“He was your father, Steve, and you might have been—” The voice was so low that the young man did not catch the last word. He unclasped his hands, and placed one forearm quickly across his face, and lay quite still for a minute or two. Then he moved it. Miss Thomasia was sitting quite motionless, her eyes in her lap, and with the fading light of the evening sky slanting under the trees and resting on her face and soft, silvered hair. She sighed so softly it might have been only breathing.
“I never knew it,” said Steve, gently; “but I might have known.”
He rose slowly, and leaning over her, kissed her tenderly, and she laid her head on his shoulder.
“Yes, Steve, now you know.”
And Steve said, yes, and kissed her again like a son.
“Cousin Thomasia,” he said, presently, “I will not say I will never drink again; but I will promise you not to gamble again, and I will not drink to excess any more.”
“Oh! Steve, if you knew how I have prayed for you!” said the little lady, softly.
“Well, maybe, Cousin Thomasia, this is in answer to it,” said Steve, half seriously.
There was as much preparation for the entertainment as there had ever been in the old times for the greatest ball given at Red Rock or Birdwood. Some of the guests from distant neighborhoods came several days before-hand to be in time, or to help superintend, and stayed at the houses of their friends near the county seat. Even the General’s bachelor establishment was transformed for the occasion into a nest of doves, who, it was said, put up more little knick-knacks than he had ever seen, and made the old fellow more comfortable than he had ever been before in all his life.