eatures that live in
these hills--had mated you and me. And so, as I worked and tried to
forget, I went on dreaming just the same. It was that way when I first
saw this place. I was crossing the country on my way to examine some
prospects for the company, and camped at this very spot. And that
evening I planned it all, just as it is to-night. I put the tent there,
and built our fire, and stretched your hammock under the tree, and sat
with you in the twilight; but even as I dreamed it I laughed at myself
for a fool, for I could not believe that the dream would ever come true.
And then, when I got back to Prescott, there was a letter from a
Cleveland friend, telling me that Larry had gone abroad to be away a
year or more, and another letter from the company, calling me East
again. And so I stopped at Cleveland and--" He laughed happily. "I know
now that dreams do come true."

"You foolish boy," said Helen softly. "To think that I did not know.
Why, when you went away, I was so sure that you would come for me again,
that I never even thought that it could be any other way. I thought you
did not speak because you felt that you were too poor, because you felt
that you had so little to offer, and because you wished to prove
yourself and your work before asking me to share your life. I did not
dream that you could doubt my love for you, or think for a moment that
there could ever be anyone else. I felt that you _must_ know; and so,
you see, while I waited I had my dreams, too."

"But don't you see, girl," he answered, as though for a moment he found
it hard to believe his own happiness, "don't you see? Larry is such a
splendid fellow, and you two were such friends, and you always seemed so
fond of him, and with his wealth he could give you so much that I knew I
never could give--"

"Of course, I am fond of Larry; everyone is. He has absolutely nothing
to do in the world but to make himself charming and pleasant and
entertaining and amusing. Why, Stan, I don't suppose that in all his
life he ever did one single thing that was necessary or useful. He even
had a man to help him dress. He is cultured and intellectual, and bright
and witty, and clean and good-natured, possessing, in fact, all the
qualifications of a desirable lap dog, and you can't help liking him,
just as you would like a pretty, useless pet."

Stanford chuckled. She had described Lawrence Knight so accurately.

"Poor old Larry," he said. "What a man he might