"Step in, sir," he insisted, almost commanded, and I obeyed. Chyd was under a lamp, reading a sheep-skin covered book. He looked up as I entered, nodded, and then resumed his reading. "Sit down," said the General. "No, I thank you, for, as I say, I have but a moment to remain. Your daughter is exceedingly sorry that she acted----" "Where is she, sir?" "She has come with me, but fearing that your resentment----" "What, is she out there waiting in the dark? What, my child out there waiting to know whether she can come into her father's house? I will go to her, sir. Come, Chyd, let us both go." I stepped to the door and stood confronting the old man and his son. "You can go, General, if you will, but your son must remain where he is." "What, I don't understand you, sir. How dare you--what do you mean, sir?" "Your son must not come with us. That is what I mean." "Not go to welcome his sister home. Get out of my way, sir!" "Wait, General. He should not go out there, for the reason that some one else, out of kindness, has accompanied your daughter and me." "Ah, I beg your pardon," said the old man, bowing. "Chyd, stay where you are." Millie was inside the yard, but Guinea was in the road, standing at the gate. "Come, my child!" the old man called. Millie ran to him and he took her in his arms. And he lifted her off the ground, slight creature that she was, and carried her up the steps. Guinea took my arm and homeward we went, and not a word was spoken until we entered the dark woods. "You saw Chyd?" she said. "Yes, and the old gentleman wanted him to come out." "To kneel at my feet so soon?" "No, to welcome his sister. Are you so anxious for the time to come?" "Yes," she answered, without hesitation. "And is it because you love him?" I asked bitterly. "You and I are to be the best of friends, Mr. Hawes, and you must not reproach me." "Forgive me if I have hurt you," I said, stupidly. "But you must not keep on wounding me merely to be forgiven. I said that he would kneel at my feet, and this may sound foolish to you, but he will. How do I know? I feel it; I don't know why, but I do. And we are to leave the old home if father can sell the land. It's better to go, but it will be still better to come back, and we will. Do you think that I am merely a simple girl without ambition? I am not; I dream." "I know that you are a noble woman." "Oh, don't flatter me now. It's first reproach, and then flattery. But have you thought of the real nobility of some one else--yourself?" I strove to laugh, but I know that it must have been a miserable croak. "I have done nothing to merit that opinion," I replied. "Oh, it is a part of your nature to suppress yourself. Do you know that I expect great things of you? I do."