rock and enjoy the mountains while I see how
he is?" said the bishop.

So they parted at the door, and Aunt Sally brought her a chair and stood
beside her, giving her every detail of the affair as far as she knew it.
She sat bareheaded in the sun, to Sally's amazement, for she had her hat
in her lap and could have worn it.

The wind blew wisps of her fine straight hair across her pink cheeks
and in her eyes, as she gazed out upon the blue mountains and listened
to Sally's tale of "How hit all come about." For Sally went back into
the family history of the Teasleys, and the Caswells, and the Merlins,
and the Farwells, until Betty forgot the flight of time and the bishop
called her. Then she went in to see David.

He had worked his right hand free from its bandages and was able to lift
it a little. She took it in hers, and looked brightly down at him.

"Why, Doctor Thryng, you look better than when you were in Farington!
Doesn't he, James? Aunt Sally gave me to understand you were nearly
dead."

David laughed happily. "I was, but I am very much alive now. I am to be
married, Mrs. Towers; our wedding is to be quite _comme il faut_. It is
to be at high noon, and the ceremony performed by a bishop."

"James!" Betty dropped into a chair and looked helplessly at her
husband. "You haven't your vestments here!"

"I have all I need, dear. You know, Doctor, from Mr. Belew's telegram we
were led to expect--"

"A death instead of a wedding?" David finished.

Betty turned to him. "Why didn't you tell us when you were down? You
never gave the slightest hint of your state of mind, and there I was
with my heart aching for Cassandra, when you--you stood ready to save
her. I'm so glad for Cassandra; I could hug you, Doctor Thryng."
Suddenly she turned on her husband. "James! Have you thought of
everything--all the consequences? What will his mother--and the family
over in England say?"

James threw up his hand and laughed.

"Don't laugh, James. Have you thought this all out, Doctor? Are you sure
you can make them understand over there? Won't they think this awfully
irregular? Will they ever be reconciled? I know how they are. My father
was English."

"They never need be reconciled. It's our affair, and there's nothing to
call me back there to live. What I do, or whom I make my wife, is
nothing to them. I may visit my mother, of course, but for the rest,
they gave me up years ago, when I had no use for the life they mapped