"What? You mean-oh, Virginia, you don't mean-" Jane began, as she rose stiffly, her scrawny hand on the mantel-piece, and took a step towards her almost shrinking daughter.

"Here's the money, mother," Virginia said, holding out the roll of bills, now damp and packed close together by her warm, tense fingers.

"That's all I am allowed to tell you. I had to promise not to let you know who sent it."

As if electrified from death to life, Jane Hemingway sprang forward and took the money into her quivering fingers. "A light, Sam!" she cried.

"Make a light, and let me see. If the child's plumb crazy I want to know it, and have it over with. Oh, my Lord! Don't fool me, Virginia. Don't raise my hopes with any trick anybody wants to play."

With far more activity than was his by birth, Sam stood up, secured a tallow candle from the mantel-piece, and bent over the coals.

"Crazy?" he said. "I _know_ the girl's crazy, if she says there's any human being left on the earth after Noah's flood who gives away money without taking a receipt for it-to say nothing of a double, iron-clad mortgage."

"It looks and feels like money!" panted the widow. "Hurry up with the light. I wonder if my prayer has been heard at last."

"Hearing it and answering are two different things; the whole neighborhood has _heard_ it often enough," growled Sam, as he fumed impatiently over the hot coals, fairly hidden in a stifling cloud of tallow-smoke.

"Here's a match," said Virginia, who had found one near the clock, and she struck it on the top of one of the dog-irons, and applied it to the dripping wick. At the same instant the hot tallow in the coals and ashes burst into flame, lighting up every corner and crevice of the great, ill-furnished room. Sam, holding the candle, bent over Jane's hands as they nervously fumbled the money.

"Ten-dollar bills!" she cried. "Oh, count 'em, Sam! I can't. They stick together, she's wadded 'em so tight."

With almost painful deliberation Sam counted the money, licking his rough thumb as he raised each bill.

"It's a hundred dollars all right enough," he said, turning the roll over to his sister-in-law. "The only thing that's worrying me is who's had sech a sudden enlargement of the heart in this section."

"Virginia, who gave you this money?" Mrs. Hemingway asked, her face abeam, her eyes gleaming with joy.

"I told you I was bound by a promise not to tell you or anybody else,"

Virginia awkwardly replied, as she avoided their combined stare.

"Oh, I smell a great big dead rat under the barn!" Sam laughed. "I'd bet my Sunday-go-to-meeting hat I know who sent it."

"You do?" exclaimed the widow. "Who do you think it was, Sam?"

"Why, the only chap around about here that seems to have wads of cash to throw at cats," Sam laughed. "He pitched one solid roll amounting to ten thousand at his starving family awhile back. Of course, he did this, too. He always _did_ have a hankering for Virginia, anyway. Hain't I seen them two-"

"He didn't send it!" Virginia said, impulsively. "There! I didn't intend to set you guessing, and after this I'll never answer one way or the other. I didn't know whether I ought to take it on those conditions or not, but I couldn't see mother suffering when this would help her so much."

"No, G.o.d knows I'm glad you took it," said Jane, slowly, "even if I'm never to know. I'm sure it was a friend, for n.o.body but a friend would care that much to help me out of trouble."

"You bet it was a friend," said Sam, "unless it was some thief trying to get rid of some marked bills he's hooked some'r's. Now, Virginia, for the love of the Lord, get something ready to eat. For a family with a hundred dollars in hand, we are the nighest starvation of any I ever heard of."

While the girl was busy preparing the cornmeal dough in a wooden bread-tray, her mother walked about excitedly.

"I'll go to Darley in the hack in the morning," she said, "and right on to Atlanta on the evening train. I feel better already. Dr. Evans says I won't suffer a particle of pain, and will come back weighing more and with a better appet.i.te."

"Well, I believe I'd not put myself out to improve on mine," said Sam, "unless this person who is so flush with boodle wants to keep up the good work. Dern if I don't believe I'll grow _me_ a cancer, and talk about it till folks pay me to hush."

XXVI

It was one fairly warm evening, three days after Jane had left for Atlanta. Virginia had given Sam his supper, and he had strolled off down to the store with his pipe. Then, with a light shawl over her shoulders, the girl sat in the bright moonlight on the porch. She had not been there long when she saw a man on a horse in the road reining in at the gate. Even before he dismounted she had recognized him. It was Luke King. Hardly knowing why she did so, she sprang up and was on the point of disappearing in the house, when, in a calm voice, he called out to her:

"Wait, Virginia! Don't run. I have a message for you."

"For me?" she faltered, and with unaccountable misgivings she stood still.

Throwing the bridle-rein over the gate-post, he entered the yard and came towards her, his big felt-hat held easily in his hand, his fine head showing to wonderful advantage in the moonlight.

"You started to run," he laughed. "You needn't deny it. I saw you, and you knew who it was, too. Just think of my little friend dodging whenever she sees me. Well, I can't help that. It must be natural. You were always timid with me, Virginia."

"Won't you come in and have a chair?" she returned. "Mother has gone away to Atlanta, and there is no one at home but my uncle and me."

"I knew she was down there," King said, feasting his hungry and yet gentle and all-seeing eyes on her. "That's what I stopped to speak to you about. She sent you a message."

"Oh, you saw her, then!" Virginia said, more at ease.

"Yes, I happened to be at the big Union car-shed when her train came in, and saw her in the crowd. The poor woman didn't know which way to turn, and I really believe she was afraid she'd get lost or stolen, or something as bad. When she saw me she gave a glad scream and fairly tumbled into my arms. She told me where she wanted to go, and I got a cab and saw her safe to the doctor's."

"Oh, that was very good of you!" Virginia said. "I'm so glad you met her."

"She was in splendid spirits, too, when I last saw her," King went on.

"I dropped in there this morning before I left, so that I could bring you the latest news. She was very jolly, laughing and joking about everything. The doctor had not had time to make an examination, but he has a way of causing his patients to look on the bright side. He told her she had nothing really serious to fear, and it took a big load off her mind."

They were now in the house, and Virginia had lighted a candle and he had taken a seat near the open door.

"Doctors have a way of pretending to be cheerful, even before very serious operations, haven't they?" she asked, as she sat down not far from him.

She saw him hesitate, as if in consideration of her feelings, and then he said, "Yes, I believe that, too, Virginia; still, he is a wonderful man, and if any one can do your mother good he can."

"If _anybody_ can?-yes," she sighed.

"You mustn't get blue," he said, consolingly; "and yet how can you well help it, here almost by yourself, with your mother away under such sad circ.u.mstances?"

"Your own mother was not quite well recently," Virginia said, considerately. "I hope she is no worse."

"Oh, she's on her feet again," he laughed, "as lively as a cricket, moving about bossing that big place."

"Why, I thought, seeing you back so-so soon," the girl stammered; "I thought that you had perhaps heard-"

"That she was sick again? Oh no!" he exclaimed, and then he saw her drift and paused, and, flushed and embarra.s.sed, sat staring at the floor.

"You didn't-surely you didn't come all the way here to-to tell me about my mother!" Virginia cried, "when you have important work to do down there?"

There was a moment's hesitation on his part; then he raised his head and looked frankly into her eyes.

"What's the use of denying it?" he said. "I don't believe in deception, even in small things. It never does any good. I _did_ have work to do down there, but I couldn't go on with it, Virginia, while you were here brooding as you are over your mother's condition. So I stayed at my desk till the north-bound train was ready to pull out. Then I made a break for it, catching the last car as it whizzed past the crossing near the office. The train was delayed on the way up, and after I got to Darley I was afraid I couldn't get a horse at the stable and get here before you were in bed; but you see I made it. Sam Hicks will blow me up about the lather his mare is in. I haven't long to stay here, either, for I must get back to Darley to catch the ten-forty. I'll reach the office about four in the morning, if I can get the conductor to slow up in the Atlanta switch-yard for me to hop off at the crossing."