“Sweetheart,” he answered, holding her close, “and long ago I called love a draught of the poison cup—­what a poor blind fool was I!”

“Yes,” she said tenderly.  “John, we are much wiser now—­and, when we return to the world out of this divine dream-country, you will teach me of that life which you must live in the fierce arena where you will fight for a principle against such odds; and I shall be always there to comfort you and give you of my sympathy and tenderness.  And, as you instruct me in the day and its strenuous toils, I will teach you of the soothing, peaceful currents of the night.  And we shall know only joy, because we have seen how it always comes if we go straight on and leave the tangled threads to God.”

John Derringham bent and kissed her lips and he murmured: 

“My darling—­my one woman with a soul.”

THE END