"I came through the crowded town, a homeless, solitary man, on the Christmas eve when love comes to every man. If ever I had grown sick for a word or touch from the one soul to whom alone mine was open, I thirsted for it then. The better part of my nature was crushed out, and flung away with you, Margret. I cried for it,--I wanted help to be a better, purer man. I need it now. And so," he said, with a smile that hurt her more than tears, "I came to my good angel, to tell her I had sinned and repented, that I had made humble plans for the future, and ask her---- God knows what I would have asked her then! She had forgotten me,--she had another work to do!" She wrung her hands with a helpless cry. Holmes went to the window: the dull waste of snow looked to him as hopeless and vague as his own life. "I have deserved it," he muttered to himself. "It is too late to amend." Some light touch thrilled his arm. "Is it too late, Stephen?" whispered a childish voice. The strong man trembled, looking at the little dark figure standing near him. "We were both wrong: I have been untrue, selfish. More than you. Stephen, help me to be a better girl; let us be friends again." She went back unconsciously to the old words of their quarrels long ago. He drew back. "Do not mock me," he gasped. "I suffer, Margret. Do not mock me with more courtesy." "I do not; let us be friends again." She was crying like a penitent child; her face was turned away; love, pure and deep, was in her eyes. The red fire-light grew stronger; the clock hushed its noisy ticking to hear the story. Holmes's pale lip worked: what was this coming to him? His breast heaved, a dry heat panted in his veins, his deep eyes flashed fire. "If my little friend comes to me," he said, in a smothered voice, "there is but one place for her,--her soul with my soul, her heart on my heart."--He opened his arms.--"She must rest her head here. My little friend must be--my wife." She looked into the strong, haggard face,--a smile crept out on her own, arch and debonair like that of old time. "I am tired, Stephen," she whispered, and softly laid her head down on his breast.