Mark said no more, but, glancing over the articles, he abstracted two or three papers, and handed the rest back to Mr. Chittenden, asking him to keep them for him. No sooner was he gone than Mark called Tilly and handed her the papers he had kept, asking her if she would not burn them. "Don't let anyone see them, Tilly, and burn them right away." "Dat what I will," said Tilly, taking them. "And, Tilly, don't say anything about it to anyone." "Honey boy kin trust Tilly," exclaimed the woman as she turned to hurry away, highly pleased that she had been trusted with a secret errand. "I can now rest easy," murmured Mark, as he closed his eyes and went to sleep. One day as Tilly was administering to his wants Mark said, "Tilly, I don't know, but it seems as if I have seen you somewhere before, but for the life of me I can't remember where." "Dat is jes what I said 'bout yo', Marse Mark," cried Tilly, her face brightening. "I said shorely I hev seen dat boy somewhar. It jes 'peared to me that Tilly had held yo' in her arms some time, an' Tilly tuk yo' to her ole heart right away, an' she grab yo' when de ole deth angel had hole of yo', and she sed, 'Go 'way, ole deth angel, dis is mah boy,' an' she tuk yo' right out of de clutches of dat ole deth angel, she did, an' now yo' air mah boy." Mark smiled as he said, "Yes, Tilly, I believe you did cheat the death angel, and if anyone has a claim on me, you have. I shall always remember you." "An' Missy Grace, she helped too," cried Tilly. "Yo' mustn't forgit Missy Grace." "I shall never forget her," replied Mark, and there was more meaning in his words than Tilly thought. That night Mark lay thinking over what Tilly had said about holding him in her arms, and suddenly he remembered. "She is right," he almost sobbed. "She has held me in her arms, but she must never know." At last the day came when Mark could sit in a chair on the porch and look out over the beautiful valley and stately hills. The valley was arrayed in all the freshness and loveliness of spring; La Belle was murmuring her sweetest music. "What a lovely valley you have here," he said to Mr. Chittenden. "One should be perfectly happy here--so peaceful, so beautiful, so far removed from the unrest and turmoil of the world." "You talk like a philosopher, young man," replied Mr. Chittenden, laughing. "Not many of the world would like it; the mass of mankind prefer the rush and roar of the cities. There is little room for ambition here. The world would never have grown to what it is if all preferred to live as I do. Yet I would live nowhere else. Yes, it is very quiet here, or was before the war." "Has the war disturbed you much?" asked Mark.