"Yes—I know. I found it in the little closet where you had hung it. I should have left it there always, just as your hands had placed it, if—if you had not come back to Warlock again."
She was weeping now, but her face was joyous in spite of the tears. For had he not come back to her, strong and well and still young? And should not they two find ways in which to meet their present poverty with stout hearts and heads erect?
"We must 'look up,' Baillie, 'and not down—forward and not backward.' We have each other left—"
"And the boy—our boy!" he interrupted. "Yes, we have enough to live for—enough to enrich our lives to the end. And thanks to you I have courage left both to do and to endure."
"Courage? Of course. You could never lose that and still live. It is as vital a part of you as your head itself is."
Then she brought the other memento and fastened it into its place. It was a faded red feather.
"I have carried that on my person," she said, "ever since that day at Fairfax Court-house when you first told me that you loved me."
A few months later Marshall Pollard came. He hobbled upon a cork leg which he had not yet learned to use with ease, but the old smile was on his face, the old cheer in his voice.
"Agatha," he said, "I should like to occupy my old quarters here during my stay, if I may. You see, Baillie, it is as I told you long years ago—I must ask leave of my lady now. But I don't mind, as my lady happens to be Agatha instead of some other."