It was one of those balmy, autumnal days when earth and sky seem more beautiful even than in early summer. A recent frost had just tinged the leaves of the maple with scarlet, and here and there a leaf was falling from the trees, and a ripe, brown nut was dropping through the hazy air down to the ground, while the murmur of the brook was plainly heard as it ran singing on its way, now through the bed of ferns whose broad leaves dipped themselves in its cool waters, and now widening out into a broader channel, with little fishes playing in it, and tall trees reaching their arms across it, making a delicious shade, on that warm, sunny morning. Roy followed the brook until he reached the point where it began to widen, then a little farther on, and then he stopped again, and felt every nerve quivering with an ecstasy of delight, so great and overpowering, that for an instant he leaned for support against a tree, while his lips framed the words, “I thank Thee, my Heavenly Father, for this great joy of which I never dreamed.” Twenty rods or so in advance, and sitting under a tall maple, with her hat on the ground beside her, and her back to Roy, was a little girlish figure, which Roy was certain he knew. The attitude, the poise of the head, and more than all, the curls of golden brown, and the dress of blue cambric, which he had always admired so much in Brownie, proclaimed that it was Brownie herself, the woman whom he felt at this moment he loved more than his life. Everything he had said to Georgie concerning his disapproval of disguises, was forgotten in that moment of supreme delight, when, with a few rapid strides he reached the figure on the bank, and met the soft, laughing eyes he knew so well, and saw the blushes deepen on the beautiful face upturned to his when Edna first became aware of his close proximity to her. “My darling,” was all he said, all he could say, as he took her in his arms, and laid his mouth to the sweet lips which kissed him back without a moment’s hesitation. There was little need for more open declaration and acceptance of love than was expressed in that first embrace. Roy had confessed himself in the kisses he rained upon her lips, her forehead and her hands, while she, in suffering it, had accepted him; and both felt that they were pledged to each other, when at last Roy released her and drew her to a seat beside him on the grass. “Now, tell me,” he said, as he put his arm around her, and held her hand in his, “tell me the whole story, why you deceived us so, and how you did it so successfully?” “You are not angry with me then, for being such an impostor? Oh, Mr. Leighton, I have hated myself so much for the imposition,” she said; and Roy replied: “Angry? I should think not; but please drop that formal Mr. Leighton. Let me be Roy to you.” She always called him Roy to herself, when thinking of him, and the name came readily enough.