ore she went; the sum increased
very slowly."

"She must have gone without--things she needed," Georgiana said with
difficulty.

"I think she did, but she would never own it. She was very clever, as
you are, at making things over and over, and she looked always trim and
fine. She was a beautiful woman--and a happy one, in spite of all she
was deprived of in her life with a poor country minister. 'If my little
daughter can only be as happy as I have been,' she used to say, 'it is
all I ask.' My dear, she would have liked--she would have loved--Mr.
Jefferson. I can't get over calling him that," he added, with his
whimsical smile struggling to shine through the tears which would not
quite be mastered.

"O Father Davy!" was all Georgiana could say. But she lifted a flushed
and lovely face with all manner of womanly qualities written in it, and
kissed her father on brow and cheek and lips, as she would have kissed
her mother at such words as those.

* * * * *

"I wonder," said Mr. Warne, sitting comfortably in the Pullman chair his
daughter had insisted upon, "if I can possibly be awake, not dreaming. I
never thought to take another journey."

"He said it wouldn't hurt you, and it's not. You're not too tired? I
haven't seen you look so well for a long time," declared his daughter.

The eyes of other passengers, across the aisle, were irresistibly drawn
to these two travelers--the frail, intellectual-looking man with his
curly gray hair and his gentle blue eyes, his worn but carefully kept
garments, his way of turning to his daughter at every change of
scene--the daughter herself, with her face of charm under the close hat
with its veil, her clothing the suit of dark summer serge with its lines
of distinction, which was still doing duty as the only presentable
street suit she possessed.

They were a more than commonly interesting pair, these travelers, and
they were furtively watched from behind more than one newspaper.

Georgiana had no eyes for possible observers. With Father Davy she
preferred to sit with her chair turned toward the window, looking out at
the hills and trying to realize the thing which was happening. She was
actually on her way to the home of a man whom a month ago she had
thought gone out of her life forever. And, even now, he had not spoken a
word of love to her, had not asked her to marry him! Yet he was to meet
her at the end of this short journey; she was to l