e barrier between Bob and Willie began slowly to wear away. The
little old man was of far too believing and charitable a nature to hold
out long against his own optimism; moreover, he detested strife and was
much more willing to endure a wrong than to harbor ill feeling; hence
he was only too ready to reconstruct Janoah's venomous story into terms
of his native blind faith. He did not, to be sure, understand, and for
days and nights he puzzled ceaselessly over the problem events
presented; but as no light was forthcoming, his zest in the enigma
cooled until the mystery took on the unfathomable quality of various
other mysteries he had wrestled with and finally shelved as
unanswerable. There was the invention to finish, and so eager was he
to see it completed that to this interest every other thought was
subordinated. Therefore, although misgivings assailed him, they
gradually receded into his subconsciousness, leaving behind them much
of the good will he had formerly cherished toward Robert Morton.

The olive branch Willie tacitly extended Bob seized with avidity. Had
not the world suddenly become too perfect to be marred by discord?
Why, in the exuberance of his joy he would have forgiven anybody
anything! He did own to bruised feelings, but time is a great healer
of both mental and of physical pain, and the hurts he had received soon
dimmed into scars that carried with them no acute sensation. His mind
was too much occupied with Delight Hathaway and the wonder of their
love for him to think to any great extent of himself. The romance
still remained a secret between them, for so vehement had been the
turmoil into which Zenas Henry had been thrown by the tidings of the
girl's past history that it seemed unwise to follow blow with blow and
acquaint him just at present with the news of the lovers' engagement.
Moreover, there was Cynthia Galbraith to consider. Robert Morton was
too chivalrous to be brutal to any woman, much less an old friend like
Cynthia.

Hence he and Delight moved in a dream, the full beauty of which they
alone sensed. Their secret was all the more delicious for being a
secret, and with all life before them they agreed they could afford to
wait. Nevertheless concealment was at variance with the character of
either, and although they derived a certain exhilaration from their
clandestine happiness they longed for the time when their path should
lie entirely in the open, when Zenas Henry's cons