ed mountain streams, had passed a village, left a
ruined tower behind, and were still facing eastward, as if Lucerne had no
further claims upon them and the world was all their own.

As the snows of the higher peaks burst upon their view, she made an
attempt to stop this seeming flight.

"My uncle," she said. "He will be counting the hours. Let us go back."

Then Carleton Roberts spoke.

"Another mile," he whispered, not because he feared being overheard by
their driver, but because Love's note is instinctively low. "You are
cold; we shall find there a fire, and dinner--and--Listen, Ermentrude,--a
minister ready to unite us. We are going back, man and wife."

"Carleton!"

"Yes, dear, it is quite understood. Letters are urging my return to New
York. Your uncle is holding you here. I cannot face an uncertain
separation. I must feel that you are mine beyond all peradventure--must
be able to think of you as my wife, and that will hold us both and make
it proper for you to come to me if I cannot come to you, the moment
you are free to go where you will."

"But why this long ride, this far-away spot? Why couldn't a minister be
found in Lucerne? Is our marriage to be as secret as our engagement?
Is that what you wish, Carleton?"

"Yes, dear; for a little while, just for a little while, till I have seen
my mother, and rid our way of every obstacle to complete happiness. It
will be better. When one has promised to love _forever_, what are a few
weeks or months. Make me happy, dear. You have it in your power to do so.
Happy! When once I can whisper 'wife,' the world will not hold a happier
man than I."

Did she yield because of her own great longing? No, it was by that phrase
he caught her: _The world will not hold a happier man than I_.

* * * * *

Mountains! Icy peaks, with sides heavy with snow! And so near! Almost
they seemed to meet across the narrow valley. She gave them one quick
glance, then her eyes and her heart became absorbed in what she could see
of this Alpine village, holding up its head in the eternal snows like an
edelweiss on the edge of a glacier.

It was to be the scene of her one great act in life; the spot she was
entering as a maiden and would leave as a wife. What other spot would
ever be so interesting! To note its every detail of house and church
would not take long--it was such a little village, and the streets were
so few; and the people--why she could count