his footstep on the stoop.

The latch clicked, and he was in the hall.

There was a flash of red silk and two white arms were around his
neck, her form convulsed with a joy she could not control or try
to conceal.

He soothed her as a child, and, as he kissed her tenderly, felt
her lips swollen and wet with the salt tears of hours of weeping.

"You will not remember the foolish things I said to-night, dear?"
she pleaded. "There, there, I'll blot them out with kisses--one for
every harsh word, and one more for love's own sake. But you must
promise me, Frank, never to leave me like that again." A sob caught
her voice, and her head drooped.

"You may curse me, strike me, do anything but that. Oh, the loneliness,
the agony and horror of those hours when I realised you were gone
in anger and might not come back to-night--dear, it was too cruel.
Such wild thoughts swept my heart! You do forgive me?"

He stooped and kissed her.

"Why ask it, Ruth?"

"I know I am selfish and fretful and wilful," she said, with a sigh.
"I was only a spoiled child of nineteen when you took me by storm,
body and soul. You remember, on our wedding day, when I looked up
into your handsome face and the sense of responsibility and joy