arm, "I love you! Do you--love me?"

To Rena this simple avowal came with much
greater force than a more formal declaration could
have had. It appealed to her own simple nature.
Indeed, few women at such a moment criticise the
form in which the most fateful words of life--but
one--are spoken. Words, while pleasant, are
really superfluous. Her whispered "Yes" spoke
volumes.

They walked on past the house, along the country
road into which the street soon merged. When
they returned, an hour later, they found Warwick
seated on the piazza, in a rocking-chair, smoking a
fragrant cigar.

"Well, children," he observed with mock severity,
"you are late in getting home from church. The
sermon must have been extremely long."

"We have been attending an after-meeting,"
replied Tryon joyfully, "and have been discussing
an old text, `Little children, love one another,'
and its corollary, `It is not good for man to live
alone.' John, I am the happiest man alive. Your
sister has promised to marry me. I should like to
shake my brother's hand."

Never does one feel so strongly the universal