"But we will have, darling," he answered quickly, seizing the opening, "and as soon as you consent I shall begin to make it ready. It is folly," he added hurriedly, as if to forestall any negation, "for us to go on this way any longer. I want you, darling, and I want a home. Life to me, with you buried here, is only desolation, and how much so to you, the past five months can only tell. I know how you feel toward these good people, and your care for them shall be my care." Once more Telly hid her face behind her hands, the better to think, perhaps, or to hide rebellious tears. And now she felt herself gathered within strong arms and a hand making both hers prisoners, and as she yielded a little to his clasp he whispered: "Do not say 'no' again, Telly! Do not rob yourself and me of love and home and happiness any longer! Make what plans for them you wish; do as you will with your heritage; all I plead for is you. Must I be deprived of my hoped-for happiness." It was an eloquent plea, and the last suggestion of the morrow's parting won the victory, for as he paused, holding her close while he waited for her answer, only listening love heard it whispered. And outside, the billows that years before tossed her ashore, and had woven their monotone of sadness into her life, still tolled their requiem, but she heard them not. She had entered the enchanted castle of illusions. CHAPTER XLII THE PATHOS OF LIFE When June had again clad Sandgate's hills and village with green, and spangled its meadows with daisies, there occurred two events of sacred import to four young people, but of little interest to the rest of the world. The first was a wedding in the village church where the sweet voice of Alice Page had oft been heard, and where now as a bride she walked timidly to the altar. Her pupils, aided by their parents, had turned the church into a bower of green, brightened by every colored flower that grew in field or garden. Even the old mill-pond contributed its share, and the altar was white with lilies. Almost every resident of the town was present, and the aged miller sat in one corner and watched with wistful eyes. The Nason family, with Aunt Susan and Albert, shared the front pew, and the little girl who once upon a time had said, "Pleath may I kith you, teacher," was accorded the proud privilege of strewing roses and violets along the aisle in front of the bride.