d with
noiseless step. The light poured full upon his head. How gray he was! A
boundless pity surged over her that this tender, valiant knight should
have missed what first her mother had known--now she herself--requited
love. To have everything in the world without that was to have nothing.
She would not wake him; she would let him sleep until Captain Harrison
came. Lightly she touched the gray head with her lips and stole from the
study.

"Oh, Molly, Molly!" Cutty whispered into his rigid fingers.

And so they were married, in the apartment, at the top of the world, on
a May night thick with stars. It was not a wedding; it was a marriage.
The world never knew because it was none of the world's business. Who
was Kitty Conover? A nobody. Who was John Hawksley? Something to be.

Out of the storm into the calm; which is something of a reversal.
Generally in love affairs happiness is found in the approach to the
marriage contract; the disillusions come afterward. It was therefore
logical that Kitty and her lover should be happy, as they had run the
gamut of test and fire beforehand.

The young people were to leave for the West soon after the supper for
three. At midnight Cutty's ship would be boring down the bay. Did Kitty
regret, even a little, the rice and old shoes, the bridesmaids and
cake, so dear to the female of the species? She did not. Did she think
occasionally of the splendour of the title that was hers? She did. To
her mind Mrs. John Hawksley was incomparably above and beyond anything
in that Bible of autocracy--the Almanach de Gotha.

After supper Cutty brought in the old Amati.

"Play," he said, lighting his pipe.

So Hawksley played--played as he never had played before and perhaps as
he would never play again. We reach zenith sometimes, but we never stay
there. But he was not playing to Cutty. Slate-blue eyes, two books with
endless pages, the soul of this wife of his. He had come through. The
miracle had been accomplished. Love.

Kitty smiled and smiled, the doors of her soul thrown wide to absorb
this magic message. Love.

Cutty smoked on, with his eyes closed. He heard it, too. Love.

"Well," he said, sighing, "I see innovations out there in Montana. The
round-up will be different. The Pied Fiddler of Bar-K will stand in
the corral and fiddle, and the bossies will come galloping in, two
by two--and a few jackrabbits!" He laughed. "John, the Amati is yours
conditionally. If after one year it i