"It's a funny name, isn't it?" she murmured, shyly.

"I suppose it is."

"But I like it. Oh, dear, I must go! It must be midnight!"

"No, only twenty minutes of," he answered, holding his watch to the light. "Don't go yet. There's so much I want to say!"

"To-morrow," she answered, smiling up at him. "Do you know that you're still holding my hands?"

"I don't know what I know," he answered, softly. "Only that I love you and that I'm the happiest man alive."

"Are you? Why?"

"Because you're going to marry me."

"I haven't said so," she objected.

"But you're going to?"

"To-morrow--perhaps."

"No, to-night--surely."

"To-morrow."

"To-night."

"Am I?" she sighed. "We-ell--do you want me to?"

"Yes," he answered, tremulously. He drew her to him, unresistingly. The moon made silver pools of her eyes. Her mouth, slightly parted, was like a crimson rosebud.

"Eve!" he whispered, hoa.r.s.ely.

Her eyes closed and her head dropped happily back against his arm. The moonlight was gone now from her face.

Ages later--or was it only a few moments?--they were standing apart again, hands still linked, looking at each other across the little s.p.a.ce of magic light.

"I must go now," she said softly. "Good night."

"Please, not yet!"

"But think of the time! Besides, it's quite--quite awful, anyway!

Suppose Carrie heard of it!"

"Let her! You're mine, aren't you?"

"Good night."

"Aren't you?"

"Every little bit of me, dear, for ever and ever," she answered.

They said good night again a few minutes later and a little nearer the house. And again after that.

At a quarter to one Wade came to himself after a fashion at the end of the village street, smiling insanely at a white gate-post. With a happy sigh he turned homeward, his hands in his pockets, his head thrown back, and his lips pursed for a tune that forgot to come. A few steps brought him opposite the Doctor's house and the imp of mischief whispered in his ear. Wade laughed aloud. Then he crossed the street under the dark canopy of the elms and-pulled the office bell till it jangled wildly. A head came out of a window above.

"What's wanted?" asked the Doctor's sleepy voice. "Who is it?"

"It's Herrick. Come down, please."

After a moment the key turned and the Doctor, arrayed in a vast figured dressing-gown stood in the open door.

"Is it you?" he asked. "What's wrong? Who's ill"?"

"No one's ill, Doctor," said Herrick. "I just wanted to know if you had any remedy for happiness?"

Perhaps Wade's radiant, laughing face gave the Doctor his cue, for, after studying it a moment, he asked, with a chuckle:

"Have you tried marriage?"

"No, but I'm going to. Oh, I'm not crazy, Doctor. I was out for a stroll and thought I'd just drop by and tell you that I'd taken your advice and had decided not to leave to-morrow."

"Humph; nor the next day, either, I guess! Lad, is it all right? Have you seen her?"

"Yes, I've seen her and it's all right! Everything's all right! Look at this world, Doctor. Did you ever see a more beautiful one? For Heaven's sake reel off some poetry for me!"

"Go to bed," laughed the Doctor, "go to bed!"

"Bed!" scoffed Wade.

"H'm, you're right," said the Doctor. "Stay up and be mad as you can, my lad. Bay to the moon! Sing under her window! Act the happy fool! Lord, if I wasn't so old I'd come out and help you. Youth, youth! Now go away before I hate you for it!"

"You couldn't hate anything, you old fraud," laughed Wade. "Go back to bed if you won't sing or dance with me or recite verses. But first, congratulations, please."

"My dear fellow," said the Doctor as he clasped Wade's hand, "you don't need any one's good wishes, but I give mine just the same. It's good news to me, the best of news."

"Thanks, Doctor. Good night. I'm off to bay the moon."

"Good night, good night!"

The Doctor stood for a moment at the door and watched him pa.s.s across the strip of moonlight and become engulfed in the gloom of the elms.

"I wonder," he mused, "what he's done with his coat!" He chuckled as he closed the door, and sighed as he locked it. Then, instead of returning to the stairway, he pa.s.sed into the study and walked across to the book-shelves. You would have thought that he would have had difficulty in finding What he wanted even in broad daylight in that confusion of volumes. But he put his hand at once on what he sought and bore it to the window where the moonlight shone. Bending closely, he turned the pages, paused and read half-aloud to the silent room:

"'Oh, love, first love, so full of hope and truth, A guileless maiden and a gentle youth.

Through arches of wreathed rose they take their way, He the fresh Morning, she the better May, 'Twixt jocund hearts and voices jubilant.

And unseen G.o.ds that guard on either hand, And blissful tears, and tender smiles that fall On her dear head--great summer over all!"