Again the next day they both visited the invalid girl. Nellie read to her, while Parson John sat and listened. They were becoming firm friends now, and Doris chatted unreservedly.

"I shall tell papa all about you," she said. "I have a letter almost finished, and shall mail it to-night. How I wish you could see him."

All through the day Dan had been much in Nellie's mind. The idea which had come to her the evening before was growing stronger. She believed it was Dan and no other who had rescued Tony. It was just like him, and she thought of the afternoon he had saved her and her cousin on the river. Should she tell her father? That was the question which she debated with herself hour after hour, and when they returned from their visit to Doris, she had not yet decided.

That evening she strolled out of the house, and down the road leading to a little brook. The air was balmy and fresh, and this was her favourite walk. Trees lined the way, stern old oaks, beeches and maples--the grove on her uncle's farm, the place where people came for miles to hold picnics.

As Nellie walked along her thoughts turned often to Glendow. She wondered what Stephen was doing, and if his logs were rafted. She missed him greatly. They had been so much together, had grown up as children, but not until this separation had she fully realized what he meant to her. She thought of the night he had come to tell about Nora and to say good-bye. Her face flushed, and a sweet peace came into her heart as she dwelt upon Stephen's manner that night--his confusion--his stammering words--and the burning kiss upon her hand. She stood on the little bridge now, in the quiet dusk of even, leaning against the railing and looking pensively down into the shallow water below. Suddenly she raised her hand and pressed it again and again to her lips--the same hand which Stephen had kissed.

A step upon the bridge startled her, and her heart beat fast. Had anyone seen what she did? She thought she was alone, but somebody was coming. She turned away her flushed face, and gazed down into the water, leaning her arms upon the railing. The steps drew nearer. They were opposite her, and soon they would pass. Some neighbour, no doubt, going home. If he had seen her action he would tell others, and soon every person around would know. Presently the steps paused. The silence frightened her. It was dusk; no house in sight, and she was alone. Quickly she faced about, and there standing before her was Stephen. A cry of surprise escaped her, and the next instant she felt his strong arms about her and his lips fervently pressing her own.

"Stephen!" she cried, struggling to free Herself. "How dare you! When did you come?"

"Just from home, and was resting under that big tree," Stephen replied still holding her tenderly. "I dared much after I saw what you did a few minutes ago. Oh, Nellie, Nellie. I have been waiting long for this moment! Surely, surely you are mine at last!"

The flush had left Nellie's face now, leaving it very white, though in the deepening twilight this was not noticeable. Her heart was beating tumultuously, and a new feeling of peace and rest was stealing over her. How powerful seemed the man standing there. So long had she been called upon to be strong, always helping, ever taking such a responsible place in life, caring for her father, strengthening him in his work--and upon her he depended. But now to feel that she could give herself up to another, one who had passed through a stern fight in the strength of his sturdy young manhood, and had come forth as victor. Yet mingling with this new-found joy came the thought of the dark shadow hanging over her father's life. How could she be happy when he was in trouble? For his sake she had kept the brave spirit and presented only the bright sunny face, and cheery words of hope. The tension for weeks, nay months, had been a severe strain--and now this sudden joy! It unnerved her. Words would not come to Stephen's passionate pleading, but in their stead tears stole down her cheeks, while her form trembled with convulsive sobs.

Stephen started in surprise.

"Nellie! Nellie!" he cried. "What have I done! Forgive me! I did not mean to hurt you! I thought you would understand. If you only knew how I love you--if you only----"

"I know it, Stephen--I know it. I am very foolish. Please forgive me. I cannot explain these tears--they come unbidden."

"Then you're not unhappy, Nellie? You are not cross with me?"

"Cross, dear Stephen, no. I am so happy, very happy. But why should I be happy when my father is in trouble? How dare I! Is it right?"

"Then you love me, Nellie! Oh, speak the word--let me hear it from your own lips!"

"Yes, Stephen, I do love you, don't you know it? I am yours, your very own."

"Thank God! thank God!" he cried, drawing her closer to him, and kissing her again and again. She did not resist now, but allowed him to hold her there while he breathed into her ear his sweet words of love. They were no studied, well-rounded phrases, but such as leaped from a true, noble heart, and the woman listening knew their worth.

"Why didn't you write to me, Stephen?" Nellie whispered, "and tell me you were coming? I have been worried lately, and it would have been something to look forward to."

"I didn't know I was coming until this morning," came the reply.

"Didn't know?"

"No--I left in the night."

"This is more mysterious than ever."

"Yes, I left very early this morning, and should have been here by the middle of the afternoon, but Dexter threw a shoe about five miles back. I had to leave him at a farm, and walk the remainder of the way. I was resting by the bridge when you came along. I was quite put out to think I had to tramp that distance and be so late. But now I know it was for the best. Doesn't everything turn out right, Nellie?"

"Y-y--es, some things do," was the reluctant reply. "This has, anyway, and I try to believe that all things concerning my poor father will come out right, too. I think we had better go to him now and tell him of our happiness. It may brighten him up a bit."

Side by side they walked slowly along the road, and Stephen told the whole story of Tony's return, the hidden box, the political meeting, the discovery of the gold in the safe, and Farrington's ignominious punishment.

They had reached the house by the time he had finished, and stood for a moment on the doorstep before entering. In Nellie's heart was such a joy that words would not come to her lips. She felt she must be asleep, and would awake to find it only an unsubstantial dream. But Stephen's arm around her, and his strong presence near, assured her that it was a blessed reality.

They found Mr. Westmore sitting alone in his little room, reading by the shaded lamp. He glanced quickly up and was surprised to see Stephen standing by Nellie's side. He saw the look of rapture upon their faces, and read at once the meaning of it all, and into his own weary face came a light which Nellie had not seen in many a day. She tried to speak, but words failed, and moving quickly forward she threw her arms about her father's neck, and kissed him fervently.

"Oh, father, I am so happy!" she whispered. "Do you know? Can you understand?"

"Yes, darling," he replied. "I do understand. Come near, Stephen, my son," and as the young man approached, he joined their hands, and bade them to kneel before him. Then stretching out his hand over the bowed heads, and in a voice trembling with emotion, he gave them his benediction. "May the Lord bless you and keep you," he said. "May the Lord make His face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you, and keep you true to Him and to each other unto your lives' end."

Sitting by Mr. Westmore's side that evening, Stephen told the story he had recently related to Nellie. Parson John sat straight upright in his chair, and his eyes never once left Stephen's face.

"And do you tell me!" he cried, when the latter ceased, "that Dan is injured--lying unconscious?"

"He was when Tony left."

"Poor dear boy! and he did it all for me!" murmured the parson. "What a sacrifice to make of his bright young life I I must go to him, Nellie, at once! In the morning! Poor Dan! Poor Dan!"

Thus the three sat for some time talking of the accident and planning for the journey. Not once did Mr. Westmore speak about the recovery of the gold, but that night in the quietness of his own room he poured out his soul, in a great, fervent prayer of thankfulness to the Father above, and also he sought His aid on behalf of a little wounded lad lying on a bed of pain in a farm-house miles away.