"Ever sence I knew you was alive, and after I sent that young man out to you and he told me about you, I jest been dreamin' of seein' you settin' there, smokin' your pipe, and me a-settin' here, talkin' to you, and I have come into this room more the last two weeks, lookin' at it, thinkin' how it would look with your things layin' around. You are alone, John, and I'm alone. As I wrote you, we are both two old ships that have sailed the seas alone for all these years, and now we're nearin' port. Why can't we make the rest of the voyage together? I have a home too big for one lone woman; you have no home at all. Years ago your home would 'a' been mine, if you could 'a' give it to me; and now I want to share mine with you. No--don't start," as she saw John make a movement, "I ain't proposin' to you, John. We're too old to think of such things, but I want to die with my hand in some one's who cares for me and who I care for. You're the only one in all the world that's left from out my past, and I want you near me." "But, Drusilla--" "Don't interrupt me, John. I want you to live here near me. These rooms are a man's rooms. I want to see a man in 'em; and, John, you're the man I want." "But, Drusilla--" "Now, John," raising her faded hand, "don't argue with me. I can see it's took you by surprise. But why shouldn't you live here, and me across the hall; and evenings, when the time is long, we can set before the fire like this and talk of the past. It's lonely, John, with no one." "But, Drusilla, I couldn't--I couldn't--" "Couldn't what, John? Couldn't you be happy here?" "It isn't that." "Well, what is it?" "Drusilla, I couldn't accept even your charity." "Now, John, I was afraid you'd say somethin' like that. When I was young, when we were young together, I'd 'a' give you all my life. What is a roof and the food you eat, compared to what I'd 'a' give you if things had been different?" "But, Drusilla--" "Yes, I know all you'd say. But see, John. I have more'n I can ever spend, though, goodness knows, I'm goin' to do my best; and there's some things I can't buy, John. I can't buy companionship and friends, John; and that's what we are, jest two old friends. We've drifted far apart, and now the winds has brought us together again, let's anchor side by side." They were both silent, staring into the fire. Then Drusilla rose. "Now we won't talk of it no more. These are your rooms. I want you to do what you want to do. If you'd feel that you could be happy here, send for your books and call this home, 'cause remember, John," and she went up to him and standing back of his chair put her hand around his head until it rested on his face, "remember, John, I always want you." John reached up and covered the soft little hand with one of his for a moment, then he brought it down and kissed it. Drusilla turned and left the room.