Fog waited. Waring kicked a fallen log into place, lit his pipe then
let it go out, moved his chair forward, then pushed it back
impatiently, and finally spoke. 'Of course I shall take Silver; I
intend to make Silver.'

'At last?'

'At last. No wonder you are glad--'

'Glad,' said Fog,--'glad!' But the words were whispered, and the young
man went on unheeding.

'Of course it is a great thing for you to have the child off your
hands and placed in a home so high above your expectations. Love is a
strange power. I do not deny that I have fought against it, but--but
why should I conceal? I love Silver with all my soul, she seems to
have grown into my very being.'

It was frankly and strongly uttered; the good side of Jarvis Waring
came uppermost for the moment.

Old Fog leaned forward and grasped his hand. 'I know you do,' he said.
'I know something of men, and I have watched you closely, Waring. It
is for this love that I forgive--I mean that I am glad and thankful
for it, very thankful.'

'And you have reason to be,' said the younger man, withdrawing into
his pride again. 'As my wife, Silver will have a home, a circle of
friends, which--But you could not understand; let it pass. And now,
tell me all you know of her.'