no longer felt the unreasonable humiliation which Elizabeth's
proposal had accentuated in him. The reproach which his mood had
read into her letter had vanished after a good night's sleep and
a good day's work; now, it seemed to him only an exquisite
expression of most lovely love, which brought the color into his
face, and made his lips burn at the thought of her lips! Of
course her idea of marrying on her little money was not to be
thought of--he and Mr. Ferguson would laugh over it together; but
what an angel she was to think of it! All that night, in the
journey over the mountains, he had lain in his berth and looked
out at the stars, cursing himself joyously for a dumb fool who
had had no words to tell her how he loved her for that sweet,
divinely foolish proposal, which was "not to be thought of"! "But
when I see her, I'll make her understand; when I hold her in my
arms--" he told himself, with all the passion of twenty-six years
which had no easy outlet of speech.

When Robert Ferguson's door opened, his heart was on his lips.
"Eliz--" he began, and stopped short. "Oh, Miss White. Good
morning, Miss White!" And before poor Cherry-pie knew it, he had
given her a great hug; "Where is Elizabeth? Not out of bed yet?
Oh, the lazybones!" He was so eager that, until he was fairly in
the hall, with the front door shut, and his overcoat almost off,
he did not notice her silence. Then he gave her a startled look.
"Miss White! is anything the matter? Is Elizabeth ill?"

"No; oh, no," she said breathlessly; "but--Mr. Ferguson will tell
you. No, she is not sick. Go, he will tell you. In the library."

The color dropped out of his face as a flag drops to half-mast.