It was a golden day in the golden month of October, when Philip Tremain stepped down from the railway train, and stood, a solitary traveller, upon the platform of the open station at Beetons, high up among the rolling "white hills" of New Hampshire.

An open waggon, drawn by four sturdy mountain ponies, was in waiting beside the rustic platform, and into this he sprang; the driver cracked his long whip, accompanying it by a shrill whistle, and off the willing little creatures started.

Up the steep winding roads and down again they went at a swift, even gallop, while Mr. Tremain, with a sudden recollection of Mrs. Newbold's park ponies and irreproachable basket phaeton, laughed aloud at the dissimilarity between them and his present primitive conveyance, and at the contrast of the solemn hills, and long wooded slopes, with the suburban and ornamental prettiness that environed the Folly.

All before him stretched the grand White Mountain range, from Jefferson's and Madison's verdure-tipped sides, to Washington's rocky cliffs and snow-crowned peak. On every side the richest glory prevailed; scarlet and crimson of the sugar maple, gold and amber of beech and birch, russet brown of oak, and sombre green of hemlock. A keen pine-scented breeze swept past him, swaying the tall golden-rod and blue asters, and shaking out the bitter-sweet perfume from the purple gentian where it grew far up the mountain side.

The road wound on, up and up, growing steeper and steeper with each mile, fringed on either side by tall ferns, grasses, and brown bracken, and starred with late yellow-and-white ox-eyed daisies. To his right the steep mountains rose far above his head, to his left the beautiful "wild Ammonoouc" leapt from stone to stone, and dashed into rivulets against the lichen-covered boulders, breaking over them in creamy foam.

Once Philip bade his charioteer stop, and climbing down over the high-sided vehicle, he gathered a nosegay of the wild, white daisies, adding a maple and beech leaf as a set-off to the pure petals. Then, with a smile upon his lips, he took his place beside the taciturn Jehu, and on they went again, with the same long swinging gallop.

As the last roseate glow of sunshine was lighting up the western heavens, and the great Phoebus was sinking to rest in the arms of grey and violet clouds, they came upon a long low house, built far out on a projecting spur of rock, which seemed to hang 'twixt earth and sky, and looked as if a stiff north-easter would make short work of its walls and foundations. This house was painted a dull venetian red, and was covered with creepers and wild vines, and brilliant with rows of scarlet geraniums marking each casement.

It glowed like some bird of tropical plumage, alighted suddenly upon the cooler neutral tints of this northern land.

And this was the home of Patricia Hildreth.

Door and window stood open wide, and Philip's impatient feet carried him over the threshold into the dainty atmosphere of Patricia's drawing-room. And what a paradise it was to his hungry eyes! And how redolent of her!

Flowers, birds, books, an open piano, and through the windows such a view of mountain towering above mountain, all transfigured and etherealised by the magic touch of the dying sun-god. Ah, it was good to be here, it was good to breathe this free, keen air; it was good to stand within her home, to think how soon, how very soon, he should look upon her face, and read within her deep blue eyes the secret hidden there for ten long years.

The sunlight blinded him, the birds' song dulled his hearing, the perfume of the flowers steeped his senses; he was lost in a day-dream of ecstatic bliss.

And did he still dream, or was this reality? This graceful, bending figure, whose hands flashed in and out among the piano's ivory keys, awaking the music of a plaintive strain, that, as it grew into melody, became so strangely familiar?

It was no surprise to hear it, and still less was it a surprise to find the melody take shape in words, falling across the refrain, half chanted, half spoken as they were.

"Patty, my little Patty! Oh, my darling, I have found you at last, I shall never let you go from me again."

"And have you forgiven me, Philip?" she asked, some long minutes after. "Have you forgiven me my selfishness, and wilfulness, and deception? I sometimes think I can never forgive myself."

He framed the beautiful face in both his hands, and feasted his eyes upon it.

"Forgive you, my darling! Forgiveness is not necessary between us now. We have found our love, Patty, after ten long years of loss; thank God, my darling, we have not found it too late."

And to them both it seemed, that a little of the joy and beatitude of heaven had come down to them on the golden sunset clouds.

"And so it was you, Patty," Philip says again, "who sang that very song that evening—how long ago it seems, dear—at the Folly; and it was your presence and your personality that influenced me so strongly, that drew me to you as AdÈle Lamien, and yet that perplexed and troubled and almost frightened me?"

"Yes, Philip, it was I," she answered. "And, do you know, through all my trickery and deceiving, it gave me keen delight to see how truly you did love me; for, after all, Philip, even as AdÈle Lamien, when I won your half avowal of love, I was scarcely treacherous, because it could be no treachery for Patty, to win you from—Patricia Hildreth."

It was specious reasoning mayhap, but it served.

It was Miss Hildreth's old mocking laugh that next broke the silence, and Miss Hildreth's most tantalising voice that said:

"Ah, but Philip, there is one thing more that lies between us. Do you remember a certain evening ten years ago, when an angry lover parted from his fickle sweetheart? And do you remember his words when she begged for one little good-bye token? 'When I can think of you, look at you, speak of you as other men do; when all my love is dead; ask me then, Patricia.'"

"And do you ask me?" he cried, a little of the old masterful ring in his voice. "Nay, Patty, do not ask me, for that supposes it possible for me to refuse you. My dearest, let me rather plead from you."

And there was that within her eyes that gave him leave to gather her close into his arms, and bending down to lay his lips on hers.

And so, after ten years, the kiss was given and taken.

THE END.

CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.