"It has not been so unpleasant, after all, has it?" she asked. "We have been far more comfortable than we could have prayed for."

"I should enjoy seeing a white man once in a while, though, and I'd give my head for this morning's Chicago newspaper," he answered rather glumly.

"I have been happier on this island than I ever was in my life. Isn't it strange? Isn't it queer that we have not gone mad with despair? But I, for one, have not suffered a single pang, except over the death of our loved ones."

"Lord Huntingford included," maliciously.

"That is unkind, Hugh. I am ashamed to say it, but I want to forget that he ever lived."

"You will have plenty of time to forget all you ever knew before we die. We'll spend the rest of our days in that nigger village back there. If I should die first I suppose you'd forget me in a week or so. It—"

"Why, Hugh! You know better than that! Why do you say such disagreeable things?"

"I'm not worth remembering very long," he said lamely. She smiled and said the statement threw a different light on the question. Whereupon he did not know whether to laugh or scowl.

"This dear old island," she cried, looking toward the great rocks lovingly. "Really, I should be sorry to leave it."

"When the ship comes, I'll go back to America, and you may remain here if you like and be the only Izor in the business." He said it in jest, but she looked at him solemnly for a moment and then turned her eyes out to sea. She was reclining on her side, her hand supporting her head, her elbow in the sand. He sat five feet away, digging holes in the sand with an odd little walking stick. One of her sandalled feet protruded from beneath the hem of her garment, showing ever so little of the bare, white, fascinating ankle.

"I should despise the place if I had to live here a day without you," she said simply.

"What do you mean?" She did not answer at once. When she did, it was earnestly and without the least embarrassment.

"Can't I make you understand how much you are to me?" she asked without a blush. "You are the best, the noblest man I've ever known. I like you so well that I do not know how I could live if I did not have you to talk to, if I could not see you and be with you. Do you know what I did last night?"

He could only shake his head and tremble with the joy of feeling once more that she loved him and did not understand.

"I prayed that we might never be taken from the island," she said hurriedly, as if expecting him to condemn her for the wish. He rolled over on his back, closed his eyes, and tried to control a joyous, leaping heart. "It was so foolish, you know, to pray for that, but I've been so contented and happy here, Hugh. Of course, I don't expect we are to live here always. They will find us some day." He opened his eyes and hazarded a glance at his face. She smiled and said, "I'm afraid they will."

There was but the space of five feet between them. How he kept from bounding to her side and clasping her in his arms he never knew; he was in a daze of delight. So certain of her love was he now that, through some inexplicable impulse, he closed his eyes again and waited to hear more of the delicious confession.

"Then we shall leave the prettiest land in the world, a land where show and pomp are not to be found, where nature reigns without the touch of sham, and go back to a world where all is deceit, mockery, display. I love everything on this island," she cried ecstatically. He said nothing, so she continued: "I may be an exile forever, but I feel richer instead of poorer away off here in this unknown paradise. How glorious it is to be one's self absolutely, at all times and in all places, without a thought of what the world may say. Here I am free, I am a part of nature."

"Do you think you know yourself fully?" he asked as quietly as he could.

"Know myself?" she laughed. "Like a book."

"Could you love this island if you were here alone?"

"Well, I—suppose—not," she said, calculatively. "It would not be the same, you know."

"Don't you know why you feel as you do about this God-forsaken land, Tennys Huntingford?" he demanded, suddenly drawing very near to her, his burning eyes bent upon hers. "Don't you know why you are happy here?" She was confused and disturbed by his manner. That same peculiar flutter of the heart she had felt weeks ago on the little knoll attacked her sharply.

"I—I—I'm sure—I am happy just because I am, I dare say," she faltered, conscious of an imperative inclination to lower her eyes, but strangely unable to do so.

"You love this island because you love me," he whispered in her ear.

"No, no! It is not that! Please don't be foolish again, Hugh. You will make me very unhappy."

"But you do love me. You love me, and you do not know it," he said, thrilled with exultation. She looked at him wonderingly, a half scornful, half dubious smile flitting over her face.

"I will try to be patient with you. Don't you think I know my own mind?" she asked.

"No; you do not," he said vigorously. "Let me ask you a few questions, and I beg of you, for your own sake and mine, to answer them without equivocation. I'll prove to you that you love me."

"Who is to be the judge?" she asked merrily. She trembled and turned cold as he took her hand in his and—she was not merry.

"First, is there another man in the world that you would rather have here? Answer, dear." The blood mounted to her cheek at the term of endearment.

"Not one," she answered firmly, trying to smile.

"Have you never thought—be honest, now—that you don't want to leave the island because it would mean our separation?"

"Yes, but—but it would be the same with anybody else if I cared for him," she exclaimed quickly.

"But there is no one else, is there?" She looked at him helplessly. "Answer!"

"Oh, Hugh, I—it would not be right for me to encourage you by answering that. Please let us go back to the village," she pleaded.

"Well, I know there is no one else. Tell me that you don't want to leave me because we should drift apart in the big world," he persisted.

"I had thought of that," she said so low that he could barely hear.

"You have prayed that Grace may be alive. What would it mean to you if she should be alive and we should be reunited?"

"I—I don't know," she muttered blankly.

"Would you be willing and happy to give me up to her?"

"I never thought of that," she said. Then a terror leaped to her eyes and her breast heaved as with pain. "Oh, Hugh, what would that mean to me? I could not give you up—I could not!" she cried, clasping his hand feverishly in both of hers.

"Would you be glad to see us married, to see us living together, to see children come to us? Would you be happy if I forgot you in my love for her?" he went on remorselessly, yet delightedly.

"You couldn't forget me," she whispered, faint and trembling now. "You don't mean to say I never could be near you again!" There was dismay in her face and a sob in her voice.

"Oh, occasionally, but in a very formal way."

"I believe I should die," she cried, unable to restrain herself.

"You admit then that you want me for yourself only," he said.

"Yes, yes I do, Hugh! I want you every minute of my life!"

"Now you are beginning to know what love is," he breathed in her ear. His eager arm stole slowly around her shoulders and, as she felt herself being drawn close to him irresistibly, a sweet wonder overwhelmed her. The awakening had come. With singing heart she lifted her hands to his cheeks, bewitched by the new spell, holding his face off from her own while she looked long and yearningly into his eyes. A soft flush crept over her brow and down her neck, her eyes wavered and melted into mirrors of love, her lips parted, but she could not speak. The clasp tightened, his face came nearer, his words sounded like music in her enchanted ears.

"Have I proved that you love me, darling?" "I never knew till now—I never knew till now," she whispered.

Their lips met, their eyes closed, and the world was far, far away from the little stretch of sand.



CHAPTER XXX

WHERE THERE IS NO MINISTER

Six savages lying on the sand far above them saw the strange scene down near the splashing surf and looked blankly at each other. They had never known their Izors to act in that manner, and their benighted minds were troubled.

"Oh, Hugh, those men are looking at us," she protested, after the first moments of joy.

"Let them look," he cried. "You should pity them, dear, for until a few moments ago you were as much in the dark as to the meaning of love as they are now. You were a perfect heathen."

"You are no longer the harlequin. You have become the wizard."

"But it isn't a pantomine," he said.

The shadows were falling and darkness was settling about them as they passed between the giant rocks and into Velvet Valley, his arm around her waist. This new emotion deprived them of the desire to talk. There was a conscious flush in her cheeks, a queer restraint in her voice, a curious timidity in her manner when they sat before the rude table in the temple and partook of food that had never tasted so sweet before; though neither could eat of it. Something had satisfied the grosser appetite; something was tugging and choking the old into submission while the new was crowding into its realm, buoyantly, inflatingly.

They sat in front of the temple until far in the night, revelling in the beauty of the new nature. The whole world seemed different to them as they regarded it through the eyes of love; the moonlit sky was more glorious than ever before; the sombre stillness of the night was more restful; the atmosphere was sweet with the breath of passion; the sports of the savages had a fresh novelty; the torches in front of the king's home flickered with a merrier brilliancy.

All Ridgehunt was awake and celebrating, for it was a festal night. King Pootoo had taken unto himself a new wife, adding one more to the household of his heart. There were dances and sports and all manner of festivities in honor of the event, for it was not oftener than twice a year that the king took a new wife unto his bosom. The white people never knew where the ceremony began. They only knew that on this night of all nights the father of the bride had led her to the king and had drawn with his spear a circle in the soft earth.

Inside of this circle the girl prostrated herself before the groom-elect and the marriage was complete when the royal giant stepped into the wedding ring and lifted her to her feet, leading her to a place among her predecessors, who sat on the ground near by. Then the celebration ran to its highest pitch. Late in the night the weird revelry ceased and the two spectators entered the temple, her hand in his. He led her to the curtained door of her apartment.

"Good-night, dear one," he said softly. She turned her face to his and he held her for an instant to his heart, their lips meeting in a long thrill of ecstasy.

"Good-night," she whispered. He pulled the curtain aside and she slowly entered the room. For an hour afterward he lay awake, wondering what manner of love it was he had given to Grace Vernon. It was not like this.

It was barely daylight when he arose from his couch, dressed and started for a brisk walk over the hills. His ramble was a long one and the village was astir when he came through the woodland, some distance from the temple. Expecting to find Tennys waiting for him, he hastened to their abode. She evidently had not arisen, so, with a tinge of disappointment, he went to his room. Then he heard her, with her women, taking her morning plunge in the pool. The half hour before she made her appearance seemed a day to him. They met in the hallway, he glad and expectant, she shy and diffident. The red that burned in her cheeks turned to white when he kissed her, and her eyelids fell tremblingly with the proof positive that she had not dreamed the exquisite story of the night before.

Later in the morning they called on the king, and that individual promptly prostrated himself. They found the new bride repairing a section of the king's palace that had been blown down by a recent hurricane. Before the white people left, Tennys had the satisfaction and Hugh the amusement of seeing the big chief repairing the rent and the bride taking a rest.

"I've been thinking pretty hard this morning, dear," he said as they walked back to the temple, "especially when I was alone in the forest."

"Can't you think unless you are alone?" she asked, smiling.

"We all think differently sometimes when we are alone, you know. I was just thinking what a dickens of a position we are in for a pair of lovers."

"It seems to me that it is ideal."

"But where is the minister or magistrate?"

"What have they to do with it?"

"Everything, I should say. We can't get married without one or the other," he blurted out. She stopped stockstill with a gasp.

"Get married? Why—why, we have said nothing of getting married."

"And that's just why I am speaking of it now. I want you to be my wife, Tennys. Will you be my wife, dear?" he asked nervously.

"How absurd, Hugh. We may be on this island forever, and how are we to be married here? Besides, I had not thought of it."

"But you must think of it. I can't do all the thinking."

"Lord Huntingford may not be dead," she said, turning pale with the possibility.

"I can swear that he is. He was one of the first to perish. I don't believe you know what love is even now, or you would answer my question."

"Don't be so petulant, please. It is a serious matter to consider, as well as an absurd one, situated as we are. Now, if I should say that I will be your wife, what then?"

"But you haven't said it," he persisted.

"Hugh, dear, I would become your wife to-day, to-morrow—any time, if it were possible."

"That's what I wanted you to say."

"But until we are taken from this island to some place where there is an altar, how can we be married, Hugh?"

"Now, that's something for you to think about. It's almost worried the life out of me."

By this time they had reached the temple. She flung herself carelessly into the hammock, a contented sigh coming from her lips. He leaned against a post near by.

"I am perfectly satisfied here, Hugh," she said tantalizingly. "I've just been thinking that I am safer here."

"Safer?"

"To be sure, dear. If we live here always there can be no one to disturb us, you know. Has it ever occurred to you that some one else may claim you if we go back to the world? And Lord Huntingford may be waiting for me down at the dock, too. I think I shall object to being rescued," she said demurely.

"Well, if he is alive, you can get a divorce from him on the ground of desertion. I can swear that he deserted you on the night of the wreck. He all but threw you overboard."

"Let me ask a question of you. Suppose we should be rescued and you find Grace alive and praying for your return, loving you more than ever. What would become of her if you told her that you loved me and what would become of me if you married her?"

He gulped down a great lump and the perspiration oozed from his pores. Her face was troubled and full of earnestness.

"What could I say to her?" He began to pace back and forth beneath the awning. She watched him pityingly, understanding his struggle.

"Now you know, Hugh, why I want to live here forever. I have thought of all this," she said softly, holding out her hand to him. He took it feverishly, gaining courage from its gentle touch.

"It is better that she should mourn for me as dead," he said at last, "than to have me come back to her with love for another in my breast. Nedra is the safest place in all the world, after all, dearest. I can't bear to think of her waiting for me if she is alive, waiting to—to be my wife. Poor, poor girl!"

"We have been unhappy enough for to-day. Let us forget the world and all its miseries, now that we both love the island well enough to live and die on its soil. Have you thought how indescribably alone we are, perhaps for the rest of our lives? Years and years may be spent here. Let them all be sweet and good and happy. You know I would be your wife if I could, but I cannot unless Providence takes us by the hands and lifts us to the land where some good man can say: 'Whom God hath joined, let not man put asunder.'"

The next day after breakfast she took him by the hand and led him to the little knoll down by the hills. Her manner was resolute; there was a charm in it that thrilled him with expectancy.

"If we are not rescued within a year's time, it is hardly probable that we will ever be found, is it?" she asked reflectively.

"They may find us to-morrow and they may never see the shores of this island."

"But as they have not already discovered it, there is certainly some reason. We are in a part of the sea where vessels do not venture, that is evident," she argued persuasively.

"But why do you ask?"

"Because you want me to be your wife," she said, looking him frankly in the eye.

"I can only pray that we may be found," he said wistfully.

"And in case we are never found?"

"I shall probably die an old bachelor," he laughed grimly. For some moments she was in a deep study, evidently questioning the advisability or propriety of giving expression to what was in her mind.

"Are there not a great many methods of observing the marriage ceremony, Hugh? And are they not all sacred?" she asked seriously.

"What are you trying to get at, dear?"

"I may as well tell you what I have been thinking of since last night. You will not consider me bold and unwomanly, I know, but I want to be your wife. We may never leave this island, but we can be married here."

"Married here!" he exclaimed. "You mean—"

"I mean that the ceremony of these natives can be made as sacred in the eye of God as any in all the world. Nine-tenths or more of all the marriages in the world are crimes, because man, not God, welds the bonds. Therefore, I say frankly to you, Hugh, that I will marry you some day according to the custom of these people, as sacred to me as that of any land on earth."

At first he could hardly believe that he had heard aright, but as she progressed and he saw the nobility, the sincerity, of her declaration, a wave of reverential love swept through his heart. The exaltation of a moment before was quelled, destroyed by a sacred, solemn regard for her. There was a lump in his throat as he bent over and gently took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips.

"Are you sure of yourself, darling?" he whispered.

"I could not have spoken had I not been sure. I am very sure of myself. I trust you so fully that I am sure of you as well."

He kissed her rapturously.

"God bless you. I can hardly breathe for the joy I feel."

"But you do not say you will marry me," she smiled.

"You shall be my wife to-day," he cried.

"I beg your pardon," she said gaily, "but as the bride I am the arbiter of time. If in a year from now we are still here, I will be your wife."

"A year! Great heaven! Impossible! I won't wait that long. Now be sensible, Tennys."

"I am very sensible. While I am willing to recognize the sacredness of the marriage laws here, I must say that I prefer those of my own land. We must wait a year for deliverance. If it does not come, then I will—"

"But that's three hundred and sixty-five days—an age. Make it a month, dear. A month is a long, long time, too."

"A year is a long time," she mused. "I will marry you on the twenty-third of next May."

"Six months!" he exclaimed reprovingly.

"You must accept the decision. It is final."



CHAPTER XXXI

THE WEDDING RING

The six months passed and the strange wedding was near at hand. The underlying hope that they might be discovered and restored to the life that seemed so remotely far behind them was overshadowed, obliterated by the conditions and preparations attending their nuptials. Sincerity of purpose and the force of their passion justified beyond all question the manner in which they were to become man and wife in this heathen land of Nedra.

Wedding garments had been woven in the most artistic and approved fashion. Lady Tennys's trousseau was most elaborate, far more extensive than even the most lavish desires of civilization could have produced.

Their subjects vied with each other in the work of decorating their idols for the ceremony. Never before had native ingenuity and native endurance been put to such a test. Worship was the master workman and energy its slave.

"If they keep on bringing in clothes, dear, we'll have a bargain-day stock to dispose of some time. We'd have to live two hundred years in order to try 'em on and thereby set the fashion in exclusive wedding garments." Hugh made this comment as they stood surveying the latest consignment of robes, which reposed with considerable reverence on the specially constructed tables in the new part of Tennys Court. Amused perplexity revealed itself in the faces of the couple.

"I think this last pair of trousers, if you should ever wear them, will revolutionize the habits of the island. You will look especially killing in green, Hugh."

"That seashell parasol of yours is unique, but I imagine it will be too heavy for you to carry in Piccadilly. I observed that it required two able-bodied men to bring it here, and they seemed immensely relieved when it was off their shoulders—to say nothing of their hands. How do you like this crocodile skin necktie of mine?"

"It is particularly becoming to you—as a belt."

"I'm glad we're to be married soon, Tennys," said he with a grin. "If we put it off a month longer there won't be enough material on land or sea to supply the demand for ready-made garments. As it is, I'm afraid the poor devils will have to go naked themselves until a new crop springs up. I saw one of Pootoo's wives patching his best suit of breech clothes to-day, so he must be hard put for wearing apparel."

"I wonder if it would offend them if we were to distribute what we can't use among the poor."

"I am sure it would please the poor as much as it would please us. They'll all be poor, you know. I have two hundred and eighty-three pairs of trousers and only seven shirts. If I could trade in two hundred and fifty pants for an extra shirt or two, I'd be a much happier bridegroom."

"I dare say they can cut down some of my kimonas to fit you. I have at least three hundred."

"I'd like that blue one and the polka dot up there. They'd make corking shirts. I'll trade you twelve of my umbrellas for one of those grass bonnets of yours. They've been showing too much partiality. Here you've got nearly one hundred suits of pajamas and I have but eleven."

"Yes, but think of the suits of armor they've made for you and not one for me."

"But I wouldn't have time to change armor during a battle, would I? One suit is enough for me. By George, they look worse than football suits, don't they? One couldn't drive a javelin through this chunk of stuff with a battering ram."

Everywhere about them were proofs of the indefatigable but lamentable industry of their dusky friends. Articles inconceivable in more ways than one were heaped in the huge room. Nondescript is no word to describe the heterogeneous collection of things supposed to be useful as well as ornamental. Household utensils, pieces of furniture, bric-a-brac of the most appalling design, knickknacks and gewgaws without end or purpose stared the bewildered white people in the face with an intensity that confused and embarrassed them beyond power of expression.

Shortly after their strange betrothal, Lady Tennys had become a strong advocate of dress reform for women on the island of Nedra. Neat, loose and convenient pajamas succeeded the cumbersome petticoats of everyday life. She, as well as her subjects, made use of these thrifty garments at all times except on occasions of state. They were cooler, more rational—particularly becoming—and less troublesome than skirts, and their advent created great rejoicing among the natives, who, prior to the arrival of their white leaders, had worn little more than nothing and yet had been quite fashionable.

Tennys was secretly rehearsing the marriage ceremony in the privacy of her chamber, prompted and praised by her faithful handmaidens. To her, this startling wedding meant but one thing: the resignation of all intent to leave the island. The day she and Hugh Ridgeway were united according to the custom sacred to these people, their fate was to be sealed forever. It was to bind them irrevocably to Nedra, closing forever to them the chance of returning to the civilization they had known and were relinquishing.

Ridgeway daily inventoried his rapidly increasing stock of war implements, proud of the prowess that had made him a war-god. He soberly prohibited the construction of a great boat which might have carried him and his fair companion back to the old world.

"If we are rescued before the wedding, dear, all well and good; but if not, then we want no boat, either of our own or other construction, to carry us away. Our wedding day will make us citizens of Ridgehunt until death ends the regime. Our children may depart, but we are the Izors of Nedra to the last hour of life."

"Yes," she said simply.

The fortnight immediately prior to the day set for the wedding was an exciting one for the bride and groom-to-be. Celebration of the great event was already under way by the natives. Great feasts were planned and executed; war dances and riots of worship took place, growing in fervor and splendor as the day approached; preparations never flagged but went on as if the future existence of the whole world depended entirely upon the outcome of this great ceremony.

"Yesterday it was a week, now it is but six days," said Hugh early one morning as they set forth to watch their adorers at work on the great ceremonial temple with its "wedding ring." The new temple was a huge affair, large enough to accommodate the entire populace.

"To-morrow it will be but five days," she said; "but how long the days are growing." They sat beside the spring on the hillside and musingly surveyed the busy architects on the plain below.

"How are the rehearsals progressing?" he asked.

"Excellently, but I am far from being a perfect savage. It doesn't seem possible that I shall ever learn how to fall gracefully into that ring. I believe I shall insist that you turn your head at the particular juncture, for I know you'll laugh at me," she said with a great show of concern.

"I don't like that part of the service. It's a shame for me to stand by and to see you tumble at my feet. Firstly, it's not your place; secondly, it's liable to hurt you; lastly, I'd feel a most unmanly brute. Wonder if we can't modify that part of it somehow?"

"I might be carried in on a litter and set down in the ring, or we might stretch a hammock," she said, laughing merrily.

"I'm determined on one point and that is in regard to the pile of soft grass. Pootoo promised to cut a lot of it and put it in the ring. You shan't break any bones if I can help it."

"Pootoo is to be master of ceremonies in every sense of the word, I can see. I am the ward of a king."

At last the day arrived.

They were to enter the ceremonial temple at high noon and in their ears were to be the sound of timbrels and brass, trumpets and drums and the glad though raucous songs of a kingdom.

Early in the day Tennys Huntingford submitted herself to be arrayed for the ceremony by her proud, jealous maidens. She remained alone and obscure in her chamber, awaiting the moment when King Pootoo should come for her. Her gown was of the purest white. It was her own handiwork, the loving labor of months. True, it would have looked odd in St. James or in the cathedral, but no bride ever walked to those chancels in more becoming raiment—no bride was ever more beautiful, no woman ever more to be coveted. Her heart was singing with love and joy; the dreams of months were coming true in these strangely wakeful hours.

Ridgeway wandered nervously through the village, watching the sun as it crept nearer and nearer to the middle of its daily reign—would the minutes never end? Why had the sun stopped in its course across the sky? Why was time so tantalizing?

At last! The sudden clangor of weird instruments filled his ears. He held his hand to his throbbing heart as he turned his gaze toward the door through which she was to come.

Inside the great temple the people of Nedra were singing and chanting with anticipant joy; outside the world was smiling benignly. All Nedra gathered about the circle of earth in which Tennys Huntingford was to cast herself at the feet of her husband and lord for all time.

Hugh had not seen her since the night before, and his eyes were starving for the vision. She came forth, her white hand in the great broad palm of King Pootoo, and she smiled gloriously upon the man who stood below and waited for her to come to him. Together they were to approach the circle. The priests were there to receive them—Hugh first and then his bride; the people were shouting, the instruments were jangling with a fiercer fervor, the sun was passing across the line with his fairest smile and wedding bells were ringing in two red, full hearts.

But even as she came up to him and touched his arm, outside the temple doors, the hand of Fate was lifted and a rigid finger stayed them on the verge.

A mighty intonation, sharp and deafening, came to their ears like a clap of thunder from a clear sky!

Paralysis, stupefaction, fell upon the multitude. There was a silence as of death. Every sound ceased, every heart stood still and every sense was numb. It seemed an hour before Hugh Ridgeway's stiff lips muttered:

"A gun! A ship's gun!"



CHAPTER XXXII

THE CRUISER "WINNETKA"

A moment later pandemonium broke loose. The ceremony was forgotten in the panic that seized the startled savages. There was a rush, a stampede of terror and the great temple was emptied as if by magic. Hugh and his fair companion stood alone in the little plain, staring at the distant gateposts, over which a faint cloud of smoke was lifting, coming up from the sea beyond. The terrified savages had fled to their homes in wildest alarm.

Minutes passed before Hugh could speak again. Power of comprehension seemed to have left them. They were looking dumbly into each other's eyes.

"It was a gun—a big gun. Our flag."

Without knowing what they did the two started across the plain, their eyes glued to the great rocks that screened the mystery.

"Can it be the Oolooz men?" she asked.

"The whole Oolooz army, dead or alive, couldn't have made a noise like that. It might have been a volcano breaking through the rocks."

"Then we must not venture down there," she cried, holding back. He threw his big right arm around her waist and broke into a brisk run, taking her along resistlessly.

Together they walked and ran across the plain and through the pass which led to the sea. Far behind straggled a few of the villagers, emboldened by curiosity.

"The rocks seem to be all right," he said, as if a pet theory had been destroyed.

By this time they had passed over the rocks and were upon the sand. Simultaneously they turned their eyes toward the sea, and the sight that burst upon them fairly took the breath from their lungs, leaving them so weak that they staggered. A mile or so out at sea lay a huge ship, white hulled and formidable. There were gun turrets above deck and a swarm of men on board.

Hugh's eyes seemed to turn round and round in his head, his legs began to tremble and his palsied lips parted helplessly, as he pointed to the colors she flew. The American flag fluttered from the mizzen-mast of the great vessel!

Almost crazed by the sight, the castaways, overcoming their stupefaction, forgetting all that had gone before, danced frantically on the sand hill, their ecstasy knowing no bounds.

"Will they see us?" she sobbed, falling at last to the ground in sheer exhaustion, digging her fingers feverishly, unconsciously into the sand.

"Yes, yes! They must see us! We are saved! Saved!" he yelled hoarsely. Then he threw himself beside her, and they were clasped in each other's arms, crying like children. Afterward they could remember only that they saw a boat lowered from the ship. It came toward them, a white uniformed officer standing in the bow. As the boat drew near Tennys began to regain her equanimity. She withdrew hastily from Hugh's arms and arose. With streaming eyes she waved her hands in response to the faraway salute of the officer. Hugh, not so easily restrained, jumped to his feet and shouted:

"Hurrah! Hurrah! God bless you! American sailors! Angels of heaven, every one of you! Hurrah!"

Holding their hands to their temples, the castaways finally calmed themselves enough to look rationally at each other. Their minds began to regain order, their nerves were quieted, their hearts forgot the tumult, and they could think and talk and reason again. In the fierce ecstasy of seeing the long-looked-for rescuers, they had forgotten their expressed desire to live always on the island. Human nature had overcome sentiment and they rejoiced in what they had regarded as a calamity an hour before. Now they realized that a crisis had come.

"Hugh, will they take us away?" she cried, real anguish mingling with triumphant joy.

"Shall we go or stay?" cried he, torn by two emotions.

"It may be the end of our happiness," she whispered, pale as death. "I will stay here forever, Hugh, if you like."

"Do you want to go?"

"I want to go and I want to stay. What shall we do?"

"Go! We shall be happy. Nothing shall part us, darling."

"But Grace? What if she is alive?" she asked faintly.

"God grant she is. I'll throw myself at her feet and she shall be made to understand," he said, but a nameless chill crossed him.

"You would break her heart," moaned she. "Our poor, poor wedding day."

"There will be another glad and joyous day," he said, trying to find heart.

"I will go where you go, Hugh," she said.

A few long sweeps of the oars and the white boat, with its blue trimmings, shot upon the beach, and the officer leaped forward to meet the waiting pair.

"I am Ensign Carruthers, United States cruiser Winnetka, Captain Hildebrand commanding. We saw your flag and were considerably mystified," he said, doffing his cap to her Ladyship. But Ridgeway, forgetting politeness, dignity and reserve, rushed up and grabbed him by the hand, mad with the exuberance of joy.

"Saved! Saved! Saved!"

Carruthers, dumbfounded, looked from one to the other of the now frantic couple. He saw white people dressed in most unusual garments, the woman possessing a gloriously beautiful face and the air of royalty, the man bushy haired and stalwart, every inch a gentleman and an American.

"What does this mean?" he demanded.

"You are the first white man we have seen in more than a year," cried Hugh.

"We have seen none but savages," added she, tears of happiness starting afresh down her cheeks.

"You were wrecked?" exclaimed the sailor, appalled.

It was an incoherent recital that the two poured into his ears, first one, then the other talking excitedly, but it was not long before he was in possession of all the facts.

"You were on the Tempest Queen," he cried, doubting his ears.

"Was no one saved?" they cried breathlessly.

"The captain and five or six passengers, I think, were picked up, almost starved, in a boat, some days after the wreck. All others were lost."

"Who were the passengers?" asked Hugh, trembling with eagerness.

"I don't recall the names."

"Was there a Miss Ridge among them?"

"Was Lord Huntingford saved?"

"I can't say as to the lady, but I know that Lord Huntingford was lost. I remember the papers were full of headlines about him and his young wife. His dead body was picked up by a steamer. She was not found."

"She has just been found," said Hugh. "This it Lady Huntingford."

* * * * *

The Winnetka was on a three years' cruise. Her engines had broken down a few days before, during a storm, and she was carried out of her course. The machinery being repaired, she was now picking her way toward Manila. The sailors were sent back to the warship, with information for the commander, and Carruthers accompanied the joyous couple to the village. The natives had seen the ship and the white men, and there was intense excitement among them.

Then came the struggle for Hugh and Tennys Huntingford. For an hour they wavered and then the die was cast. Back to the old world!

When it became known that the Izors who had done so much for them were to leave the island on the big, strange thing of the deep, the greatest consternation and grief ensued. Chattering disconsolately, the whole village accompanied the belongings of the Izors to the beach. Lady Tennys and Ridgeway went among their savage friends with the promise to return some day, a promise which they meant to fulfil.

"I'll have missionaries out here in a month," vowed Hugh, biting his lips and trying to speak calmly through the grip that was choking him involuntarily.

King Pootoo, the picture of despair, stood knee-deep in the water. As the sailors pushed off, he threw up his hands and wailed aloud; and then the whole tribe behind him fell grovelling in the sand. Two white-robed figures flung themselves in the water and grasped the gunwales as the boat moved away. The sailors tried to drive them off, but they screamed and turned their pleading faces toward their mistress.

"Please take them in," she cried, and strong arms drew the dusky women into the boat. They were Alzam and Nattoo, the devoted handmaidens of the beautiful Izor. Trembling and in fear of dire punishment for their audacity, they sank to the bottom of the boat. Nor did they cease their moaning until they were on the broad deck of the Winnetka, where astonishment overcame fear.

Slowly the boat moved away from the island of Nedra, just one year after its new passengers had set foot on its shores. High upon the top of the tall gatepost fluttered the frayed remnants of an American flag. The captain pointed toward it, removed his cap proudly, and then there arose a mighty cheer from the men on board the man o' war.



CHAPTER XXXIII

APPARITIONS

The Winnetka passed Corregidor Island and dropped anchor in Manila harbor on the morning of June 1st. On the forward deck stood Hugh Ridgeway and Tennys Huntingford. They went ashore with Captain Hildebrand, Ensign Carruthers, the paymaster and several others. Another launch landed their nondescript luggage—their wedding possessions—and the faithful handmaidens. The captain and his passengers went at once to shipping quarters, where the man in charge was asked if he could produce a list of those on board the Tempest Queen at the time she went down.

"I have a list of those who left Aden and of those who were rescued. Did you have friends on board?"

"Yes, we had friends," answered Hugh, in a choking voice. "First, let me see a list of the lost." The clerk found the book containing the list, alphabetically arranged, and placed it on the desk before the trembling man and woman. Both had an insane desire to rush from the office and back to the Winnetka, where they could hide from the very knowledge they were seeking. In their hearts they were wishing for the solitude and happiness of the Island of Nedra. The clerk, observing their anxiety, considerately offered to read the names to them.

"No, I thank you; I'll look," said Hugh, resolutely turning to the pages. Lady Tennys leaned weakly against the counter and looked through blurred eyes at the racing lines of ink. Hugh rapidly ran his fingers through the list, passing dozens of passengers they had known. As the finger approached the "R's" it moved more slowly, more tremblingly. "Reed—Reyer—Ridge!" "Hugh Ridge, Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A." He grew sick when he saw his own name among those who were dead.

"She was saved," he murmured, for there was but one Ridge there.

"Look for Vernon," whispered his companion.

"Van Camp—Valentine—Wilson." It was not there—nor was Veath's!

"Are they on the list?" asked the clerk.

"Let me see the names of those who were saved," said Hugh bravely, joy and anxiety welling to the surface like twin bubbles.

"Two pages over, sir."

Over went the pages so ruthlessly that the scribe was in trepidation lest they should be crumpled beyond redemption. Hugh read aloud in an unnatural voice:

"Costello—Hamilton—Ridge—Shadburn—Veath."

His hand fell upon the page and his head dropped forward till his lips touched the name that danced before his eyes.

"Here it is! Here it is!" he shouted, hugging the book.

"Thank God!" cried she, tears rushing to her eyes. Together they read and re-read the name, scarcely able to believe that she was truly one of the few to escape. "And Henry Veath, too. Oh, Hugh, it is a miracle—a real miracle!"

"Old Veath saved her! I knew he would if he had a ghost of a chance. Tennys, Tennys, I can't believe it is true." He was beside himself in his excitement. Captain Hildebrand, the clerk, and the other attaches looked on with happy smiles. In this moment of relief they forgot completely that, in leaving the island, they had been filled with a sort of dread lest they should find her who might come between them.

"We must find Veath," went on Hugh rapidly. "Is he in Manila?"

"He is in the Government Building, sir," answered the clerk. Already Hugh was edging toward the door, holding Lady Tennys by the arm. "Is Mr. Veath a relative?"

"No; he's more than that. He's a friend. We were on the Tempest Queen together when she went down."

"You were—on—the—what did you say, sir?" gasped the clerk.

"He doesn't know who we are, Hugh."

"That's so. Add two more names to the list of saved and scratch 'em off the other. Put down Lady Huntingford and Hugh Ridge."

The clerk's eyes bulged. Every man in the office came forward in amazement.

"It's the truth," volunteered the Winnetka's captain. "I picked them up last week."

"Where's the cable office? I must send a message to Miss Ridge. When did she sail for the United States?"

"She hasn't sailed, sir. Her name is Vernon, and she's been waiting in Manila for news of you ever since. Get some water there, Cleary! He's going to faint." Ridgeway collapsed against the counter, his face going deadly pale. Lady Tennys sank into her chair, huddling limply as if to withstand a shock, while from her stricken face two wide blue eyes centred themselves hopelessly on her lover.

"Needn't mind the water. I'm all right," stammered Hugh, moving away with legs as stiff as rods. "Where is she now?"

"At the home of her uncle, Mr. Coleman. There were seven of them saved, after being buffeted about by the sea for three days in the boat in which they left the wreck. When they were picked up by the Sea Gull, they were almost dead with hunger, thirst and madness. It seems Miss Vernon had written her uncle before sailing; and the letter, coming by way of San Francisco, got here two or three weeks before she was expected. Afterward, Mr. Coleman got the government to send ships out to find the wreck. It was many weeks before Miss Vernon was fully recovered."

"Thank you," muttered he. "Come, Lady Huntingford, we will go to a hotel." She arose and silently followed him to the door. The men in the office glanced at each other, completely mystified, Captain Hildebrand as much so as any one.

For a long time the occupants of a certain carriage looked straight before them as if bereft of the power of speech or comprehension. A great abyss of thought confronted them; they were apparently struggling on the edge, utterly unable to grasp a single inspiration or idea.

"She's been waiting a year, Tennys. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes, Hugh; I know too well. She has prayed and hoped and loved, and now you are come to her. It means that she will be happy—oh, so happy!" murmured his white-lipped companion, cold as ice.

"But I can't go to her and tell her what we know. It would kill her. I can't go to her—it is impossible! I'd die if she looked at me," he groaned.

"You must go to her," she said intensely. "She will know you have been rescued. She will thank God and wait for you to come to her. Think of that poor girl waiting, waiting, waiting for you, filled with a joy that we can never know. Oh, I will not have you break her heart. You shall go to her!"

"I cannot, I tell you! I cannot tell her that I love you! That would be worse than any cruelty I can imagine."

"You are not to tell her that you love me. I release you, Hugh. You were hers first; you are hers now. I would kill myself rather than lake you from her. Go to her—go to her at once. You must!" She was nervous, half-crazed, yet true nobility shone above all like a gem of purest ray.

"Don't force me to go, Tennys," he pleaded, as she left him to go to her room.

"Go now, Hugh—go if you love me," she said, turning her miserable face from him.

"But what is to become of you—of me?" he protested.

"We must think only of her. Go! and bring her to see me here! I want to tell her how happy I am that she has found you again;" and then she was gone.

The dominant impulse was to rush after her, grasp her and carry her back to the waves from which he had unwittingly saved her. Then the strong influence that she had exerted over him, together with the spark of fair-mindedness that remained, forced him to obey the dictates of honor. He slowly, determinedly, dejectedly re-entered the carriage and started toward the end.



CHAPTER XXXIV

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE

Ridgeway had been directed to the home of Mr. Henry Coleman. He was never able to describe his emotions as he drove through the streets toward that most important place in all the world at that hour. The cab drew up in front of the rather pretentious home and he stepped forth, dazed and uncertain, his knees stiff, his eyes set. Had some one shouted "Run!" he would have fled with his resolution.

Every window in the home seemed to present Grace Vernon's glad face to his misty eyes; she was in there somewhere, he knew, waiting as she had been waiting for a whole year.

Slowly he mounted the steps and stood before the screen door. After what seemed an hour of deliberation, during which he sought to resurrect the courage that had died, he timidly tapped on the casement with his knuckles. The sound could not have been heard ten feet, yet to him it was loud enough to wake people blocks away. There was no response and his heart, in its cowardice, took a hopeful bound. No one at home! He turned to leave the place, fearing that some one might appear to admit him before he could retreat. At the top of the steps he paused, reasoning that if no one was at home he could at least rap again. His conscience would be easier for the extra effort. He rapped once more, quite boldly. A man appeared in the doorway so suddenly that he caught his breath and put out his hand to steady himself.

The screen flew open and Henry Veath grasped him by the arms, fairly dragging him into the hallway.

"Hugh! Hugh! Is it really you?" For a moment he stood like one suddenly gone mad.

"Henry, I can't believe it!" gasped Ridgeway. Both of them stood looking at one another for more than a full minute. "What a wonderful escape!" fell hazily from the newcomer's stiff lips.

"How did you escape?" cried the other in the same breath. Pale as ghosts they wrung each other's hands spasmodically, dazed and bewildered.

"Where is Grace?" demanded Hugh.

"She is out just at present," said the other slowly and with an effort. "Come in and sit down. She will be here presently." He staggered as he drew back.

"Has—has my sister given up all hope of ever seeing me again?" said Ridgeway. Their hands were still clasped.

"Miss Vernon feared that you were lost, Hugh," said Veath. A cold perspiration was showing itself on his brow. "She has told me all. How ill and white you look. Sit down here and I'll get you some wine."

"Never mind, old man. I'm well enough. When will she return? Great heaven, man, I can't wait!" He sank limply into a chair. His companion's heart was freezing.

"Be calm, old friend. She shall be sent for at once."

"Break it to her gently, Veath, break it to her gently," murmured Hugh.

Veath excused himself and left the room. In the hall, out of Hugh's sight, he stopped, clenched his hands, closed his eyes and shivered as if his blood had turned to ice. Presently he returned to the room, having gone no farther than the hall.

"I have sent for her," he said in a strange voice.

Grace was coming down stairs when Veath admitted Hugh. Startled and almost completely prostrated, she fell back, where Veath found her when he went to announce the news. Finally, with throbbing heart, she crept to the curtain that hung in the door between the parlors and peered through at the two men. Ridgeway was standing in the centre of the room, nervously handling a book that lay on the table. His face was white and haggard; his tall, straight figure was stooped and lifeless. Veath stood on the opposite side of the table, just as pale and just as discomposed.

"Does she often speak of me?" she heard Hugh ask hoarsely. The other did not answer at once.

"Frequently, Hugh, of course," he said finally.

"And—do—you—think she—she loves me as much as ever?" There was fear in his voice; but poor Grace could only distinguish pathetic eagerness. Veath was silent, his hands clasped behind his back, his throat closed as by a vise. "Why don't you answer? Does she still love me?"

Grace glanced at the drawn face of Henry Veath and saw there the struggle that was going on in his mind. With a cry she tore aside the curtains and rushed into the room, confronting the questioner and the questioned.

"Grace!" gasped the former, staggering back as if from the effect of a mighty blow. Through his dizzy brain an instant later shot the necessity for action of some kind. There stood Grace, swaying before him, ready to fall. She loved him! He must clasp her to his heart as if he loved her. This feeble impulse forced him forward, his arms extended. "Don't be afraid, dear. I am not a ghost!"

Veath dropped into a chair near the window, and closed his eyes, his ears, his heart.

"Oh, Hugh, Hugh," the girl moaned, putting her hands over her face, even as he clasped her awkwardly, half-heartedly in his arms. He was saying distressedly to himself: "She loves me! I cannot break her heart!"

Neither moved for a full minute, and then Hugh drew her hands from her eyes, his heart full of pity.

"Grace, look at me," he said. "Are you happy?"

Their eyes met and there was no immediate answer. What each saw in the eyes of the other was strange and puzzling. She saw something like hopeless dread, struggling to suppress itself beneath a glassy film; he saw pitiful fear, sorrow, shame, everything but the glad lovelight he had expected. If their hearts had been cold before, they were freezing now.

"Happy?" she managed to articulate. "Happy?"

"Yes, happy," he repeated as witlessly.

"Don't look at me, Hugh. Don't! I cannot bear it," she wailed frantically, again placing her hands over her eyes. His arms dropped from their unwilling position and he gasped in amazement.

"What is it, Grace? What is the matter? What is it, Veath?" he gasped. She sank to her knees on the floor and sobbed.

"Oh, Hugh! I am not worthy to be loved by you." He tried to lift her to her feet, absolutely dumb with amazement. "Don't! Don't! Let me lie here till you are gone. I can't bear to have you see my face again.

"Grace!" he cried blankly.

"Oh, if I had been drowned this could have been avoided. Why don't you say something, Henry? I cannot tell him." Veath could only shake his head in response to Ridgeway's look of amazed inquiry.

"Is she mad?" groaned the returned lover.

"Mad? No, I am not mad," she cried shrilly, desperately. "Hugh, I know I will break your heart, but I must tell you. I cannot deceive you. I cannot be as I once was to you."

"Cannot be—deceived me—once was—" murmured he, bewildered.

"While I mourned for you as dead I learned to love another. Forgive me, forgive me!" It was more than a minute before he could grasp the full extent of her confession and he could not believe his ears.

Gradually his mind emerged from its oblivion and the joy that rushed to his heart passed into every vein in his body. At his feet the unhappy girl; at the window the rigid form of the man to whom he knew her love had turned; in the centre of this tableau he stood, his head erect, his lungs full, his face aglow.

"Say you will forgive me, Hugh. You would not want me, knowing what you do."

"For Heaven's sake, Hugh," began Veath; but the words choked him.

"So you love another," said Hugh slowly, and cleverly concealing his elation at the unexpected change in the situation. He was not without a sense of humor, and forgetting, for the moment, the seriousness of her revelation, he could not resist the temptation to play the martyr.

"My dear girl," he went on with mock gravity, "I would sacrifice my life to see you happy! Whoever he may be, I give you to him. Be happy, Grace;" and with decided histrionic ability concluded heart-brokenly: "Forget Hugh Ridgeway!"

A portrait of a buxom lady hanging on the wall received the full benefit of his dejected glance; and she could have told the unhappy lovers that the wretched man had winked at her most audaciously.

"When are you to be married?" he resumed solemnly.

"To-night," she choked out, then added quickly:

"But I won't, Hugh—I won't marry him if you say—"

"Not for the world! You must marry him, Grace, and I'll bless you," he interrupted quickly, even eagerly. Then there came a new thought: "Tell me truly, do you love him better than you loved me?"

"I love him better than the world!"

"Thank God!" exclaimed the discarded lover devoutly. "Give me your hand, Henry, old man—there is no one in all the world whom I'd rather see get her than you. You saved her and you deserve her. Take her and be good to her, that's all I ask; and think of me once in a while, won't you? you? Good-by."

Without waiting for an answer he broke away, as if starting for the hall.

"Please don't go away like that!"

The cry of anguish came from Grace, and she threw herself sobbing on Veath's breast.

Hugh turned like a flash. Contrition and the certainty of his power to dispel her grief showed plainly in his face.

"Don't cry, Grace dear," he begged, going over to them. "I was only fooling, dear. I'm not a bit unhappy." Grace looked up wonderingly at him through her tears. "You must take me for a brute," he stumbled on penitently. "You see—you see—er—the fact is, I'm in love myself." He did not know he could be so embarrassed. Veath actually staggered, and the girl's tear-stained face and blinking eyes were suddenly lifted from the broad breast, to be turned, in mute surprise, upon the speaker.

"What did you say?" she gasped.

"I'm in love—the very worst way," he hurried on, fingering his cap.

"And not with me?" she cried, as if it were beyond belief.

"Well, you see, I—I thought you were drowned—couldn't blame me for that, could you? So—I—she was awfully good and sweet and—by George! I'd like to know how a fellow could help it! You don't know how happy I am that you are in love with Veath, and you don't know how happy it will make her. We were to have been married a week ago but—" he gulped and could not go on.

Grace's eyes were sparkling, her voice was trembling with joy as she cried, running to his side:

"Is it really true—really true? Oh, how happy I am! I was afraid you would—"

"And I was equally afraid that you might—Whoop!" exploded Hugh, unable to restrain his riotous glee a second longer. Clasping her in his arms, he kissed her fervently; and all three joining hands, danced about the room like children, each so full of delight that there was no possible means of expressing it, except by the craziest of antics.

"But who is she?" broke out Grace excitedly, as soon as she could catch her breath.

"And where is she—can't we see her?" put in Veath, slapping Hugh insanely on the back.

"She's a goddess!" burst out Hugh, grabbing his cap and running out of the room, shouting hilariously: "Follow on, both of you, to the hotel, and see me worship at her shrine!"



CHAPTER XXXV

HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF

Hugh lost no time on the way back to the hotel. The lazy driver awoke his lazy horse and, to the intense amazement of both, the vehicle held together during the return trip. At least a dozen rattling bumps over rough places in the street caused the driver to glance apprehensively over his shoulder in the unusual fear that his fare and the cab had parted company. For the first time in ten years he was sufficiently interested to be surprised. It astonished him to find that the vehicle stuck together as a whole.

On the way back, Hugh suddenly bethought himself of his financial condition. He was attired in a suit of clothes belonging to Mr. Carruthers and the garments fitted him well. In one of the pockets rested his small leather purse. When he plunged into the sea on that memorable night a year ago it contained a half dozen small American coins and some English money, amounting in all to eleven dollars and thirty cents. Carefully he had treasured this wealth on the island and he had come away with the principal untouched. Now, as he jogged along in the cab, he emptied the contents of the purse upon the seat.

"Eleven thirty," he mused. "A splendid dowry. Not enough to buy the ring. No flowers, no wine—nothing but pins. My letter of credit is at the bottom of the sea. Borrowed clothes on my back and home-made clothes on hers. I have a watch, a knife, and a scarf pin. She has diamond rings and rubies, but she has no hat. By Jove, it looks as though I'll have to borrow money of Veath, after all."

Lady Tennys was in her room, strangely calm and resigned. She was wondering whether he would ever come back to her, whether she was ever to see him again. Her tired, hopeless brain was beginning to look forward to the dismal future, the return to England, the desolate life in the society she now despised, the endless regret of losing that which she had never hoped to possess—a man's love in exchange for her own. She kept to her room, avoiding the curious stare of people, denying herself to the reporters and correspondents, craving only the loneliness that made the hour dark for her. It seemed to her that she had lived a lifetime since he went forth to find the girl who had waited so long for him.

Then came the rush of footsteps in the hall. They were not those of the slow-moving servants, they were not—a vigorous thumping on the door was followed by the cry of a strong, manly, vigorous voice. Her head swam, her heart stood still, her lips grew white and she could utter no sound in response.

He was coming at last to commit her to everlasting misery.

The door flew open and Ridgeway bounded into the room. Before she could move, he rushed over and drew her limp form from the chair, up into his strong embrace. She heard a voice, tender and gladsome, as from afar off, singing into her ear.

"Look up, darling! This is to be our wedding day—yours and mine! You are mine—mine!"

The glad light slowly struggled back into her eyes, but it was as if she had come from a death-like swoon. He poured into her dull ears the story of the visit to Grace Vernon, but he was compelled to repeat it. Her ears were unbelieving.

"Grace is coming here with Henry Veath," he said in the end. "By Jove, I am happy!"

She held his face close to hers and looked deep into his eyes for a long, long time.

"Are you sure?" she whispered at last. "Is it all true?"

"They'll be here in half an hour; but I haven't told them it was you they are going to see. She loves Veath—loves him more than she ever cared for me. I don't blame her, do you? Veath's a man—worthy of any woman's love and confidence. Tennys, do you know what I've been thinking ever since I left them fifteen minutes ago? I've been calling myself a cad—a downright cad."

"And why, may I ask?"

"Because Veath isn't one—that's all."

"But you are a man—a true, noble, enduring one. The year just gone has changed you from the easy, thoughtless boy into the strong man that you are, just as it has made of me a woman."

"I am no longer the harlequin?" he interposed eagerly.

"The harlequin's errand is accomplished, dear. The spangles and glitter are gone. Pure gold has come in their stead. It won't wear out. God has worked out this end for all of us. In His own good time He rectifies our errors and points the new way."

"I am but a year older than when I began."

"It isn't time that makes the man."

"It's opportunity, after all. I wasn't a man when I dragged Grace Vernon away from home; I was a fool—a callow boy in—"

"That was a year ago, Hugh, dear. What was I two years ago?"

"A rich man's wife. I was a rich man's son."

"You were the rich man's son by chance. I was a rich man's wife from choice."

"History repeats itself with variations, dearest. Although I have but eleven dollars and thirty cents in my purse, I have a million at home. You don't mind, do you?"

"I suppose it was foreordained that I should always marry from choice," she said with her most entrancing smile.

THE END