p," he repeated, "but you must
not misunderstand. I wonder if it would be more kind to tell you the
truth, even though it cost me what I value so."

"Don't,--please don't!" she begged.

"I fear I must," he said with decision, "no matter what it costs.
Whether this strain with Hamlen has weakened my resolve, or because the
romance of the Japanese Benten hovers over this spot and bids me speak,
I must tell you, little girl, that my friendship has only been a blind
to cover something far deeper, which I have no right to offer you. The
time has come for you to know that, for it will tell you what you are to
me. I would relinquish all I possess to turn back the years until they
gave me the right to ask you to be my wife."

She started to her feet and tried to speak, but he stopped her.

"You don't need to answer," he insisted. "I understand only too well."

"But the girl you met too late--"

"Was you, dear child! I am a generation ahead of my time; otherwise I
believe it might have been."

He smiled as he always did when deeply moved, but this time the sadness
showed through the mask. As the full comprehension of his words came to
her, Merry's color faded but she looked into his face with a woman's
candor.

"Is the difference in our ages the only reason?" she asked.

"Alas! that is enough!"

"No, no!" she cried impulsively. "You wouldn't let that stand between
us!"

"Do you realize what you are saying, Merry? It can't be that you
understand!"

"I do! I do!" she cried. "Please don't stop. Say it to me!"

He placed his arm around her and drew her to him. "Can it possibly be?"
he demanded incredulously. "Can this really have come to me?"

Merry hid her face on his shoulder. "Say it!" she insisted,
"please,--please say it!"

"Merry--child--I love you!"

Her arm crept about his neck, and then her radiant face came out from
its hiding place, and held itself ready for the consecration.

* * * * *

XXXVIII

* * * * *

They lingered in happy disregard of passing time, each seeming to fear
disillusionment if they deserted their magic garden. Huntington no
longer felt the oppression of the years, Merry no longer drifted from
her anchorage.

"Monty," she whispered slyly,--"dare I call you Monty?"

"If you don't, I shall call you incorrigible!"

"Monty,--who is Benten?"

She asked the question so hesitatingly, as if ashamed to admit her