“Where are you going, Uncle Billy?” “Go on, baby,” he said, hurrying by her, “I'll be back in a minute.” She stopped in the doorway--her eyes wide again with sudden anxiety, but Hale was smiling. “You remember what you said at the Pine, dear?” The girl nodded and she was smiling now, when with sweet seriousness she said again: “Your least wish is now law to me, my lord.” “Well, I'm going to test it now. I've laid a trap for you.” She shook her head. “And you've walked right into it” “I'm glad.” She noticed now the crumpled piece of paper in his hand and she thought it was some matter of business. “Oh,” she said, reproachfully. “You aren't going to bother with anything of that kind _now?_” “Yes,” he said. “I want you to look over this.” “Very well,” she said resignedly. He was holding the paper out to her and she took it and held it to the light of the candle. Her face flamed and she turned remorseful eyes upon him. “And you've kept that, too, you had it when I----” “When you were wiser maybe than you are now.” “God save me from ever being such a fool again.” Tears started in her eyes. “You haven't forgiven me!” she cried. “Uncle Billy says it's as good now as it was then.” He was looking at her queerly now and his smile was gone. Slowly his meaning came to her like the flush that spread over her face and throat. She drew in one long quivering breath and, with parted lips and her great shining eyes wide, she looked at him. “Now?” she whispered. “Now!” he said. Her eyes dropped to the coarse gown, she lifted both hands for a moment to her hair and unconsciously she began to roll one crimson sleeve down her round, white arm. “No,” said Hale, “just as you are.” She went to him then, put her arms about his neck, and with head thrown back she looked at him long with steady eyes. “Yes,” she breathed out--“just as you are--and now.” Uncle Billy was waiting for them on the porch and when they came out, he rose to his feet and they faced him, hand in hand. The moon had risen. The big Pine stood guard on high against the outer world. Nature was their church and stars were their candles. And as if to give them even a better light, the moon had sent a luminous sheen down the dark mountainside to the very garden in which the flowers whispered like waiting happy friends. Uncle Billy lifted his hand and a hush of expectancy seemed to come even from the farthest star. End of Project Gutenberg's The Trail of the Lonesome Pine, by John Fox, Jr.