“And you will be mine?  All my own!”

She gave him her hands.  He drew the head, with its soft, bright hair, to his breast, and kissed the sweet lips again and again, almost failing to realize the blessed reality of his happiness.

It was late that night before Archer Trevlyn left his betrothed bride, and took his way to the village hotel.  But he was too happy, too full of sweet content, to heed the lapse of time.  At last the longing of his life was satisfied.  He had heard her say that she loved him.

And Margie sat and listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps, and then went up to her chamber to pass the night, wakeful, too content to be willing to lose the time in sleep, and so the dawn of morning found her with open eyes.

* * * * *

The ensuing winter was a very gay one.  Margaret Harrison returned to New York under the chaperonage of her friend, Mrs. Weldon, and mingled more freely in society than she had done since the season she “came out.”  She took pleasure in it now, for Archer Trevlyn was welcomed everywhere.  He was a favored guest in the most aristocratic homes, and people peculiarly exclusive were happy to receive him into their most select gatherings.

His engagement with Margie was made public, and the young people were overwhelmed with the usual compliments of politely expressed hopes and fashionable congratulations.

The gentleman said Miss Harrison had always been beautiful, but this season she was more than that.  Happiness is a rare beautifier.  It painted Margie’s cheeks and lips with purest rose color, and gave a light to her eyes and a softness to her sweet voice.

Of course she did not mingle in society, even though her engagement was well known, without being surrounded by admirers.  They fairly took her away from Arch, sometimes; but he tried to be patient.  Before the apple-trees in the green country valleys were rosy with blossoms, she was to be all his own.  He could afford to be generous.

Among the train of her admirers was a young Cuban gentleman, Louis Castrani, a man of fascinating presence and great personal beauty.  He had been unfortunate in his first love.  She had died a few days before they were to have been married—­died by the hand of violence, and Castrani had shot the rival who murdered her.  Public opinion had favored the avenger, and he had not suffered for the act, but ever since he had been a prey to melancholy.  He told Margie his history, and it aroused her pity; but when he asked her love, she refused him gently, telling him that her heart was another’s.  He had suffered deeply from the disappointment, but he did not give up her society, as most men would have done.  He still hovered around her, content if she gave him a smile or a kind word, seeming to find his best happiness in anticipating her every wish before it was uttered.

Toward the end of March Alexandrine Lee came to pass a few days with Margie.  Some singular change had been at work on the girl.  She had lost her wonted gayety of spirits, and was for the most part subdued, almost sad.  Her beautiful eyes seldom lighted with a smile, and her sweet voice was rarely heard.