nd he read his answer in their clear depths. But
he was too exacting to be satisfied thus.

"Do you love me, Margie? I want to hear the words from your lips. Speak,
darling. They are for my ear alone, and you need not blush to utter
them."

"I do love you, Archer. I believe I have loved you ever since the first."

"And you will be mine? All my own!"

She gave him her hands. He drew the head, with its soft, bright hair, to
his breast, and kissed the sweet lips again and again, almost failing to
realize the blessed reality of his happiness.

It was late that night before Archer Trevlyn left his betrothed bride,
and took his way to the village hotel. But he was too happy, too full of
sweet content, to heed the lapse of time. At last the longing of his life
was satisfied. He had heard her say that she loved him.

And Margie sat and listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps, and
then went up to her chamber to pass the night, wakeful, too content to be
willing to lose the time in sleep, and so the dawn of morning found her
with open eyes.

* * * * *

The ensuing winter was a very gay one. Margaret Harrison returned to New
York under the chaperonage of her friend, Mrs. Weldon, and mingled more
freely in society than she had done since the season she "came out." She
took pleasure in it now, for Archer Trevlyn was welcomed everywhere. He
was a favored guest in the most aristocratic homes, and people peculiarly
exclusive were happy to receive him into their most select gatherings.

His engagement with Margie was made public, and the young people were
overwhelmed with the usual compliments of politely expressed hopes and
fashionable congratulations.

The gentleman said Miss Harrison had always been beautiful, but this
season she was more than that. Happiness is a rare beautifier. It painted
Margie's cheeks and lips with purest rose color, and gave a light to her
eyes and a softness to her sweet voice.

Of course she did not mingle in society, even though her engagement
was well known, without being surrounded by admirers. They fairly took
her away from Arch, sometimes; but he tried to be patient. Before the
apple-trees in the green country valleys were rosy with blossoms, she
was to be all his own. He could afford to be generous.

Among the train of her admirers was a young Cuban gentleman, Louis
Castrani, a man of fascinating presence and great personal beauty. He had
been unfo