-all!"

Aftermath was a blur to "Garrison." Great happiness can obscure, befog
like great sorrow. And there are some things that touch the heart too
vitally to admit of analyzation. But long afterward, when time, mighty
adjuster of the human soul, had given to events their true proportions,
that meeting with "Cottonton" loomed up in all its greatness, all its
infinite appeal to the emotions, all its appeal to what is highest and
worthiest in man. In silence, before all that little world, Sue Desha
had put her arms about his neck. In silence he had clasped the major's
hand. In silence he had turned to his aunt; and what he read in her
misty eyes, read in the eyes of all, even the shrewd, kindly eyes of
Drake the Silent and in the slap from his congratulatory paw, was all
that man could ask; more than man could deserve.

Afterward the entire party, including Jimmie Drake, who was regarded
as the grand master of Cottonton by this time, took train for New York.
Regarding the environment, it was somewhat like a former ride "Garrison"
had taken; regarding the atmosphere, it was as different as hope from
despair. Now Sue was seated by his side, her eyes never once leaving his
face. She was not ordinarily one to whom words were ungenerous, but now
she could not talk. She could only look and look, as if her happiness
would vanish before his eyes. "Garrison" was thinking, thinking of many
things. Somehow, words were unkind to him, too; somehow, they seemed
quite unnecessary.

"Do you remember this time a year ago?" he asked gravely at length. "It
was the first time I saw you. Then it was purgatory to exist, now it
is heaven to live. It must be a dream. Why is it that those who
deserve least, invariably are given most? Is it the charity of Heaven,
or--what?" He turned and looked into her eyes. She smuggled her hand
across to his.

"You," she exclaimed, a caressing, indolent inflection in her soft
voice. "You." That "you" is a peculiar characteristic caress of the
Southerner. Its meaning is infinite. "I'm too happy to analyze," she
confided, her eyes growing dark. "And it is not the charity of Heaven,
but the charity of--man."

"You mustn't say that," he whispered. "It is you, not me. It is you who
are all and I nothing. It is you."

She shook her head, smiling. There was an air of seductive luxury about
her. She kept her eyes unwaveringly on his. "You," she said again.

"And there's old Jimmie Drake," added "Garrison" musi