The major's very blood stopped in his veins and his fine old face looked
drawn and gray as he stretched out his hand and laid it on Caroline's
young shoulder. Not a word came to his lips as he looked in Andrew's
face and waited.

And as he waited a wondrous thing and piercing sweet unfolded itself
under his keen old eyes and sank like a balm into his wise old heart.
From the two deep purple pools of womanhood that were raised to his, shy
with homage of him and unconscious of their own tender reverencing,
Andrew Sevier drew a deep draught into his very soul. Slowly the color
mounted into his face, his eyes opened themselves and a wonderful smile
curled his lips. He held out his hand and took her slender fingers into a
strong clasp and held them for a long moment. Then with a smile at the
major, which was a mixture of dignity tinged with an infinite sadness, he
bent over and gently kissed the white hand as he let it go. The little
ceremony had more chivalry than she understood.

"Its part of our ritual of welcome I'm claiming," he said lightly as she
blushed rose pink and the divine shyness deepened in her eyes. She again
buried her face in the berries.

Then with a proud look into Andrew's face the major laid his hand on the
young man's bandaged arm and bent and raised Caroline's hand to his lips.

"It's a ritual, my dear," he said, "that I'm honored in observing with
him. Friendship these days has need of rituals of ratification and the
pomp of ceremonials to give it color. There's danger of its becoming
prosaic. Jefferson, turn on the lights."