There were many interesting details lost to the runaway lovers by their wanderings, but the essential facts finally reached them in Calcutta, on their homeward way around the world. Neither Alice Worthington nor the man who was now her coadjutor in many noble works could ever exactly recall the sequence of the events which had prolonged indefinitely Atwater's stay in Detroit. But it had happened upon a winter evening, when the great Worthington mansion was silent, and Mrs. Hayward, Alice's duenna and general almoner, had artfully stolen away, leaving the unconscious lovers together. The successful working of the Hospital and Home was now assured beyond a doubt. Atwater, gazing out into the glowing embers of the great fireplace, slowly said, as the musical chime of the silver bells of the mantel clock sounded ten: "And now I feel that Messrs. Boardman and Warner can oversee your local Medical Board and keep the institution from lapsing into the dry rot of a purely charitable organization." "I fear for nothing," he said, smiling faintly, "as long as you are here to watch it. And," he hastily added, "certainly you can trust Irma Gluyas! That poor woman finds a fiery zeal from her past sorrows spurring her on. She is a faithful assistant manageress. "And even Leah Einstein has her humble merit as a sterling housekeeper. But, you must have Jack carefully watch over that boy out in the West. Young Emil needs a firm hand, and only Witherspoon can hold him down to usefulness." "Why are you telling me all these things?" suddenly said Alice Worthington, her cheeks paling in a strange dismay. "Because," said the young man, slowly, "I have long desired to follow out a special line of medical investigation in Vienna. I have the two years yet before I reach thirty, in which I propose to make my mark in original research, or else return to New York to my old routine, fortified by the contact of the ablest medical minds in the world." "This is impossible! YOU SHALL NOT GO!" suddenly cried Alice Worthington, with pallid cheeks aflame with sudden blushes. Her bosom was heaving in some strange tumult as Atwater took her trembling hands in his own. "It would be so hard for me to say 'Good bye," he almost whispered, "that I have decided to write you from New York. I have already secured my passage on the 'Paris.'" "And you will not allow me to recompense you for all you have done?" whispered Alice, bravely struggling to keep back her tears. "Yes; I will," resolutely answered Atwater. "Go on lifting up the lowly, bind up their bruised hearts, and all good men will bless your name. That will be my reward!" "Wait a moment," faltered Alice, as she sped away. Left alone in the room, Atwater, gazing into the fire, listened for the returning footfall of the woman whose face had long haunted his pillow. "You alone, of all the world," said the beautiful woman, as she glided to his side. "You alone are entitled to my confidence.