It was several months after Helen’s marriage.  The scene was a little lake, in one of the wildest parts of the Adirondacks, surrounded by tall mountains which converted it into a basin in the land, and walled in by a dense growth about the shores, which added still more to its appearance of seclusion.  In only one place was the scenery more open, where there was a little vale between two of the hills, and where a mountain torrent came rushing down the steep incline.  There the underbrush had been cleared away, and beneath the great forest trees a house constructed, a little cabin built of logs, and in harmony with the rest of the scene.

It was only large enough for two or three rooms downstairs, and as many above, and all were furnished in the plainest way.  About the main room there were shelves of books, and a piano and a well-chosen music-library.  It was the little home which for a dozen years or more David Howard had occupied alone, and where he and Helen had spent the golden summer of their love.

It was late in the fall then, and the mountains were robed in scarlet and orange.  Helen was standing upon the little piazza, a shawl flung about her shoulders, because it was yet early in the morning.  She was talking to her father, who had been paying them a few days’ visit, and was taking a last look about him at the fresh morning scene before it was time for him to begin his long homeward journey.

Helen was clad in a simple dress, and with the prettiest of white sun bonnets tied upon her head; she was browned by the sun, and looked a picture of health and happiness as she held her father’s arm in hers.  “And then you are quite sure that you are happy?” he was saying, as he looked at her radiant face.

She echoed the word—­“Happy?” and then she stretched out her arms and took a deep breath and echoed it again.  “I am so happy,” she laughed, “I never know what to do!  You did not stay long enough for me to tell you, Daddy!” She paused for a moment, and then went on, “I think there never was anybody in the world so full of joy.  For this is such a beautiful little home, you know, and we live such a beautiful life; and oh, we love each other so that the days seem to fly by like the wind!  I never even have time to think how happy I am.”

“Your husband really loves you as much as he ought,” said the father, gazing at her tenderly.

“I think God never put on earth another such man as David,” replied, the girl, with sudden gravity.  “He is so noble, and so unselfish in every little thing; I see it in his eyes every instant that all his life is lived for nothing but to win my love.  And it just draws the heart right out of me, Daddy, so that I could live on my knees before him, just trying to tell him how much I love him.  I cannot ever love him enough; but it grows—­it grows like great music, and every day my heart is more full!”