The bright lights, the falling snow, the mantle of white on everything, with their promise of the holiday season, pleased Lane with the memory of what great fun he used to have at Christmas-time.

When he arrived at Mel’s home the snow was falling thickly in heavy flakes.  Through the pall he caught a faint light, which grew brighter as he plodded toward the cottage.  He stamped on the porch and flapped his arms to remove the generous covering of snow that had adhered to him.  And as he was about to knock, the door opened, and Mel stood in the sudden brightness.

“Hello, Mel, how are you?—­some snow, eh?” was his cheery greeting, and he went in and shut the door behind him.

“Why, Daren—­you—­you—­”

“I—­what!  Aren’t you glad to see me?”

Lane had not prepared himself for anything.  He knew he could win now, and all he had allowed himself was gladness.  But being face to face with Mel made it different.  It had been long since he last saw her.  That interval had been generous.  To look at her now no one could have guessed her story.  Warmth and richness of color had come back to her; and vividly they expressed her joy at sight of him.

“Glad?—­I’ve been living—­on my hopes—­that you—­”

Her faltering speech trailed off here, as Lane took one long stride toward her.

Lane put a firm hand to each of her cheeks, and tilting a suddenly rosy face, he kissed her full on the lips.  Then he turned away without looking at her and stepped to the little open grate, where a small red fire glowed.  Mel gasped there behind him and then became perfectly still.

“Nice fire, Mel,” he spoke out, naturally, as if nothing unusual had happened.  But the thin hands he extended to the warmth of the coals trembled like aspen leaves in the wind.  How silent she was!  It thrilled him.  What strange sweet revel in the moment.

When he turned it seemed he saw her eyes, her lips, her whole face luminous.  The next instant she came out of her spell; and Lane divined if he let her wholly recover, he would have a woman to deal with.

“Daren, what’s wrong with you?” she inquired.

“Why, Mel!” he ejaculated, in feigned reproach.

“You don’t look irrational, but you act so,” she said, studying him more closely.  The hand that had been pressed to her breast dropped down.

“Had my last crazy spell two weeks ago,” he replied.

“Until to-night.”

“You mean my kissing you?  Well, I refuse to apologize.  You see I was not prepared to find you so improved.  Why, Mel, you’re changed.  You’re just—­just lovely.”

Again the rich color stained her cheeks.

“Thank you, Daren,” she said.  “I have changed. You did it....  I’ve gotten well, and—­almost happy....  But let’s not talk of myself.  You—­there’s so much—­”

“Mel, I don’t want to talk about myself, either,” he declared.  “When a man’s got only a day or so longer—­”