"That's all I want," I said, "and I'm glad we understand each other." I made a half motion to offer my hand, but she did not appear to notice the gesture, and we parted. Again I felt a twinge of disquietude, but the affair had been decided, and it was too late to reopen the discussion. A strange creature was Eunice Trevor, but I believe even now that she did love Betty Graeme. If only she had never looked into John Thaneford's baleful black eyes! As I have said before, my marriage to Betty took place in the last part of December. We went to Aiken for the honeymoon, intending to be back at the "Hundred" for the Christmas holidays. But we had been gone only four days when we were recalled by Mrs. Anthony's fatal attack of pneumonia. She died on December the twenty-third, and the holly wreaths and mistletoe remained unhung for our first Christmas in the old homestead, while the festivities of the season had to be confined to the servants' hall and the quarters. But we had Chalmers Warriner and Doctor Marcy in for dinner, and in my heart of hearts I was not sorry that the big, county family functions had to be postponed indefinitely. I am a quiet person, and I best enjoy my happiness when there is no one to look on. A selfish attitude perhaps, but I try to pay my debts to humanity in other ways. Generally Betty sees to it that I do so. In February "Thane Court" was sold at auction, and I bought it in. The property marched with that of the "Hundred," and being so well rid of one objectionable neighbor I had no mind to run any chances. Moreover, the land was of excellent quality, impoverished, it is true, by want of care and scientific cropping, but still capable of revival under reasonable management. I had bid it in for a price far under its real value, and I could easily get a tenant in case I concluded not to farm it myself. The house was old and in poor condition, and I determined to pull it down in the spring. But I was spared the trouble, for one windy night in March I was awakened by the light pressure of Betty's hand on my shoulder. "There is a big fire over in the west," she said excitedly, "and I think it must be 'Thane Court.'" I scrambled into some clothes, summoned all the men within reach, and made the best of my way to the scene of the conflagration, rather more than a mile distant. Betty was right. "Thane Court" was on fire, and it was evident, at a glance, that the house was doomed. Buckets and handpumps were useless, and long before the fire apparatus from Calverton could cover the ten miles of rutted, frozen roads the edifice had been reduced to a smoking ruin.