"Are there? Well, you shall have them all, every one of them, Nancy, if
you can make up your mind to do without the dollars; for dollars seem to
be just what I can't manage."

Her hand was in his by this time, and they were sitting side by side in
the cushionless, carpetless Wentworth pew. The door stood open; the
winter moon shone in upon them. That it was beginning to grow cold in
the church passed unnoticed. The grasp of the woman's hand seemed to
give the man new hope and courage, and Justin's warm, confiding, pleading
pressure brought balm to Nancy, balm and healing for the wounds her pride
had suffered; joy, too, half-conscious still, that her life need not be
lived to the end in unfruitful solitude. She had waited, "as some grey
lake lies, full and smooth, awaiting the star below the twilight." Justin
Peabody might have been no other woman's star, but he was Nancy's!

"Just you sitting beside me here makes me feel as if I'd been asleep or
dead all these years, and just born over again," said Justin. "I've led
a respectable, hard-working, honest life, Nancy," he continued, "and I
don't owe any man a cent; the trouble is that no man owes me one. I've
got enough money to pay two fares back to Detroit on Monday, although I
was terribly afraid you wouldn't let me do it. It'll need a good deal of
thinking and planning, Nancy, for we shall be very poor."

Nancy had been storing up fidelity and affection deep, deep in the hive
of her heart all these years, and now the honey of her helpfulness stood
ready to be gathered.

"Could I keep hens in Detroit?" she asked. "I can always make them pay."