Betty saw his intention, closed her eyes and whispered.

“Alfred, please don’t—­it’s not fair—­I beg of you—­Oh!”

That kiss was Betty’s undoing.  She uttered a strange little cry.  Then her dark head found a hiding place over his heart, and her slender form, which a moment before had resisted so fiercely, sank yielding into his embrace.

“Betty, do you dare tell me now that you do not care for me?” Alfred whispered into the dusky hair which rippled over his breast.

Betty was brave even in her surrender.  Her hands moved slowly upward along his arms, slipped over his shoulders, and clasped round his neck.  Then she lifted a flushed and tearstained face with tremulous lips and wonderful shining eyes.

“Alfred, I do love you—­with my whole heart I love you.  I never knew until now.”

The hours flew apace.  The prolonged ringing of the dinner bell brought the lovers back to earth, and to the realization that the world held others than themselves.  Slowly they climbed the familiar path, but this time as never before.  They walked hand in hand.  From the blur they looked back.  They wanted to make sure they were not dreaming.  The water rushed over the fall more musically than ever before; the white patches of foam floated round and round the shady pool; the leaves of the sycamore rustled cheerily in the breeze.  On a dead branch a wood-pecker hammered industriously.

“Before we get out of sight of that dear old tree I want to make a confession,” said Betty, as she stood before Alfred.  She was pulling at the fringe on his hunting-coat.

“You need not make confessions to me.”

“But this was dreadful; it preys on my conscience.”

“Very well, I will be your judge.  Your punishment shall be slight.”

“One day when you were lying unconscious from your wound, Bessie sent me to watch you.  I nursed you for hours; and—­and—­do not think badly of me—­I—­I kissed you.”

“My darling,” cried the enraptured young man.

When they at last reached the house they found Col.  Zane on the doorstep.

“Where on earth have you been?” he said.  “Wetzel was here.  He said he would not wait to see you.  There he goes up the hill.  He is behind that laurel.”

They looked and presently saw the tall figure of the hunter emerge from the bushes.  He stopped and leaned on his rifle.  For a minute he remained motionless.  Then he waved his hand and plunged into the thicket.  Betty sighed and Alfred said: 

“Poor Wetzel! ever restless, ever roaming.”

“Hello, there!” exclaimed a gay voice.  The lovers turned to see the smiling face of Isaac, and over his shoulder Myeerah’s happy face beaming on them.  “Alfred, you are a lucky dog.  You can thank Myeerah and me for this; because if I had not taken to the river and nearly drowned myself to give you that opportunity you would not wear that happy face to-day.  Blush away, Betts, it becomes you mightily.”