ior knowledge of evil, I'll look the book over
myself and see if it is the kind of reading I should like to put in the
hands of Sandy and Jock."

Danvers Carmichael's eyes glowed with humor as he joined in the laugh
with us.

"Under your careful bringing up they should be fine fellows, these
fathers of ours," he laughed.

"I've done the best I could by them," Nancy answered demurely; "but on
the whole, Mr. Carmichael, I think I have succeeded better with Jamie
Henderlin."

When Nancy withdrew, Danvers went with her to the foot of the stairs,
holding her in talk for a few minutes, with looks of passionate
approval in his eyes.

Before we went to our rooms, for I insisted that they should remain all
night at Stair, the talk turned upon marriage in some way, and Sandy
rallied his son upon his bachelorhood.

"Twenty-four years old," he said, "and a bachelor still! Why, I was a
father at that time. Never mind," he continued, "never mind, my lad.
Your time is coming!"

"In truth, I think it has come," Danvers returned, simply, and the
glance that went with the words was not toward his father, but toward
me.

I was lying in my bed with eyes staring wide at the ceiling, recalling
Nancy's real birthday more than eighteen years gone by; thinking of
Marian; wondering if she knew the beauty of the child we had; demanding
from the Great Father of all that she should know--should remember
Nancy and me; that she, the mother and wife, might, in some way unknown
to us, still be a part of our earthly living; recalling Danvers with
approval, dreaming perhaps that Nancy and he, at no far date, might
marry and so cement a friendship between two middle-aged gentlemen who
had foregathered with each other many years before, when I heard a
light tap at my door.

"Who is it?" I cried.

"It's Nancy," answered the voice. "May I come in?"

She pushed the door ajar and entered in a long white dressing-gown,
carrying in one hand a branch of candles and in the other a book, with
her finger marking the place.

It is exceedingly hard for me to describe the beauty of her, the
uplifted look on her face and the shine of her eye, for this beauty
seemed kindled by a fire from within, and she had with it an excitement
as of one who had heard pleasant news or to whom great treasures have
just been given.

"Jock," she asked, "have you been sleeping?"

"No," said I.

"Oh, listen then," she cried, "for indeed it was not possible that I
shou