“I'm delighted at the connection,” and the captain bowed. “Well, what are you going to do?” asked Benson. “I was going to one of the taverns; but I guess that's hardly safe. Oh, I'll put in the night somehow.” Benson hesitated a moment, and then he said: “You'd better have supper with me, and spend the night here. I'll drive you back about day. You'll run no risk.” And he led the way into the dining-room, while his guest followed him with a hangdog look on his face. This unexpected kindness effected him more deeply than all Benson's previous contempt; and the man's heart was touched. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE BENSON began his preparations for the journey West with some reluctance, and it was well into May before he felt he could even fix on a date for his departure; but one morning Sam West brought him a brief note from Virginia that made him repent the weeks he had wasted. She feared he was finding his promise impossible of fulfillment. Would he not forget that he had ever made such a promise, and tell her what steps it would be necessary to take to raise money sufficient for her to make the journey. This note resulted in immediate action on Benson's part. He saw Judge Bradly and told him he expected to leave for California the first of the following week; then he drove at once to the farm to inform Virginia of his decision. When he reached the farm he found Virginia and Jane, with Jane's baby, seated under an old apple-tree that grew by the corner of the house. He had tied his horse in the lane by the bars; and as he crossed the yard toward them Virginia advanced to meet him. “You received my note?” she asked, as they shook hands. “Yes, and your doubt of me was not unmerited. I must have seemed horribly dilatory to you; but my plans are all made; I shall start this day week. I can understand that to you I have seemed to go forward very slowly in this matter.” “Did I seem very impatient?” asked Virginia humbly; but he saw there were depths of suffering back of the light his words had kindled in her eyes; and his conscience troubled him not a little that he had withheld the comfort his departure on this mission of his, would have given her. “Not in the least, I am fully alive to your anxiety; your patience has been greater than I expected,” he assured her. “I fear I am too willing to let you go; but I shall never forget, Mr. Benson—never, as long as I live!” and she raised her beautiful face to his with a look of gratitude that went beyond mere words. “I am ashamed,” he burst out generously, “to have let anything detain me.” “It has been my terrible anxiety that has made the days so slow in passing. Won't you come and see Jane and the baby?—why, you have never seen the baby, Mr. Benson!” with a poor attempt at gaiety.