pair.

"I will bring you the letter," he says, moving toward the door. When he
does bring it--when she had read it and satisfied herself of the loyalty
so long doubted, where, he asks himself, will they two be then? Further
apart than ever? He has forgiven a great deal--much more than this--and
yet, strange human nature, he knows if he once leaves the room and her
presence now, he will never return again. The letter she will see--but
him--never!

The door is open. He has almost crossed the threshold. Once again her
voice recalls him, once again he looks back, she is holding out her arms
to him.

"Cyril! Cyril!" she cried. "I believe you."

She staggers toward him. Mercifully the fountain of her tears breaks
loose, she flings herself into his willing arms, and sobs out a whole
world of grief upon his bosom.

It is a cruel moment, yet one fraught with joy as keen as the sorrow--a
fire of anguish out of which both emerge purified, calmed--gladdened.

CHAPTER LVIII.

"Lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers
appear on the earth; the time of the singing of the birds has
come."

The vague suspicion of rain that had filled their thoughts at breakfast
has proved idle. The sun is shining forth again with redoubled vigor, as
if laughing their silly doubts to scorn. Never was there so fair a day.
One can almost see the plants growing in the garden, and from every
bough the nesting birds are singing loud songs of joy.

The meadows are showing a lovely green, and in the glades and uplands
the

"Daffodils
That come before the swallow dares,"

are uprearing their lovely heads. The air is full of sweet scents and
sounds, and Joyce, jumping down from the drawing-room window, that lies
close to the ground, looks gladly round her. Perhaps it is not so much
the beauty of the scene as the warmth of happiness in her own heart that
brings the smile to her lips and eyes.

He will be here to-day! Involuntarily she raises one hand and looks at
the ring that encircles her engaged finger. A charming ring of pearls
and sapphires. It evidently brings her happy thoughts, as, after gazing
at it for a moment or two, she stoops and presses her lips eagerly to
it. It is his first gift (though not his last), and therefore the most
precious. What girl does not like receiving a present from her lover?
The least mercenary woman on earth must feel a glow at her heart and