er she loosened herself from his embrace and taking his
face in her small, white hands looked long and earnestly into his eyes,
smoothing back the hair from his brow as she used to do; kissing him
on the forehead, on each eyelid, and then on the mouth--one of their
old-time caresses. Still remembering the old days, she threw back his
coat and let her hands wander over his full-corded throat and chest
and arms. How big and strong he had become! and how handsome he had
grown--the boy merged into the man. And that other something! (and
another and stronger thrill shot through her)--that other something
which seemed to flow out of him;--that dominating force that betokened
leadership, compelling her to follow--not the imperiousness of
his father, brooking no opposition no matter at what cost, but the
leadership of experience, courage, and self-reliance.

With this the sense of possession swept over her. He was all her own and
for ever! A man to lean upon; a man to be proud of; one who would listen
and understand: to whom she could surrender her last stronghold--her
will. And the comfort of it all; the rest, the quiet, the assurance of
everlasting peace: she who had been so torn and buffeted and heart-sore.

For many minutes she lay still from sheer happiness, thrilled by the
warmth and pressure of his strong arms. At last, when another thought
could squeeze itself into her mind, she said: "Won't Uncle George be
glad, Harry?"

"Yes," he answered, releasing her just far enough to look into her
eyes. "It will make him well. You made him very happy this morning. His
troubles are over, I hear--he's going to get a lot of his money back."

"Oh, I'm so glad. And will we take him with us?" she asked wonderingly,
smoothing back his hair as she spoke.

"Take him where, darling?" he laughed.

"To where we are going--No, you needn't laugh--I mean it. I don't care
where we go," and she looked at him intently. "I'll go with you anywhere
in the world you say, and I'll start to-morrow."

He caught her again in his arms, kissed her for the hundredth time, and
then suddenly relaxing his hold asked in assumed alarm: "And what about
your father? What do you think he will say? He always thought me a
madcap scapegrace--didn't he?" The memory brought up no regret. He
didn't care a rap what the Honorable Prim thought of him.

"Yes--he thinks so now," she echoed, wondering how anybody could have
formed any such ideas of her Harry.

"Well,