In another instant Helen has closed the door and disappeared into the drawing-room, and Farr has taken Jean's hands in his own, and is speaking to her in a voice grown very deep and tender. "Jean, my little love, have you no word of welcome for me?" The blood rushes into her face, then ebbs away, leaving it even paler than before. "Ah, I have frightened you, sweetheart," Farr cries contritely, "and you are not very strong yet, are you, dear? But I have waited such a weary while; I have been so miserable for a sight of your sweet face; I could not wait to tell you that I love you. Surely you must have known it long ago, darling." Jean's head droops lower and lower, and she does not speak. "I want you to be my wife, dear," Farr's tender voice goes on. "Do you love me, Jean?" Still she is silent, and Farr's face grows very white. "What is it, Jean? Are you angry with me for speaking to you so abruptly? Oh, my love, my love, don't tell me that you cannot care for me." Then Jean raises her eyes, and though the tears are shining in them, they are full of a great happiness. "I do love you, dear, with all my heart and soul," she says very low, but quite steadily. Farr's face above her is eloquent, and for the moment they have no need of words. Then the tears brim over in Jean's eyes, and with a little tremulous cry she flings herself in his arms: "O Val, I have been so miserable!" And Farr, bending down, kisses her tenderly. "Please God, darling, no misery will ever again come to you through me." * * * * * A few hours later they all gather about the long dinner table and, in the pause that follows upon their being seated, old Mr. Birdsall's sweet and tremulous voice asks grace. In simple heartfelt words he thanks God for the safe return of the travelers, and asks his tender blessing for one and all. Every head is reverently bent, and every heart echoes the earnest prayer. This is a gala occasion, and in its honor Aunt Helen presides at the head of the table, and Willie and Larry and even little Gladys are present. With much ringing laughter and merriment the dinner hour passes. Jean's voice is as joyous as in the old days, and Helen, hearing the sweet sound, is filled with overwhelming gratitude. "I tell you, girls," Dick cries enthusiastically, "this is a proud day for me. I feel that it is entirely owing to my watchful care of you all that these pleasant things have come to pass. Jean, my child, did I not present Farr to you?" Jean laughs, and blushes. "Oh, I don't know, Dick. I am not quite clear about it. If you did I am deeply indebted," and she turns a shy soft glance toward her lover. "It was your humble servant. Now, there is a most appropriate way in which you may reward me," and Dick holds a sprig of mistletoe high above his head. "No, no. What nonsense," protests Jean. "You may," smiles Farr. "But I don't want to," she laughs saucily.