Unalloyed Love.

In a small, modest apartment in a section of Chicago, which is inexpensive but respectable, Alma began her new life with Will and Harold.

This afternoon she was alone for the first time. Will had taken Harold out to see more of the great city, while she was busy preparing for George's return from New York.

He had left them just two weeks ago, promising to return and visit them for a few days.

Alma prepared supper with a happy heart. She had refused all persuasions to keep a maid. Her strength had returned, and she was so supremely happy that no work seemed an effort to her, and she gloried now in taking a really active part in the world and helping Will to rise again from the lower rounds of the ladder.

It was nearing six o'clock, and Alma looked the daintily set table over, with a glow of pride and satisfaction.

"I never thought it could be such a pleasure for a woman to prepare things herself. It's almost like playing house." She laughed softly. "Riches after all, are not everything."

She went to the window, and drew aside the curtain to look out. There was no sign of her loved ones yet. They were going to meet George. Maybe the train was late. So she sat down to wait. But she did not rest long. It seemed impossible for her not to keep busy with some preparation.

Could this be Alma? Pleasure-loving, indolent Alma of the past? No! This was the Alma of later years,—strong, eager, loving, beginning a new life upon the ashes of heart-aches past!

It was long past six, when Harold and Will returned alone. George had not arrived on the train expected.

"Never mind," said Alma, "We three will have our cozy little supper together. When George comes, I can prepare something, too."

Will's arms encircled her as they went to the table. Fondly he looked down into Alma's happy face.

"I can't get used to this wonderful life," he said gently.

"Nor I," she replied with an answering smile. "I sometimes pinch myself to wake up."

Will's face was somewhat lined and he was partly gray. Otherwise, he was the same Will with the kind, dark, deep-set eyes.

Harold ate his supper hurriedly.

"I'm going to the depot, again, to meet Cousin George," he explained.

"Very well," said Alma, but don't stay too late."

With a boy's caress for both parents he was gone.

Alma and Will together cleared away the supper.

When they had finished, they retired to the sitting-room. Will seated himself in a big arm-chair, and gently pulled Alma down upon his knee, in the same old, loving manner.

She nestled up to him, and, resting her head upon his breast, she looked up into his face in quiet rapture.

His eyes looked down at her with the gaze of a hungry soul, not yet satisfied.

"I cannot bear to be away from you one hour, dearest," he said. "I am always fearing something will snatch you from my arms again. We are not out of the woods yet."

"How foolish, Will," she said, smiling brightly, "You must trust George. He can do anything, you know."

"George! What a friend! I wonder you did not completely forget your Will, when by his side!"

She sighed gently at the thought of those days.

"Ah, Will! There was never a day, when I did not go alone to the library, to sit before your picture, and gaze into your loving eyes. George is great and good, but Will is the one love of my life!"

She pressed her soft cheek against his, and thus they sat, too filled with ecstasy to speak.

Suddenly his eyes became troubled, and a mist gathered in them.

"Dearest, how can you ever forgive me for causing you so much suffering?" he asked brokenly.

"How can you ever forgive me?" she replied.

"Sh! You must not say that!" he returned, sealing her lips with a kiss.

Just then Harold's quick ring of the bell was heard.

"George, too, or he would not be so soon back," exclaimed Will.

She arose, and opening the door, hand in hand they waited for George and Harold to ascend the stairs.

"I've got him," said Harold delightedly, as Will and Alma each grasped the hand that George extended to them.

"O, George, we were so afraid something might keep you away," said Alma, and as they ushered him in, she slipped away to the little kitchen, where the kettle seemed always to sing to her, "Home, sweet home."

Quickly she poured a cup of chocolate, and setting it on a dainty tray, she placed with it the cream, sugar and muffins, temptingly. This she took in to George.

He took it and looked from one to the other with a bright sympathy.

"I made these muffins myself," said Alma, laughing.

"Yes, and you ought to have seen Mus," said Harold, "She read the cook book about a dozen times, and then made three tins of muffins before they came out fluffy like. They're bully, though!"

When the tray was taken away, and Alma once more rejoined them, George said happily,

"I have only good news for you all. Everything is settled satisfactorily. Will, nothing will ever be brought up against you in any way. The bank officials sent their good wishes, and hope for your future success. I've also got a letter of introduction for you to present to a big firm here, which promises to give you a fair start in this city, where your name can be made anew."

He drew the letter from his pocket and handed it to Will.

Taking it, Will grasped George's hand in silence. He was too overcome for words.

Alma's eyes filled with happy tears.

"O, I knew you could do anything!" she exclaimed gratefully.

Harold looked on with a big lump gathering in his throat. With an effort he cleared it away; then he went over to George with a glowing face. Laying one hand on his shoulder, he said with boyish fervor,

"You always were a brick, Cousin George!"

He turned to the boy and looked at him with a shade of regret, "You won't forget me, little man?" he asked tenderly.

"Forget you?" returned the boy, "Never!" And taking one hand of Will's and one of George's he looked frankly from one to the other.

"It's 'nick and tuck' between you and father!!" he declared earnestly.

Both men looked at each other understandingly.

"It must always be so, Harold," said Will gravely.

Later in the evening, when Harold had retired, Alma asked:

"Did you find Betty well and happy?"

"Yes, and she is engaged to Mr. Edgeway."

"I'm not surprised," answered Alma. "I do hope that he is good enough for her."

"He seems a good sort," answered George thoughtfully, "But I think Betty could have done better. She is an exceptionally fine little woman. By the way, are there any letters for me here? I gave this for my address.

"Yes, one—and it looks like Betty's handwriting, but I am not sure."

George opened it and read aloud.

"Dear Dr. Cadman:—You will be very much surprised to know that I am going to Ephraim. Mother is very ill, and has sent for me. If I did not have to hasten home, I would stop over in Chicago to say goodbye to Alma and you, but I cannot see you until I return to New York to complete my studies—which may not be for a long time.

"My engagement to Mr. Edgeway has been broken.

"Give my love to Alma and Harold. I hope to hear from you all.

"Praying that God will bless each one of you,

"I am, your Ephraim friend,

"Betty Emmit."

"A short lived engagement!" exclaimed Alma.

"I am not sorry," returned George. "I felt worried over her. She didn't seem happy."

There was a moment's silence, then Alma said kindly,

"George, you don't look well. What are you going to do now?"

"I'm only tired out, Alma. I think that I will take a trip to somewhere for a good rest—away from New York and excitement for a time. I almost feel like making a hermit of myself for a while."

"Why not visit Ephraim?" asked Alma, "The change of climate and quiet would do you good, and you couldn't be lonesome with Betty there."

"That's a first class idea, Alma, I'll surprise Betty. I think her company would be a splendid antidote for my unsettled mood. At all times, she's a comfort, isn't she?"

Alma looked at him keenly.

"George, did it ever occur to you how fond you are of Betty?"

"Why, of course," he replied promptly, "I've always loved the child, since I first met her, a small, eager youngster, ready to do big things."

"But she is not a child now, George, she is a woman, and—free."

George looked his surprise, then laughed.

"Why, Alma, are you trying to marry me off already? How Betty would laugh!" Then he became serious. "You know Edith was my love, and always will be."

"Yes, George, but you can be true to Edith, and yet love another!"

"Is that a 'Mormon' idea?" he asked with a grave smile. "I never could forget Edith, so you see I'm doomed to be a bachelor. However, Ephraim is just the place for me now, and I'll come back in a month, my old self."

***********

It was a beautiful clear autumn day! One must visit the Rocky Mountain regions at this time of year to fully appreciate what that means in Ephraim. No place on God's earth, has a clearer atmosphere, a bluer sky, or a more beautiful combination of color effects in trees and mountains, to gladden the artistic mind.

Betty stood on the broad piazza of her home, and took in a deep breath of the keen and refreshing air.

She was rather tired after a long siege of nursing her mother, Mrs. Emmit was at last out of danger, and convalescing. Betty was now going to leave her for the first time—to go to the Manti Temple and fulfil her promise to be baptized for Edith.

She was very pale, but a calm joy was reflected on her countenance as she contemplated this act for her departed friend.

"Dear Edith," she thought, "I feel you very near to me today." With a thrill of happiness she went down the steps and entered her car. She was entirely alone, and drove her car slowly, while thinking of her past, wonderful experiences.

"How calm and serene Ephraim is after all the excitement of my last three years!" she thought. "I wonder if I'll ever see Alma again—and George."

A shade of sadness passed over her face. The very thought of him was painful yet. But time would doubtless make her love a thing of the past. She must have patience. But, try as she would, George occupied her thoughts until she reached the temple. Every scene with him was quickly rehearsed, and with each, came a sharp pang of regret for the inevitable.

But on entering the holy temple, peace came to her, and as she came out of the waters of baptism, that great happiness that comes to all who do vicarious work, lifted her far beyond her troubled thoughts, and her ride home was a quiet restful one.

All Nature seemed to sing of God's coming peace on earth, and Betty's heart was attuned to the harmony of the Invisible.

When she arrived home, she sought her room for a little rest. When she lay down, she found herself unable to sleep, but she closed her eyes to relax.

Hardly had she done this, when she felt a presence in her room. She opened her eyes—was she dreaming? No,—by her mantle, stood Edith,—Edith, more gloriously beautiful than ever before,—with the same fond expression in her violet eyes, as she looked upon Betty.

"Edith!" exclaimed Betty, sitting up in trembling delight.

Edith raised her hand as if for silence—then she smiled with gratitude for Betty's promise kept.

Betty stretched out her arms, but Edith slowly shook her head,—still smiling, she pointed to her own picture on the mantle, and then to George's.

"You will?" she whispered softly.

"I don't understand," answered Betty gently.

"You will, dear," came the reply, and before Betty could again speak, Edith vanished from her sight.

It was the first vision Betty had ever had, and for awhile she lay trembling and weak. Finally she grew calm, but knowing it was impossible to rest, she arose and went downstairs to her mother.

"Betty, dear," Mrs. Emmit said, brightly, "Your father just brought you a letter from Chicago."

With a sudden, almost painful joy, she recognized Dr. Cadman's handwriting. Opening the letter, she read aloud.

"Dear Betty: I am wondering if your folks could take in a tired Easterner for a month? I'm just longing for the hills of Ephraim and the wonderful rest that only your peaceful home could give me in my present state of mind.

"Will tell you all when I see you. If I would inconvenience any of you, don't hesitate to say so.

"Kindest regards to all, your old friend,

"George Cadman."

Betty's heart beat with such wild delight, she could scarcely finish reading the letter.

"Of course he shall come!" declared Mrs. Emmit, happily. "And we'll show him how we appreciate his kindness to you on your mission. Answer him right now, child—don't lose any time to tell him he is more than welcome."

***********

"And so, Betty, now I have told you my life's story," concluded George seriously, looking out upon the glorious view of the mountains from the little knoll where he and Betty sat. This was their favorite resting place, a few miles from town, to which they were accustomed to walk every evening at sun down.

Betty did not answer. She was trying to adjust herself to the revelations. So it was Edith he had loved after all—not Alma!

"And," continued George, breaking the silence, "I'll surprise you when I tell you—I want to be baptized."

Betty turned to him in delight. "You mean it? O! I am so thankful!"

He looked at her tenderly. "Yes, I mean it. I had to suffer to really appreciate religion. And when it comes to choosing one, I don't have to compare long, what you offer me and what the world has to offer. And Betty,—I've awakened to another truth that I have been blind to before."

"What truth?" asked Betty.

"The fact that I love you, little woman, and want you to be my wife."

Betty looked at him first, with unfeigned joy,—then drew away and regarded him with speechless wonder.

"Couldn't you love me, little one?" he asked, taking her hands tenderly, and trying to draw her to him.

She held him off.

"But—Edith—you just told me—you love her as always!"

"I do," returned George smiling. "But I love you none the less. I can't quite understand it, myself."

"But I do," returned Betty suddenly. "Now, I understand why dear Edith came to me,—the vision I told you of—she wishes to be sealed to you, George, for all eternity!"

"And you?" asked George, incredulously.

"Will do the temple work," returned Betty, smiling happily.

For a moment, George regarded her glowing countenance with reverence. Then he said earnestly,

"Is it possible you could do this without jealousy?"

"Perfect love knows no jealousy, George," she said gravely. "I want my love for you to be perfect."

Tenderly, George took her in his arms.

"And may I be worthy of such Perfection!" he replied, his whole being suffused with the happiness of Unalloyed Love!

THE END.