opposition, and soon they were far away from beaten highways, down on the banks of the historic stream, picking flowers and laughing merrily like two truant children bent on a self-made holiday.  The place they had reached was just outside the northern boundaries of Harlem, a sylvan spot still unspoiled by the rude invasion of the flat-house builder.  The land, thickly wooded, sloped down sharply to the water, and the perfect quiet was broken only by the washing of the tiny surf against the river bank and the shrill notes of the birds in the trees.

Although it was late in October the day was warm, and Shirley soon tired of climbing over bramble-entangled verdure.  The rich grass underfoot looked cool and inviting, and the natural slope of the ground affording an ideal resting-place, she sat there, with Jefferson stretched out at her feet, both watching idly the dancing waters of the broad Hudson, spangled with gleams of light, as they swept swiftly by on their journey to the sea.

“Shirley,” said Jefferson suddenly, “I suppose you saw that ridiculous story about my alleged engagement to Miss Roberts.  I hope you understood that it was done without my consent.”

“If I did not guess it, Jeff,” she answered, “your assurance would be sufficient.  Besides,” she added, “what right have I to object?”

“But I want you to have the right,” he replied earnestly.  “I’m going to stop this Roberts nonsense in a way my father hardly anticipates.  I’m just waiting a chance to talk to him.  I’ll show him the absurdity of announcing me engaged to a girl who is about to elope with his private secretary!”

“Elope with the secretary?” exclaimed Shirley.

Jefferson told her all about the letter he had found on the staircase, and the Hon. Fitzroy Bagley’s plans for a runaway marriage with the senator’s wealthy daughter.

“It’s a godsend to me,” he said gleefully.  “Their plan is to get married next Wednesday.  I’ll see my father on Tuesday; I’ll put the evidence in his hands, and I don’t think,” he added grimly, “he’ll bother me any more about Miss Roberts.”

“So you’re not going away now?” said Shirley, smiling down at him.

He sat up and leaned over towards her.

“I can’t, Shirley, I simply can’t,” he replied, his voice trembling.  “You are more to me than I dreamed a woman could ever be.  I realize it more forcibly every day.  There is no use fighting against it.  Without you, my work, my life means nothing.”

Shirley shook her head and averted her eyes.

“Don’t let us speak of that, Jeff,” she pleaded gently.  “I told you I did not belong to myself while my father was in peril.”

“But I must speak of it,” he interrupted.  “Shirley, you do yourself an injustice as well as me.  You are not indifferent to me—­I feel that.  Then why raise this barrier between us?”

A soft light stole into the girl’s eyes.  Ah, it was good to feel there was someone to whom she was everything in the world!