"How could he? How could he?" Stephen rose impetuously, and began pacing up and down, a rare excitement growing in voice and manner. "When he could have had _You_! ... Good? Yes! She may be good--I'm not denying the girl's good points. She has behaved well. She has her attractions--Stanor evidently thinks her beautiful--but--_he might have had You_! ... He has chosen this girl with her ordinary attractions, instead of _your_ sweetness, _your_ sunshine, _your_ generosity, _your_ kindness! Your voice, Pixie; your eyes ... Your _love_! He was so blind ... so deaf. ... The substance was his, and for a shadow--a poor, faint shadow--" Pixie had risen in her turn. Red as a rose she stood before him, with shrinking eyes, but hands held out in sweet, courageous invitation. "If ye think so much of me as all that," said the deep voice breathlessly, "_wouldn't ye like me for yourself_?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ten minutes later the miracle, the wonder, was as marvellous as ever: as incredible to the man whose life was suddenly irradiated with sunshine. "Pixie! Pixie!" he cried. "My youth! ... Will you give it back to me, sweetheart--the youth that I lost?" "Beloved!" said Pixie, and her voice was as the swell of a deep organ note. "It was not lost. It's been waiting for you--" she touched her heart with an eloquent gesture--"here!" THE END.