As soon as the quiet meal was done, he set out for the Carr’s. Twilight was well advanced. A white frost was on the stubble fields and the stacked corn and the crimson and russet foliage of the woodside had the moist look of colors on a painter’s palette.
At the window, Dorothy stood and watched her sweetheart come. The same constancy shone in her gentle face for him as ever and her greeting was as warm as his fondest anticipations could have pictured.
“Have I displeased you? You do not share a pride in my work, Dorothy?”
“Since you guess it,” she answered, “I may be spared the pain of confessing.”
Elliott was silent for a time, but his expression showed the deep disappointment he felt.
At length in an undertone, he said:
“Don’t reproach me. Of course you have not felt this as I feel it, being so differently situated and looking at it from another point of view.”
Seeing that he paused for her answer, Dorothy replied: “I have considered all this. But do you not see what a reflection your clever plot is upon us, or what a gross injustice it will do the South?”
“Cold facts may sound harsh, but you will be all the better for your chastening. The South will advance under it.”
“I wish I could believe it; the chances are all against us. Why did you ever want to take such a risk?” and the air of the little, slender, determined maiden marked the uncompromising rebel.