tossed them that
morning, when Tip and I started over the mountain. Those scraps were
part of the letter I did not send to Mary. They flashed to me the
thought of the one I had sent, and of the answer I never expected. It
was foolish to look, but I had told her to slip her note under the
door, if she did send it, and I was taking no chances. Seizing the
lamp, I hobbled to the kitchen, and laughing to myself at the whole
absurd proceeding, leaned over and swept the floor with the light.

Right on the sill it lay, a small white envelope! I did not waste time
hobbling back to my chair and the table. I sat right down on the floor
with the lamp at my side, and tore open the note and read it.

"Dear Mark. Please come to me."

That was all she said. It was enough. It was all I wanted in the
world.

Once I had been disappointed, but now there was no mistaking it.
Upside down, backward and forward I read it, right side up and
criss-cross, rubbing my eyes a half a hundred times, but there was her
appeal--no question of it. After all, all was well. And when Mary
calls I must go, even if I have crossed two mountains and am
supperless. All the bitterness had gone. All those days of brooding
were forgotten, for I could go again up the road, my white road, to the
hill, and the light there would burn for me.

Then Tim came!

[Illustration: Then Tim came.]

I was still sitting on the floor when he came, reading the note over
and over, with the lamp beside me.

With Captain and Colonel at his heels he burst in upon me.

"Well, Mark, you scoundrel," he cried, laughing, as he caught me by the
arm and lifted me up. "Where have you been?"

"Travelling," I answered grimly. "And you--what are you doing here?"

"I came to find you," he said. "Do you suppose you can disappear off
the face of the earth for two weeks and that I will not be worried?
Why, I came from New York to hunt you up--just got here this afternoon
and was over at Bolum's when we saw the light. Now give an account of
yourself."

"It isn't necessary," said I, smiling complacently. I put the lamp on
the table and picked up my hat. "I'll be back in a while," I said.
"I'm going up to see Mary."

"To see Mary?" Tim cried.

"Yes, to see Mary," I answered.

Then, with a little flourish of triumph, I handed him her note.

Tim read it. His face became very grave, and he looked from it to me,
and then turned and, with an elbow resting on the mante