"It matters very little."
"Or that you are a Cary, with all that that means, while he is Lewis Rand from the Three-Notched Road?"
"That matters not at all."
"Or that you are rival lawyers? Or that in politics he has defeated you? Or—Oh, my friend, now I am dealing unjustly! Forgive me—forgive me and make friends!"
"Would he," asked Cary sombrely—"would he agree? I think not. I am sure not. I think rather that he cherishes this enmity, feeds it, and fans it. Our lines in life have crossed, and now there is no force can lay them parallel. The sun is sinking, and I must see Major Edward again."
She rose from her seat beneath the cedar. "I'll hope on," she said. "Some day, if we live long enough, all clouds will break. Time withstands even the stony heart."
"Do you think," he demanded, "that mine is a stony heart? Well, be it so, since this is a game of misunderstanding! I will say this. If I could come, the next nineteenth of February, to your house on Shockoe Hill, and find him there, and find you happy with him there, then, then I think I would clasp hands—"
"Ah," she cried, "do not wait until February! We shall be there on Shockoe Hill in November."
He stooped and lifted her branch of ironweed. "You are sure?"
"Why, yes," she answered. "The house has been retaken. We go to Richmond as soon as Lewis comes back from over the mountains."