Archie had been asleep in his chair, but awoke at the sound of Mr.

Courtney's voice and looked up at the handsome, kind face with an appreciative smile.

"Archie is glad you are home; he has often been here, but could not see you," he said.

"Miss Hilda was here this afternoon, sir," said Mrs. MacQuoid. "She was reading in the library."

Mr. Courtney's heart thrilled with pleasure, and a smile illumined his countenance. He was now where she had lately been; the sweet consciousness of her presence made his home doubly dear.

While he was chatting with Archie and asking Mrs. MacQuoid for the welfare of Rev. Carl and family and the neighborhood in general, Sandy lighted the library lamp, drew the blinds, and wheeled Mr. Courtney's favorite chair before the grate.

"If we had knowed that Ma.r.s.e Val was comin'," remarked Chloe, after he had withdrawn to the library, "we could have had fried chicken and hot waffles, an' invited Mis' Emma an' Miss Hilda over, an' it would have been like ol' times."

"He knows we didn't expect him, Chloe, and I am sure this rich ham, and your beautiful white rolls, and the sweet b.u.t.ter and honey will suit him," replied Mrs. MacQuoid as she placed gla.s.s and china for one upon the tea-table.

"He allus was that easy to please; never had no bother nohow with Ma.r.s.e Val, and Ma.r.s.e Carl an' Miss Emma. They is angels, that is certain sure."

"True for you, Chloe, and now if the coffee is ready, I will ring for the master."

"It's done ready, an' is the Simon-pure an' no mistake. Kitty done say, she did, that when Ma.r.s.e Val was a little fellah, he couldn't be humbugged when it come to coffee. He knowed the very fust sip that the culled folks' Rio wasn't the white folks' Mocha."

The meal appeared to suit Mr. Courtney perfectly. Refreshed in spirit by his sojourn in the library, his manner proved the return of hope. When he finished he again sought the library.

On his homeward journey he had read and reread Mrs. Courtney's two latest letters, received by the same mail-one telling him of the broken engagement, the other of Hilda's return to Dorton. They had found him lonely, restless, seeking for happiness that change did not bring. After reading them he was, as it were, in another realm, and obeying a sudden impulse made haste to return to his native land, was now at "My Lady's Manor" in his favorite room. Alone and at leisure, he had time to reflect.

If, after all, his coming were fruitless, what had life to offer in compensation for his great disappointment? He reasoned that the broken engagement was, perhaps, the result of a misunderstanding which had been explained away, and the engagement renewed upon a firmer basis than before.

He called to mind that business alone had brought Hilda to Dorton. She had not come because she wished to see him or "My Lady's Manor," for she knew of his absence, and could have no knowledge as to when he would return.

If she loved Fred Warfield, this visit to Dorton would not weaken the attachment, nor would he wish it to do so; yet her return to Fred would leave him desolate, and "My Lady's Manor" a prison.

What presumption-he reflected-for one whose age was nearly double her seventeen years to hope to win one so lovely! What advantage had he over the bright, buoyant beauty, the youthful companionship of Fred Warfield, except his wealth? And he knew Hilda's n.o.ble nature too well to believe for a moment that she would make of it the most remote object. He arose from his place by the hearth and walked to and fro in the quiet room.

The library door opened softly and Archie came in. "I want you!" he said, in a subdued, impatient tone. "I promised her. Come!"

Mr. Courtney made no response; mutely he obeyed, and swiftly and silently Archie led the way across the meadow to Mr. Merryman's. Taking neither path that led to the front entrance, he took his accustomed way, opened the tea-room door, and they stood in the presence of Hilda.

"I have brought you a valentine, but I could not find one in the snow,"

said Archie in a low tone. "Archie would have tried and tried, had there been any snow."

Hilda arose, a flush of joy illumined her sweet face, she advanced a step toward Mr. Courtney, then withdrew.

"She does not love me, Archie," said Mr. Courtney, noticing the action, "youth and loveliness can have no affinity with middle age."

"Please tell him, Archie," said Hilda, gently, "that youth trusts to middle age for faithful love and protection. Hair tinged with silver is beautiful in my eyes."

Mr. Courtney advanced eagerly and taking her hand in his pressed his lips upon it.

"Oh, Archie, dare I ask for this dear hand?"

"If he asks, Archie, it is his," said Hilda.

"But the heart, Archie? The hand is valueless to me unless the heart goes with it."

"Tell him, good Archie, that the heart has always been his, though part of the time it knew not its master."

"I feel as if in a dream," faltered Mr. Courtney; "an hour ago despairing, now filled with greater happiness than I had dared imagine."

"We owe our happiness to Archie. He has been my good genius from childhood. He is my mascot."

"I will make another effort to have him share our home at 'My Lady's Manor'," said Mr. Courtney. "Your persuasion will, I think, prevail."

"Our home!" Hilda's heart thrilled at the sweet words. An orphan, homeless, save for the goodness of dear friends, she was now the promised wife of one who would protect and care for her as long as life was granted, one whom she could truly love and honor for his n.o.ble, tender and steadfast nature. How could she ever be grateful enough to G.o.d for His goodness to her?

"This is one of Archie's homes; Archie will stay till morning," and, pa.s.sing into the kitchen, the old man, without so much as a word to the occupants thereof, went up to his room, leaving Norah and Perry amazed at his sudden appearance.

With a look of supreme content Mr. Courtney took a chair beside the center-table whereupon lay the book which Hilda had been reading. His glance fell upon the letter lying beside it and a look of pain crossed his handsome features.

"It is only a valentine," said Hilda. "Will you read it?" and she gave it into his hands.

"This is from young Mr. Warfield, I suppose?" he commented with a smile as he finished the closing lines.

"Yes, it is from Cousin Fred, and I suppose it is my duty to tell you that he once asked me to be his wife."

"You loved him, of course," said Mr. Courtney, a little anxiously.

"I will tell you, sir, exactly as it was," she replied, with the straightforward look and manner of one who had nothing to conceal. "The girls told me that Fred is fickle, and they did not believe that he could really love anyone. When he told me of his affection for me, I knew it was what he had said to every girl with whom he was well acquainted, so did not believe him sincere. He wished to correspond with me, and through his letters I began to have a warmer affection for him, and was disappointed when they began to grow cold, or failed to come when expected. It ended by his writing, releasing himself from the engagement."

"And you were grieved, my darling?"

"Yes, sir, and I was angry. His letter was so patronizing, so full of his own importance, that had I asked him to marry me, he could scarcely have worded it differently. I let him know that, attractive as he considered himself, I could quickly give him up."

"But you were sorry it occurred?"

"For a while I missed his visits and his letters, then I grew glad it happened, for I would not have known my feelings toward you had not Fred engaged himself to me, and then broken the engagement. I compared him with you, and he appeared boyish and unstable. I could have no confidence in him. He would change his mind at the altar if he should see a prettier face among the spectators."

"Was Mrs. Warfield aware of the engagement?" asked Mr. Courtney, amused at the quaint seriousness of the little woman.

"Oh, Mr. Courtney, no mother could have acted more n.o.bly than she! I told her all, and gave her his letter and my reply."

"Could you welcome Mrs. Warfield and her younger son to our home without one regret for 'the might have been?'"

"Without one regret."

CHAPTER XIV-ARCHIE FINDS A PACKAGE