And he trembled, scarcely believing that he heard aright. And, indeed, he scarcely believed even yet that he was not dreaming, and that he held this beautiful creature in his arms, and, more than all, that she had come to him of her own accord. “You--do--not--mean-- You cannot--oh, you cannot mean-- You are an angel. There is no one like you. You cannot--you cannot feel so about me?” he whispered, brokenly, at length. Persis nodded against his breast. “And--that was why--you came?” Persis nodded again. Darius bent her head back until he could see her beautiful, tearful face. He gazed at it with reverent wonder, then he kissed her forehead, and gently loosed her arm from his neck, and led her over to a chair. He knelt down before her then as if she were a queen upon a throne, and held her hands softly. Then he questioned her as to how she had come, and about the expected coming of her strange gentleman suitor, and she answered him like a docile child. Mistress Tabitha Hopkins stood for quite a time in the doorway, and neither of them saw her. Then she spoke up. “I want to know what this means,” said she. “How came she here?” She pointed a sharp forefinger at Persis, who shrank before it. But Darius arose quickly and went forward, blushing, but full of manly confidence. “Come out with me a moment, Aunt Tabitha,” he said; “I have something to say to you privately.” He took his aunt’s arm and led her out of the room, and, as he went, smiled back at Persis. “Do not be afraid, sweetheart,” he said. “Sweetheart!” sniffed Mistress Tabitha, before the door closed. Persis Buckley had been gone no longer than an hour from her own home when Darius and his aunt Tabitha escorted her back. She was wrapped then in a warm cloak of Mistress Tabitha’s and clung to her lover’s arm, and he leaned between her and the rough wind, and sheltered her. Poor Mistress Tabitha, with her skirts whipping about her and her ears full of wind, forced often by the onset of the gale at her back into staggering runs, pressed along after them. She had declined with some asperity her nephew’s proffered assistance. “You look out for her,” she said, shortly. And then she added to temper her refusal, that she could better keep her cloak around her if both her arms were free. All her life had Mistress Tabitha Hopkins seen love only from the outside, shining in her neighbor’s window. It was to her credit to-night if she was not all bitter when its light fell on her solitary old maiden face, but got a certain reflected warmth and joy from it. Nobody had missed Persis. Submit was fairly knitting in her sleep, by the kitchen fire. Ichabod was still out in his shed at work. Mistress Tabitha stood back a little while her nephew bade Persis good-bye at her door. “Remember, do not be frightened, whatever happens to-morrow,” he whispered in her ear. “If the gentleman comes with the coach and four, go with him, and trust in me.”