The words, the tone, summed up all the kindness he had ever shown her; all the patient tenderness, the unspeakable, modest goodness she knew so well. Claire’s face quivered all over. Then she burst into a torrent of tears. Bram watched her for a minute in dead silence. Then, not daring so much as to come a step nearer, he whispered hoarsely-- “May I comfort you, Miss Claire, may I dare?” “Oh, Bram--dear Bram--if you don’t--I shall die!” Which, when you come to think of it, was a very pretty invitation. And Bram accepted it. And they were married, and they _were_ happy ever afterwards, though, in these despondent days, it hardly does to say so. THE END.