It was night—the night previous to his bridal day—and at a late hour Rob left the home of Rose, and bent his steps through the rough path that led to his own dwelling-place. The happy fellow, if we may judge from facts, was in a most delightful state of mind, well-pleased with himself and his bride-to-be, and with all the world beside. “To-morrow” was his wedding-day, and ever thereafter Rose May, the brightest flower of the mountains, was his own! And well might he rejoice. Grant May had yielded to the youth’s solicitations with a good grace when he found his child’s hope and love were directed toward Rob; and it was no difficult thing to win the consent of the mother, for he had always been in high favor with her, since he brought her from his wanderings in the valley, the inestimable gift of a few bright pieces of useful furniture, which occupied the most honorable places and positions in her household. In a few days after the festivities following the great occasion were over, Rob, with his bride, were to make the journey to the nearest large town, which plan was of itself half enough to make young Rose wild with joy, for the greatest multitude she had ever seen gathered, was on the Sabbath days, when twenty or thirty of the mountain people met in the little church to worship. It was a bright moonlit night, the soft light streamed over the path he was to tread, as Rob returned home. The parting kiss of Rose was warm on his forehead; he fancied she was beside him, walking in the same path, and nearly all the way he talked soft words of love as though she were by to hear. When the young man had nearly reached his home, he encountered Joseph Rancy. These two had been far from cordial in their greetings of late, and with good reason, for Rob’s manner to Joseph had been that of triumph, and Joseph’s that of a man heart-sore and jealous of the success of his rival. This night, however, Joseph Rancy had come out with the express purpose of meeting his friend of other days, and to speak with him in the manner of by-gone time, as kindly and as generously. When he had come up directly in front of Rob, he was still unobserved; he paused then, and holding out his hand, said, “I came out on purpose to meet you, Rob.” Horn took the proffered hand in his own, and said, “I am glad to see you, truly, Rancy; we have not met of late.” “No; we haven’t been the friends we once were, Rob. I have shunned you because—because you seemed to triumph over me, my old friend. You who have been so successful where I failed so bitterly.” “Was it my _fault_ that I succeeded in winning Rose May, tell me that,” replied Horn, sharply. “Where’s the blame, then, if I did rejoice?” “No _blame_, none, none,” said Joseph, mildly, “you have been fortunate indeed, I wish you and yours much joy Rob, now and ever.” “Hold,” cried Rob as Joseph turned away, “you will come to the church to-morrow, will you not. You will wish to see Rose married?”