Ben's news had cut the ground from beneath Baird, for Ann Penniman, penniless and tied to the farm, had been a possibility; Ann, independent and with the world of men from which to choose, was another matter. Baird had been unable to write to Ann after that. He was handicapped by as complete a depression as had overtaken him after he had won her back to life. He had been straining to get a hearing; suddenly it seemed futile to attempt anything at all; she was beyond him. But he wrote to Ben: "Thank you for telling me of Ann's good fortune. I suppose I ought to be glad, but I'm not. I feel more as if I'd had a blow on the head. I can't write to Ann or do anything--she's passed beyond my reach. I've nothing to offer her now--to save my neck, I couldn't clean up more than about twenty thousand--that and my salary. When I make my pile, I suppose I'll have courage to try again--if somebody doesn't get ahead of me, or if in the meantime I don't fall for some woman whose love is big enough for both of us." Baird was in exactly this frame of mind as he rode up to Westmore under the October sunshine. He had fallen hard, down upon the worldly earth; upon old and familiar thoughts, trite aspirations and desires, cast there by the vision of Ann buttressed by money. The sweet thing that had permeated him had grown sick when frowned upon by cold cash. There was an ugly vacant ache in him. "Why not?" he asked himself, as he looked at Westmore, its stuccoed length mottled by splashes of red and yellow, clinging vines and low-hung branches. Judith had never failed him. All that long summer her letters had come regularly, warmed by interest, asking nothing of him, simply giving, giving--all she felt she would be allowed to give. He had not told her that he was going to Europe. He had not even told her that he was coming out to the Ridge, for he had decided to keep away from Ann. Then, suddenly, he had changed his mind. He would go to New York by the southern route; give himself the comfort of seeing Judith. But he would not see Ann. XXXVIII THE REVELATION It seemed very natural to be welcomed by Hetty and shown into the drawing-room. "Miss Judith, she'll be surprised!" Hetty exclaimed. "Lord, Mr. Baird, you done growed thin!" "I've had too happy a summer to grow fat, Hetty." "Why, you ain't got married, is you?" Hetty asked seriously. "Far from it, Hetty--you run along and tell Miss Judith I'm here. I'm in a hurry, for I have to get back to town this evening." Baird looked about the beautiful old room. How well he knew it! It was Judith's rightful setting; he was glad she possessed the place. The fact that she was a rich woman did not trouble him at all; if he loved her greatly, he supposed it would.