"Yes, I know now, Phyllis. I love you. I shall always love you. I love you and I am glad to love you. Nothing can take that from me."

All this time she was standing before him, her face white, her lips parted, a look of wonder, almost of fear, in the brown eyes, so bravely holding his, her hands pressed hard upon her bosom, as if to stay its tumult.

"I have no right to say this to you," said Barry again. "You belong to a great family. Perhaps you are rich. Great Heavens!" he groaned. "I never thought of that. You are beautiful. Many men will love you, great men and rich men will love you. You are so wonderful. Why, there's Captain Neil, he--"

"Captain Neil," echoed Phyllis, with infinite scorn in her voice.

"Well, many men."

"Many men," she repeated, her lips beginning to tremble. "Oh, Barry, can't you see? You blind boy. There's only one man for me, Barry, and that's you, just you." She came near to him, laid her hands upon his breast, her eyes looking into his.

"Phyllis," he said, putting his arms round her, a great wonder in his voice. "It can't be true! Oh, it can't be true! Yet your eyes, your dear eyes say so. Phyllis, I do believe you love me."

The little hands slid up around his neck; he drew her close.

"Phyllis, my dear, dear, love," he whispered.

He felt her body suddenly relax, and as she leaned backwards in his arms, still clinging to him, he bent over her and his lips met hers in a long kiss.

CHAPTER XVIII

A WEDDING JOURNEY

"Just a moment, if you please, Paula. I should like to get down a few notes of this bit. Oh, what a view! Lake, moor, hills, mountains, village!"

Mr. Howland sprang from the car, sketchbook in hand, and ran forward to a jutting rock that commanded the wide valley, flanked by hills, in whose bosom lay a loch, shimmering in the morning light. The car drew up on the brow of a long and gently sloping incline, which the road followed until it disappeared in a turn at the village at the loch's end.

"Get the little church tower in, father, and a bit of the castle. I can see it from here," said Paula, standing upon the motor seat.

"I shall try this further rock," said her father. "Ah, here it is. Do come, all of you, and get this. Oh, what a perfectly glorious view!"

The little group gathered about him in silence, upon a little headland that overlooked the valley, and feasted upon the beauty that spread itself out before them, the undulating slope and shimmering loch, the wide moors and softly rounded hills, the dark green masses of ragged firs, and the great white Bens in the far distance, and below them, in the midst the human touch, in a nestling village with its Heaven-pointing spire.

"Hark!" said Paula.

From across the loch there floated up to them, soft and mellow as an angel's song, the sound of a bell.

Mr. Rowland dropped his sketchbook, took off his hat, and stood as if in worship. The other men followed his example.

"Father," said Paula, "let's go to church."

"Hush," said her father, putting up his hand, and so stood for some moments.

"Oh, Scotland, Scotland!" he cried, lifting his arms high above his head, "no wonder your children in exile weep for their native land."

"And your men fight and die for you," added Paula, glancing at Captain Neil.

"Thank you," said Captain Neil, turning quickly away.

"Yes," said Paula, "we shall go to church here, father."

The church stood against a cluster of ancient firs, in the midst of its quiet graves, yew shaded here and there. Beside it stood the manse, within its sweet old garden, protected by a moss covered stone wall.

At its gate the minister stood, a dark man with silvering hair, of some sixty years, but still erect and with a noble, intellectual face.

"Let us speak to him," said Paula, as they left their car.

With characteristic reserve, Barry and Neil shrank from greeting a stranger, but with fine and easy courtesy Mr. Howland bared his head, and went up to the minister.

"We heard your bell's invitation, sir," he said, "and we came to worship with you."

A grave smile touched the dark face.

"You rightly interpreted its message," he said. "Let me repeat its welcome."

"We are Americans, at least my daughter and I are," said Mr. Howland, presenting Paula, a frank smile upon her beautiful face, "and this is her young friend from London, Miss Vincent, and these young officers are of the Canadian army."

"Canadians!" exclaimed the minister, meeting them with both hands. "Oh, you are indeed welcome."

"We are all in the war, sir, I would have you know," added Mr. Howland.

The minister looked puzzled.

"Let me explain," said Barry. "Mr. Rowland and his daughter are on leave from their own hospital which they have set up in France. Miss Vincent is from the base hospital in Boulogne."

Like the sun breaking upon the loch in a dull day, a smile broke over the dark face. He threw the gate wide open.

"In the name of my country, in this its dark hour, let me give you welcome," and once more he shook them each by the hand. "We have still half an hour before worship," he continued. "Pray do me the honour of entering my manse."

They followed him up the shrubbery-flanked gravel walk to the door.

"Enter," he said, going before them into the manse. "Jean! Jean!" he called.

"Yes, dear," came a voice like the sound of a silver bell, and from another room issued a lady with a face of rare and delicate loveliness.

Her soft, clinging black gown, with a touch of white at her throat, served to emphasise the sweet purity of her face, but cast over it a shade of sadness at once poignant and tender.

"My dear, this is Mrs. Robertson," he said simply; "these friends, Americans and Canadians, are from the war."

At that word she came to greet them, her face illumined by a smile inexpressibly sweet, but inexpressibly sad. "You are welcome, oh, very welcome," she said, in a soft Scotch voice. "Come in and rest for a few moments."

"Our young friend here, Captain Dunbar, is chaplain of a distinguished Canadian regiment."

"They are all distinguished," said the lady.

"A chaplain?" said the minister. "My dear sir, we should be grateful for a message for our people from the front--"