The moon had gone under a dense cloud, and they were left in the bland, moist darkness. And in that darkness there gleamed before Azalea’s mental gaze, the two homes—the great, beautiful manor, and the mountain cabin. She knew little of the life in the former, but what she did know of it came to her now with all its ease, its pleasure, and its promise. She thought of the struggle there in the mountain home; of the sacrifice, the hard work, the eternal “doing without.” Then, as if something above and beyond her came to her to lift her out of herself, she glimpsed the kind wishes and helpful affection of those in the manor; and over against them she placed the tense and tender love of Mary McBirney who had clasped her to her heart when she was motherless. They did not need her at the manor; but she was greatly needed in the cabin. Love demanded tribute of her. And suddenly, Azalea knew what she must do. If Ma McBirney loved her like a mother, she, Azalea, gave back a daughter’s love. There was, after all, nothing worth thinking of save that—save love. A warm glow swept over her, and the deepest sense of contentment she ever had known in all her restless, curious life of change filled her heart. “I’ve thought of everything,” she said. “And I thank you, thank you, thank you—you dears!” She turned toward the Carsons, and they could see that she was holding out her hands in the gloom. “But this is my home. Ma McBirney is dearer to me than any one now on the earth. I’ll stay with her—if she wants me.” And then she suddenly remembered that Mrs. McBirney had not said a word to oppose Mr. Carson’s arguments. Could it be, that because of their poverty, they _wished_ her to go to The Shoals? Little cold tremors ran over her, and her heart turned sick. “But, ma, do you want me?” she cried with sharp agony. “Want you!” sobbed ma, holding out her arms. “Want you, honey bird?” The moon swam out again into the clear sky, transfiguring their world. A mocking bird began to sing, whistling low, muffled notes of sad sweetness. “It is the word of truth you have spoken, Azalea,” said Mr. Carson slowly, “and I thank you for your honesty, and for your nobility too, my dear. We understand everything; don’t we Lucy, my love?” “Everything,” replied Mrs. Carson.