to run away. The straightest thing is to stay
with that person and try to redeem your character."

"How did you know it?" she asked. "I hardly knew it was in my heart
myself."

"It sharpens a man's wits to be called a liar--and not to be able to
deny the name."

"And you called me a--curmudgeon! Oh, how did you happen on that funny
old word?" Her laugh rang fresh and gay through the quiet of the night.
"After you'd gone, Mina came to me."

"What happened then?"

"Well, I ought to have cried--and Mina did."

"Did Mina stop you going?"

"Mina? No!" The acme of scorn was in her voice.

"What then?" he asked, drawing her a little nearer to him.

"I wanted to obey your wishes. You said I was to stay--and you'd go."

"Yes, but you've sent away the fly," objected Harry. "Well, all that you
said of me was true too."

"We should start on a clear understanding then?"

"I'm a liar--and you're a curmudgeon? Yes."

"What awful quarrels we shall have!"

"I don't care a hang for them," said Harry.

"And what about the Arbitration?"

"Absurd, if I'm going to live in a state of war!"

Suddenly came a sound of wheels rolling briskly along the road from
behind them. Cecily sprang away with a start.

"Oh, the fly's not come back?" she cried.

"Perhaps there's still a chance for one of us."

She caught him by the arm. "Listen! Is it stopping? No! It must be past
the house!"

"Do you want it to stop?" he asked.

She turned her eyes on him; he saw them gleam through the darkness. He
saw her lips just move; he heard no more than the lingering fear, the
passionate reproach, of her murmured exclamation, "Oh, Harry!"

The next instant a voice rang out in the night, loud, mellow, and
buoyant. They listened as it sang, its notes dominating the sound of the
wheels and seeming to fill the air around them, growing louder as the
wheels came near, sinking again as they passed on the road to Mingham:

"Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine:
Or leave a kiss but in the cup
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine:--"

Gradually, melodiously, and happily the voice died away in the distance,
and silence came. Harry drew his love to him.

"Dear old Bob Broadley!" said he softly. "He's driving back from
Fairholme, and he seems most particularly jolly."

"Yes," she murmured. Then she broke into a low, merry, triumphant laugh.