How the boy looked up at her young loveliness! He had never so looked at any woman before. And then a thought detached itself from the mists of memory and he seemed to remember. "Are you Sheba?" he asked. "Yes, I am Sheba," she answered, rather slowly. "And I remember you, too. You are the boy." He drew nearer to the balcony, laying his hand upon the multiflora rose creeper. "Yes, yes," he said, almost tremulous with eagerness. "You bring it all back. You were a little child, and I----" "You rode away," she said, "over the hill." "Will you come down to me?" he said. "Yes," she answered, and that moment disappeared. He stood in the moonlight, his head bared, his straw hat in his hand. He felt as if he was in a dream. His face had lost its gloom and yearning, and his eyes looked like his mother's. When he heard a light foot nearing him, he went forward, and they met with strange young smiles and took each other's hands. Nearer than the balcony, she was even a sweeter thing, and the scent of her white flowers floated about her. As they stood so, smiling, Tom came and joined them. Sheba had called him as she passed his door. Rupert turned round and spoke, vaguely conscious, as he did so, that his words sounded somewhat like words uttered in a dream and were not such as he had planned. "Uncle Tom," he said, "I--Delia Vanuxem was my mother." CHAPTER XXI The moment ceased to be so fanciful and curiously exalted when his hand was grasped and a big, kind palm laid on his shoulder, though Tom's face was full of emotion. "I think I should have known it," he said. "Welcome to you. Yes," looking at him with an affection touched with something like reverence. "Yes, indeed--Delia Vanuxem!" "I've come to you," the young fellow said, with fine simplicity, "because I am the only De Willoughby left except yourself. I am young and I'm lonely--and my mother always said you had the kindest heart she ever knew. I want you to advise me." "Come in to the porch," said Tom, "and let us sit down and talk it over." He put his arm about Sheba and kept his hand on Rupert's shoulder, and walked so, with one on either side, to the house. Between their youthful slimness he moved like a protecting giant. "Where did you come from?" he asked when they sat down. "From Delisleville," Rupert answered. "I did not think of coming here so late to-night, but it seems I must have missed my road. I was going to ask for lodgings at a place called Willet's Farm. I suppose I took the wrong turning; and when I saw this house before me, I knew it must be yours from what I had heard of it. It seemed as if Fate had brought me here. And when I came up the path I saw Sheba. She was standing on the little verandah in the moonlight with the roses all around her; and she looked so white that I stopped to look up at her." "Uncle Tom," said Sheba, "we--we knew each other." "Did you?" said Tom. "That's right."