That night the two Indians and the deserter hobbled their horses and went into camp on the edge of the cottonwoods, and within a stone's throw of the wagons. CHAPTER TWELVE AS Anna turned from the lane into the public road she met a cart which held a man and a woman. They were on the point of entering the lane as she left it. She smiled and nodded gaily to the man; then she stared hard at his companion. She wondered whom it could be that Mr. Benson had with him, and what he was doing there. Then she regretted she had been in such haste to leave Virginia. “I am always doing the most stupid things,” she said with a sigh. “I've almost a mind to turn back and pretend I've forgotten something. I wonder if I haven't?” but a hasty search revealed that her purse and handkerchief were in her pocket, and so, perforce, she continued on her way into town. Meanwhile the cart had kept on up the lane toward the house. “That was Mrs. Bushrod Landray,” Benson explained. “I might have taken you to her, but I think you will prefer to meet her sister.” When they reached the horse-block by the front steps, Benson climbed briskly down from the cart and turned to assist his companion to alight; but he saw that she hesitated. His glance was full of sympathy. “I am very sorry, Mrs. Walsh,” he said gently, and his whole manner was the extreme of kindness; then his face brightened. “Perhaps you'd rather I saw her first alone; I can just as well as not. It will save you all explanation. If you don't mind sitting here—” Mrs. Walsh hesitated. “I hardly like to ask so much of you, you have been more than kind already.” “You must regard me merely as your intermediary. We lawyers are accustomed to execute all kinds of commissions.” and he handed her the reins. “But not always for such an unprofitable client, Mr. Benson,” she answered gravely. “Sometimes the mere ability to serve carries its own recompense, Mrs. Walsh. The idea of any other would degrade the service,” and he made her a formal little bow. Then he turned away and went slowly up the steps. He had not seen Virginia since the day he had driven out to the farm to consult Stephen about the renewal of the note. Virginia herself answered his knock, but her beautiful face was impassive and calm, and her glance strayed on beyond him to the woman in the cart. He felt a sudden sense of exultation in her presence, and the blood mounted warmly to his cheek. He half extended his hand, but while he hesitated, Virginia drew back a step, it might have been unconsciously, and his hand fell at his side. “Will you grant me a moment in private, Mrs. Landray?” he said deferentially, for even when he came to have the feeling for her that was neither hate nor love, but some part of each, he still paid her this tacit homage; his manner never altered. Virginia looked at him in surprise, but said: “Certainly, will you come into the library, Mr. Benson?” The conscious severity of her manner toward him did not relax.