"And you needn't think I'm going to leave you any fortune," he said, almost grumblingly. "The blamed whiskey tax is eating it up every year, and the little left will go to Felix. You have all that land over there that you don't need more than a dog needs two tails. Well, I think there are times when a dog would be glad to wag both, if he had 'em. That will be enough for you and your children. But I'll dance at the wedding." Barbe Carrick looked over the chest of treasures that she had been adding to year after year. There was _her_ wedding gown, and it had been her mother's before her. The lace was exquisite, and no one could do such needlework nowadays. What if it had grown creamy by age, that only enhanced it. Here were the other things she had accumulated, sometimes with a pang lest they should not be needed. Laid away in rose leaves and lavender blooms. Oh, how daintily sweet they were, but not sweeter than the girl who was to have them. And here were some jewels that had been great-grandmother Duvernay's. She would have no mean outfit to hand down again to posterity. Barbe was doubly glad that she would live here. She could not bear the thought of her going away, and a soldier's wife was never quite sure where he might be called, or into what danger. There would be a nice home not very far away, there would be sweet, dainty grandchildren. It was worth waiting for. Jeffrey Andsdell was minded not to wait very long. Love was growing by what it fed upon, but he wanted the feast daily. They could stay at home until their new house was built. "We ought to go over across the river," she said, "and be pioneers in the wilderness. And, oh, there is one thing that perhaps you won't like. Whoever married me was to take the name of Duvernay, go back to the French line." "Why, yes, I like that immensely." That would sever the last link. He would be free of all the old life. "It isn't as pretty as yours." "Oh, do you think so? Now, I am of the other opinion;" laughing into her lovely eyes. She grew sweeter day by day, even her mother could see that. Yes, love was the atmosphere in which a woman throve. Barbe settled the wedding time. "When the Daffodils are in bloom," she said, and the lover agreed. Archie Langdale wrote her a brotherly letter, but said, "If you could put it off until my vacation. I'm coming back to take another year, there have been so many new discoveries, and I want to get to the very top. Dilly--that was the child's name, I used to have a little dream about you. You know I was a dull sort of fellow, always stuffing my head with books, and you were sweet and never flouted me. I loved you very much. I thought you would marry Ned, and then you would be my sister, you could understand things that other girls didn't. I am quite sure he loved you, too. But your happiness is the first thing to be considered, and I hope you will be very happy."