“I do hope your uncle and aunt are not going to think that I have done wrong. I have cared more for your happiness, Azalea, than for anything on earth, and if I had for one moment believed that you would have been happier if I had withdrawn myself entirely from your life, I would have done so without regard to my lifelong loneliness. But when I heard that you had resigned your inheritance and come back here, I was forced to conclude that it was a sign and token to me.” “It was,” I confessed. “Just that.” Well, my dear kinfolk, Christmas came with all its pleasures, and it brought me your beautiful gift, also my ring from Keefe, and lovely things from the Carsons and from many other friends. Even there were many remembrances from my mountain people. There was one gift—or token, rather—which filled me with the greatest surprise. It was a copy of Delight Ravanel’s will, bequeathing to me all of her possessions when the day comes that she must go into the Other Land. Oh, I hope it will be many, many years till then! Try to fancy my amazement. Truly, I never was more surprised in my life, although, as you know, I have had a good many surprises for a person of my age. Moreover, she is coming to see me next week, and in preparation for her visit I have had Mrs. Kitchell’s old living rooms fitted up all fresh for us. There is a little sitting room, and a kitchen and two bedrooms. With the help of my always kind Mrs. Carson, the place has been made—or is being made—as cosy and dainty as you can imagine. Mrs. Wixon will help me keep house, and I shall be quite independent and settled. Of course Mrs. Carson and Carin beg me to stay with them, but I feel I have been their guest quite long enough. Now—only fancy—I shall be able to entertain them at times, and to return in some small measure the endless hospitality they have shown me. I think Cousin Delight will love this little experiment in housekeeping, and I wouldn’t be the least surprised to see her taking an interest in the weaving and basket-making and in the little shop. It would be the best thing in the world for her if she would, for life certainly is pretty drowsy at Monrepos, where she has lived so long alone, remembering and brooding and doing her little solitary tasks. If I have my way she shall stay with me or near me altogether. So you see into what a shining and rapid current my little life has been swung. And you will forgive me for everything I did not do and for everything I am doing. I insist on being forgiven—and loved. You must love me when I love you so much. When I am married you must be my first guests. Until you come, I shall have no one. I would never be satisfied if you did not dedicate my house for me by your presence.