Astonished at his new humour, Phil and Elsie hastened to confess to him
their love affairs and ask his approval of their choice. His reply was
cautious, yet he did not refuse his consent. He advised them to wait a few
months, allow him time to know the young people, and get his bearings on
the conditions of Southern society. His mood of tenderness was a startling
revelation to them of the depth and intensity of his love.

When Mrs. Lenoir returned with Marion to her vine-clad home, she spent the
first day of perfect joy since the death of her lover husband. The deed
had not yet been made of the transfer of the farm, but it was only a
question of legal formality. She was to receive the money in the form of
interest-bearing securities and deliver the title on the following
morning.

Arm in arm, mother and daughter visited again each hallowed spot, with the
sweet sense of ownership. The place was in perfect order. Its flowers were
in gorgeous bloom, its walks clean and neat, the fences painted, and the
gates swung on new hinges.

They stood with their arms about one another, watching the sun sink behind
the mountains, with tears of gratitude and hope stirring their souls.

Ben Cameron strode through the gate, and they hurried to meet him with
cries of joy.

"Just dropped in a minute to see if you are snug for the night," he said.

"Of course, snug and so happy we've been hugging one another for hours,"
said the mother. "Oh, Ben, the clouds have lifted at last!"

"Has Aunt Cindy come yet?" he asked.

"No, but she'll be here in the morning to get breakfast. We don't want
anything to eat," she answered.

"Then I'll come out when I'm through my business to-night, and sleep in
the house to keep you company."

"Nonsense," said the mother, "we couldn't think of putting you to the
trouble. We've spent many a night here alone."

"But not in the past two years," he said with a frown.

"We're not afraid," Marion said with a smile. "Besides, we'd keep you
awake all night with our laughter and foolishness, rummaging through the
house."

"You'd better let me," Ben protested.

"No," said the mother, "we'll be happier to-night alone, with only God's
eye to see how perfectly silly we can be. Come and take supper with us
to-morrow night. Bring Elsie and her guitar--I don't like the banjo--and
we'll have a little love feast with music in the moonlight."

"Yes, do that," cried Marion. "I know we owe this good luck to her.