d Aunt Hitty represents the
stake. For eighteen or nineteen years, your rope has been so short
that you could hardly move at all. Now things are changed, and I
represent the stake. You've got the longest rope, now, that was ever
made in one piece. See?"

"I'll come back," answered Araminta, seriously. "I don't think I need
any rope at all."

"No, dear, I know that. I was only joking. You poor child, you've
lived so long with that old dragon that you scarcely recognise a joke
when you see one. A sense of humour, Araminta, is a saving grace for
anybody. Next to Love, it's the finest gift of the gods."

"Have I got it?"

"I guess so. I think it's asleep, but we'll wake it up. Look here,
dear--see what I brought you."

From his pocket, Ralph took a small purple velvet case, lined with
white satin. Within was a ring, set with a diamond, small in
circumference, but deep, and of unusual brilliancy. By a singular
coincidence, it fitted Araminta's third finger exactly.

"Oh-h!" she cried, her cheeks glowing. "For me?"

"Yes, for you--till I get you another one. This was my mother's ring,
sweetheart. I found it among my father's things. Will you wear it,
for her sake and for mine?"

"I'll wear it always," answered Araminta, her great grey eyes on his,
"and I don't want any other ring. Why, if it hadn't been for her, I
never could have had you."

Ralph took her into his arms. His heart was filled with that supreme
love which has no need of words.

Meanwhile Miss Mehitable was having her bad quarter of an hour.
Man-like, Thorpe had taken himself away from a spot where he felt there
was about to be a display of emotion. She was in the house alone, and
the acute stillness of it seemed an accurate foreshadowing of the
future.

Miss Mehitable was not among those rare souls who are seldom lonely.
Her nature demanded continuous conversation, the subject alone being
unimportant. Every thought that came into her mind was destined for a
normal outlet in speech. She had no mental reservoir.

Araminta was going away--to be married. In spite of her trouble, Miss
Mehitable noted the taint of heredity. "It's in her blood," she
murmured, "and maybe Minty ain't so much to blame."

In this crisis, however, Miss Mehitable had the valiant support of her
conscience. She had never allowed the child to play with boys--in
fact, she had not had any playmates at all. As soon as Araminta was
old enough to unders