The carriage went
slowly, for the roads were heavy; moreover the former carriage horses
were gone to the war. These were two from the farm, somewhat old and
stiff, willing, but plodders. They went half asleep in the soft
sunshine, and Isham on the box went half asleep too. Judith would have
been willing to sleep, but she could not. She sat with her gaze upon the
fair spring woods and the amethystine hills rising to blue skies. The
carriage stopped. Isham bent down from the box. "Miss Judith, honey, er
gent'man's on de road behin' us, ridin' ter overtek de kerridge."

"Wait for him, then," said Judith. "There is some message, perhaps."

While they waited she sat with folded hands, her eyes upon the purple
hills, her thoughts away from Albemarle. The sound that Isham made of
surprise and satisfaction did not reach her. Until she saw Cleave's face
at the window she thought him somewhere in the Valley--fighting,
fighting! in battle and danger, perhaps, that very day.

Her eyes widened, her face had the hush of dawn; it was turned toward
him, but she sat perfectly still, without speaking. Only the door was
between them, the glass down. He rested his clasped hands on the ledge,
and his dark, moved face looked in upon her. "Judith," he said, "I did
not know.--I thought it was one of the others.... I hope that you are a
little glad to see me."

Judith looked at him a moment longer, then swayed a little forward. She
bent her head. Her cheek touched his clasped hands, he felt her kiss
upon them, and her forehead resting there.

There was a moment's silence, deep, breathless, then Cleave spoke.
"Judith ... Am I mad?"

"I believe that you love me," she said. "If you do not, it does not
matter.... I have loved you for two years."

"Maury Stafford?"

"I have never believed that you understood--though what it was that made
you misunderstand I have never guessed.... There is no Maury Stafford.
There never was."

He opened the door. "Come out," he said. "Come out with me into the
light. Send the carriage on."

She did so. The road was quiet, deserted, a wide bright path between the
evening hills. Dundee following them, they walked a little way until
they came to a great rock, sunk in the velvet sward that edged a wood.
Here they sat down, the gold light bathing them, behind them fairy
vistas, fountains of living green, stars of the dogwood and purple
sprays of Judas tree. "How I misunderstood is no matter now," said
Cleave.