And then he forgot all about the last train. He knew that the impulse that he had feared so long had at last mastered him, and he was wildly, exultantly glad. He slipped down on the broad arm of the chair and held her hand on his knee, and looked down at her hair; whilst she, still with that occasional compression of the lips, gazed into the fire. For her, too, everything had slipped into oblivion--everything but the red, red glow of the dying fire and the clasp of his hand in hers and the touch of his other hand on her hair. There was nothing else in the world for her to-night; and her happiness was so poignant that she felt herself swept blindly along with him, past all the obstacles of convention, of small misunderstandings, of outside interests, on up to heights that had never before during her quiet lifetime even entered her imagination. At moments her fingers would tighten on his and strange, happy tears would fill her eyes, to be kept back only by an effort. Once she could not keep them back; and he looked down and saw them on her cheek, and she did not care. Tears were trivial, now that her soul was laid bare to him. At another time she spoke so softly that he could not hear, and he bent down his head. “You are not going to try to get back to the city?” she repeated, in a voice from which all strength, all the body had gone. “No--I'm going down to the hotel.” Her clasp tightened again by way of reply. And so the wild, sweet message came to this man and this young woman. It told them how deeply those earlier years of friendship had entered their natures; it let them know how much stronger it was than will or habit--how it had chained their two lives so firmly together that only a few moments had been needed to-night to show it plainly to them both. A look of the eye, a tone in the voice, and it was done. From that moment their lives had changed; and where-ever the new current might lead them, whatever might be waiting in the dim, luminous years beyond, the new fact must control their thoughts. The old days were gone; the new had begun. Was it strange that he should think of this, that the meaning of it all should flash through his mind; whilst she, with her sensitive nature wholly bound up in this moment, should be thinking of nothing, should be conscious of nothing, save that he was here? Was this strange? Her eyes were still fixed on the embers; she seemed unable to raise them to his. In all her life she had never before given up. Her impulses had never before swept her reason from its seat and held her, trembling and amazed, in their grip. It was new and wonderful to her. “Margaret,” he said, in the low voice that expressed the most, “dare I look at my watch?” She smiled and tightly held his hand. “No?” She shook her head.