sted your life in vain sacrifice--if you can ask
her to be your wife, I can ask her to come back home."

That was a splendid, all-satisfying moment for Lane. By his own grief
he measured his reward. What had counted with Joshua Iden had been his
faith in Mel's innate goodness. Then Lane turned to the mother. In the
dusk he could see the working of her sad face.

"God bless you, my boy!" she said. "You feel with a woman's heart. I
thank you.... Joshua has already sent word for Mel to come home. She
will be back to-morrow.... You must come here to see her. But, Daren,
she will never marry you."

"She will," replied Lane.

"You do not know Mel. Even if you had only a day to live she would not
let you wrong yourself."

"But when she learns how much it means to me? The army ruined Mel, as
it ruined hundreds of thousands of other girls. She will let one
soldier make it up to her. She will let me go to my death with less
bitterness."

"Oh, my poor boy, I don't know--I can't tell," she replied, brokenly.
"By God's goodness you have brought about one miracle. Who knows? You
might change Mel. For you have brought something great back from the
war."

"Mrs. Iden, I will persuade her to marry me," said Lane. "And then,
Mr. Iden, we must see what is best for her and the boy--in the
future."

"Aye, son. One lesson learned makes other lessons easy. I will take
Mel and her mother far away from Middleville--where no one ever heard
of us."

"Good! You can all touch happiness again.... And now, if you and Mrs.
Iden will excuse me--I will go."

Lane bade the couple good night, and slowly, as might have a lame man,
he made his way through the gloaming, out to the road, and down to the
bridge, where as always he lingered to catch the mystic whispers of
the river waters, meant only for his ear. Stronger to-night! He was
closer to that nameless thing. The shadows of dusk, the dark murmuring
river, held an account with him, sometime to be paid. How blessed to
fall, to float down to that merciful oblivion.

CHAPTER XII

Several days passed before Lane felt himself equal to the momentous
interview with Mel Iden. After his call upon Mel's father and mother
he was overcome by one of his sick, weak spells, that happily had been
infrequent of late. This one confined him to his room. He had about
fought and won it out, when the old injury at the base of his spine
reminded him that misfortunes did not come singly. Quite unexpect