,” he
wrote, “and forgive me and let us be good
friends again just as we always have been.
I am going over to see you Saturday evening
to ask forgiveness in person, but I
shan’t bother you for more than a couple
of hours.”</p>

<p>Holly, too, had long since repented, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span>
was anxious to forgive and be forgiven.
The thought of losing Julian’s friendship
just now when, as it seemed, she needed
friendship so much, had troubled and dismayed
her, and when his letter came she
was quite prepared to go more than halfway
to effect a reconciliation. Her answer,
written in the first flush of gratitude,
represented Holly in her softest mood, and
Julian read between the lines far more
than she had meant to convey. He folded
it up and tucked it away with the rest of
her letters and smiled his satisfaction.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p249">
  <img src="images/i_p249.jpg" alt="Holly writing to Julian" title="Holly writing to Julian">
</div>

<p>At Waynewood in those days life for
Holly and Winthrop was an unsatisfactory<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span>
affair, to say the least. Each strove to
avoid the other without seeming to do so,
with the result that each felt piqued. In
Winthrop’s case it was one thing to keep
out of Holly’s presence from motives of
caution, and quite another to find that she
was avoiding him. He believed that his
secret was quite safe, and so Holly’s apparent
dislike for his society puzzled and
disturbed him. When they were together
the former easy intimacy was absent and
in its place reigned a restlessness that
made the parting almost a relief. So affairs
stood when on the subsequent Saturday
Julian rode over to Waynewood again.</p>

<p>It was almost the middle of February,
and the world was aglow under a spell of
warm weather that was quite unseasonable.
The garden was riotous with green
leaves and early blossoms. Uncle Ran confided
to Winthrop that “if you jes’ listens
right cahful you can hear the leaves
a-growin’ an’ the buds a-poppin’ open,
sir!” Winthrop had spent a restless day.
Physically he was as well as he had ever<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span>
been, he told himself; three months at
Waynewood had worked wonders for him;
but mentally he was far from normal. Of
late he had been considering more and
more the advisability of returning North.
It was time to get back into harness. He
had no doubt of his ability to retrieve his
scattered fortune, and it was high time that
he began. And then, too, existence here at
Waynewood was getting more complex and
unsatisfactory every day. As far as Miss
India’s treatment of him was concerned,
he had only cause for congratulation, for
his siege of that lady’s heart had been as
successful as it was cunning; only that
morning she had spoken to him of Waynewood
as “your property” without any
trace of resentment; but it was very evident
that Holly had wearied of him. That
should have been salutary knowledge,
tending to show him the absurdity and
hopelessness of his passion, but unfortunately
it only increased his misery without
disturbing the cause of it. Yes, it was high
time to break away from an ungraceful position,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span>
and get back to his own world—high
time to awake from dreams and face
reality.</p>

<p>So his thoughts ran that Saturday afternoon,
as he walked slowly out from town
along the shaded road. As he came within
sight of Waynewood a horse and rider
turned in at the gate, and when Winthrop
left the oleander path and reached the sun-bathed
garden he saw that Julian and
Holly were seated together on the porch,
very deep in conversation—so interested
in each other, indeed, that he had almost
gained the steps before either of them became
aware of his presence. Holly looked
anxiously at Julian. But that youth was
on his good behavior. He arose and bowed
politely, if coldly, to Winthrop. Something
told the latter that an offer to shake
hands would not be a happy proceeding.
So he merely returned Julian’s bow as he
greeted him, remained for a moment in
conversation, and then continued on his
way up-stairs. Once in his room he lighted
a pipe and, from force of habit, sank into<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span>
a chair facing the empty fireplace. Life
to-day seemed extremely unattractive. After
ten minutes he arose, knocked out the
ashes briskly, and dragged his trunk into
the center of the room. He had made up
his mind.</p>

<p>Supper passed pleasantly enough. Julian
was resolved to reinstall himself in
Holly’s good graces, even if it entailed being
polite to the Northerner. Holly was in
good spirits, while Winthrop yielded to an
excitement at once pleasant and perturbing.
Now that he had fully decided to return
North he found himself quite eager
to go; he wondered how he could have been
content to remain in idleness so long. Miss
India was the same as always, charming in
her simple dignity, gravely responsive to
the laughter of the others, presiding behind
the teapot with the appropriate daintiness
of a Chelsea statuette. Winthrop said
nothing of his intended departure to-morrow
noon; he would not give Julian
that satisfaction. After Julian had gone
he would inform Holly. They must be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span>
alone when he told her. He didn’t ask himself
why. He only knew that the blood was
racing in his veins to-night, that the air
seemed tinged with an electrical quality
that brought pleasant thrills to his heart,
and that it was his last evening at Waynewood.
One may be pardoned something on
one’s last evening.</p>

<p>Contrary to his custom, and to all the
laws of Cupid’s Court, Winthrop joined
Julian and Holly on the porch after supper.
He did his best to make himself
agreeable and flattered himself that Holly,
at least, did not resent his presence. After
his first fit of resentment at the other’s
intrusion Julian, too, thawed out and, recollecting
his rôle, was fairly agreeable to
Winthrop. A silver moon floated above
the house and flooded the world with light.
The white walls shone like snow, and the
shadows were intensely black and abrupt.
No air stirred the sleeping leaves, and the
night was thrillingly silent, save when a
Whippoorwill sang plaintively in the
grove.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span></p>

<p>At nine Julian arose to take his leave.
White Queen had been brought around by
Uncle Ran and was pawing the earth restively
beside the hitching-post outside the
gate at the end of the house. Doubtless
Julian expected that Winthrop would allow
him to bid Holly good-night unmolested.
But if so he reckoned without the
spirit of recklessness which controlled the
Northerner to-night. Winthrop arose with
the others and accompanied them along the
path to the gate, returning Julian’s resentful
glare with a look of smiling insouciance.
Julian unhitched White Queen and a moment
of awkward silence followed. Holly,
dimly aware of the antagonism, glanced
apprehensively from Julian to Winthrop.</p>

<p>“That’s a fine horse you have there,”
said Winthrop, at last.</p>

<p>“Do you think so?” answered Julian,
with a thinly-veiled sneer. “You know
something about horses, perhaps?”</p>

<p>“Not much,” replied Winthrop, with a
good-natured laugh. “I used to ride when
I was at college.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span></p>

<p>“Perhaps you’d like to try her?” suggested
Julian.</p>

<p>“Thanks, no.”</p>

<p>“I reckon you had better not,” Julian
drawled. “A horse generally knows when
you’re afraid of her.”</p>

<p>“Oh, I’m not afraid,” said Winthrop.
“I dare say I’d manage to stick on, but it
is some time since I’ve ridden and my efforts
would only appear ridiculous to one
of your grace and ability.”</p>

<p>“Your modesty does you credit, if your
discretion doesn’t,” replied the other, with
a disagreeable laugh. “I hadn’t done you
justice, Mr. Winthrop, it seems.”</p>

<p>“How is that?” asked Winthrop, smilingly.</p>

<p>“Why, it seems that you possess two
virtues I had not suspected you of having,
sir.”</p>

<p>“You wound me, Mr. Wayne. I pride
myself on my modesty. And as for discretion——”</p>

<p>“You doubtless find it useful at such
times as the present,” sneered Julian.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span></p>

<p>“I really almost believe you are suspecting
me of cowardice,” said Winthrop,
pleasantly.</p>

<p>“I really almost believe you are a mind-reader,”
mocked Julian.</p>

<p>Their eyes met and held in the moonlight.
Julian’s face was white and
strained. Winthrop’s was smiling, but the
mouth set hard and there was a dangerous
sparkle in the eyes. Challenge met challenge.
Winthrop laughed softly.</p>

<p>“You see, Miss Holly,” he said, turning
to her, “I am forced to exhibit my deficiencies,
after all, or stand accused of cowardice.
I pray you to mercifully turn your
eyes away.”</p>

<p>“Please don’t,” said Holly, in a troubled
voice. “Really, Queen isn’t safe, Mr. Winthrop.”</p>

<p>“The advice is good, sir,” drawled Julian.
“The mare isn’t safe.”</p>

<p>“Oh, pardon me, the mare is quite safe,”
replied Winthrop, as he took the bridle
reins from Julian’s hand; “it’s I who am
not safe. But we shall see. At least, Miss<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span>
Holly, credit me with the modesty which
Mr. Wayne seems to begrudge me, for here
on the verge of the sacrifice I acknowledge
myself no horseman.”</p>

<p>He placed his foot in the stirrup and
sprang lightly enough into the saddle.
White Queen flattened her ears as she felt
a new weight on her back, but stood quite
still while Winthrop shortened the reins.</p>

<p>“Come on, Queen,” he said. The mare
moved a step hesitatingly and shook her
head. At that moment there was a sharp
cry of warning from Holly. Julian raised
the whip in his hand and brought it down
savagely, and the mare, with a cry of terror,
flung herself across the narrow roadway
so quickly that Winthrop shot out of
the saddle and crashed against the picket
fence, to lie crumpled and still in the moonlight.
Holly was beside him in the instant
and Julian, tossing aside his whip, sprang
after her.</p>

<p>Holly turned blazing eyes upon him.</p>

<p>“No, no!” she cried, wildly. “You
<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span>shan’t touch him! <a href="#i_fp258">Keep away! You’ve
killed him.</a> I won’t let you touch him!”
She threw one arm across Winthrop’s
breast protectingly, and with the other
sought to ward Julian away.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_fp258">
  <img src="images/i_fp258.jpg" alt="" title="">
  <div class="caption">
    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_259">“KEEP AWAY! YOU’VE KILLED HIM”</a></p>
  </div>
</div>

<p>“Hush!” he cried, tensely. “I must
look at him. He is only stunned. His head
struck the fence. Let me look at him.”</p>

<p>“I won’t! I won’t!” sobbed the girl.
“You have done enough! Go for help!”</p>

<p>“Don’t be a fool!” he muttered, kneeling
beside the still form and running a
hand under the vest. “You don’t want
him to die, do you? Here, hold his head up—so;
that’s it.” There was an instant’s
silence broken only by Holly’s dry, choking
sobs. Then Julian arose briskly to his feet.
“Just as I said,” he muttered. “Stunned.
Find Uncle Ran and we’ll take him into
the house and attend to him!”</p>

<p>“No, no! I’ll stay here,” said Holly,
brokenly. “Hurry! Hurry!”</p>

<p>For an instant Julian hesitated, scowling
down upon her. Then, with a muttered
word, he turned abruptly and ran toward
the house. Holly, huddled against the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span>
fence with Winthrop’s head on her knee,
held tightly to one limp hand and watched
with wide, terrified eyes. The face was so
white and cold in the moonlight! There
was a little troubled frown on the forehead,
as though the soul was wondering and perplexed.
Had Julian spoken the truth?
Was he really only stunned, or was this
death that she looked on? Would they
never come? She gripped his hand in a
sudden panic of awful fear. Supposing
death came and took him away from her
while she sat there impotent! She bent
closer above him, as though to hide him,
and as she did so he gave a groan. Her
heart leaped.</p>

<p>“Dear,” she whispered, “it’s Holly.
She wants you. You won’t die, will you?
When you know that I want you, you won’t
leave me, will you? What would I do without
you, dear? I’ve so long to live!”</p>

<p>Footsteps hurried across the porch and
down the steps. Very gently Holly yielded
her burden to Uncle Ran, and Winthrop was
carried into the house, where Aunt India,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span>
in a pink flowered wrapper, awaited them
at the head of the stairs. They bore Winthrop
into his room and laid him, still unconscious,
on his bed. Holly’s gaze clung
to the white face.</p>

<p>“Get on Queen, Uncle Ran, and ride in
for the Old Doctor,” Julian directed.
“Tell him there’s a collar-bone to set. You
had better leave us, Holly.”</p>

<p>“No, no!” cried Holly, new fear gripping
her heart.</p>

<p>“Holly!” said her aunt. “Go at once,
girl. This is no place for you.” But Holly
made no answer. Her eyes were fixed on
the silent form on the bed. Julian laid his
hand on her arm.</p>

<p>“Come,” he said. She started and tore
away from him, her eyes ablaze.</p>

<p>“Don’t touch me!” she whispered,
hoarsely, shudderingly. “Don’t touch me,
Julian! You’ve killed him! I want never
to see you again!”</p>

<p>“Holly!” exclaimed Miss India, astoundedly.</p>

<p>“I am going, Auntie.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span></p>

<p>Julian held the door open for her, looking
troubledly at her as she passed out.
But she didn’t see him. The door closed
behind her. She heard Julian’s quick
steps across the floor and the sound of
murmuring voices.</p>

<p>A deep sob shook her from head to feet.
Falling to her knees she laid her forehead
against the frame of the door, her hands
clasping and unclasping convulsively.</p>

<p>“Dear God,” she moaned, “I didn’t
mean this! I didn’t mean this!”</p>

<div class="figcenter2" id="i_p262">
  <img src="images/i_p262.jpg" alt="A deep sob" title="A deep sob">
</div>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII">XIII.</h2>
</div>


<p>The effects of striking the head against
a well-built fence may vary in severity,
ranging all the way from a simple contusion
through concussion of the brain to
a broken neck. If unconsciousness results
it may last from a fraction of a second to—eternity.
In Winthrop’s case it lasted
something less than ten minutes, at the end
of which time he awoke to a knowledge of
a dully aching head and an uncomfortable
left shoulder. Unlike some other injuries,
a broken collar-bone is a plain, open-and-above-board
affliction, with small likelihood
of mysterious complications. It is possible
for the surgeon to tell within a day or two
the period of resulting incapacity. The
Old Doctor said two weeks. Sunday morning
Uncle Ran unpacked Winthrop’s trunk,
arranging the contents in the former places
with evident satisfaction. On Monday<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span>
Winthrop was up and about the house,
quite himself save for the temporary loss
of his left arm and a certain stiffness of
his neck.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p264">
  <img src="images/i_p264.jpg" alt="Mr. Winthrop rehabilitating" title="Mr. Winthrop rehabilitating">
</div>

<p>Miss India was once more in her element.
As an invalid, Winthrop had been
becoming something of a disappointment,
but now he was once again in his proper
rôle. Miss India kept an anxiously watchful
eye on him, and either Uncle Ran or
Phœbe was certain to be hovering about
whenever he lifted his eyes. The number<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span>
of eggnoggs and other strengthening beverages
which Winthrop was compelled to
drink during the ensuing week would be
absolutely appalling if set down in cold
print.</p>

<p>Of Holly he caught but brief glimpses
those first days of his disability. She was
all soft solicitude, but found occupations
that kept her either at the back of the
house or in her chamber. She feared that
Winthrop was awaiting a convenient moment
when they were alone to ask her
about the accident. As a matter of fact,
he had little curiosity about it. He was
pretty certain that Julian had in some
manner frightened the horse, but he had
not heard the sound of the whip, since
Holly’s sudden cry and the mare’s instant
start had drowned it. It seemed a very
slight matter, after all. Doubtless Julian’s
rage had mastered him for the instant, and
doubtless he was already heartily ashamed
of himself. Indeed his ministrations to
Winthrop pending the arrival of the Old
Doctor had been as solicitous as friendship<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span>
could have demanded. Winthrop was
quite ready to let by-gones be by-gones.</p>

<p>“Besides,” Winthrop told himself, “I
deliberately led him on to lose control of
himself. I’m as much to blame as he is.
I wasn’t in my right mind myself that
night; maybe the evening ended less disastrously
than it might have. I dare say it
was the moonlight. I’ve blamed everything
so far on the weather, and the moonlight
might as well come in for its share.
Served me right, too, for wanting to make
a holy show of myself on horseback. Oh,
I was decidedly mad that night; moon-mad,
that’s it.” He reflected a moment,
then— “The worst thing about being
knocked unconscious,” he went on, “is that
you don’t know what happens until you
come to again. Now I’d like to have looked
on at events. For instance, I’d give a
thousand dollars—if I still possess that
much—to know what Holly did or said, or
didn’t do. I think I’ll ask her.”</p>

<p>He smiled at the idea. Then—</p>

<p>“Why not?” he said, half aloud. “I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span>
want to know; why not ask? Why, hang
it all, I will ask! And right now, too.”</p>

<p>He arose from the chair in the shade of
the Baltimore Belle and walked to the door.</p>

<p>“Miss Holly,” he called.</p>

<p>“Yes?” The voice came from up-stairs.</p>

<p>“Are you very, very busy?”</p>

<p>“N-no, not very, Mr. Winthrop.”</p>

<p>“Then will you grant a dying man the
grace of a few moments of your valuable
time?”</p>

<p>There was a brief moment of hesitation,
broken by the anxious voice of Miss India.</p>

<p>“Holly!” called her aunt, indignantly,
“go down at once and see what Mr. Winthrop
wants. I reckon Phœbe has forgotten
to take him his negus.”</p>

<p>Winthrop smiled, and groaned. Holly’s
steps pattered across the hall and he went
back to the end of the porch, dragging a
second chair with him and placing it opposite
his own. When Holly came he pointed
to it gravely. Holly’s heart fell. Winthrop
had a right to know the truth, but it
didn’t seem fair that the duty of confessing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span>
Julian’s act should fall to her. The
cowardice of it loomed large and terrible
to her.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p268">
  <img src="images/i_p268.jpg" alt="Winthrop gathers information" title="Winthrop gathers information">
</div>

<p>“Miss Holly,” said Winthrop, “I am
naturally curious to learn what happened
the other night. Now, as you were an eye-witness
of the episode, I come to you for
information.”</p>

<p>“You mean that I’ve come to you,” answered
Holly, smiling nervously.</p>

<p>“True; I accept the correction.”</p>

<p>“What—what do you want to know?”
asked Holly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span></p>

<p>“All, please.”</p>

<p>Holly’s eyes dropped, and her hands
clutched each other desperately in her lap.</p>

<p>“I—he—oh, Mr. Winthrop, he didn’t
know what he was doing; truly he didn’t!
He didn’t think what might happen!”</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p269">
  <img src="images/i_p269.jpg" alt="Holly explains" title="Holly explains">
</div>

<p>“He? Who? Oh, you mean Julian? Of
course he didn’t think; I understand that
perfectly. And it’s of no consequence,
really, Miss Holly. He was angry; in fact,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span>
I’d helped make him so; he acted on the
impulse.”</p>

<p>“Then you knew?” wondered Holly.</p>

<p>“Knew something was up, that’s all. I
suppose he flicked the mare with the whip;
I dare say he only wanted to start her for
me.”</p>

<p>Holly shook her head.</p>

<p>“No, it wasn’t that. He—he cut her
with the whip as hard as he could.” Winthrop
smiled at her tragic face and voice.</p>

<p>“Well, as it happens there was little
harm done. I dare say he’s quite as regretful
about it now as you like. What I
want to know is what happened afterwards,
after I—dismounted.”</p>

<p>“Oh,” said Holly. Her eyes wandered
from Winthrop’s and the color crept
slowly into her face.</p>

<p>“Well,” he prompted, presently. “You
are not a very good chronicler, Miss
Holly.”</p>

<p>“Why, afterwards——oh, Julian examined
you and found that you weren’t
killed——”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span></p>

<p>“There was doubt about that, then?”</p>

<p>“I—we were frightened. You were all
huddled up against the fence and your face
was so white——”</p>

<p>Holly’s own face paled at the recollection.
Winthrop’s smile faded, and his
heart thrilled.</p>

<p>“I’m sorry I occasioned you uneasiness,
Miss Holly,” he said, earnestly. “Then
they carried me into the house and up to
my room, I suppose. And that was all
there was to it,” he added, regretfully and
questioningly. It had been rather tame
and uninteresting, after all.</p>

<p>“Yes——no,” answered Holly. “I—stayed
with you while Julian went for Uncle
Ran. I thought once you were really
dead, after all. Oh, I was so—so frightened!”</p>

<p>“He should have stayed himself,” said
Winthrop, with a frown. “It was a shame
to put you through such an ordeal.”</p>

<p>There was a little silence. Then Holly’s
eyes went back to Winthrop’s quite fearlessly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span></p>

<p>“I wouldn’t let him,” she said. “I was
angry. I told him he had killed you, and I
wouldn’t let him touch you—at first. I—I
was so frightened! Oh, you don’t know
how frightened I was!”</p>

<p>She knew quite well what she was doing.
She knew that she was laying her heart
quite bare at that moment, that her voice
and eyes were telling him everything, and
that he was listening and comprehending!
But somehow it seemed perfectly right and
natural to her. Why should she treat her
love—their love—as though it was something
to be ashamed of, to hide and avoid?
Surely the very fact that they could never
be to each other as other lovers, ennobled
their love rather than degraded it!</p>

<p>And as they looked at each other across
a little space her eyes read the answer to
their message and her heart sang happily
for a moment there in the sunlight. Then
her eyes dropped slowly before the intensity
of his look, a soft glow spread upward
into her smooth cheeks, and she smiled
very gravely and sweetly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span></p>

<p>“I’ve told you, haven’t I!” she said,
tremulously.</p>

<p>“Holly!” he whispered. “Holly!”</p>

<p>He stretched his hand toward her, only
to let it fall again as the first fierce joy
gave place to doubt and discretion. He
strove to think, but his heart was leaping
and his thoughts were in wild disorder.
He wanted to fall on his knees beside her,
to take her in his arms, to make her look
at him again with those soft, deep, confessing
eyes. He wanted to whisper a thousand
endearments to her, to sigh “Holly,
Holly,” and “Holly” again, a thousand
times. But the moments ticked past, and
he only sat and held himself to his chair
and was triumphantly happy and utterly
miserable in all his being. Presently Holly
looked up at him again, a little anxiously
and very tenderly.</p>

<p>“Are you sorry for me!” she asked,
softly.</p>

<p>“For you and for myself, dear,” he answered,
“unless——”</p>

<p>“Will it be very hard?” she asked.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span>
“Would it have been easier if I hadn’t—hadn’t——”</p>

<p>“No, a thousand times no, Holly! But,
dear, I never guessed——”</p>

<p>Holly shook her head, and laughed very
softly.</p>

<p>“I didn’t mean you to know, I reckon;
but somehow it just—just came out. I
couldn’t help it. I reckon I ought to have
helped it, but you see I’ve never—cared
for anyone before, and I don’t know how
to act properly. Do you think I am awfully—awfully—you
know; do you?”</p>

<p>“I think you’re the best, the dearest——”
He stopped, with something that
was almost a sob. “I can’t tell you what
I think you are, Holly; I haven’t the words,
dear.”</p>

<p>“I don’t suppose you ought to, anyhow,”
said Holly, thoughtfully.</p>

<p>“Holly, have I—have I been to blame?”</p>

<p>“No,” she answered quickly. “It was
just—just me, I reckon. I prayed God that
He wouldn’t let me love you, but I reckon
He has to look after so many girls that—that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span>
care for the wrong people that He
didn’t have time to bother with Holly
Wayne. Anyhow, it didn’t seem to do
much good. Maybe, though, He wanted me
to love you—in spite of—of everything.
Do you reckon He did?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” said Winthrop, fiercely, “I
reckon He did. And He’s got to take the
consequences! Holly, I’m not fit for you;
I’m twenty years older than you are; I’ve
been married and I’ve had the bloom
brushed off of life, dear; but if you’ll take
me, Holly, if you’ll take me, dear——”</p>

<p>“Oh!” Holly arose to her feet and held
a hand toward him appealingly. “Please
don’t! Please!” she cried. “Don’t spoil
it all!”</p>

<p>“Spoil it?” he asked, wonderingly.</p>

<p>He got slowly to his feet and moved toward
her.</p>

<p>“You know what I mean,” said Holly,
troubledly. “I do love you, and you love
me——you do love me, don’t you?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” he answered, simply.</p>

<p>“And we can’t be happy—that way.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span>
But we can care for each other—always—a
great deal, and not make it hard to—to——”</p>

<p>She faltered, the tears creeping one by
one over her lids. A light broke upon
Winthrop.</p>

<p>“But you don’t understand!” he cried.</p>

<p>“What?” she faltered, looking up at him
anxiously, half fearfully, from swimming
eyes as he took her hand.</p>

<p>“Dear, there’s no wrong if I——”</p>

<p>Sounds near at hand caused him to stop
and glance around. At the gate Julian
Wayne was just dismounting from White
Queen. Holly drew her hand from Winthrop’s
and with a look, eager and wondering,
hurried in-doors just as Julian opened
the gate. Winthrop sank into his chair and
felt with trembling fingers for his cigarette-case.
Julian espied him as he mounted
the steps and walked along the porch very
stiffly and determinedly.</p>

<div class="figright" id="i_p277">
  <img src="images/i_p277.jpg" alt="Julian apologizes" title="Julian apologizes">
</div>

<p>“Good-morning,” said Winthrop.</p>

<p>“Good-morning, sir,” answered Julian.
“I have come to apologize for what occurred—for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span>
what I did the other night.
I intended coming before, but it was
impossible.”</p>

<p>“Don’t say anything more about it,”
replied Winthrop. “I understand. You
acted on a moment’s impulse and my poor
horsemanship did the rest. It’s really not
worth speaking of.”</p>

<p>“On the contrary I did it quite deliberately,”
answered Julian. “I meant to do
it, sir. But I had no thought of injuring
you. I—I only wanted Queen to cut up.
If you would like satisfaction, Mr. Winthrop——”</p>

<p>Winthrop stared.</p>

<p>“My dear fellow,” he ejaculated, “you
aren’t proposing a duel, are you?”</p>

<p>“I am quite at your service, sir,” replied
Julian, haughtily. “If the idea of reparation
seems ridiculous to you——”</p>

<p>“I beg your pardon, really,” said Winthrop,
gravely and hurriedly. “It was
only that I had supposed duelling to be obsolete.”</p>

<p>“Not among gentlemen, sir!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span></p>

<p>“I see. Nevertheless, Mr. Wayne, I’m
afraid I shall have to refuse you. I am
hardly in condition to use either sword or
pistol.”</p>

<p>“If that is all,” answered Julian, eagerly,
“I can put my left arm in a sling,
too. That would put us on even terms, I
reckon, sir.”</p>

<p>Winthrop threw out his hand with a gesture
of surrender, and laughed amusedly.</p>

<p>“I give in,” he said. “You force me to
the unromantic acknowledgment that I’ve
never used a sword, and can’t shoot a revolver
without jerking the barrel all
around.”</p>

<p>“You find me mighty amusing, it
seems,” said Julian, hotly.</p>

<p>“My dear fellow——”</p>

<p>“I don’t know anything more about
swords or pistols than you do, I reckon,
sir, but I’ll be mighty glad to—to——”</p>

<p>“Cut my head off or shoot holes through
me? Thanks, but I never felt less like
departing this life than I do now, Mr.
Wayne.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span></p>

<p>“Then you refuse?”</p>

<p>“Unconditionally. The fact is, you
know, I, as the aggrieved party, am the
one to issue the challenge. As long as I am
satisfied with your apology I don’t believe
you have any right to insist on shooting
me.”</p>

<p>Julian chewed a corner of his lip and
scowled.</p>

<p>“I thought maybe you weren’t satisfied,”
he suggested hopefully.</p>

<p>Winthrop smiled.</p>

<p>“Quite satisfied,” he answered. “Won’t
you sit down?”</p>

<p>Julian hesitated and then took the chair
indicated, seating himself very erect on the
edge, his riding-whip across his knees.</p>

<p>“Will you smoke?” asked Winthrop,
holding forth his cigarette-case.</p>

<p>“No, thanks,” replied Julian, stiffly.</p>

<p>There was a moment’s silence while
Winthrop lighted his cigarette and Julian
observed him darkly. Then—</p>

<p>“Mr. Winthrop,” said Julian, “how
long do you intend to remain here, sir?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span></p>

<p>“My plans are a bit unsettled,” answered
Winthrop, tossing the burnt match
onto the walk. “I had intended leaving
Sunday, but my accident prevented. Now
I am undecided. May I enquire your reason
for asking, Mr. Wayne?”</p>

<p>“Because I wanted to know,” answered
Julian, bluntly. “Your presence here is—is
distasteful to me and embarrassing to
Miss India and Miss Holly.”</p>

<p>“Really!” gasped Winthrop.</p>

<p>“Yes, sir, and you know it. Anyone but
a Northerner would have more feeling
than to force himself on the hospitality of
two unfortunate ladies as you have done,
Mr. Winthrop.”</p>

<p>“But—but——!” Winthrop sighed, and
shook his head helplessly. “Oh, there’s no
use in my trying to get your view, I guess.
May I ask, merely as a matter of curiosity,
whether the fact that Waynewood is my
property has anything to do with it in your
judgment.”</p>

<p>“No, sir, it hasn’t! I don’t ask how you
came into possession of the place——”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[281]</span></p>

<p>“Thank you,” murmured Winthrop.</p>

<p>“But in retaining it you are acting
abominably, sir!”</p>

<p>“The deuce I am! May I ask what you
would advise me to do with it? Shall I
hand it over to Miss India or Miss Holly
as—as a valentine?”</p>

<p>“Our people, sir, don’t accept charity,”
answered Julian, wrathfully.</p>

<p>“So I fancied. Then what would you
suggest? Perhaps you are in a position
to buy it yourself, Mr. Wayne?”</p>

<p>Julian frowned and hesitated.</p>

<p>“You had no business taking it,” he
muttered.</p>

<p>“Granted for the sake of argument, sir.
But, having taken it, now what?”</p>

<p>Julian hesitated for a moment. Then—</p>

<p>“At least you’re not obliged to stay here
where you’re not wanted,” he said, explosively.</p>

<p>Winthrop smiled deprecatingly.</p>

<p>“Mr. Wayne, I’d like to ask you one
question. Did you come here this morning
on purpose to pick a quarrel with me?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[282]</span></p>

<p>“I came to apologize for what happened
Saturday night. I’ve told you so already.”</p>

<p>“You have. You have apologized like a
gentleman and I have accepted your apology
without reservations. That is finished.
And now I’d like to make a suggestion.”</p>

<p>“Well?” asked Julian, suspiciously.</p>

<p>“And that is that if your errand is at an
end you withdraw from my property until
you can address me without insults.”</p>

<p>Julian’s face flushed; he opened his lips
to speak, choked back the words, and arose
from his chair.</p>

<p>“Don’t misunderstand me, please,” went
on Winthrop, quietly. “I am not turning
you out. I should be glad to have you remain
as long as you like. Only, if you
please, as long as you are in a measure my
guest, you will kindly refrain from impertinent
criticisms of my actions. I’d dislike
very much to have you weaken my faith in
Southern courtesy, Mr. Wayne.”</p>

<p>Julian’s reply was never made, for at
that instant Holly and Miss India came out<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[283]</span>
on the porch. Holly’s first glance was toward
Winthrop. Then, with slightly
heightened color, she greeted Julian kindly.
He seized her hand and looked eagerly into
her smiling face.</p>

<p>“Am I forgiven?” he asked, in an anxious
whisper.</p>

<p>“Hush,” she answered, “it is I who
should ask that. But we’ll forgive each
other.” She turned to Winthrop, who had
arisen at their appearance, and Julian
greeted Miss India.</p>

<p>“What have you gentlemen been talking
about for so long?” asked Holly, gayly.</p>

<p>“Many things,” answered Winthrop.
“Mr. Wayne was kind enough to express
his regrets for my accident. Afterwards
we discussed”—he paused and shot a
whimsical glance at Julian’s uneasy countenance—“Southern
customs, obsolete and
otherwise.”</p>

<p>“It sounds very uninteresting,” laughed
Holly. Then—“Why, Uncle Ran hasn’t
taken your horse around, Julian,” she exclaimed.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284"></a>[284]</span></p>

<p>“I didn’t call him. I am going right
back.”</p>

<p>“Nonsense, Julian, dinner is coming on
the table now,” said Holly.</p>

<p>“It’s much too warm to ride in the middle
of the day,” said Miss India, decisively.
“Tell Phœbe to lay another place,
Holly.” Julian hesitated and shot a questioning
glance at Winthrop.</p>

<p>“You are quite right, Miss India,” said
Winthrop. “This is no time to do twelve
miles on horseback. You must command
Mr. Wayne to remain. No one, I am sure,
has ever dared disregard a command of
yours.”</p>

<p>“I’ll tell Phœbe and call Uncle Ran,”
said Holly. But at the door she turned
and looked across the garden. “Why, here
is Uncle Major! We’re going to have a
regular dinner party, Auntie.”</p>

<p>The Major, very warm and somewhat
breathless, was limping his way hurriedly
around the rose-bed, his cane tapping the
ground with unaccustomed force.</p>

<p>“Good-morning, Miss India,” he called.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285"></a>[285]</span>
“Good-morning, Holly; good-morning,
gentlemen. Have you heard the news?”</p>

<p>“Not a word of it,” cried Holly, darting
to the steps and pulling him up. “Tell
me quick!”</p>

<p>The Major paused at the top of the little
flight, removed his hat, wiped his moist
forehead, and looked impressively about
the circle.</p>

<p>“The battleship <i>Maine</i> was blown up
last night in Havanna harbor by the
damned—I beg your pardon, ladies—by
the pesky Spaniards and nearly three hundred
officers and men were killed.”</p>

<p>“Oh!” said Holly, softly.</p>

<p>“I never!” gasped Miss India.</p>

<p>“It is known that the Spanish did it?”
asked Winthrop, gravely.</p>

<p>“There can be no doubt of it,” answered
the Major. “They just got the news half
an hour ago at the station and particulars
are meager, but there’s no question about
how it happened.”</p>

<p>“But this,” cried Julian, “means——!”</p>

<p>“It means intervention at last!” said the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286"></a>[286]</span>
Major. “And intervention means war, by
Godfrey!”</p>

<p>“War!” echoed Julian, eagerly.</p>

<p>“And if it wasn’t for this da—this trifling
leg of mine, I’d volunteer to-morrow,”
declared the Major.</p>

<p>“How awful!” sighed Miss India.
“Think of all those sailors that are killed!
I never did like the Spanish, Major.”</p>

<p>“It may be,” said Winthrop, “that the
accident will prove to have been caused by
an explosion on board.”</p>

<p>“Shucks!” said Julian. “That’s rubbish!
The Spaniards did it, as sure as
fighting, and, by Jupiter, if they think they
can blow up our ships and kill our men and
not suffer for it—— How long do you
reckon it’ll be, Major, before we declare
war on them?”</p>

<p>“Can’t say; maybe a week, maybe a
month. I reckon Congress will have to
chew it over awhile. But it’s bound to
come, and—well, I reckon I’m out of it,
Julian,” concluded the Major, with a sigh.</p>

<p>“But I’m not!” cried the other. “I’ll<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287"></a>[287]</span>
go with the hospital corps. It’s the chance
of a lifetime, Major! Why, a man can get
more experience in two weeks in a field
hospital than he can in two years anywhere
else! Why——”</p>

<p>“The bell has rung,” interposed Miss
India. “You must take dinner with us,
Major, and tell us everything you know.
Dear, dear, I feel quite worked up! I remember
when the news came that our army
had fired on Fort Sumter——”</p>

<p>Winthrop laid his hand on the Major’s
arm and halted him.</p>

<p>“Major,” he said, smiling slightly,
“don’t you think you ought to explain to
them that the <i>Maine</i> wasn’t a Confederate
battleship, that she belonged to the United
States and that probably more than half
her officers and men were Northerners?”</p>

<p>“Eh? What?” The Major stared bewilderedly
a moment. Then he chuckled
and laid one big knotted hand on Winthrop’s
shoulder. “Mr. Winthrop, sir,”
he said, “I reckon all that doesn’t matter
so much now.”</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>[288]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV">XIV.</h2>
</div>


<p>“I’m going for a walk with Mr. Winthrop,
Auntie,” said Holly. She fastened
a broad-brimmed hat on her head and
looked down at Miss India with soft, shining
eyes. Dinner was over and Miss India,
the Major and Julian were sitting in a
shady spot on the porch. Winthrop
awaited Holly at the steps.</p>

<p>“Well, my dear,” answered Miss India.
“But keep Mr. Winthrop away from those
dark, damp places, Holly. It’s so easy to
get the feet wet at this time of year.”</p>

<p>“You see, Uncle Major,” laughed Holly,
“she doesn’t care whether I catch cold or
not; it’s just Mr. Winthrop!”</p>

<p>“Holly!” expostulated her Aunt.</p>

<p>“She knows, my dear,” said the Major,
gallantly, “that those little feet of yours
will skim the wet places like swallows!”</p>

<p>“Thank you, sir!” She made a face at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>[289]</span>
the Major. “You will be here when we
get back, won’t you, Julian?”</p>

<p>“I don’t know,” answered Julian, dismally.</p>

<p>“We won’t be long.” She nodded to the
trio and joined Winthrop, and side by side
they went down the steps, wound through
the garden and disappeared into the oleander
path. Julian watched them with a pain
at his heart until they were out of sight,
and for several minutes afterwards he sat
silent, thinking bitter thoughts. Then a
remark of the Major’s aroused him and
he leaped impetuously into the conversation.</p>

<p>“Trouble!” he exclaimed. “Why, we
can clear the Spaniards out of Cuba in two
weeks. Look at our ships! And look at
our army! There isn’t a better one in the
world! Trouble! Why, it’ll be too easy;
you’ll see; it’ll be all over before we know
it!”</p>

<p>“I dread another war, Major,” said
Miss India, with a little shudder. “The
last one was so terrible.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>[290]</span></p>

<p>“It was, ma’am, it was. It was brother
kill brother. But this one will be different,
Miss Indy, for North and South will
stand together and fight together, and, by
Godfrey, there’ll be no stopping until
Spanish dominion in Cuba is a thing of the
past!”</p>

<p>“That’s right,” cried Julian. “This is
the whole country together this time; it’s
the United States of America, by Jupiter!”</p>

<p>“Let us thank God for that,” said Miss
India, devoutly.</p>

<hr class="tb">

<p>Winthrop and Holly were rather silent
until they had left the red clay road behind
and turned into the woods. There, in a
little clearing, Winthrop led the way to the
trunk of a fallen pine and they seated
themselves upon it. The afternoon sunlight
made its way between the branches
in amber streams. Above them festoons
of gray-green moss decked the trees. The
woods were very silent and not even a bird-call
broke the silence. Holly took her hat
off and laid it beside her on the gray bark.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>[291]</span>
Then she turned gravely to Winthrop and
met his eyes.</p>

<p>“What is it?” she whispered.</p>

<p>“I’ve brought you here, Holly, to ask
you to marry me,” he answered. Holly’s
hand flew to her heart, and her eyes grew
big and dark.</p>

<p>“I don’t understand,” she faltered.</p>

<p>“No, and before I do ask you, dear, I’ve
got something to tell you. Will you
listen?”</p>

<p>“Oh, yes,” answered Holly, simply.</p>

<p>“I was married when I was twenty-four
years old,” began Winthrop, after a moment.
“I had just finished a course in the
law school. The girl I married was four
years younger than I. She was very beautiful
and a great belle in the little city in
which she lived. We went to New York
and I started in business with a friend of
mine. We were stock brokers. A year
later my wife bore me a son; we called him
Robert. For five years we were very
happy; those years were the happiest I
have ever known. Then the boy died.”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>[292]</span>
He was silent a moment. “I loved him a
great deal, and I took it hard. I made a
mistake then. To forget my trouble I immersed
myself too deeply, perhaps, in business.
Well, two years later I made the discovery
that I had failed to keep my wife’s
love. If our boy had lived it would have
been different but his death left her lonely
and—I was thoughtless, selfish in my
own sorrow, until it was too late. I found
that my wife had grown to love another
man. I don’t blame her; I never have.
And she was always honest with me. She
told me the truth. She sued me for divorce
and I didn’t contest. That was six years
ago. She has been married for five years
and I think, I pray, that she is very
happy.”</p>

<p>He paused, and Holly darted a glance
at his face. He was looking straight ahead
down the woodland path, and for an instant
she felt very lonely and apart.
Then—</p>

<p>“You see, dear,” he continued, “I have
failed to keep one woman’s love. Could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>[293]</span>
I do better another time? I think so, but—who
knows? It would be a risk for you,
wouldn’t it?”</p>

<p>He turned and smiled gently at her, and
she smiled tremulously back.</p>

<p>“There,” he said. “Now you know
what I am. I am thirty-eight years old,
twenty years older than you, and a divorced
man into the bargain. Even if you
were willing to excuse those things, Holly,
I fear your aunt could not.”</p>

<p>“If I were willing,” answered Holly,
evenly, “nothing else would matter. But—you
will tell me one thing? Do you—are
you quite, quite sure that you do not still
love her—a little?”</p>

<p>“Quite, Holly. The heart I offer, dear,
is absolutely free.”</p>

<p>“I think God did mean me to love you,
then, after all,” said Holly, thoughtfully.</p>

<p>Winthrop arose and stood before her,
and held out his hand. She placed hers in
it and with her eyes on his allowed him to
raise her gently toward him.</p>

<p>“Then, Holly,” he said, “I ask you to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294"></a>[294]</span>
be my wife, for I love you more than I can
ever tell you. Will you, Holly, will you?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” sighed Holly.</p>

<p>Very gently he strove to draw her to
him but, with her hands against his breast,
she held herself at the length of his arms.</p>

<p>“Wait,” she said. “Don’t kiss me until
you are sure that you mean what you’ve
said, Robert—quite, quite sure. Because”—her
eyes darkened, and her voice
held a fierceness that thrilled him—“because,
dear, after you have kissed me it
will be too late to repent. I’ll never let
you go then, never while I live! I’ll fight
for you until—until——!”</p>

<p>Her voice broke, and the lashes fell tremblingly
over her eyes. Winthrop, awed
and stirred, raised the bowed head until
her eyes, grown soft and timid, glanced up
at him once more.</p>

<p>“Dear,” he said, very low and very
humbly, “such as I am I am yours as long
as God will let me live for you.”</p>

<p>He bent his head until his lips were on
hers.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295"></a>[295]</span></p>

<p>The next instant she had buried her face
against his shoulder, and he felt her body
shaking in his arms.</p>

<p>“Holly!” he cried. “Holly! You’re
crying! What is it, dear? What have I
done, Sweetheart?”</p>

<p>For an instant she ceased to quiver, and
from against his coat came a smothered
voice.</p>

<p>“What’s the good of be-being happy,”
sobbed Holly, “if you can’t cr-cr-cry?”</p>

<p>A breath of wind from the south swept
through the wood, stirring the tender
leaves to rustling murmurs. And the
sound was like that of a little stream which,
obstructed in its course, finds a new channel
and leaps suddenly on its way again,
laughing joyously.</p>

<div class="figcenter" id="i_p295">
  <img src="images/i_p295.jpg" alt="" title="">
  <div class="caption">
    <p class="noic"><span class="smcap">The End</span></p>
  </div>
</div>




<hr class="chap">
<div class="tnote">
<p class="noi tntitle">Transcriber’s Notes:</p>

<p class="smfont">A List of Chapters has been provided for the convenience of the
   reader.</p>

<p class="smfont">Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently
   corrected.</p>

<p class="smfont">Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.</p>

<p class="smfont">Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.</p>
</div>

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69920 ***</div>
</body>
</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-01-07 14:52:12 +0000