her," answered Paul, a flush of feeling showing in
his cheek. "I did not come, expecting it--my errand was one I owed to
yourself--but Faith knows quite well how glad I shall be if she chooses
to see me."

As Mr. Gartney crossed the hall from parlor to sitting room, a light
step came over the front staircase.

Faith passed her father, with a downcast look, as he motioned with his
hand toward the room where Paul stood, waiting. The bright color spread
to her temples as she glided in.

She held, but did not wear, the little turquoise ring.

Paul saw it, as he came forward, eagerly.

A thrill of hope, or dread--he scarce knew which--quivered suddenly at
his heart. Was he to take it back, or place it on her finger as a
pledge?

"I have been thinking, Paul," said she, tremulously, and with eyes that
fell again away from his, after the first glance and greeting, "almost
ever since. And I do not think I ought to keep you waiting to know the
little I can tell you. I do not think I understand myself. I cannot
tell, certainly, how I ought--how I do feel. I have liked you very much.
And it was very pleasant to me before all this. I know you deserve to be
made very happy. And if it depends on me, I do not dare to say I will
not try to do it. If you think, yourself, that this is enough--that I
shall do the truest thing so--I will try."

And the timid little fingers laid the ring into his hand, to do with as
he would.

What else could Paul have done?

With the strong arm that should henceforth uphold and guard her, he drew
her close; and with the other hand slipped the simply jeweled round upon
her finger. For all word of answer, he lifted it, so encircled, to his
lips.

Faith shrank and trembled.

Hendie's voice sounded, jubilant, along the upper floor, toward the
staircase.

"I will go, now, if you wish. Perhaps I ought," said Paul. "And yet, I
would so gladly stay. May I come again, by and by?"

Faith uttered a half-audible assent, and as Hendie's step came nearer
down the stairs, and passed the door, straight out upon the grassplot,
toward the gate, and the long-tailed black horse that stood there, she
escaped again to her own chamber.

Hendie had his ride. Meanwhile, his sister, down upon her knees at her
bedside, struggled with the mystery and doubt of her own heart. Why
could she not feel happier? Would it never be otherwise? Was this all
life had for her, in its holiest gift, henceforth? But, come what mig