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“This is a new sort of thing to me, but I can bear it, and upon my life I think I feel the better for it already.”

And so he did; for though he was no Augustine to turn in an hour from worldly hopes and climb to sainthood through long years of inward strife, yet in aftertimes no one knew how many false steps had been saved, how many small sins repented of, through the power of the memory that far away a generous woman waited to respect him, and in his secret soul he owned that one of the best moments of his life was that in which little Debby Wilder whispered “No,” and kissed him.

As he passed from sight, the girl leaned her head upon her hand, thinking sorrowfully to herself,–

“What right had I to censure him, when my own actions are so far from true? I have done a wicked thing, and as an honest girl I should undo it, if I can. I have broken through the rules of a false propriety for Clara’s sake; can I not do as much for Frank’s? I will. I’ll find him, if I search the house,–and tell him all, though I never dare to look him in the face again, and Aunt Pen sends me home to-morrow.”

Full of zeal and courage, Debby caught up her hat and ran down the steps, but, as she saw Frank Evan coming up the path, a sudden panic fell upon her, and she could only stand mutely waiting his approach.

It is asserted that Love is blind; and on the strength of that popular delusion novel heroes and heroines go blundering through three volumes of despair with the plain truth directly under their absurd noses: but in real life this theory is not supported; for to a living man the countenance of a loving woman is more eloquent than any language, more trustworthy than a world of proverbs, more beautiful than the sweetest love-lay ever sung.

Frank looked at Debby, and “all her heart stood up in her eyes,” as she stretched her hands to him, though her lips only whispered very low,–

“Forgive me, and let me say the ‘Yes’ I should have said so long ago.”

Had she required any assurance of her lover’s truth, or any reward for her own, she would have found it in the change that dawned so swiftly in his face, smoothing the lines upon his forehead, lighting the gloom of his eye, stirring his firm lips with a sudden tremor, and making his touch as soft as it was strong. For a moment both stood very still, while Debby’s tears streamed down like summer rain; then Frank drew her into the green shadow of the grove, and its peace soothed her like a mother’s voice, till she looked up smiling with a shy delight her glance had never known before. The slant sunbeams dropped a benediction on their heads, the robins peeped, and the cedars whispered, but no rumor of what further passed ever went beyond the precincts of the wood; for such hours are sacred, and Nature guards the first blossoms of a human love as tenderly as she nurses May-flowers underneath the leaves.

Mrs. Carroll had retired to her bed with a nervous headache, leaving Debby to the watch and ward of friendly Mrs. Earle, who performed her office finely by letting her charge entirely alone. In her dreams Aunt Pen was just imbibing a copious draught of champagne at the wedding-breakfast of her niece, “Mrs. Joseph Leavenworth,” when she was roused by the bride elect, who passed through the room with a lamp and a shawl in her hand.

“What time is it, and where are you going, dear?” she asked, dozily wondering if the carriage for the wedding-tour was at the door so soon.

“It’s only nine, and I am going for a sail, Aunt Pen.”

As Debby spoke, the light flashed full into her face, and a sudden thought into Mrs. Carroll’s mind. She rose up from her pillow, looking as stately in her night-cap as Maria Theresa is said to have done in like unassuming head-gear.

“Something has happened, Dora! What have you done? What have you said? I insist upon knowing immediately,” she demanded, with somewhat startling brevity.

“I have said ‘No’ to Mr. Leavenworth and ‘Yes’ to Mr. Evan; and I should like to go home to-morrow, if you please,” was the equally concise reply.

Mrs. Carroll fell flat in her bed, and lay there stiff and rigid as Morlena Kenwigs. Debby gently drew the curtains, and stole away leaving Aunt Pen’s wrath to effervesce before morning.

The moon was hanging luminous and large on the horizon’s edge, sending shafts of light before her till the melancholy ocean seemed to smile, and along that shining pathway happy Debby and her lover floated into that new world where all things seem divine.