The fact that Phil was a Yankee who had no axe to grind in the South
caused the people to appeal to him in a pathetic way that touched his
heart. He had not been in town two weeks before he was on good terms with
every youngster, had the entree to every home, and Ben had taken him,
protesting vehemently, to see every pretty girl there. He found that, in
spite of war and poverty, troubles present and troubles to come, the young
Southern woman was the divinity that claimed and received the chief
worship of man.

The tremendous earnestness with which these youngsters pursued the work of
courting, all of them so poor they scarcely had enough to eat, amazed and
alarmed him beyond measure. He found in several cases as many as four
making a dead set for one girl, as if heaven and earth depended on the
outcome, while the girl seemed to receive it all as a matter of
course--her just tribute.

Every instinct of his quiet reserved nature revolted at any such attempt
to rush his cause with Margaret, and yet it made the cold chills run down
his spine to see that Presbyterian preacher drive his buggy up to the
hotel, take her to ride, and stay three hours. He knew where they had
gone--to Lover's Leap and along the beautiful road which led to the North
Carolina line. He knew the way--Margaret had showed him. This road was the
Way of Romance. Every farmhouse, cabin, and shady nook along its beaten
track could tell its tale of lovers fleeing from the North to find
happiness in the haven of matrimony across the line in South Carolina.
Everything seemed to favour marriage in this climate. The state required
no license. A legal marriage could be celebrated, anywhere, at any time,
by a minister in the presence of two witnesses, with or without the
consent of parent or guardian. Marriage was the easiest thing in the
state--divorce the one thing impossible. Death alone could grant divorce.

He was now past all reason in love. He followed the movement of Margaret's
queenly figure with pathetic abandonment. Beneath her beautiful manners he
swore with a shiver that she was laughing at him. Now and then he caught a
funny expression about her eyes, as if she were consumed with a sly sense
of humour in her love affairs.

What he felt to be his manliest traits, his reserve, dignity, and moral
earnestness, she must think cold and slow beside the dash, fire, and
assurance of these Southerners. He could tell by the way she encouraged
the preacher