Mr. Polk agreed, and they separated for the night.
It was again a time of sore temptation for Steve. All night he tossed and thought. In spite of recurring depression he had not given up hope of winning Nancy. Her desire for musical advantages had been the most discouraging thing of all, however, and if he accepted this offer, he could hope to give her what she wanted, while since Raymond was not accepted he felt free to win her if he could. He pictured the future with increasing exhilaration, as the night approached its zenith, the time of keenest mental activity; and then, as the ebb came with the waning 189 hours, suddenly a little figure reeled and staggered as it tried to walk a crack in a cabin floor, and springing from bed Steve strode to the window, and looked out upon the silent, starry sky.
“Oh, God,” he said, “keep me from temptation;” and after a time he went back to bed firm in the old resolution that whatever the sacrifice involved, he would give himself, and not money alone, to the work. And then he slept.
Next morning he smiled his sudden smile as Mr. Polk looked keenly into his face, and said:
“I guess I am incorrigible, Mr. Polk,––I can’t see it except in the old way.”
“All right, son,” said Mr. Polk quietly, and when they separated it was with a warm hand-clasp as Mr. Polk exacted a promise that Steve would visit them his first opportunity. “‘The little mother’ longs to see her boy,” he said affectionately; then added, “Some day we hope to be in shape to help you with your work.”
When he was gone Steve left for the Follets again. A great peace had come upon him with the renewal of his resolution, and his heart leaped at the prospect of seeing Nancy again.
“How long it seems since I left her,” he laughed to himself, and the thought sprang to his mind from out the ever active realm of human hope: “Perhaps I shall win her yet by some miracle!”