It was during the continuance of his furlough that Virginia determined to sell the mill. It had taken Benson six months to find a purchaser for the property, but he was at last successful; and Stephen drove Virginia into town the day the deed was signed. “You are satisfied to have the sale made, Stephen?” Benson inquired. “Certainly,” said the young man a little defiantly, “the ready money is better than the property.” “I dare say.” responded the lawyer. In the afternoon, Benson drove to the mill with the new owner. Afterward he strolled up to the house to see Virginia. “I have just been going over the accounts,” she told him, a trifle ruefully, and held up an inky forefinger. “I was aware that the sale of the mill would not do all you hoped it might; that it would not clear off the debts even. I can't bear to see you continue this useless struggle; it hurts me as nothing else has ever hurt me. I am proposing nothing unusual—men go to the aid of other men—business is not entirely a matter of calculation, sentiment does enter into it; I want to make this situation easy for you; let me clear up those debts, then you can put this money in the bank.” “No,” she said quietly. He left his chair and took a turn of the room. “Have you forgotten what I once told you, Virginia?” he asked, pausing and facing her. “You were not to mention that to me again.” “Have I spoken of it only in words, Virginia?” he asked. “You have been—most considerate always,” she said guardedly. “You did not think that I had forgotten, Virginia—or that I had ceased to care?” he said. “I hoped you had.”