Before he was fairly through the gate a lithe figure had darted down the steps toward him. Halfway up the walk they met. "Telegram for you, Miss Harlowe," announced the boy cheerily. "Sign here, please." Handing her a stub of a pencil, he held the book. With a shaking hand she managed to trace her name. As he turned and went down the walk whistling shrilly, Grace stared at the yellow envelope, hardly daring to open it. In the same instant she felt Elfreda Briggs' reassuring arm about her. From the veranda the stout girl "could see" and had acted accordingly. With a quick gasping breath Grace tore open the envelope, her trembling fingers fumbling at its contents. Then the world seemed suddenly to recede, leaving her alone with the unbelievable information: "Tom found. O.K. Sends love. Coming home Tuesday. Will wire train. David." CHAPTER XXIV THE NOON OF GOLDEN SUMMER It was high noon on a gloriously sunshiny Indian summer day in November; one of the last fond concessions of Mother Nature to those who still mourn her departed "darling of the year." In a stately church on Chapel Hill, Golden Summer was at high noon in two hearts. To Tom Gray and Grace Harlowe, as they knelt for a moment before the altar, preparatory to taking their vows of eternal constancy and devotion, the world held but those two. In the sweet silence that pervaded the overflowing church, the two young voices rang out clearly as they repeated their solemn pledges. Unflinchingly they had weathered their winter of despair. It was eminently fitting that happiness should now flood their loyal souls. Among the large assemblage that had gathered to witness the welding of that holy bond, there was not one person who did not rejoice with Grace and Tom. Over a month had passed since that memorable October evening when Tom Gray, looking but a shadow of his formerly robust self, had set foot on the platform of the Oakdale station to receive the fervent welcome of those whose lives and interests were centered in his own. As his arrival had been kept a secret, few by-standers were at the station when he arrived. After the first rush of greeting had spent itself, he was affectionately conducted to Mrs. Gray's limousine with herself, the Wingates, Grace, David and Jean as a bodyguard. Though still weak, three days of rest had done much for him. Whatever he still lacked in mere physical strength, he was the same buoyant, cheerful Tom, with only a slight limp in his walk, and a touch of haunting wistfulness in his gray eyes as a reminder of his terrible experience. At home once more and surrounded by every luxury and with every consideration that those who loved him could offer, health came back with a rush. His rugged constitution had stood him in good stead during those dark days in the sequestered hut, and by the first of November he was quite himself again.