Instinct awoke in her and she beheld the face of love. The knowledge set her trembling to her soul’s foundation, sent her to her knees beside her big bed that she might return to that high Tribunal which arbited her ways such a deep devotion of thanksgiving as she had never made before. Abasement seized her. What was she in her loneliness and poverty, that such a man as Brand Fair might find her worthy? What had she ever done of valor that one might admire her? There was no light of courageous deeds upon her sordid life, no record of spectacular events in which she figured. She had merely been a drudge, working out her soul to carry on her father’s dreams of empire, to hold fast the place which he had left to her and hers. She had only labored and stood firm, watching with anguished eyes the fruits of those labors being destroyed—she had made no effort to strike back at her enemies. And despite all this, Brand Fair loved her! Loved her and had laid his lips to hers in the first love-kiss of her life! Verily was she blessed beyond all reason and she lifted up her heart in praise. She did not see the austere beauty of that stern strength which held her true in the midst of affliction, which lifted those patient blue eyes of hers to the tranquil Heavens above her ruined fields, her burned stacks, which made her love her lonely land, her people and her God with unshaken devotion, which gave her peace in danger and set before her the burning beacon of right which could not fail to triumph. She only knew that she, lone toiler in an unfriendly wilderness, had been anointed of the Lord with unspeakable glory, and she was bowed into the dust with gratitude. It was a holy night she spent upon her knees in the soft darkness with her work-hardened hands clasped on the ancient coverlet and the long gold lashes trembling and wet upon her cheeks. It was an offertory, an adoration and a covenant. She felt the hours pass with benediction. Once she looked toward the little window and saw the unfamiliar stars of the after-night upon the curtain of the sky. She heard the child’s soft breathing in the improvised crib beyond, and at false dawn she heard Old John crow from the rafters. At the first grey light she lifted her face and with a smile at her lips’ corners she murmured the ancient words of David’s immortal thanksgiving: “The King shall joy in Thy strength, Oh, Lord; and in Thy salvation how greatly shall he rejoice! For Thou hast made him most blessed forever; Thou hast made him exceeding glad with Thy countenance. Thou hast given him the desire of his heart. Selah.” “Mammy,” she said at breakfast, “I’ve got to tell you something—you and Bud.” There was a soft radiance about her long blue eyes, a helpless surrender to the smiles that would keep coming on her features. Her mother looked at her calmly. “Well?” she said. But over Bud’s young face there passed a spasm of pain.