"I shouldn't have said anything could make any difference with my feeling, to strengthen it," he went on very quietly, after a while, "but I find it has. I don't try to explain it to myself, except by the one thing I am sure of--that Alexander Huntington was the noblest and most heroic of men, and deserved to the full those last few hours of knowledge that you had taken his name. And I can understand your loyalty to him in wishing to wear it these three years. But, Rachel, I can't let you wear it any longer." She turned her face a shade farther away. "I am leaving to-morrow night for another year's absence." He spoke as simply as if he were discussing the most ordinary of subjects. "So I can see but one thing to do, and that is----" He got up and came around behind her, standing in the shadow of the vines, where the light did not touch him--"and that is, to take you with me." He had not said it doubtfully, although his inflection was very gentle. She moved quickly, startled. "Doctor Barnes----" "Yes, I'm ready for them. You can't raise an objection that I'm not ready for, not one that I can't meet--except one. And that you can't raise, Rachel." She was silent, the words upon her lips held in check by this last bold declaration. "You see you can't, being truthful," he said, smiling a little. "If I seem too confident, forgive me; but I've carried with me all these years that one look, when you forgot to veil your eyes away from me as you always had--and always have since then. When I get that look from you again----" He paused, drawing a long breath. "I don't dare dream of it. Rachel, will you go?" She tried to glance at him, and managed it, but no higher than his shoulders. "I am engaged to take the training for nurses at the Larchmont Memorial----" she began. But he interrupted her joyfully. "You don't say, 'I don't love you'--it's only, 'I was intending to be a nurse.' I told you you couldn't say it, because it isn't true. You do love me, Rachel. Tell me so." Her hurried breathing was plainly perceptible now. She rose quickly, as if she could not bear the telltale lamplight upon her face any longer, and went hurriedly across the porch and down upon the lawn, into the starlight. He followed her, his pulses bounding. "Oh, give up to me," he said in her ear, his own breath coming fast. "You've been fighting it four years now--it's no use. We were made for each other, and we've known it from the first. You stood heroically by your first promise--you gave him all you could; but that's all over. You don't have to be true to anything or anybody now but me. Give up, dear, and let me know what it feels like to have you pull a man toward you instead of pushing him away." They had reached the edge of the orchard--in deep shadow; and she stopped. "I don't know what I came down here for," she said, in confusion.