At Greenwood there was but one light burning.  He saw it half a mile from the house, lost it, then caught it again, crowning like a star the low hilltop.  Bending from the saddle, he opened the gate, passed through, and rode on beneath the oaks to the house door.  The light shone from the library.  When a negro had taken his horse, the younger Cary entered to find his brother sitting before a mass of books and papers, wine on the table, and a favourite dog asleep upon the hearth.  “You are late,” said the elder, looking up with a smile.  “Fontenoy, of course?”

“Fontenoy, of course.  Ludwell, I’ve won!”

The elder brother pushed back his chair, rose, and, going to the younger, put both hands upon his shoulders.  “Fair.  I’m glad!  I told you that you would.  She’s the loveliest black-eyed lady—­and as for you, you deserve your fortune! Monsieur mon frere, I make you my congratulations!”

“What a blaze of light you’ve got in here!  All the way home my horse’s hoofs were saying, Unity Cary—­Unity Cary.”

Ludwell laughed.  “You’re drunk with joy.  The room is not brightly lit.  Sit down and tell me all about it.”

“’Twas underneath the catalpa tree.  We quarrelled—­”

“As usual.”

“Page had been there, reading aloud,—­reading Eloisa to Abelard.”

“Oh!”

“We quarrelled.  I said good-bye forever, and walked away.  She came after me over the grass.  Ludwell, to hold the woman that you love in your arms, close, close—­”

“I can guess ’twas bliss.  And then?”

“Heaven still—­only quieter.  We went back to the bench under the catalpa.”

“Happy tree!  And I never thought it a poetic growth—­the flowers are so sticky!  Now Unity shall plant one at Greenwood.”

“‘Unity’!  Isn’t it sweet to say just ’Unity’?”

The other laughed again.  “I think you are a very satisfactory lover!  And when’s the marriage, Fair?”

“Not for a whole year—­she won’t marry me for a whole year to come!”

“Why, that’s too long,” said the elder kindly.  “What reason?”

“Time to say farewell.  Once she’s married, she will never see Unity Dandridge again!”

Both laughed, but there was much tenderness in their laughter.  “Oh, she’s individual!” said Ludwell.  “Even when you add the Cary, she’ll be Unity Dandridge still.  A year!  Perhaps she may relent.”

“I’ve given my word not to ask her.”

“Ah!—­well, a year’s not so long, Fair.  She’s a lovely witch—­she’ll charm the hours away.  This time next year how gay we’ll make the old house!”

The younger paced the room.  “I can’t go to bed.  Michaelmas—­Christmas—­St. Valentine’s—­Easter—­the Fourth—­then August again.  Twelve months!”

“You’ll ride to Fontenoy in the morning.”

“That’s true—­and you’ll ride with me.  The last thing that she said was that I was to bring you.  Ludwell, I want to say that not even Unity, though I love her so much, could ever make me love you an iota the less.  You know that, don’t you?”