"It wouldn't have done any good. I tried to do that."

"And wouldn't they listen?"

"No. They burned my--my house and tried to shoot me."

"Oh! How could they!" And then, gently, "Oh, Peter. You _have_ had troubles, haven't you?"

"I don't mind. If I hadn't had them, I wouldn't have come here and I wouldn't have found you."

"So after all, I ought to be glad they did fire you out," she said gently.

"But aren't you curious to know _why_ they did?"

"I am, if you want to tell me, but even if it was bad, I don't care _what_ you did, Peter."

He took her fingers to his lips.

"It wasn't so very bad after all, Beth. It wasn't so much what I did as what my--er--my family had done that made them angry."

"Well, _you_ weren't responsible for what your kin-folks did."

Peter laughed softly.

"_They_ seemed to think so. My--er--my kin-folks were mixed up in politics in Russia and one of my cousins had a pretty big job--too big a job for _him_ and that's the truth." A cloud pa.s.sed for a moment over Peter's face and he looked away.

"But what did _his_ job have to do with _you_?" she asked.

"Well, you see, we were all mixed up with him, just by being related--at least that's what the people thought. And so when my cousin did a lot of things the people thought he oughtn't to do and didn't do a lot of other things that they thought he _ought_ to have done, they believed that I was just the same sort of man that he was."

"How unjust, Peter!"

He smiled at the ceiling.

"I thought so. I told them what I thought. I did what I could to straighten things out and to help them, but they wouldn't listen.

Instead they burned my--my house down and I had to run away."

"How terrible for you!" And then, after a pause, "Was it a pretty house, Peter?"

"Yes," he replied slowly, "it was. A very pretty house--in the midst of a forest, with great pines all about it. I wish they hadn't burned that house, Beth, because I loved it."

"Poor dear! I'm _so_ sorry."

"I thought you would be, because it was a big house, with pictures, books, music----"

"All burned! Land's sakes alive!"

"And a wonderful grand piano."

"Oh, Peter!" And then with a flash of joy, "But you're goin' to have another grand piano just like it soon."

"Am I? Who's going to give it to me?"

"_I_ am," said Beth quietly. "And another house and pictures and books and music."

He read her expression eagerly.

"Mr. McGuire has told you?" he asked.

She nodded. "You knew?"

"Yes," he replied. "He told me yesterday."

"Isn't it wonderful?" she whispered. And then went on rapidly, "So you see, Peter, maybe I can be some good to you after all."

He pressed her fingers, enjoying her happiness.

"I can hardly believe it's true," she gasped, "but it must be, because Mr. McGuire had his lawyer here yesterday talkin' about it----"

"Yes. It's true. I think he's pretty happy to get all that off his conscience. You're a rich girl, Beth." And then, with a slow smile, "That was one of the reasons why I wanted to talk with you about who _I_ was. You see, I thought that now that you're going to have all this money, you might want to change your mind about marrying a forester chap who--who just wants to try to show the trees how to grow."

"Peter! Don't make fun of me. _Please._ And you hurt me so!" she reproached him. "You know I'll never want to change my mind ever, _ever_--even if I had all the money in the world."

He laughed, drew her face down to his and whispered, "Beth, dear. I knew you wouldn't want to--but I just wanted to hear you say it."

"Well, I _have_ said it. And I don't want you ever to say such a thing again. As if I cared for anythin'--anythin' but _you_."

He kissed her on the lips and she straightened.

"I wanted to hear you say _that_ too," he said with a laugh.

And then, after a silence which they both improved by gazing at each other mutely, "But you don't seem very curious about who I am."

Beth pressed his fingers confidently. What he was to _her_ mattered a great deal--and she realized that nothing else did. But she knew that something was required of her. And so, "Oh, yes. Indeed I am, Peter,--awfully curious," she said politely.

"Well, you know, Beth, I'm not really so poor as I seem to be. I've got a lot of securities in a bank in Russia, because n.o.body knew where they were and so they couldn't take them."

"And they would have taken your money too?"

"Yes. When this cousin of mine--his name was Nicholas--when Nicholas was killed----"

"They killed him! Who?"

"The Bolsheviki--they killed Nicholas and his whole family--his wife, son and four daughters----"

"Peter!" Beth started up and stared at him in startled bewilderment, as she remembered the talks she had had with him about the Russian Revolution. "Nicholas----!" she gasped. "His wife--son--daughters. He had the same name as--as the Czar--!" And as her gaze met his again she seemed to guess.... "Peter!" she gasped. "What--what do you mean?"

"I mean that it was the Little Father--the Czar--who was my cousin, Beth."