Eloise was listening silently. Then she said, "Jack, that is all very fine, and it took courage in you to do it, to go over there. It was not Aunt Lucretia’s idea; hers was a horse-farm for you; and the General’s was West Point and war. He has never been the same toward you, Jack—I can see it—since you would not go to West Point." "He never cared for me as he did for Braxton," I said. I winced, for I loved my old grandsire. "He has not written me a line since I have been gone," I went on. "Poor Jack," and she took my hand in hers in the old way, "and I have always teased you cruelly, Jack." "And Eloise," I said, "I have always loved you." "Jack," she said, "Little Brother,"—those words I knew of old meant condescension—"I knew it would not do. I wanted you to love someone else. You know Aunt Lucretia’s silly conditions." She flushed in the twilight. "I hoped while you were away," she went on, "if we didn’t write you’d forget me." "And instead," I said, bringing her hand to my lips, "I thought of no one else but you. I came back loving you, Eloise, more than ever; as a man’s love is greater than a boy’s." She grew suddenly stern. "Jack, Jack, haven’t I told you not to?" "Not?" I cried. "Did any real lover ever have a choice? It’s not his part to decide—" "Listen, Jack; you know I would not lie to you, but you must understand how foolish—how useless—" "Come to supper, Jack—Eloise." It was Aunt Lucretia calling. "Here is father and Colonel Goff," she added as we walked up the steps. "Father has grown quite deaf, Jack, since you saw him." Colonel Goff, handsome, alert, and quick even to bluntness, came forward, and shook my hand. "Glad to see you back again, Jack—welcome home." My grandfather sat in his great chair, facing the lawn. His wooden leg rested on the railing. Great curls of tobacco smoke rose from his corner of the porch. There was the old nervous, staccato clatter of wood and cane meeting on the floor as he arose to greet me. I saw the stern, unyielding face give back no smile of pleasure as he took my hand. He stood looking at me doubtfully, his mind evidently weakening with old age. The sadness of it flashed over me, for his mind had been the mind of a strong man in his day. My Aunt Lucretia promptly screamed in his ear, "This is Jack, Father; he has come home." "Jack, ah—ah—Jack, glad to see you, suh; and who did you say it was, Lucretia?" "Your grandson, Jack Ballington. He has been away studying in Germany," she screamed again.