At last, feeling that he was losing grip and might act foolishly, he announced to Forbes, one night when a glorious moon was shining, and he knew that Evelyn was awaiting him in the garden, that he must leave for London next day.

“Why?” inquired his host.  “Has something unforeseen happened?  I thought you meant remaining here till the end of the month at the earliest.”

“I’m sorry,” said Theydon, chewing a cigar viciously as a means toward maintaining his self-control.  “I’m sorry, but I must go.”

There was a slight pause.  Forbes looked at his young friend with those earnest, deep-seeing eyes of his.

“Is it a personal matter?” he went on.

“Yes.”

Again there was a pause.  Theydon was well aware that he risked a grave misunderstanding, but that could not be avoided.  It might be even better so.  And then his blood ran cold, because Forbes was saying: 

“Are you leaving us because of anything Evelyn has said or done?”

“No, no!” came the frenzied answer.  “Heaven help me, why do you ask that?”

“Heaven helps those who help themselves,” said the older man.  “That is a trite saying, but it meets the case.  I think I diagnose your trouble, my boy.  You are in love with Evelyn, and dare not tell her so, because I happen to be a rich man.  Really I didn’t think you had so poor an opinion of me as to believe that money or rank would count against my daughter’s happiness.”

He said other things—­ kindly, wise, appreciative—­ but Frank Theydon never knew what they were.  He managed to stammer out some words of gratitude and then went to find Evelyn.

She had crossed a sloping lawn and was standing by the side of a little stream that gargled and bubbled in joyous career to the nearby loch.  She had thrown a white shawl over her head and shoulders, and looked adorably sylphlike as she turned on hearing his footsteps; the moonlight shone on her face and was reflected in her eyes.

“Oh, you’re here at last!” she cried gaily.  “The next time I ask any cavalier to escort me he will come more quickly, I imagine.”

He stood in front of her, and stretched out both hands.

“Evelyn,” he said, “here is one cavalier, at any rate, who offers himself as an escort for life.”

The merriment died out of her eyes, and the quip on her tongue failed her.  Greatly daring, her lover took her in his arms.  Through the open windows of the drawing room floated the tender refrain of a ballad.  Mrs. Forbes was singing, and sweet words blended with sweet music in the still air.

Then their lips met, and the dark glen became an earthly Paradise.

 The end

*** End of the project gutenberg EBOOK, number seventeen ***

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