They stepped upon the veranda and Lyman saw Eva sitting in the parlor. She came running to meet him, forgetful of everything--came running with her hands held out. "He has come to sign the petition," said the banker in a dry voice. "Where is your mother?" She drew back. "In the garden I think," she answered. "I will go after her," said McElwin. He walked away, heavy of foot. Eva turned to Lyman and asked him to sit down. He did so, and she remained standing. It reminded him of the night when they had met at the lantern picnic, only their position now were reversed, for then he had remained standing while she sat looking up at him. He took up a volume of Tennyson and opened it, and between the pages in front of him lay a faded clover bloom. "A memory?" he asked, looking at her. "Yes, a beautiful memory. Some one plucked it, threw it up and it fell in my lap--one day at the creek." He looked at her searchingly. They heard McElwin in the garden calling his wife, "Lucy, oh, Lucy. Where are you?" "Eva, I have not been honorable with you--I have held you not as a protector--I have held you selfishly--I love you." "Lucy, where are you?" the banker called. "I have not dared to hope that you could love me--I'm old and ugly. But I worshipped you and I can not set you free. I told your father that I would come to sign the paper, and I spoke sarcastically to him, but I will beg his pardon, for I honor him." "Lucy, come here, quick!" the banker shouted in the garden. "You did not think I could love you," she said, looking at him frankly, her eyes full of surprise and happiness; "you did not know me. I told my mother that with you life would be joyous in a shanty. Oh, my husband." He got up quietly, the tears streaming down his face--he held out his arms. * * * * * "Lucy, he has come to sign the paper." They were standing in the garden walk. She was almost breathless, having run to meet him. "Oh, he must not," she said. "It will kill her." "He is going to sign it and we must be brave. Wait here till I fetch it," he said when they reached the rear veranda. She waited, tearful, trembling. He came with the paper and they stepped into the parlor. Lyman stood with his back toward them, his arms about Eva, her face hidden in his bosom. Mrs. McElwin held up her hands and then bowed her head with a whispered, "Thank God." The banker stood there, quickly, but without noise, tearing the paper into bits. His wife held her arms out toward him. He opened his hand and the bits of paper fluttered to the floor.