"I remember," said Elsie, when the laughter and the blushing over part of this sentence had subsided—"I remember I cried that night, because I felt that I had spent such a useless week, and, after all my resolutions, was coming home with soiled hands and stained heart. God was very good to own my feeble, blundering attempts. Poor Carrie thought I cried because I had offended you."
"Poor Carrie!" repeated Arr. Vance, laughing a little. Then both of them sighed. The year that was past had not improved Cousin Carrie.
"Does Ben know—" began Elsie, then stopped. Mr. Vance seemed able to understand half sentences.
"Ben does not know anything, except where I am gone for vacation; but I think he suspects a great deal and keeps his own counsel. I do not visit often at your uncle's, now, for reasons that you may possibly surmise."
Just a moment of silence, during which both watched the play of the firelight.
Then Freeman Vance bent toward the other easy chair, which was lower than his.
"I have something to show you, Elsie, and something to tell you. Will you let me see if this fits?"
Then the firelight flashed about a cluster of small, pure diamonds, quaintly set.
"It was my mother's ring, Elsie, and there is something to tell you about it—something strange, which will make you feel more than ever that God plans all our ways for us.
"When my mother gave it to me, a boy of twenty, she said: 'It is for your wife, Freeman, with a mother's blessing. And, my son, promise me this: the girl on whose finger you place it must have clean hands and a pure heart. Will you be careful of that, my boy?' I promised it on my knees, by my mother's dying bed.