“Darling, it has come!”

Then he heard Rosannah Ethelton, whose back was toward him, say: 

“So has yours, dearest!”

He saw her bowed form bend lower; he heard her kiss something—­not merely once, but again and again!  His soul raged within him.  The heartbreaking conversation went on: 

“Rosannah, I knew you must be beautiful, but this is dazzling, this is blinding, this is intoxicating!”

“Alonzo, it is such happiness to hear you say it.  I know it is not true, but I am so grateful to have you think it is, nevertheless!  I knew you must have a noble face, but the grace and majesty of the reality beggar the poor creation of my fancy.”

Burley heard that rattling shower of kisses again.

“Thank you, my Rosannah!  The photograph flatters me, but you must not allow yourself to think of that.  Sweetheart?”

“Yes, Alonzo.”

“I am so happy, Rosannah.”

“Oh, Alonzo, none that have gone before me knew what love was, none that come after me will ever know what happiness is.  I float in a gorgeous cloud land, a boundless firmament of enchanted and bewildering ecstasy!”

“Oh, my Rosannah! for you are mine, are you not?”

“Wholly, oh, wholly yours, Alonzo, now and forever!  All the day long, and all through my nightly dreams, one song sings itself, and its sweet burden is, ’Alonzo Fitz Clarence, Alonzo Fitz Clarence, Eastport, state of Maine!’”

“Curse him, I’ve got his address, anyway!” roared Burley, inwardly, and rushed from the place.

Just behind the unconscious Alonzo stood his mother, a picture of astonishment.  She was so muffled from head to heel in furs that nothing of herself was visible but her eyes and nose.  She was a good allegory of winter, for she was powdered all over with snow.

Behind the unconscious Rosannah stood “Aunt Susan,” another picture of astonishment.  She was a good allegory of summer, for she was lightly clad, and was vigorously cooling the perspiration on her face with a fan.

Both of these women had tears of joy in their eyes.

“Soho!” exclaimed Mrs. Fitz Clarence, “this explains why nobody has been able to drag you out of your room for six weeks, Alonzo!”

“So ho!” exclaimed Aunt Susan, “this explains why you have been a hermit for the past six weeks, Rosannah!”

The young couple were on their feet in an instant, abashed, and standing like detected dealers in stolen goods awaiting judge Lynch’s doom.

“Bless you, my son!  I am happy in your happiness.  Come to your mother’s arms, Alonzo!”

“Bless you, Rosannah, for my dear nephew’s sake!  Come to my arms!”

Then was there a mingling of hearts and of tears of rejoicing on Telegraph Hill and in Eastport Square.

Servants were called by the elders, in both places.  Unto one was given the order, “Pile this fire high, with hickory wood, and bring me a roasting-hot lemonade.”