Part 58 (2/2)

”But I am sure,” he said hurriedly, ”it won't make you unhappy just to know that it is still an inspiration in my life, and that it always will be, and that love, no matter if”--

”Oh, wait a minute, Giff!” Lois cried, her eyes s.h.i.+ning like stars through sudden tears, and her breath quick. ”I--I--why, don't you know, I was to--don't you remember--my promise?”

”Lois!” he said, almost in a whisper. He dropped the bay's rein, and came and took her hand, his own trembling.

”I know what you were going to say,” she began, her face turned away so that he could only see the blush which had crept up to her temple, ”but I”--He waited, but she did not go on. Then he suddenly took her in his arms and kissed her without a word; and Max, and the horse, and the bob-white looked on with no surprise, for after all it was only part of the morning, and the sunrise, and Nature herself.

”And to think that it's I!” Lois said a minute afterward.

”Why, who else could it be?” cried Gifford rapturously.

But Lois shook her head; even in her joy she was ashamed of herself. ”I won't even remember it,” she thought.

Of course there were many explanations. Each was astonished at the other for not having understood; but Lois's confession of her promise to Mrs.

Forsythe made all quite clear, though it left a look that was almost stern behind the joy in Gifford's eyes.

”You know I couldn't help it, Giff,” she ended.

But he did not speak.

”It wasn't wrong,” she said. ”You see how it was,--you don't think it was wrong?”

”Yes, I do, Lois,” he answered.

”Oh!” she cried; and then, ”But you made me!”

”I?” he exclaimed, bewildered.

And then she told him how his acknowledgment of her fault drove her into a desire for atonement. ”You know, you think I'm wrong pretty often,”

she added shyly; and then they mutually forgave each other.

”I suppose I did find a good deal of fault,” Gifford admitted, humbly, ”but it was always because I loved you.”

”Oh!” said Lois.

But there was so much to say they might have talked until noon, except that, as they had neither of them breakfasted, and happiness and morning air are the best sort of tonics, they began to think of going to the rectory. Gifford had quite forgotten the business in Mercer which needed him so early.

”Father won't have mushrooms with his steak to-day,” Lois commented, looking ruefully at the little basket, which she still held in her hand.

They stopped at the roadside, walking hand in hand like two children, and looked back at the ruin. ”It was a home once,” Gifford said, ”and there was love there; and so it begins over again for us,--love, and happiness, and all of life.”

”Oh, Giff,” the girl said softly, ”I don't deserve”--

But that, of course, he would not hear. When they came to the rectory gate,--and never did it take so long to walk from East Hill to the rectory,--Gifford said, ”Now let's go and tell Helen; we've kept her out of our joy too long.” They met her in the cool, dusky hall, and Gifford, taking her hand, said gently, ”Be glad, too, Helen!”

Lois had put her arms about her cousin, and without further words Helen knew.

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