Lane felt more than satisfied with the result of that interview.  Joshua Iden would go home and tell Mel’s mother, and that would surely make the victory easier.  She would be touched in her mother’s heart; she would understand Mel now, and divine Lane’s mission; and she would plead with her husband to consent, and to bring Mel back home.  Lane was counting on that.  He must never even hint such a hope, but nevertheless he had it, he believed in it.  Joshua Iden would have the scales torn from his eyes.  He would never have it said that a dying soldier, who owed neither him nor his daughter anything, had shown more charity than he.

Therefore, Lane went early to the Iden homestead, a picturesque cottage across the river from Riverside Park.  The only change Lane noted was a larger growth of trees and a fuller foliage.  It was warm twilight.  The frogs had begun to trill, sweet and melodious sound to Lane, striking melancholy chords of memory.  Joshua Iden was walking on his lawn, his coat off, his gray head uncovered.  Mrs. Iden sat on the low-roofed porch.  Lane expected to see a sad change in her, something the same as he had found in his own mother.  But he was hardly prepared for the frail, white-haired woman unlike the image he carried in his mind.

“Daren Lane!  You should have come to see me long ago,” was her greeting, and in her voice, so like Mel’s, Lane recognized her.  Some fitting reply came to him, and presently the moment seemed easier for all.  She asked about his mother and Lorna, and then about Blair Maynard.  But she did not speak of his own health or condition.  And presently Lane thought it best to come to the issue at hand.

“Mr. Iden, have you made up your mind to—­to give me what I want?”

“Yes, I have, Lane,” replied Iden, simply.  “You’ve made me see what Mel’s mother always believed, though she couldn’t make it clear to me....  I have much to forgive that girl.  Yet, if you, who owe her nothing—­who have wasted your life in vain sacrifice—­if you can ask her to be your wife, I can ask her to come back home.”

That was a splendid, all-satisfying moment for Lane.  By his own grief he measured his reward.  What had counted with Joshua Iden had been his faith in Mel’s innate goodness.  Then Lane turned to the mother.  In the dusk he could see the working of her sad face.

“God bless you, my boy!” she said.  “You feel with a woman’s heart.  I thank you....  Joshua has already sent word for Mel to come home.  She will be back to-morrow....  You must come here to see her.  But, Daren, she will never marry you.”

“She will,” replied Lane.

“You do not know Mel.  Even if you had only a day to live she would not let you wrong yourself.”

“But when she learns how much it means to me?  The army ruined Mel, as it ruined hundreds of thousands of other girls.  She will let one soldier make it up to her.  She will let me go to my death with less bitterness.”