e shall think of the sunrise at Greenwood--sunrise and splendid
roses and the million harps of heaven playing!"

"Oh!" cried Unity, "the sunrise at Greenwood should have been for your
brother!"

"Yes, for him and your cousin. Blind fate! He is worth a thousand of me,
and he sits lonely there in his house--and I am here!"

"There's no pure joy."

"When I tell him to-night, he will feel but pure joy for me--not one
thought of self, of the sunrise he might have watched at Greenwood! Oh,
Justice and her balances! There goes the last rim of the sun."

"I'll sing to you what you will--and you may stay as long as you
like--and I'll love you all my life. Oh! Now let's go find Uncle Dick."

Uncle Dick was easily found, being in fact upon the porch in his
especial chair, with the dogs around him, and in his hand a silver
goblet of mint and apple brandy. "Hey! What, what!" he cried, "has the
jade said Yes at last? Where's Edward? Edward, Edward! Kiss me, you
minx! Fair, I wish that my dear friend, your father, were alive. Well,
well, patience does it, and the Lord knows, Unity, he's been patient!
Oh, you black-eyed piece, you need a bit and bridle! Here's Edward!
Edward, the shrew's tamed at last! Such a wedding as Fontenoy will
have!"

Four hours later, when supper was over, and Aunt Nancy in the "chamber"
had been visited by the affianced pair, and all matters had been
discussed, and Unity at the harpsichord had sung without protest a
number of very sentimental songs, and Deb had gone unwillingly to bed,
and first one uncle and then the other had thoughtfully faded from the
drawing-room, and good-night, when it came to be said in the moonlit
porch, took ten minutes to say, and the boy who brought around the
visitor's horse had caught with a grin and a "Thank'e, sah!" the
whirling silver dollar, and Major Edward's voice had sounded from the
hail door behind Unity, "Good-night, Fair; bring Ludwell with you
to-morrow night," and Unity had echoed softly, "Yes, bring Ludwell," and
the last wave of the hand had been given, Fairfax Cary cantered down the
driveway and through the lower gates. Out upon the red highway he put
his horse to the gallop, and rode with his bared head high to the wind
and the stars of night.

At Greenwood there was but one light burning. He saw it half a mile from
the house, lost it, then caught it again, crowning like a star the low
hilltop. Bending from the saddle, he opened the gate, passed through,