years."

Later, as I was walking to town, I met Georgiana and her mother
coming out. No explanation had ever been made to the mother of
that goose of a gate in our division fence; and as Georgiana had
declined to accept the sign, I determined to show her that the gate
could now stand for something else. So I said: "Mrs. Cobb, when
you send your servants over for green corn, you can let them come
through that little gate. It will be more convenient."

Only, I was so angry and confused that I called her Mrs. Corn,
and said that when she sent her little Cobbs over . . . my green
servants, etc.

After Georgiana's last treatment of me I resolved not to let her
talk to me out of her window. So about nine o'clock this morning
I took a Negro boy and set him to picking the berries, while I
stood by, directing him in a deep, manly voice as to the best way
of managing that intricate business. Presently I heard Georgiana
begin to sing to herself behind the curtains.

"Hurry up and fill that cup," I said to him, savagely. "And that
will do this morning. You can go to the mill. The meal's nearly
out."

When he was gone I called, in an undertone: "Georgiana! Come to
the window! Please! Oh, Georgiana!"

But the song went on. What was the matter? I could not endure
it. There was one way by which perhaps she could be brought. I
whistled long and loud again and again. The curtains parted a
little space.

"I was merely whistling to the _bird_," I said.

"I knew it," she answered, looking as I had never seen her.
"Whenever you speak to _him_ your voice is full of confidence and
of love. I believe in it and like to hear it."

"What do you mean, Georgiana?" I cried, imploringly.

"Ah, Adam!" she said, with a rush of feeling. It was the first time
she had ever called me by name. She bent her face down. Over it
there passed a look of sweetness and sadness indescribably blended.
"Ah, Adam! you have asked me many times to _marry_ you! Make me
believe once that you _love_ me! Make me feel that I could trust
myself to you for life!"

"What else can I do?" I answered, stirred to the deepest that was
in me, throwing my arms backward, and standing with an open breast
into which she might gaze.

And she did search my eyes and face in silence.

"What more," I cried again, "in God's name?"

She rested her face on her palm, looking thoughtfully across the
yard. Over there the red-bird was singing. Suddenly s