face through the mist.

"Go on, go on," she begged.

"I want you as I have wanted nothing else in life--not only for my own
sake, for yours. I want to chase all those lines of sorrow away from
your face."

"My poor, tired face," she faltered.

"Tired?" he repeated. "It's the most beautiful face on earth."

The smile which suddenly transformed her quivering mouth made it
indeed seem so.

"You are so foolish, dear, but go on," she pleaded.

"I want to see you grow younger and lighter-hearted. I want you to
realise day by day that something beautiful is stealing into your life. I
want you to feel what real love is--tender, passionate, lover's love."

"My dear, my dear!" she cried. "I do not dare to think of these things,
yet they sound so wonderful."

"Leave the daring to me, sweetheart," he answered. "You shall have
nothing to do but rest after these horrible days, rest and care for me
a little."

"Oh, I do care!" she exclaimed, with sudden passion. "That is what makes
it all so wonderful."

"You love me? Tell me so once more?" he begged.

"Dear, I love you. You must have known it or you couldn't have said these
things. And I thought I was going to die without knowing what love was."

"Never fear that again," he cried joyfully. "You shall know what it is
every hour of the day. You shall know what it is to feel yourself
surrounded by it, to feel it encompass you on every side. You shall know
what it is to have some one think for you, live for you, make sweet
places for your footsteps in life."

Her eyes shone. The years had fallen away. She rose tremblingly to her
feet, her arms stole around his neck.

"John, you dear, wonderful lover," she whispered, "why, it has come
already! I am forgetting everything. I am happy!"

The clock on Wingate's mantelpiece struck one. He drew himself gently
away from the marvel of those soft entwining arms, stooped and kissed
Josephine's fingers reverently.

"Dear," he said, "let me begin to take up my new responsibilities. We
must arrange for your stay here."

She laughed happily, rose, and with a woman's instinct stood before the
mirror, patting her hair.

"I don't recognise myself," she murmured. "Is this what love
brings, John?"

He stood for a moment by her side.

"Love?" he repeated. "Why, you haven't begun yet to realise what it
means--what it will bring to you."

Once more she set her hands upon his shoulders. Her eyes, which a moment
before had looked s