As they retraced their steps towards the hotel, Darrell said, "We have waited long, sweetheart."

"Yes, but the waiting has brought us good of itself," she answered.

"Think of all you have accomplished,--I know better than you think, for your father has kept me posted,--and better yet, what these years have fitted you for accomplishing in the future! To me, that was the best part of your work in your story. It was strong and cleverly told, but what pleased me most was the evidence that it was but the beginning, the promise of something better yet to come."

"If only I could persuade all critics to see it through your eyes!"

Darrell replied, with a smile.

"Do you wish to know," she asked, with sudden seriousness, "what will always remain to me the n.o.blest, most heroic act of your life?"

"Most a.s.suredly I do," he answered, her own gravity checking the laughing reply which rose to his lips.

"The fight you made and won alone in the mountains the day that you renounced our love for honor's sake. I can see now that the stand you took and maintained so n.o.bly formed the turning-point in both our lives.

I did not look at it then as you did. I would have married you then and there and gone with you to the ends of the earth rather than sacrifice your love, but you upheld my honor with your own. You fought against heavy odds, and won, and to me no other victory will compare with it, since--

'greater they who on life's battle-field With unseen foes and fierce temptations fight.'"

Darrell silently drew her nearer himself, feeling that even in this foretaste of joy he had received ample compensation for the past.

A few days later there was a quiet wedding at the Springs. The beautiful church on the mountain-side had been decorated for the occasion, and at an early hour, while yet the robins were singing their matins, the little wedding-party gathered about the altar where John Darrell Britton and Kate Underwood plighted their troth for life. Above the jubilant bird-songs, above the low, subdued tones of the organ, the words of the grand old marriage service rang out with impressiveness.

Besides the rector and his wife, there were present only Mr. Underwood, Mrs. Dean, and Mr. Britton. It had been Kate's wish, with which Darrell had gladly coincided, thus to be quietly married, surrounded only by their immediate relatives.

"Let our wedding be a fit consummation of our betrothal," she had said to him, "without publicity, unhampered by conventionalities, so it will always seem the sweeter and more sacred."

That evening found them all at The Pines, a.s.sembled on the veranda watching the sunset, the old home seeming wonderfully restful and peaceful to the returned travellers.

The years which had come and gone since Darrell first came to the Pines told heaviest on Mr. Underwood. His hair was nearly white and he had aged in many ways, appearing older than Mr. Britton, who was considerably his senior; but age had brought its compensations, for the stern, immobile face had softened and the deep-set eyes glowed with a kindly, beneficent light. Mr. Britton's hair was well silvered, but his face bore evidence of the great joy which had come into his life, and as his eyes rested upon his son he seemed to live anew in that glorious young life. To Mrs. Dean the years had brought only a few silver threads in the brown hair and an added serenity to the placid, unfurrowed brow.

Calm and undemonstrative as ever, but with a smile of deep content, she sat in her accustomed place, her knitting-needles flashing and clicking with their old-time regularity. Duke, who had been left in Mr. Britton's care during Darren's absence, occupied his old place on the top stair, but even his five years of added dignity could not restrain him from occasional demonstrations of joy at finding himself again at The Pines and with his beloved master and mistress.

As the twilight began to deepen Kate suggested that they go inside, and led the way, not to the family sitting-room, but to a s.p.a.cious room on the eastern side, a room which had originally been intended as a library, but never furnished as such. It was beautifully decorated with palms and flowers, while the fireplace had been filled with light boughs of spruce and fir.

As they entered the room, Kate, slipping her arm within Mr. Britton's, led him before the fireplace.

"My dear father," she said, "we have chosen this evening as the one most appropriate for your formal installation in our family circle and our home. I say formal because you have really been one of ourselves for years; you have shared our joys and our sorrows; we have had no secrets from you; but from this time we want you to take your place in our home, as you did long ago in our hearts. We have prepared this room for you, to be your _sanctum sanctorum_, and have placed in it a few little tokens of our love for you and grat.i.tude to you, which we beg you to accept as such."

She bent towards the fireplace. "The hearthstone is ever an emblem of home. In lighting the fires upon this hearthstone, we dedicate it to your use and christen this 'our father's room.'"

The flames burst upward as she finished speaking, sending a resinous fragrance into the air and revealing a room fitted with such loving thought and care that nothing which could add to his comfort had been omitted. Near the centre of the room stood a desk of solid oak, a gift from Mr. Underwood; beside it a reclining chair from Mrs. Dean, while on the wall opposite, occupying nearly a third of that side of the room, was a superb painting of the Hermitage,--standing out in the firelight with wonderful realism, perfect in its bold outlines and sombre coloring,--the united gift of his son and daughter, which Darrell had ordered executed before his departure for Alaska.

With loving congratulations the rest of the group gathered about Mr.

Britton, who was nearly speechless with emotion. As Mr. Underwood wrung his hand he exclaimed, with a.s.sumed gruffness,--

"Jack, old partner, you thought you'd got a monopoly on that boy of yours, but I've got in on the deal at last!"

"You haven't got any the best of me, Dave," Mr. Britton retorted, smiling through his tears, "for I've got a share now in the sweetest daughter on earth!"

"Yes, papa," Kate laughingly rejoined, "there are three of us Brittons now; the Underwoods are in the minority."

Which, though a new view of the situation to that gentleman, seemed eminently satisfactory.

Later, as Kate found Darrell at a window, looking thoughtfully out into the moonlit night, she asked,--

"Of what are you thinking, John?"

"Of what the years have done for us, Kathie; of how much better fitted for each other we are now than when we first loved."

"Yes," she whispered, as their eyes met, "'G.o.d's own good time' was the best."

THE END

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