her knees beside him, and his hand held hers
while the blazing splinter set the pine kindling aflame. Quickly the whole
room was aglow with light and warmth, in cheerful contrast to the stormy
tumult outside.

"Somebody said once," observed Harlan, as they drew their chairs close to
the hearth, "that four feet on a fender are sufficient for happiness."

"Depends altogether on the feet," rejoined Dorothy, quickly. "I wouldn't
want Uncle Ebeneezer sitting here beside me--no disrespect intended to
your relation, as such."

"Poor old duck," said Harlan, kindly. "Life was never very good to him,
and Death took away the only thing he ever loved.

"Aunt Rebecca," he continued, feeling her unspoken question. "She died
suddenly, when they had been married only three or four weeks."

"Like us," whispered Dorothy, for the first time conscious of a tenderness
toward the departed Mr. Judson, of Judson Centre.

"It was four weeks ago to-day, wasn't it?" he mused, instinctively seeking
her hand.

"I thought you'd forgotten," she smiled back at him. "I feel like an old
married woman, already."

"You don't look it," he returned, gently. Few would have called her
beautiful, but love brings beauty with it, and Harlan saw an exquisite
loveliness in the deep, dark eyes, the brown hair that rippled and shone
in the firelight, the smooth, creamy skin, and the sensitive mouth that
betrayed every passing mood.

"None the less, I am," she went on. "I've grown so used to seeing 'Mrs.
James Harlan Carr' on my visiting cards that I've forgotten there ever was
such a person as 'Miss Dorothy Locke,' who used to get letters, and go
calling when she wasn't too busy, and have things sent to her when she had
the money to buy them."

"I hope--" Harlan stumbled awkwardly over the words--"I hope you'll never
be sorry."

"I haven't been yet," she laughed, "and it's four whole weeks. Come, let's
go on an exploring expedition. I'm dry both inside and out, and most
terribly hungry."

Each took a candle and Harlan led the way, in and out of unexpected doors,
queer, winding passages, and lonely, untenanted rooms. Originally, the
house had been simple enough in structure, but wing after wing had been
added until the first design, if it could be dignified by that name, had
been wholly obscured. From each room branched a series of apartments--a
sitting-room, surrounded by bedrooms, each of which contained two or
sometimes three beds. A combined kitch