The face of the old woman changed. It lighted up with sudden hope. “Somehow, I believe what you say,” she said, with a faint smile. “Anyway, I'll try not to worry any more.” She rose and went to the door. “Yes, I'll try not to worry any more,” she repeated. “It may all come out right.” When she found herself alone Cynthia turned and looked at her reflection in the glass. “He didn't once tell me plainly that he loved me,” she said. “He has never used that word. He has never said that he meant or wanted to mar--” She broke off, staring into the depths of her own great, troubled eyes--“and yet I let him hold me in his arms and kiss me--_me!_” A hot flush filled her neck and face and spread to the roots of her hair. Then suddenly she blew out the light and crept to her bed. VII ON the following Saturday morning there was, as usual, a considerable gathering of farmers at Springtown. A heavy fall of rain during the night had rendered the soil unfit for ploughing, and it was a sort of enforced holiday. Many of them stood around Mayhew & Floyd's store. Several women and children were seated between the two long counters, on boxes and the few available chairs. Nelson Floyd was at the high desk in the rear, occupied with business letters, when Pole Baker came in at the back-door and stood near the writer, furtively scanning the long room. “Where's the old man?” he asked, when Floyd looked up and saw him. “Not down yet. Dry up, Pole; I was making a calculation, and you knocked it hell west and crooked.” “Well, I reckon that kin wait. I've got a note fer you.” Pole was taking it from his coat-pocket. “Miss Cynthia?” Floyd asked, eagerly. “Not by a long shot,” said Pole. “I reckon maybe you'll wish it was.” He threw the missive on the desk, and went on in quite a portentous tone. “I come by Jeff Wade's house, Nelson, on my way back from the mill. He was inside with his wife and childern, an' as I was passin' one of the little boys run out to the fence and called me in to whar he was. He's a devil of a fellow! He's expectin' his wife to be confined, an' I saw he was try'in' to keep her in the dark. What you reckon he said?” “How do I know?” The young merchant, with a serious expression of face, had tom open the envelope, but had not yet unfolded the sheet of cheap, blue-lined writing-paper. “Why, he jest set thar in his chair before the fire, an' as he handed the note up to me he sorter looked knowin' an' said, said he: 'Pole, I'm owin' Mayhew & Floyd a little balance on my account, an' they seem uneasy. I wish you'd take this letter to young Floyd. He's always stood to me, sorter, an' I believe he'll git old Mayhew to wait on me a little while.” “Did he say that, Pole?” Floyd had opened the note, but was looking straight into Baker's eyes.