Lane turned to Mel and led her from the house and down to the curb
without speaking once.

Once more they went out into the blinding snow-storm. Lane threw back
his head and breathed the cold air. What a relief to get out of that
stifling room!

"Mel, I'm afraid it's no use," he said, finally.

"We are finding what the world thinks of us," replied Mel. "Tell the
man to drive to 204 Locust Street."

Once more the driver headed his humming car into the white storm.

Once more Lane sat silent, with his heart raging. Once more Mel
peered out into the white turmoil of gloom.

"Daren, we're going to Dr. Wallace, my old minister. He'll marry us,"
she said, presently.

"Why didn't I think of him?"

"I did," answered Mel, in a low voice. "I know he would marry us. He
baptized me; he has known and loved me all my life. I used to sing in
his choir and taught his Sunday School for years."

"Yet you let me go to those others. Why?"

"Because I shrank from going to him."

Once more the car lurched into the gutter, and this time they both got
out and mounted the high steps. Lane knocked. They waited what
appeared a long time before they heard some one fumbling with the
lock. Just then the bell in the church tower nearby began chiming the
midnight hour. The door opened, and Doctor Wallace himself admitted
them.

"Well! Who's this?... Why, if it's not Mel Iden! What a night to be
out in!" he exclaimed. He led them into a room, evidently his study,
where a cheerful wood fire blazed. There he took both her hands and
looked from her to Lane. "You look so white and distressed. This late
hour--this young man whom I know. What has happened? Why do you come
to me--the first time in so many months?"

"To ask you to marry us," answered Mel.

"To _marry_ you?... Is this the soldier who wronged you?"

"No. This is Daren Lane.... He wants to marry me to give my boy
a name.... Somehow he finally made me consent."

"Well, well, here is a story. Come, take off this snowy cloak and get
nearer the fire. Your hands are like ice." His voice was very calm and
kind. It soothed Lane's strained nerves. With what eagerness did he
scrutinize the old minister's face. He knew the penetrating eye, the
lofty brow and white hair, the serious lined face, sad in a noble
austerity. But the lips were kind with that softness and sweetness
which comes from gentle words and frequent smiles. Lane's aroused
antagonism vanished in the old man's presence.