"Well, Miss Thornton," he said easily, "you must choose between us, it seems. We can hardly both of us see you home. Which is it to be?" Edith turned to the other and held out her hand. "I practically promised Mr. Kestern before," she said. "Good-night, Mr. Vintner, and thank you for asking me." The young fellow took her hand with a muttered good-evening, and turned away. Paul felt reproached. "Good-night, Albert," he said, with a ring of friendliness. "I'm sorry I was before you. Another time, perhaps." Vintner moved off after the others, and Edith and Paul walked a little up the road. Their turning lay on the right, but at the corner Paul hesitated. "It will only take a quarter of an hour longer," he said. "Let's go home by the field-path to Coster Lane. Probably your people won't expect you till midnight." She nodded without words, and the turn to the left hid them in a minute from the least chance of observation by the others. Before them the road ran straight ahead in the clear night, till the villas thinned, and it became a scarcely-used way, and finally a half-country footpath by a couple of fields. Paul drew her arm through his in silence, and they fell into step together. They had been singing a carol with a haunting refrain about a night of wonder, a night of grace. It rang in his head now, and he could have sung as they walked. Every yard deepened a sense of exaltation in him. This serene Christmas night, he and Edith alone in it, the world wide and wonderful--oh, it was good to live. The paved footpath became a gravelled walk, and the walk, a mere track. They were on the far edge of the town. Across the stubble, a line of not yet doomed elms stretched delicate bare twigs clear in the moonlight, and the stars swung emmeshed in their net. A half-built house flung a deep shadow across their path, and Paul stopped without warning on its verge. He had realised suddenly that his companion was very silent and he wanted to see her. A little swing of his arm brought the girl face to face with him, and he looked down into her eyes. So he looked a minute, and then very slowly he bent his head, and, still with his eyes on hers, their lips met. At that soft, warm, fragrant, unaccustomed touch, his heart leapt and great waves of emotion surged and tore within him. "Oh!" cried Edith, and fell back from him. The two stood quite still. Paul swallowed once or twice before he could speak. Then: "Edith," he whispered foolishly, and again: "Edith." "Oh, Paul!" she cried, "Paul! Paul! ... Oh, I never meant to let you do it!" Her words recalled the boy to his senses. He took her two hands, and she did not stay him. "Edith," he said exultantly, "you're mine, now, mine! Christmas night, too! Oh, it's wonderful, just wonderful!" "No, no, _no!_" she cried, almost fiercely.