"Miss Vesta," he said, "pardon me, but I have just issued from many
generations of forest poverty, and knowing how hard it is to break that
thraldom, I would stop you from taking the first step towards it. The
bloom upon your cheek, the mould you are the product of without flaw,
the chaste lady's tastes and thoughts, and inborn strength and joy, are
the work of God's favor to your family for generations. That favor he
continues in laying those family burdens on another's shoulders, to
spare you the toil and care, anxiety and slow decay, that this violent
change of circumstances means. It would be a sin to relapse from this
perfection to that penury."
"I cannot see that honorable poverty would make me less a woman,"
exclaimed Vesta.
"You do not dread poverty because you do not know it," Milburn
continued. "It grows in this region like the old field-pines and little
oaks over a neglected farm. Once there was a court-house settlement on
Dividing Creek, where justice, eloquence, talent, wit, and heroism made
the social centre of two counties, but they moved the court-house and
the forest speedily choked the spot. Now not an echo lingers of that
former glory. You can save your house from being swallowed up in the
forest."
"By marrying the forest hero?" Vesta said, though she immediately
regretted it.
"Yes," Milburn uttered stubbornly, after a pause. "I have met the house
of Custis half-way.
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