before--that thrilled her now, awakening into fuller life these new
emotions whose birth was in gladder, sweeter, purer aspirations.

"Miss Vail," he said, in a low voice, "there was a letter--a letter that
Naida left--did you know of it?"

They were close together, and it was very dark--but was it dark enough
to hide the crimson that she felt sweeping in a flood to her face! What
was in that letter? Had Mrs. Thornton written as she had talked, or only
about the Patriarch and the work in Needley? She had forgotten for the
moment about the letter--if there were more in it than that, if it were
about Thornton and herself and what Mrs. Thornton had hoped for between
them, and she admitted knowledge of it, what would he think, what
_could_ he think of her! But to deny it--no, not now. Once, and this
came to her in a little thrill of gladness, she would not have
hesitated; but now it--it was--it was not that world of yesterday.

"Yes," she said faintly; "she told me that she had left a letter for
you."

"It was about the work here," said Thornton gently. "Her whole soul
seemed wrapt up in that--and she asked me as her last wish to do what
she would have done if she had lived; and she spoke of you very
beautifully." Thornton paused for a moment--then he laid his hands on
Helena's shoulders--and she felt them tremble a little. "Miss
Vail--Helena," he said, and his voice was full of passionate earnestness
now, "I cannot say these things well--only simply. I came back here to
take an interest in the work, for I too have it at heart--but I have
more than that now--there is _you_--your dear self. I love you,
Helena--you have come into my life until you are everything and all to
me. Helena, look up at me--will you marry me, dear? Tell me what I long
to hear. Helena, Helena--I love you!"

But Helena did not answer--only very slowly she raised her head. And his
hands on her shoulders tightened, and he was drawing her gently toward
him. Then he bent his head until it was close to hers, and his breath
was upon her cheek as it had been that other night--and the longing to
know that it was hers, a caress, pure in its motive, hers, snatched out
of all that had gone before that sought to rob her of the right to ever
know it, fascinated her, held her spellbound, possessed her. Closer his
lips came to hers, closer, until they touched her--and then, with a cry,
she sprang back, and her hands were fiercely pressed against her cheeks,
her