g else?"

"Write to the overseer's wife to sow all the mustard-seed she can lay her
hands on, and save all the sage she can. And, Irene, be sure to send me
every drop of honey you can spare. That is all, I believe. If I think of
anything else, I will write you."

He stooped, kissed her forehead, and hurried out to his buggy.

CHAPTER XXVIII

A CONFESSION

The summer day was near its death when Colonel Aubrey rode up the stately
avenue, whose cool green arches were slowly filling with shadows. Fastening
his spirited horse to the iron post, he ascended the marble steps, and John
received his card, and ushered him into the front parlour. The next moment
Irene stood at the door; he turned his head, and they were face to face
once more.

Never had her extraordinary beauty so stirred his heart; a faint flush
tinged his cheek, but he bowed frigidly, and haughtily his words broke the
silence.

"You sent for me, Miss Huntingdon, and I obeyed your command. Nothing less
would have brought me to your presence."

She crossed the room and stood before him, holding out both hands, while
her scarlet lips fluttered perceptibly. Instead of receiving the hands he
drew back a step, and crossed his arms proudly over his chest. She raised
her fascinating eyes to his, folded her palms together, and, pressing them
to her heart, said, slowly and distinctly--

"I heard that you were ordered to Virginia, to the post of danger; and
knowing to what risks you will be exposed, I wished to see you at least
once more in this world. Perhaps the step I am taking may be condemned by
some as a deviation from the delicacy of my sex--I trust I am not wanting
in proper appreciation of what is due to my own self-respect--but the
feelings which I have crushed back so long now demand utterance. Russell, I
have determined to break the seal of many years' silence--to roll away the
stone from the sepulchre--to tell you all. I feel that you and I must
understand each other before we part for all time, and, therefore, I sent
for you."

She paused, drooping her head, unable to meet his searching, steady black
eyes riveted upon hers; and, drawing his tall athletic figure to its utmost
height, he asked defiantly--

"You sent for me through compassionate compunctions, then--intending, at
the close, to be magnanimous, and, in lieu of disdain, tell me that you
pity me?"

"Pity you? No, Russell; I do not pity you."

"It is well. I neither deserve no