The faint glow from the window of a cottage poured its feeble but willing self into the night as if seeking to dispel the gloom, dimly conscious that its efforts were unappreciated and undesired. Down at the rickety front gate, cloaked in blackness, stood two persons. Darkness could not hide the world from them, for the whole world dwelt within the confines of a love-lit garden gate. For them there was no sound of life except their tender voices, no evidence that a world existed beyond the posts between which they stood, his arm about her, her head upon his breast. They spoke softly in the silence about them. "And to-morrow night at this time you will be mine--all mine," he murmured. She looked again into his face, indistinct in the night. "To-morrow night! Oh, Jud, it does not seem possible. We are both so young and so--so--" "So foolish!" he smiled. "So poor," she finished plaintively. "But, Justine, you don't feel afraid to marry me because I am poor, do you?" he asked. "Do you think I have been poor only to be afraid of it? We love each other, dear, and we are rich. To-morrow night I shall be the richest girl in the world," she sighed tremulously. "To-morrow night," he whispered. His arm tightened about her, his head dropped until his lips met hers and clung to them until the world was forgotten. Far away in the night sounded the steady beat of a galloping horse's hoofs. Louder and nearer grew the pounding on the dry roadway until at last the rollicking whistle of the rider could be heard. Standing in the gateway, the silent lovers, their happy young hearts beating as one, listened dreamily to the approach. "He has been in the village," said she, at length breaking the silence that had followed their passionate kiss. Her slender body trembled slightly in his arms. "And he is going home drunk, as usual," added the youth sententiously. "Has he annoyed you lately?" "We must pay no attention to what he says or does," she answered evasively. "Then he has said or done something?" "He came to the schoolhouse yesterday morning, dear--just for a moment--and he was not so very rude," she pleaded hurriedly. "What did he say to you; what did he want?" persisted her lover. "Oh, nothing--nothing, Jud. Just the same old thing. He wanted me to give you up and--and--" She hesitated. "And wait for him, eh? If he bothers you again I'll kill him. You're mine, and he knows it, and he's got to let you alone." "But it will all be over to-morrow night, dear. I'll be yours, and he'll have to give up. He's crazy now, and you must not mind what he does. When I'm your wife he'll quit--maybe he'll go away. I've told him I don't love him. Don't you see, Jud, he has hope now, because I am not married. Just as soon as the wedding's over he'll see that it's no use and--and he'll let us alone." "The drunken hound! The idea of him daring to love you! Justine, I could kill him!"