“But do you know, dear Sylvia,” said Skelton, after a while, “that in marrying me you will not be marrying the richest man in Virginia?” “I shall be marrying the finest man in Virginia, though,” answered Sylvia, with a pretty air of haughty confidence. “But still we sha’n’t starve. We shall have Deerchase.” “I always liked Deerchase better than any place in the world.” “And you will have a middle-aged husband.” “I like middle age.” “Who has a bad habit of reading more hours than he ought to.” “Then I shall be rid of him much of the time. However, Lewis and I will manage to get on very well without you.” Skelton at that clasped her in his arms with real rapture. It was the one thing necessary to his happiness--the one condition he would exact of any woman--that Lewis should have what Skelton considered his rights. Triumph filled his heart. With that charming, spirited woman to help him, the little world around them would be forced to be on its good behaviour to Lewis. Sylvia, who was the most acute of women, saw in an instant that in this boy she had the most powerful hold on Skelton. Justice, and generosity, and inclination all urged her to be kind to the boy; but love, which is stronger than all, showed her that therein lay the secret of enormous power over Skelton. But after a moment Sylvia said something which suddenly filled Skelton’s soul with melancholy: “Some day--when the great book is written--you will be the most famous man in the country, and I shall be the proudest woman,” she said with a little vain, proud air. The light died out of Skelton’s eyes, and he could hardly resist a movement of impatience. Everywhere, even in his most sacred love, he was pursued by this phantom of what he was to do. Sylvia presently sat down, and Skelton, drawing his chair near her, hung over her fondly. He knew perfectly well how to make her happy. He expressed in a hundred delicate ways the tenderness he felt for her; while Sylvia--proud Sylvia--was so meek and sweet that he scarcely knew her; so forgiving, so trustful. After all, thought Skelton, there was a philosophy better than that to be found in the books. The storm was now over, and suddenly a mocking-bird outside the window burst into a heavenly song. Skelton went to the wide hall doors and threw them open. The sinking sun was shining upon a new heaven and a new earth. The trees, the grass, the shrubbery were diamonded with drops and sparkling brilliantly; the river ran joyously; the damp, sweet-scented air had a delicious freshness; all Nature was refreshed and glad. Skelton felt that it was like his own life--a sunset calm after a storm. He felt not only a happier man than he had been for many years, but a better man.