THE harvest moon that had smiled so benignly upon New York in all its fullness the evening before had proved a false prophet. The wind had shifted to the east and brought a copious rainfall during the early morning hours, and it was still drizzling when Morton’s carriage drew up before the Gramercy Park house.

The feelings of HelÈne, who had risen early, and in high spirits, had begun to oscillate while awaiting the arrival of Morton, alternating between looking forward with hopeful expectancy to meeting the ladies of whom she had thought so often, and the dread of a possible unfavorable impression she might create.

Laboring under these depressing doubts, her greeting of Morton appeared less spontaneous than he in his optimism had anticipated. The exchange of salutations became quite formal, his compliment on her appearance sounded commonplace. When, during the short drive to the Grand Central Station, he once more and rather soberly expressed his regret that their outing had begun in such unpromising weather, HelÈne turned to him with a somewhat pathetic smile:

“I don’t mind the rain at all. I think I am really frightened at the prospect of meeting Mrs. Morton and your sister!”

“You dear child—you need not worry on that score! They can’t help but like you, and I am quite confident that you will like them.”

“You give me courage, Mr. Morton—I do hope you will prove to be right!” HelÈne’s smile had now lost its pathos, anticipating to Morton the breaking of the sunshine through the clouds which was promised by a rapidly widening strip of heavenly blue.

In the drawing-room of the now quickly moving train, HelÈne found the opportunity she had been waiting for so long.

“Mr. Morton—I want to speak to you on a matter which has been constantly on my mind. It relates to that money in the Weimar bank. I cannot accept it—it is not rightfully mine. Please withdraw what of it is yours. I cannot take money from you, really I cannot!”

Morton was not surprised. He had expected some such outbreak as this. In the stillness of the past night, in which he had devoted some hours to his “Hellenic studies,” he had once again read the girl’s last letter to him, and while in the blissful state of having found her, had also decided what he would do should she speak of this matter.

“Miss Barton, you told me yesterday that you had written to me to Cleveland. The letter should reach me in two days. In that letter, I presume, you accept the injunctions laid upon you by your father? Am I right?” HelÈne, who had been anxiously awaiting his reply, nodded.

“Your father had enjoined me to act in his stead. Consequently, I have become, so to say, your legal guardian. Now, Miss HelÈne, as you are still a minor, any action with reference to any property or money you may own, lies with me. You surely do not question my qualifications for this duty?” HelÈne gave a protesting and frightened, “Oh—no!”

“Very good, then, suppose you leave this all to me and to my office. When the proper time arrives, my secretary will render you a full account. Until then, please let us dismiss it!” The mouth of his vis-À-vis showed a decided droop, which made Morton immediately change both his tone and tactics. Taking the little hand that hung listlessly at her side, and giving her his most brotherly smile, he said, as insinuatingly as he knew how:

“Poor child, you have been worrying all these months without any real cause! You should have had full confidence in your father’s wisdom and in me. Now remember what you promised me last evening? To-day is still summer, this is to be yours and Ruth’s day. Brush away the wrinkles from your brow and let us all be happy. See, the sun is shining again, bright and warm. The country will look the better for the rain. Even the elements are on their best behavior in your honor, Miss HelÈne, and you should reciprocate!”

His eyes met her searching glance unwaveringly. She saw no guile in them and her heart found its happiness in surrendering to his authority.

HelÈne and Morton were the sole occupants of the lumbering “carry-all” that deposited them at the open park gate. The gravel paths had dried, but the lawns still glistened with myriads of dazzling rain-born gems. The foliage of bush and tree shone with a renewed gloss and the sweet scent of new-mown hay belied the spring-morn redolence of the balmy air which was filled with faint whispers of bird-song.

HelÈne breathed the gracious air and with care-free heart tripped joyously by the side of her companion, exclaiming her delight in the beauty of her surroundings. Then both grew silent. The restfulness of the garden, the peace of the Sabbath and the hush of memories were upon them.

The path rose gradually. The sauntering pair advanced slowly until, emerging from a group of thick shrubbery, they caught the first glimpse of the majestic river glistening in the broad sunlight. The charming vista drew renewed admiration from HelÈne and brought the suggestion from her companion that she should rest upon a convenient stone seat in the deep shade nearby.

“We have many things to talk about, Miss HelÈne, and, I fear, once my mother meets you, I shall find very little further opportunity. You have given me an outline of your life during the past ten months, and you have told me you are now quite happy. Will you not tell me of your ambitions, of your work and, perhaps, of your plans? This is a cozy spot, almost made for friendly confidences.”

HelÈne’s eyes rose questioningly to his; but the calm face beamed kindly and invitingly on her.

“I am, indeed, very happy, Mr. Morton. I have not heard from either Weimar or Roumelia, so that I am entirely out of touch with my old life. What has been the fate of my country and my Princess? Perhaps you can enlighten me?”

She paused questioningly. Was she trying to gain time? But surely, it was Morton’s turn to speak.

“The last information I received from abroad,” replied Morton, “said that the Princess Marie-Louise was still at Weimar. Some ten days ago I had a letter from Mr. Rosen, the first news from Roumelia since we left it. Conditions there have at last begun to improve somewhat; life has become bearable, he writes. Miss Rachel is well. About the political state of the country, however, he is silent. From Berlin come rumors that the Royalist party is growing stronger every day and that an important move may be expected shortly. Would you wish to return to your own country, Miss HelÈne?”

“I have no one left there, Mr. Morton, who would claim me. And even if restitution were offered and papa’s land should be returned to me—what could I do there? No, Roumelia and I have parted forever, I fear. This country, your country, Mr. Morton, has opened to me a new vista in life, even if its prospects are not quite clear. But to tell the truth, I have not thought much of what is to come, and I have formed no plans for the future.”

But John had his plans, however, but these lay hidden in his breast, for the time had not yet come for him to reveal them. He had his road cut out before him.

“I am delighted to hear that our beautiful country finds an admirer in you. It well deserves it. Do you know, your remarks recall a curious prophecy pronounced by your father in one of our frequent conversations. He pointed out that history proves the constant trend of progress from the East to the West, and predicted that the most powerful commonwealths, the most enlightened people will in future dwell in the West. His words recurred to me the other night while thinking over what a friend of mine, a prominent professor of the city, had said to me on the subject of telepathy. I was wishing I could speak to you by means of this mysterious power, wishing I could bring you nearer to me or know where I could find you. And, behold, the very next day I met you! It must have been this mysterious force of the ‘westward trend’ that brought you here.”

A flush suffused HelÈne’s face. “Then you did sometimes think of me?” she asked shyly. “I see now that it was wrong in me not to write. But, oh, I was so ignorant of life—will you not forgive me? Happy as I was with Margaret, the thought of my negligence was never out of my mind—and—I corrected my error just as soon as I could!”

“My dear Miss HelÈne, my dear child—all is well that ends well!” He glanced about him; for he had a sudden feeling that eyes were hidden in the bushes. But all breathed rest and solitude, not a sound disturbed the still air. “Miss HelÈne, we have still some time before us. Mother and Ruth are at church. Let us walk up to the brow of the hill, where you can get a wider view of the river. It is but a few rods from there to the house, and we can time our arrival by observing my mother’s carriage drive up!”

HelÈne was chatting vivaciously now about her interesting work, and was expressing her admiration for the customs of this, her country by adoption. She permitted Morton the full enjoyment of her confidences. The path led to a low marble building patterned after a Grecian temple, which occupied the summit of the gentle hill.

“There is our goal, Miss HelÈne. Please do not turn round until you are on the porch; to obtain the full effect of the beauty of the view, it should come by surprise!” She smiled up to him happily and, obedient to his request, sat down on a wicker-bench he drew towards her. The next moment a glad cry of wonderment escaped her.

There before her gaze spread the broad river bordered by luxurious trees, the waves of which shimmered in the brilliant light of the sun now high above them, and beyond the glorious waters the olive smoothness of the hills on the opposite bank. The foreground, a well-kept park, lost itself into neighboring slopes equally parklike. On the waters, the one thing in motion, an ungainly barge towed by a powerful tug; and over all the quiet of leisure, the restfulness of solitude.

“Oh, Mr. Morton,” she exclaimed, “I am so grateful to you for bringing me here. It is glorious! And to think that we are but a few miles from the gigantic city and its teaming millions! Wonderful! I see now why your people love this place. Will you point out your house to me?”

“The house is hidden beyond that slight swell to your left. There, right under us, is the driveway. Shall we sit here awhile? It is so quiet and restful—almost like in a church, don’t you think?” He found a seat on one of the steps of the porch.

HelÈne, smiling assent, gratefully relaxed in her seat. She was too happy to speak. She felt at peace with herself and all the world.

“Miss HelÈne,” Morton broke into her reveries. “Would you be interested to know what happened to me since we parted? You have not inquired?”

“I am more than interested, only I had not the courage to ask. Please tell me.” She placed her hands together supplicatingly.

“May I go further back than one year? I should like to tell you about my earlier life. You may find it entertaining.”

“Nothing would please me more;” her animated eye confirmed her words. Morton sat leaning against the fluted column.

“It seems a long time as I look back, but as a boy, I was, no doubt, as fond of studies and athletics as most boys; but somehow, I never became intimate with my schoolmates. My father’s wealth prevented me, for I was always reminded of it, and I resented it. It was the same at college. Whenever I attempted to embrace a friendship offered me, my father’s position interfered. I don’t believe that the young men of my country are any more devout worshipers of the Golden Calf than those of the rest of the world; but I suppose I was over-sensitive. At all events, I came in time to hate wealth. I put down to that the loneliness of my youth; for I became more and more a solitary. In time this so grew on me that, after my graduation from Harvard, I went abroad—to England and then to Germany. There I devoted myself to literary and scientific studies. Strange to say, the people there were more willing to value me for what I was, and I lived there some of the happiest days of my life. Do I tire you with this autobiography, Miss HelÈne?”

“Not at all, Mr. Morton. I am greatly interested. Please continue.”

“I returned to Cleveland with the full intention of entering one of my father’s enterprises. I had quite a leaning towards engineering and had acquired considerable knowledge of it. My father approved when I spoke to him, but I could see that he did not believe I was serious. He suspected that I had made the suggestion to please him. I believe now he was right, because I soon grew restless again. I tried travel for one year and was attached to our Embassy in London—but nothing satisfied me. Again I returned to America and assisted my father in some work in the Rocky Mountains; but wanderlust once more seized me and I went to the Soudan. It was on my return from that place that I met and came to know the Count, your father.” Morton paused and locked his hands over his knee; then he continued in a softer voice: “To know him was to reverence him. The few days of companionship I had the privilege to spend with him have had a great influence on me. When I came home I was a changed man. To-day, I am engaged, heart and mind, in the work my father so ably laid out for me. I am a business man; and, strange as it may sound, I am proud of it.”

HelÈne had listened with the deepest attention and interest showing in her mobile features. When Morton paused, she said simply:

“I do not think it strange, Mr. Morton. Since I have lived in America I have come to look up to the business man—the man of action. I think his is the noblest of occupations. The European attitude to the man of business is both foolish and wrong. Were I a man, I would want to be in business.” Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed.

Morton had risen and was standing before her with folded arms.

“Miss HelÈne,” he said in a low voice, “will you let me tell you what else happened to me during the few weeks between my meeting with your father and my leaving for home?”

The words were simple enough; but the man’s face wore so strange an expression that HelÈne was filled with trepidation. She could barely stammer her assent and stared helplessly into space.

“Miss HelÈne,” Morton was pale now and his voice had gained an impassioned vigor. She felt she dared not look at him. “Miss HelÈne, when I met your father—I also met his daughter—by means of a portrait which has since never left its place near my heart.”

The girl’s lips formed as if to whisper, but no sound passed through them.

“A voice in me spoke to me, and said ‘this is the woman of your dreams,’ and I exultantly obeyed the call. When I met you in Padina my dream woman was surpassingly realized. And during the days that came after, when I saw you, hour after hour, so brave, so loyal, so good, my heart went out to you. All my manhood cried out to protect you, and all my soul desired to worship you. On that memorable morning in the Transylvanian cottage, when I stood near you and held your hand, I almost forgot your distress and came near opening my heart to you. And in Vienna when at parting you spoke those words of friendship and approval, it was all I could do to hold myself back. I left determined to come back to Weimar and speak to you; but you had flown. Oh, how I have searched for you! But I had to be content with your letter and its promise for the autumn. I have lived on that promise—and no man ever longed for autumn as I did! HelÈne, I am not a youth to be caught by a beautiful face. I am a ripened man tried by the fire of life. When I met you, face to face yesterday, I knew it was the answer to my prayers. I know now what love is—true, ennobling love. HelÈne, I love you. Will you not look at me? Speak to me, HelÈne!”

Deeply agitated, she raised her eyes, which shone with the bliss of a revelation, to the impassioned man towering over her. Her lashes were wet with tears they had tried to hide. Then a mischievous little smile parted the lips as she whispered:

“I am still a minor—what does my dear guardian command?”

Morton gave a quick step forward and gathered her into his arms. Her face was hidden in his breast; she was safe in the harbor at last! He held her for some moments when a timid voice muffled in the folds of his coat came up to him:

“Mr. Morton—did you say those words because you pity me—because of your promise to my father?”

“Pity you, my darling! Why, sweetheart, you are the greatest, noblest gift God can bestow on any man. All my life I shall bless Him and thank Him for the great boon he has vouchsafed me. The promise I gave your father was given long after the sacred promise I had given myself—to protect you always—as my dear wife.” Then in a softer voice: “But, sweetheart—you must call me John.”

No reply, only sounds suspiciously like a child’s sobs, came from the hidden face. HelÈne was weeping her tears of unspeakable happiness. Morton gently lifted her head back and saw her face transfigured with love. With reverent finality he kissed her moist lips as she murmured:

“My dear knight, without fear and without blemish.”

The shady porch is transmuted into an altar. Framed between the pillars and above the balustrades, templelike, the blue vault of true heaven looks down. In an air vibrating with a whispered symphony a little butterfly alights on the seat—a harbinger of security. And over the pair passes that happiness which the human heart knows but once in a lifetime.

Through the shade of the lofty pillared portico HelÈne and John entered the spacious reception hall of “Rhinecliff.” HelÈne was still under the influence of the emotion aroused in her by the solemnity of the last hour. She barely noticed the transition from the park to the broad driveway, lined by ancient elms, leading to the commanding terrace. Indeed, she could not have told how she reached the room to which Morton’s guiding arm had led her. The dread which had possessed her in the early morning had now returned with increased insistence; so that when they stood before a handsome gray-haired lady, she heard Morton’s voice as through a veil: “Mother, I have great pleasure in bringing to you Comtesse Rondell.” She could just see the winning smile upon the fresh face and hear the cordial words: “I am happy to welcome you, Comtesse.” As in a dream she took the hand which was held out to her, and mumbled a polite sentence, imagining, in her trepidation, an investigating pause on the part of the elderly lady. Try as she would she could not master her embarrassment; but her gentle breeding and natural charms came to her aid, and she expressed eloquently what the disobedient lips failed to say. She looked the pure girl she was. One glance of Mrs. Morton’s approving eye was sufficient to take it all in.

“We entered through the South Gate, mother, and Comtesse Rondell must be tired. She has agreed to stay for luncheon; I trust you will persuade her to remain until after dinner.”

“Permit me to ring for the maid, Comtesse. You will require a rest after your journey and the warm walk,” suggested the hostess.

“Hello, Ruth!” His sister had entered from an inner door. “Ruth, I want you to meet Comtesse Rondell, a dear friend of mine—my sister Ruth, Comtesse. I have often spoken of you, Ruth, to the Comtesse. I hope you will be friends.”

Full of animation, Ruth came forward. A glance at HelÈne’s face caused her to halt momentarily and to send an indignant look at her brother, both of which actions escaped all but HelÈne. Then her willing hand grasped HelÈne’s shy offering in a hearty clasp: “If the Comtesse is minded like I am, it won’t take us long to be the best of friends.”

HelÈne reddened deeply, but this time the little dimples came into play. The smiling eye veiled the recognition which the parted lips were longing to betray: “Miss Morton, I shall be very happy if we are friends.”

When the maid appeared, Ruth and the visitor were occupying seats next to each other in a retired nook engrossed in a low-voiced conversation. “Comtesse,” said Mrs. Morton, interrupting them, “Nettie will show you to your room. Luncheon will be served in a few minutes.”

When HelÈne retired, John turned to his mother: “I hope, mother, you will like Comtesse HelÈne. If you are disengaged before luncheon, I should like to see you. Can you spare the time?”

“Certainly, my dear boy. You will find me in the lounging room. Was the matter that kept you in town disagreeable, John?”

“Not at all, mother. I will tell you all about it. I shall put off my Western trip, however, for the present.”

On his way to his room John was intercepted in the hall by his excited sister. “John,” she hissed breathlessly. “I wouldn’t have believed it of you! How could you be so mean?”

“I don’t understand you, sis. What have I done?”

“Couldn’t you wait until I had brought you two together? Who introduced you to her?”

John looked his astonishment. “Do you refer to Comtesse Rondell? Why, I met her abroad last year, through her father. What are you driving at, little one?”

“Oh, John—this is too wonderful! You big stupid—don’t you see! The Comtesse is my beautiful discovery of two days ago, the replica of papa’s Gainsborough!”

At once John saw everything, even the ambiguous situation in which his darling might find herself.

“Ruth, I didn’t dream of this! Please do not refer to it in any way. I would not have Comtesse HelÈne embarrassed for anything in the world. Promise, sis?”

“Sure, Jack, cross my heart! But, brother of mine, isn’t she all I said she was?”

John laid his arm affectionately about his sister’s shoulder. “She is all that, my dear, and more. Now, run off and be discreet. And—Ruth—it is my dearest wish that you and HelÈne—the Comtesse, you know—should be dear friends.”

“Oh! Does the wind blow from that quarter, Jack? I am so glad!” A lightning-like hug, an ethereal kiss—and she was off!

In the lounging room, later, John sat facing his mother. The breeze entering through the open Venetian windows relieved the noon heat, but failed to lighten the task he had before him. Many a time had he gone over this interview in his mind, always looking forward to it with exultation. And now, when the moment had arrived, he felt greatly ill-at-ease.

“Mother, dear—you may remember my telling you that I had met a lady whom I hoped to win—that she had been lost to me. Well, I have found her again. She is the Comtesse Rondell. I met her in New York yesterday, quite by chance—and I have won her. Mother, I am very happy. I want you to love her for my sake, though I know you will gladly embrace her for her own virtues.”

John had spoken very earnestly. Mrs. Morton looked at her “boy” in sheer astonishment. “John, my dearest boy—I don’t know what to say—it has come so unexpectedly! Of course, John, I will do my best—she certainly looks sweet. But, John....”

“Mother, you will love her and be proud of her when you see me the blessedest man in America.”

Mrs. Morton’s eyes filled with tears. “Your happiness, John, dear, is all I ask for.”

“Thank you, mother. And now will you do me a kindness? I have no ring to give HelÈne. Can you give me one of yours?”

“Wait until after luncheon, John. Do you love her very much?” She rose, floundering again on the verge of tears. The news had almost overwhelmed the good lady; or was it jealous resentment or simply the fear of the change that it would mean for her?

Morton rose quickly and, laying his hands affectionately upon his mother’s shoulders said, with deep feeling: “Mother, I do. It is not a momentary fancy or infatuation. When you know HelÈne, you will understand that it was not her beauty only but her golden heart that drew me to her. Mother, I feel blessed beyond all men that this heart has been placed in my keeping.”

“Oh, John—I do hope it’s as you say. You must forgive me—I am a little unnerved. If Comtesse Rondell should come down before I return—will you excuse me to her, John? I shall be back shortly.”

Luncheon proved a very simple affair and the conversation which at the beginning had rested upon Ruth’s shoulders soon became general and animated. HelÈne, who sat at Mrs. Morton’s left, had lost her shyness and entered into the spirit of the occasion with the tactful modesty and grace of manners which never yet had failed to charm. Mrs. Morton’s formal politeness gradually melted into admiration. She was evidently charmed with the girl. John observed with lightened heart the approving eye and the pleased expression on his mother’s face.

On rising from the table Mrs. Morton pleaded some duty and left the young people to themselves on the porch. At once Ruth rose and took her new friend by the arm. “Let’s leave John to his cigar, HelÈne (it had been HelÈne after the first, of course), I want to show you my patch of woods if you don’t mind the hot sun. Mother and John always talk shop at this hour—even on a Sunday, I believe. Come, dear.”

John caught HelÈne’s eye and saw the look of relief and longing for a respite to be enjoyed with her girl friend, and prudently resigned himself.

It was not long before his mother came to him, smiling happily, her cheeks faintly flushed. “The ring your father gave me upon our engagement, John,” she whispered with a catch in her voice, handing him a brilliant stone. And John knew all was well—HelÈne had won!

Ruth’s chatter became audible from the stairway, the clatter of youthful feet resounded from the hall, and the two girls entered hand in hand. Ruth looked first at John, then at her mother, and lastly at HelÈne, who had remained somewhat in the rear. Drawing the hand she held towards her, she encircled her friend’s waist with the other, and curtesying in mock reverence, and with a well-assumed dignity, said: “I have the honor to present to you both the Comtesse HelÈne Rondell—my darling sister.” Then, running up to her brother she threw her arms around him and gave him a resounding kiss. “My congratulations, brother!”

Of course, after this, all ceremony had to be foregone. But it was Mrs. Morton’s affectionate embrace of HelÈne which sealed the welcome. It brought a great happiness to Ruth and John and a transcendent light into HelÈne’s girlish face.

At dinner John announced that HelÈne would return to New York that night and that he would escort her home. It was, indeed, a happy meal for these four—now reunited in love.

Later they were sitting on the porch enjoying the lovely evening over their coffee. Faint stars were beginning to twinkle and the air had the warmth which comes with the dying summer.

“John,” broke in Ruth, “it’s a glorious evening; you should show HelÈne the hill-view from the east loggia. I will let you know when the carriage drives up.”

John stood with his beloved in the dusk of the protected wing. Below them the evening haze of autumn enveloped the valley and slopes, leaving a clear outline of wooded hillside against the bright glow whence the rising moon was promised. From the distance blinked occasional gleams of light marking dwellings here and there. Out of the darkened lawn came the song of crickets and the whisper of the invisible night life. It was the very time and place for our fairy. Surely he was behind that dusky bed of cannas, crouching under the giant leaf of that caladium!

HelÈne sat supported by John’s strong arm, and over both surged a flood of golden memories. She was the first to break the stillness:

“Mr. Morton—John—you are so very rich and powerful. I did not dream of it. And I—I have nothing—not even a dot! Is it right that I permit myself to love you? Will you not regret it, some day?”

John tightened the arm round her shoulder, and gave a love chuckle. “Darling, the girls of our country never have dots, even if their parents have sinful wealth. And you—the good God has given you wealth beyond compare. He has given you a heart finer than gold, beauty rarer than a vision. And ... I love you, HelÈne, I love you.”

She drew herself closer to his breast and gave a faint sigh of ineffable content. “If papa could know, John,” she said softly.

“I think he does know, sweetheart, and is smiling down on us. See, HelÈne, there is my faithful ally, the ‘Great Bear.’ He kept his promise and spoke for me.”

“You mean the ‘Big Dipper,’ John,” said HelÈne with a smile. “He has been my good friend also. Other girls may have a star of destiny; but I—I have seven!”

The fairy behind the cannas rubbed his palms together in great glee—and grinned.

With faces upturned they stood as if listening for the message of promise from the twinkling stars, their souls in union—the brave hearts tried, the abiding love tested. It was the last day of summer; but for these two happy ones, it was the dawn of eternal spring!

A door slammed and energetic heels tatooed a warning. Ruth’s form stood outlined against the dimly lighted glass door.

“Children,” she called out in her fresh, cheery voice, “the moon will be up in five minutes—and your carriage is coming up the drive!”