But the light led me. I remembered with bitterness that I had always followed her,—whether as Olivia, trailing in her girlish race across the snow, or as the girl in gray, whom I had followed, wondering, on that night journey at Christmas Eve; and I followed now. The distrust, my shattered faith, my utter loneliness, could not weigh against the joy of hearing that laugh of hers breaking mellowly on the night. I paused to allow the two figures to widen the distance between us as they traversed the path that curved away toward the chapel. I could still hear their voices, and see the lantern flash and disappear. I felt an impulse to turn back, or plunge into the woodland; but I was carried on uncontrollably. The light glimmered, and her voice still floated back to me. It stole through the keen winter dark like a memory of spring; and so her voice and the light led me. Then I heard an exclamation of dismay followed by laughter in which my grandfather joined merrily. “Oh, never mind; we’re not afraid,” she exclaimed. I had rounded the curve in the path where I should have seen the light; but the darkness was unbroken. There was silence for a moment, in which I drew quite near to them. Then my grandfather’s voice broke out cheerily. “Now I must go back with you! A fine person you are to guide an old man! A foolish virgin, indeed, with no oil in her lamp!” “Please do not! Of course I’m going to see you quite to your own door! I don’t intend to put my hand to the lantern and then turn back!” “This walk isn’t what it should be,” said my grandfather, “we’ll have to provide something better in the spring.” They were still silent and I heard him futilely striking a match. Then the lantern fell, its wires rattling as it struck the ground, and the two exclaimed with renewed merriment upon their misfortune. “If you will allow me!” I called out, my hand fumbling in my pocket for my own match-box. I have sometimes thought that there is really some sort of decent courtesy in me. An old man caught in a rough path that was none too good at best! And a girl, even though my enemy! These were, I fancy, the thoughts that crossed my mind. “Ah, it’s Jack!” exclaimed my grandfather. “Marian was showing me the way to the gate and our light went out.” “Miss Devereux,” I murmured. I have, I hope, an icy tone for persons who have incurred my displeasure, and I employed it then and there, with, no doubt, its fullest value. She and my grandfather were groping in the dark for the lost lantern, and I, putting out my hand, touched her fingers. “I beg your pardon,” she murmured frostily. Then I found and grasped the lantern. “One moment,” I said, “and I’ll see what’s the trouble.”