"I should rather think not! Give him to me, Cicely, and let me take him away--at least for the present. You know you said--" "I said 'perhaps.' But I cannot let him go now--not just now. I am telling you what has happened because you really seem to care for him." "I think I have showed that I care for him!" "Well, I have let you." "What are we to do, then, if you won't let me take him away?" said Eve, in despair. "Will that man come here?" "He may. He will go to Savannah, and if he learns there that I am here, he may follow me. But he will never go to Romney, he doesn't like Romney; even in the beginning, when I begged him to go, he never would. He--" She paused. "Jealous, I suppose," suggested the sister, with a bitter laugh--"jealous of Jack's poor bones in the burying-ground. Your two ghosts will have a duel, Cicely." "Oh, _Ferdie_ isn't dead!" said Cicely, with sudden terror. She grasped Eve's arm. "Have you heard anything? Tell me--tell me." Eve looked at her. "Yes, I love him," said Cicely, answering the look. "I have loved him ever since the first hour I saw him. It's more than love; it's adoration." "You never said that of Jack." "No; for it wouldn't have been true." The two women faced each other--the tall Eve, the dark little wife. "Oh, if I could only get away from this hideous country--this whole horrible South!" said Eve, walking up and down the room like a caged tigress. "You would like him if you knew him," Cicely went on, gently. "It seldom happens--that other; and when it doesn't happen, Eve--" Eve put out her hand with a repelling gesture. "Let me take baby and go." "Not now. But he will be safe at Romney." "In Heaven's name, then, let us get him back to Romney." "Yes; to-morrow." Little Jack was asleep in his crib by the side of Eve's bed, for she still kept him with her at night. Cicely went to the crib and looked at her child; Eve followed her. The little boy's night-dress had fallen open, revealing one shoulder and arm. "It was just here," whispered Cicely, kneeling down and softly touching the baby-flesh. She looked up at Eve, her eyes thick with tears. "Why, you care?" said Eve. "Care for him?--the baby, I mean." She spoke her thoughts aloud, unwittingly. "Did you think I didn't care?" asked Cicely, with a smile. It was the strangest smile Eve had ever seen. VIII. Early spring at Romney. The yellow jessamine was nearly gone, the other flowers were coming out; Atamasco lilies shone whitely everywhere; the long line of the islands and the opposite mainland were white with blossoms, the salt-marshes were freshly green; shoals, which had wallowed under water since Christmas, lifted their heads; the great river came back within its banks again.