, as he plied Dan with
waffles, "en dey ain' all un um up yit."

"Well, well, we'll have a bottle after supper," remarked the Major,
heartily.

"If there's anything that's been improved by this war it should be that
port, I reckon," said Mrs. Lightfoot, her muslin cap nodding over the high
old urns.

"And Dan's appetite," finished Betty, merrily.

When they rose from the table, the girl tied on her bonnet of plaited straw
and kissed Mrs. Lightfoot and the Major.

"It is almost mamma's supper time," she said, "and I must hurry back. Why,
I've been away from her at least two hours." Then she looked at Dan and
shook her head. "Don't come," she added, "it is too far for you, and Congo
will see me safely home."

"Well, I'm sorry for Congo, but his day is over," Dan returned, as he took
up his hat and followed her out into the orchard. With a last wave to the
Major, who watched them from the window, they passed under the blossoming
fruit trees and went slowly down the little path, while Betty talked
pleasantly of trivial things, cheerful, friendly, and composed. When she
had exhausted the spring ploughing, the crops still to be planted and the
bright May weather, Dan stopped beside the ashes of Chericoke, and looked
at her with sombre eyes.

"Betty, we must have it out," he said abruptly. "I have thought over it
until I'm almost mad, and I see but one sensible thing for you to do--you
must give me up--my dearest."

A smile flickered about Betty's mouth. "It has taken you a long time to
come to that conclusion," she responded.

"I hoped until the end--even after I knew that hope was folly and that I
was a fool to cling to it. I always meant to come back to you when I got
the chance, but not like this--not like this."

At the pain in his eyes the girl caught her breath with a sob that shook
her from head to foot. Pity moved her with a passion stronger than mere
love, and she put out her protecting arms with a gesture that would have
saved him from the world--or from himself.

"No, like this, Dan," she answered, with her lips upon his coat.

He kissed her once and drew back.

"I never meant to come home this way, Betty," he said, in a voice that
trembled from its new humility.

"My dear, my dear, I have grown to think that any way is a good way," she
murmured, her eyes on the blackened pile that had once been Chericoke.

"It is not right," he went on; "it is not fair. You cannot marry me--you
must not."

Aga