Even that seemed enough. It was evident that until he came she would be upholding something for him, keeping the faith. It was beautiful in a still, noble way, one that left her indescribably uplifted. Her eyes were wet when he looked at her. Seen thus, Electra was a fine creature, her severity of outline softened into womanly charm. It seemed unnecessary to claim from him any high assurance of what he had for her to do, yet she did say, for the pleasure of saying it,-- "You are going to let me help you?" "What else is there for either of us to do," he said quickly, "but to help everybody?" The blood rushed swiftly to her face and showed her in a glow. She leaned toward him in a timid and what seemed to her, for a moment, an ignoble confidence, because it touched such sordid things. "I have some money. I will give that--and anything I have. You must teach me. I have everything to learn." He seemed to promise that, as he seemed to promise other things, partly by his answering smile, partly by the inexplicable current of persuasion pouring from him. He rose. "Now," he said, "I must go. It is nearly noon." "You won't stay to luncheon?" "Won't the others be here?" "My grandmother and Mr. Stark." She was hardly urging him, because it seemed to her, too, a doubtful pleasure, if it must be shared. "Not to-day, then. But I shall see you again." "Before you go." Her face called upon him like a messenger beseeching news. "Many, many times," he told her smilingly. "Many times, even if they have to be within a few days. Now, good-by." She watched him down the walk, and as if he knew that, he turned, as the shrubbery was closing about him, and waved his hat to her. That seemed another bit of prescience,--to know she was to be there. Electra was very happy. She sat down again in a swoon of the reason and a mad hurry of what cried to her as the higher part of her nature, unrecognized until now, and thought of her exalted fortune. MacLeod found Rose ready to question him. She was at the gate, to have her word immediately. He noted the signs of apprehension in her face, and, taking her hand, swung it as they walked. "Has anything happened?" she asked irrepressibly. "I've been down to--what do they call it?--the plantation." "What did you talk about?" "Oh, crops!" "You don't know anything about crops!" MacLeod laughed. "Well, the other man did. I can always listen." "Have you been there all the time?" "No. I went in to see Electra." Rose stopped short in the path between the banks of flowers. It was a still day, and the summer hush of the plot--a velvet stillness where the garden held its breath--made the time momentous to her. Unconsciously she gripped her father's hand. "She has told you!" she breathed. Her eyes sought his face. MacLeod was looking at her smilingly, fondly even. She shuddered.