The shadows were growing long across the yard, and the soft lowing of the cows, wending their way home, could be heard, when a step sounded in the entry, and Tom Fannin himself walked into the room where Bet sat weaving. "Mis’ Crow said ’Jest walk right in,’" he said, stopping near the door, holding his hat awkwardly in his hands. "Tu be shure, Tom," said the girl, feeling his new embarrassment acutely, and longing to put him at his ease and make him understand that story would not change her regard. "Jes’ take er cheer." She did not stop her work, and he drew a chair up near the bench, laid his hat on the floor, and then for the first time looked straightly and frankly at her. His eyes were clear and honest if not handsome. Bet felt his steady look, and flushed, and the hand holding the shuttle trembled slightly. "You have heard?" he said at last, with a deep, dejected sigh. "Yes," suddenly facing him and looking into his eyes. They did not waver, though his sunburnt face flushed. "It wus in my pocket, Bet, but if it’s the las’ word I’m ever ter say, I don’t know how it got thar," he said, solemnly. "I know’d you didn’t do it," she said with generous faith. "Bill Sanders mus’ be at the bottom o’ it himself." "I don’t know—I don’t know nothin’ erbout the matter ’t all. I can’t seem ter understan’ why ennybody’d wanter spile my character, I’ve been shiftless an’ lazy, I’ll ’low that," humbly, "an’ I don’t know as you oughter ’a’ put up with me, but I never tuk nothin’ that didn’t berlong ter me, an’ never lifted er finger to harm a human creetur." His voice shook slightly, and he leaned his head upon the weaving bench, his face hidden in a fold of Bet’s dress. She trembled in a passion of tender sympathy; tears filled her eyes, ran down her face, but she would not let a single sob pass her quivering lips. She laid her hand softly on his ruddy hair, and when she could speak without crying, said: "It’ll never make enny difference with me, I don’t care what they say." "But the whole world’ll be turnin’ ag’in me now, Bet. I’ve come over to tell you I won’t think hard o’ yer fer takin’ back yer promises," he said with an effort. "Promises air promises, an’ I never make ’em ’thout wantin’ ter keep ’em," she said steadily. He raised his head, he saw the tears on her face, the trembling of her lips, and starting up threw one arm around her, and pressed her head against him. "God A’mighty bless yer, Bet, honey, for keerin’ fer sech a poor creetur as I, when you mought git the best. Ef I don’t make somethin’ o’ myself now arter this, I’ll never ax yer to keep yer word," he whispered, passionately pressing his rough cheek against her smooth, warm one. For a moment the girl did not move, then she gently removed his arm, and sitting upright began to look confusedly for her shuttle, flushing, paling, not daring to meet her lover’s eyes. "Can’t nothin’ be done to clear up the matter?" she said finally in a low tone.