t so for an
instant in silence. The air seemed to have grown close and heavy, and
Carlton saw her dimly. In the silence he heard the splash of the
fountain behind them, and the rustling of the leaves in the night wind,
and the low, sighing murmur of a waltz.

He raised his head to listen, and she saw in the moonlight that he was
smiling. It was as though he wished to delay any answer she might make
to his last words.

"That is the waltz," he said, still speaking in a whisper, "that the
gypsies played that night--" He stopped, and Miss Morris answered him
by bending her head slowly in assent. It seemed to be an effort for
her to even make that slight gesture.

"YOU don't remember it," said Carlton. "It meant nothing to you. I
mean that night on the steamer when I told you what love meant to other
people. What a fool I was!" he said, with an uncertain laugh.

"Yes, I remember it," she said--"last Thursday night, on the steamer."

"Thursday night!" exclaimed Carlton, indignantly. "Wednesday night,
Tuesday night, how should I know what night of the week it was? It was
the night of my life to me. That night I knew that I loved you as I
had never hoped to care for any one in this world. When I told you
that I did not know what love meant I felt all the time that I was
lying. I knew that I loved you, and that I could never love any one
else, and that I had never loved any one before; and if I had thought
then you could care for me, your engagement or your promises would
never have stopped my telling you so. You said that night that I would
learn to love all the better, and more truly, for having doubted myself
so long, and, oh, Edith," he cried, taking both her hands and holding
them close in his own, "I cannot let you go now! I love you so! Don't
laugh at me; don't mock at me. All the rest of my life depends on you."

And then Miss Morris laughed softly, just as he had begged her not to
do, but her laughter was so full of happiness, and came so gently and
sweetly, and spoke so truly of content, that though he let go of her
hands with one of his, it was only that he might draw her to him, until
her face touched his, and she felt the strength of his arm as he held
her against his breast.

The Hohenwalds occupied the suite of rooms on the first floor of the
hotel, with the privilege of using the broad balcony that reached out
from it over the front entrance. And at the time when Mrs. Downs and
Edith