Mary Ballard stepped down from the open porch where Amalia and the rest of the family sat behind a screen of vines, interestedly talking, and walked along the path between the rose bushes that led to the gate. She knew Richard must be coming when she saw Betty, who sat where she could glance now and then down the road, drop her sewing and hurry away through the house and off toward the spring. As Larry knew the heart of a man, so Mary Ballard knew the heart of a girl. She said nothing, but quietly strolled along and waited with her hand on the gate.

“I wanted to be the first to open the gate to you, Richard,” she said, as he approached her with extended arms. Silently he drew her to him and kissed her. She held him off a moment and gazed into his eyes.

“Yes, I’m the same boy. I think that was what you said to me when I entered the army––that I should come back to you the same boy? I’ve always had it in mind. I’m the same boy.”

“I believe you, Richard. They are all out on the front porch, and Bertrand is with them––if you wish to see him––first––and if you wish to see Betty, take the path at the side, around the house to the spring below the garden.”

Betty stood with her back to the house under the great Bartlett pear tree. She was trembling. She would not look around––Oh, no! She would wait until he asked for her. He might not ask for her! If he did not, she would not go in––not yet. But she did look around, for she felt him near her––she was sure––sure––he was near––close––

“Oh, Richard, Richard! Oh, Richard, did you know that I have been calling you in my heart––so hard, calling you, calling you?”

She was in his arms and his lips were on hers. “The same little Betty! The same dear little Betty! Lovelier––sweeter––you wore a white dress with little green sprigs on it––is this the dress?”

“Yes, no. I couldn’t wear the same old one all this time.” She spoke between laughing and crying.

“Why is this just like it?”

“Because.”

He held her away and gazed at her a moment. “What a lovely reason! What a lovely Betty!” He drew her to him again. “I heard it all––there in the court room. I was there and heard. What a load you have borne for me––my little Betty––all this time––what a load!”

“It was horrible, Richard.” She hid her flaming face on his breast. “There, before the whole town––to tell every one––everything. I––I––don’t even know what I said.”

“I do. Every word––dear little Betty! While I have been hiding like a great coward, you have been bravely bearing my terrible burden, bearing it for me.”

“Oh, Richard! For weeks and weeks my heart has been 501 calling you, calling you––night and day, calling you to come home. I told them he was Peter Junior, but they would not believe me––no one would believe me but mother. Father tried to, but only mother really did.”

“I heard you, Betty. I had a dingy little studio up three flights of stairs in Paris, and I sat there painting one day––and I heard you. I had sent a picture to the Salon, and was waiting in suspense to know the result, and I heard your call––”

“Was––was––that what made you come home––or––or was it because you knew you ought to?” She lifted her head and looked straight into his eyes.

Richard laughed. “It’s the same little Betty! The same Betty with the same conscience bigger than her head––almost bigger than her heart. I can’t tell you what it was. I heard it again and again, and the last time I just packed my things and wound up matters there––I had made a success, Betty, dear––let me say that. It makes me feel just a little bit more worth your while. I thought to make a success would be sweet, but it was all worthless––I’ll tell you all about it later––but it was no help and I just followed the call and returned, hurrying as if I knew all about the thing that was going on, when really I knew nothing. Sometimes I thought it was you calling me, and sometimes I thought it was my own conscience, and sometimes I thought it was only that I could no longer bear my own thoughts––See here, Betty, darling––don’t––don’t ever kill any one, for the thought that you have committed a murder is an awful thing to carry about with you.”

She laughed and hid her face again on his breast. 502 “Richard, how can we laugh––when it has all been so horrible?”

“We can’t, Betty––we’re crying.” She looked up at him again, and surely his eyes were filled with tears. She put up her hand and lightly touched his lips with her fingers.

“I know. I know you’ve suffered, Richard. I see the lines of sorrow here about your mouth––even when you smile. I saw the same in Peter Junior’s face, and it was so sad––I just hugged him, I was so glad it was he––I––I––hugged him and kissed him––”

“Bless his heart! Somebody ought to.”

“Somebody will. She’s beautiful––and so––fascinating! Let’s go in so you can meet her.”

“I have met her, and father has told me a great deal about her. I’ve had a fine talk with my father. How wonderful that Peter should have been the means of finding my father for me––and such a splendid father! I often used to think out what kind of a father I would like if I could choose one, but I never thought out just such a combination of delightful qualities as I find in him.”

“It’s like a story, isn’t it? And we’ll all live happily ever after. Shall we go in and see the rest, Richard? They’ll be wanting to see you too.”

“Let’s go over here and sit down. I don’t want to see the rest quite yet, little one. Why, Betty, do you suppose I can let go of you yet?”

“No,” said Betty, meekly, and again Richard laughed. She lifted the hair from his temple and touched the old scar.

“Yes, it’s there, Betty. I’m glad he hit me that welt. I would have pushed him over but for that. I deserved it.”

“You’re not so like him––not so like as you used to be. No one would mistake you now. You don’t look so much like yourself as you used to––and you’ve a lot of white in your hair. Oh, Richard!”

“Yes. It’s been pretty tough, Betty, dear,––pretty tough. Let’s talk of something else.”

“And all the time I couldn’t help you––even the least bit.”

“But you were a help all the time––all the time.”

“How, Richard?”

“I had a clean, sweet, perfect, innocent place always in my heart where you were that kept me from caring for a lot of foolishness that tempted other men. It was a good, sweet, wholesome place where you sat always. When I wanted to see you sitting there, I had only to take a funny little leather housewife, all worn, and tied with cherry-colored hair ribbons, in my hand and look at it and remember.”

Betty sighed a long sigh of contentment and settled herself closer in his arms. “Yes, I was there, and God heard me praying for you. Sometimes I felt myself there.”

“In the secret chamber of my heart, Betty, dear?”

“Yes.” They were silent for a while, one of the blessed silences which make life worth living. Then Betty lifted her head. “Tell me about Paris, Richard, and what you did there. It was Peter who was wild to go and paint in Paris and it was you who went. That was why no one found you. They never thought that of you––but I would have thought it. I knew you had it in you.”

“Oh, yes, after a fashion I had it in me.”

“But you said you met with success. Did that mean you were admitted to the Salon?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Oh, Richard! How tremendous! I’ve read a lot about it. Oh, Richard! Did you like the ‘Old Masters’?”

“Did I! Betty, I learned a thing about your father, looking at the work of some of those great old fellows. I learned that he is a better painter and a greater man than people over here know.”

“Mother knew it––all the time.”

“Ah, yes, your mother! Would you like to go there, Betty? Then I’ll take you. We’ll be married right away, won’t we, dear?”

“You know, Richard, I believe I would be perfectly––absolutely––terribly happy––if––if I could only get over being mad at your uncle. He was so stubborn, he was just wicked. I hated him––I––I hated him so, and now it seems as if I had got used to hating him and couldn’t stop.”

She had been so brave and had not once given way, but now at the thought of all the bitterness and the fight of her will against that of the old man, she sobbed in his arms. Her whole frame shook and he gathered her close and comforted her. “He––he––he was always saying––saying––”

“Never mind now what he was saying, dear. Listen.”

“I––I––I––am afraid––I can never see him––or––or look at him again––I––I––hate him so!”

“No, no. Don’t hate him. Any one would have done the same in his place who believed as firmly as he did what he believed.”

“B––b––but he didn’t need to believe it.”

“You see he had known through that Dane man––or 505 whatever he is––from the detective––all I told you that night––how could he help it? I believed Peter was dead––we all did––you did. He had brooded over it and slept upon it––no wonder he refused even to look at Peter. If you had seen Uncle Elder there in the court room after the people had gone, if you had seen him then, Betty, you would never hate him again.”

“All the same, if––if––you hadn’t come home when you did,––and the law of Wisconsin allowed of hanging––he would have had him, Peter Junior––he would have had his own son hanged,––and been glad––glad––because he would have thought he was hanging you. I do hate––”

“No, no. And as he very tersely said––if all had been as it seemed, and it had been me––trying to take the place of Peter Junior––I would have deserved hanging––now wouldn’t I, after all the years when Uncle Elder had been good to me for his sister’s sake?”

“That’s it––for his sister’s sake––n––n––not for yours, always himself and his came first. And then it wouldn’t have been so. Even if it were so, it wouldn’t have been so––I mean––I wouldn’t have believed it––because it couldn’t have been you and been so––”

“Darling little Irish Betty! What a fine daughter you will be to my Irish Dad! Oh, my dear! my dear!”

“But you know such a thing would have been impossible for you to do. They might have known it, too, if they’d had any sense. And that scar on Peter’s head––that was a new one and yours is an old one. If they had had any sense, they could have seen that, too.”

“Never any man on earth had a sweeter job than I! It’s worth all I’ve been through to come home here and 506 comfort you. Let’s keep it up all our lives, see? You always stay mad at Uncle Elder, and I’ll always comfort you––just like this.”

Then Betty laughed through her tears, and they kissed again, and then proceeded to settle all their future to Richard’s heart’s content. Then, after a long while, they crept in where the family were all seated at supper, and instantly everything in the way of decorum at meals was demoralized. Every one jumped up, and Betty and Richard were surrounded and tumbled about and hugged and kissed by all––until a shrill, childish voice raised a shout of laughter as little Janey said: “What are we all kissing Betty for? She hasn’t been away; she’s been here all the time.”

It was Peter Junior who broke up the rout. He came in upon them, saying he had left his father asleep, exhausted after the day’s emotion, and that he had come home to the Ballards to get a little supper. Then it was all to be done over again, and Peter was jumbled up among outstretched arms, and shaken and pounded and hugged, and happy he was to be taken once more thus vociferously into the home that had always meant so much to him. There they all were,––Martha and Julien––James and Bob, as the boys were called these days,––and little Janey––and Bertrand as joyous as a boy, and Mary––she who had always known––even as Betty said, smiling on him in the old way––and there, watching all with glowing eyes, Amalia at one side, waiting, until Peter had her, too, in his arms.

Quickly Martha set a place for Peter between Amalia and herself. Yes, it was all as it should be––the circle now complete––only––“Where is your father, Richard?” asked Mary.

“He went off for a walk. Isn’t he a glorious father for a man to fall heir to? We’re all to meet at Uncle Elder’s to-night, and he’ll be there.”

“Will he? I’m so glad.”

“Yes, Mrs. Ballard.” Richard looked gravely into her eyes and from her to Bertrand. “You left after the verdict. You weren’t at the courthouse at the last. It’s all come right, and it’s going to stay so.”

The meal progressed and ended amid laughter; and a little later the family all set out for the banker’s home.

“How I wish Hester were here!” said Mary. “I did not wish her here before––but now we want her.” She looked at Peter.

“Yes, now we want her. We’re ready for her at last. Father leaves for New York to-morrow to fetch her. She’s coming on the next steamship, and he’ll meet her and bring her back to us all.”

“How that is beautiful!” murmured Amalia, as she walked at Peter’s side. He looked down at her and noted a weariness in her manner she strove to conceal.

“Come back with me a little––just a little while. I can go later to my father’s, and he will excuse you, and I’ll take you to him before he leaves to-morrow. Come, I think I know where we may find Larry Kildene.” So Peter led her away into the dusk, and they walked slowly––slowly––along the road leading to the river bluff––but not to the top.

After a long hour Larry came down from the height where he had been communing with himself and found them in the sweet starlight seated by the wayside, and passed them, although he knew they were Peter and Amalia. He 508 walked lingeringly, feeling himself very much alone, until he was seized by either arm and held.

“It is your blessing, Sir Kildene, we ask it.”

And Larry gave them the blessing they asked, and took Amalia in his arms and kissed her. “I thought from the first that you might be my son, Peter, and it means no diminution in my love for you that I find you are not. It’s been a great day––a great day––a great day,” he said as if to himself, and they walked on together.

“Yes, yes! Sir Kildene, I am never to know again fear. I am to have the new name, so strong and fine. Well can I say it. Hear me. Peter-Craigmile-Junior. A strange, fine name––it is to be mine––given to me. How all is beautiful here! It is the joy of heaven in my heart––like––like heaven, is not, Peter?”

“Now you are here––yes, Amalia.”

“So have I say to you before––to love is all of heaven––and all of life, is not?”

Peter held in his hand the little crucifix he had worn on his bosom since their parting. In the darkness he felt rather than saw it. He placed it in her hand and drew her close as they walked. “Yes, Amalia, yes. You have taught me. Hatred destroys like a blast, but love––love is life itself.”