A warning toot from the _Cloochman_ awoke me from my reveries. I ran to my small boat and pulled out as she came speeding into the Bay. There was little cargo, and less mail--one single letter. But what a wonder of wonders that letter was! It was for me, and, oh! how my heart beat! It was in the handwriting I had seen only a few months before but had learned to know so well. I tore the envelope into pieces in my haste to be at the contents. Dear George, it ran, Reta and Joe (Mr. & Mrs. Clark) called to see me. If you only could see the happiness of them, how you would rejoice! knowing that you had brought it all about. Every day from now, look for me at the little cottage across the rustic bridge; for, some day, I shall be there. Golden Crescent is ever in my thoughts. Good-bye for the present, my brave and very gallant gentleman. Mary. In my little rowing boat, out there in the Bay, I cried to God in thankfulness for all his goodness. Every day I looked across to Mary's bungalow, wondering if this would be the day. I was loth to sleep, lest she should arrive without my knowing of it. I could hardly bear to leave home for even an hour in case she should come when I was away. And yet,--so it happened. Late one afternoon, I was standing on Clark's veranda, chatting with Margaret over a letter that had arrived from Rita; when I noticed a fast-moving launch dart into the Bay full speed, straight for my landing, lower a dinghy, land some people, then turn and speed out again almost before my brain could grasp the full purport. I dashed suddenly away from my old lady friend, without so much as a word of explanation. I tumbled into my boat and rowed furiously for home. How I railed at that long half-hour! To think of it,--Mary in Golden Crescent half-an-hour and I had not yet spoken to her! I jumped ashore at last, ran up the rocks and into her house without ceremony. "Mary, Mary!" I called. "Where are you?" And all I heard in answer, was a sigh. I pushed in to the front parlour, where Mary,--my Mary,--was. She was standing by the window and had been gazing dreamily out into the Bay. She turned to me in all the charm of her golden loveliness, holding out her hands to me in silent welcome. I took her hands in mine and we looked into each other's eyes for just a moment, then I caught her to me and crushed her in my embrace. "Mary,--Mary,--Mary!" I cried brokenly. "Mary,--Mary!" Gently and shyly, but smiling in her gladness, she freed herself from my enfolding arms. "George,--sit down, dear. I have much to tell you before--before----" A blush spread over her cheeks and she turned away in embarrassment. "--Before what, Mary?" I craved. "Before--I can listen to you.