"Jack," she breathed, softly, "will you kiss me for the first and last time?" Jack drew her toward him and kissed her. Then, with a little sigh, she left him. How Jack got out he knew not, for his eyes were strangely dim and useless. CHAPTER XXXVII. A dim light was burning in the drawing-room of the Hurst. Outside, the storm was raging wild and pitiless, making the warm room seem like a harbor of refuge. Beside the fire sat Mrs. Davenant, half dozing over a piece of finest needlework for the village working club. She was alone in the room, and every now and then glanced anxiously toward the door. Presently it opened, and the tall figure of Stephen entered and crossed over to her. "Mother," he said, and there was a tremulous ring in his voice and a quiver in his lips that were in marked contrast to his usual smooth calm. Mrs. Davenant looked up with a glance of alarm. "Una!" she exclaimed. "Hush!" he said, laying his hand on her shoulder. "Una," and his voice dwelt on the name. "Una is asleep. She has gone to her own room for a little while. Mother," he said, slowly, "she has consented." Mrs. Davenant looked up and trembled: "Oh, Stephen!" He nodded, and stood before the fire, looking up with a smile of undisguised triumph and joy. "Yes, she has consented. It was--well, hard work; but my love overmastered her. I told her that you agreed with me that the sooner the marriage took place the better. You do, do you not?" "Yes," murmured Mrs. Davenant. "She wants change; nothing but entire change of life and thought will do her good. Mother, if she remained here, if something were not done, she would"--he paused, and went on hoarsely, "she would die!" Mrs. Davenant shuddered and her eyes filled. "My poor, poor Una!" she murmured. Stephen moved impatiently. "She will not need your pity, mother. A few weeks hence and you will have no reason to pity her. I'll stake my life that I bring her back here with the roses in her cheeks, with the smile in her eyes, as of old. Mother, you do not know what such love as mine can do!" and his voice trembled with suppressed passion. Mrs. Davenant looked up at him, tearfully. "You--you are much changed, Stephen," she murmured. "I am," he said, with a curt laugh. "I am changed, am I not? I scarcely know myself. And she has done it. She! My beautiful queen, my lily! Yes, she shall be happy, if man can make her." He was silent a moment, dwelling on his love and future, and looked, as he spoke, much changed. Then he awoke at a question from his mother. "When is it to be, Stephen?" "Tomorrow," he said, quietly. "Tomorrow!" gasped. Mrs. Davenant. "Impossible!" "Not at all," he said, curtly. "Remember, I told you not to be surprised, that it would come suddenly." "But----" He made a movement of impatience.