o the little parlor.
Her eyes were shining, and the pink bloom on her cheek betokened the
tenseness of feeling held in check under a calm demeanor.

"Pardon me for keeping you waiting, Mr. Macpherson. I've been away from
town all day and I wanted to get my mail before I came in. I'm a long
way from everybody, you know."

There may have been a hint of tears in the voice, but the blue eyes were
very brave.

"And you got it?"

That was not what York meant to say. It was well that his face was in
the shadow while Jerry's was in the light. There are times when a man's
heart may be cut to the quick, and because he is a man he must not cry
out.

"No, not to-day. I don't know why," Jerry replied, slowly, with a
determined set of her red lips, while the fire in her blue-black eyes
burned steadily and the small hands gripped themselves together.

"I haven't had a word since I left home, and I had hoped that I might
find a letter waiting for me here."

"Letters are delayed, and letter-writers, too, sometimes. Maybe they are
all busy with Mrs. Darby's affairs. I remember when I was a boy up on
the Winnowoc she could keep me busier than anybody else ever did," York
offered.

"It must be that. Of course it must. Aunt Jerry is as industrious as I
am idle." Jerry gave a sigh of relief.

After the strain of this day, it was vastly comforting to her to stop
thinking _forward_, and just remember how beautiful it must be at "Eden"
now; and Eugene was there, and it was twilight. But like a hot blast the
memory of the hot sand-heaps of her landed estate came back.

"Did you want to see me about something?" she asked, suddenly. "Mr. Ponk
said you did."

"Yes, Jerry. I came here to see you because my sister and I want you to
come out to our house at once, and I have orders from Laura not to come
home without you."

"You are very kind. You know where I have been to-day?"

York smiled. Even in her abstraction Jerry felt the genial force of that
smile. How big and strong he was, and there was such a sense of
protection in his presence.

"Yes. You denied me the privilege of escorting you on this journey. I
had written a full description of your property to Cornelius Darby, in
reply to some questions of his, but his death must have come before the
letter reached Philadelphia. In the mass of business matters Mrs. Darby
may have missed my report."

"She may have," Jerry echoed, faintly. "I cannot say. Then it is my
estate that is