“You see, dear,” he continued, “I have failed to keep one woman’s love. Could I do better another time? I think so, but――who knows? It would be a risk for you, wouldn’t it?” He turned and smiled gently at her, and she smiled tremulously back. “There,” he said. “Now you know what I am. I am thirty-eight years old, twenty years older than you, and a divorced man into the bargain. Even if you were willing to excuse those things, Holly, I fear your aunt could not.” “If I were willing,” answered Holly, evenly, “nothing else would matter. But――you will tell me one thing? Do you――are you quite, quite sure that you do not still love her――a little?” “Quite, Holly. The heart I offer, dear, is absolutely free.” “I think God did mean me to love you, then, after all,” said Holly, thoughtfully. Winthrop arose and stood before her, and held out his hand. She placed hers in it and with her eyes on his allowed him to raise her gently toward him. “Then, Holly,” he said, “I ask you to be my wife, for I love you more than I can ever tell you. Will you, Holly, will you?” “Yes,” sighed Holly. Very gently he strove to draw her to him but, with her hands against his breast, she held herself at the length of his arms. “Wait,” she said. “Don’t kiss me until you are sure that you mean what you’ve said, Robert――quite, quite sure. Because”――her eyes darkened, and her voice held a fierceness that thrilled him――“because, dear, after you have kissed me it will be too late to repent. I’ll never let you go then, never while I live! I’ll fight for you until――until――――!” Her voice broke, and the lashes fell tremblingly over her eyes. Winthrop, awed and stirred, raised the bowed head until her eyes, grown soft and timid, glanced up at him once more. “Dear,” he said, very low and very humbly, “such as I am I am yours as long as God will let me live for you.” He bent his head until his lips were on hers. The next instant she had buried her face against his shoulder, and he felt her body shaking in his arms. “Holly!” he cried. “Holly! You’re crying! What is it, dear? What have I done, Sweetheart?” For an instant she ceased to quiver, and from against his coat came a smothered voice. “What’s the good of be-being happy,” sobbed Holly, “if you can’t cr-cr-cry?” A breath of wind from the south swept through the wood, stirring the tender leaves to rustling murmurs. And the sound was like that of a little stream which, obstructed in its course, finds a new channel and leaps suddenly on its way again, laughing joyously. [Illustration: THE END] Transcriber’s Notes: ――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). ――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. ――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. ――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.