Then I descended the path, hurrying past a certain dark spot.  And, coming at last within sight of the cottage, I paused again, and shivered again, for the windows were dark and the door shut.  But the latch yielded readily beneath my hand, so I went in, and closed and barred the door behind me.

For upon the hearth a fire burned with a dim, red glow that filled the place with shadows, and the shadows were very deep.

“Charmian!” said I, “oh, Charmian, are you there have I guessed right?” I heard a rustle close beside me, and, in the gloom, came a hand to meet and clasp my own; wherefore I stooped and kissed those slender fingers, drawing her into the fireglow; and her eyes were hidden by their lashes, and the glow of the fire seemed reflected in her cheeks.

“The candles were so—­bright, Peter,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“And so—­when I heard you coming—­”

“You heard me?”

“I was sitting on the bench outside, Peter.”

“And, when you heard me—­you put the candles out?”

“They seemed so—­very bright, Peter.”

“And shut the door?”

“I only—­just—­closed it, Peter.”  She was still wrapped in her cloak, as she had been when I first saw her, wherefore I put back the hood from her face.  And behold! as I did so, her hair fell down, rippling over my arm, and covering us both in its splendor, as it had done once before.

“Indeed—­you have glorious hair!” said I.  “It seems wonderful to think that you are my wife.  I can scarcely believe it—­even yet!”

“Why, I had meant you should marry me from the first, Peter.”

“Had you?”

“Do you think I should ever have come back to this dear solitude otherwise?”

Now, when I would have kissed her, she turned her head aside.

“Peter.”

“Yes, Charmian?”

“The Lady Sophia Sefton never did gallop her horse up the steps of St. Paul’s Cathedral.”

“Didn’t she, Charmian?”

“And she couldn’t help her name being bandied from mouth to mouth, or ‘hiccoughed out over slopping wineglasses,’ could she?”

“No,” said I, frowning; “what a young fool I was!”

“And, Peter—­”

“Well, Charmian?”

“She never was—­and never will be—­buxom, or strapping—­will she? ‘buxom’ is such a—­hateful word, Peter!  And you—­love her? —­wait, Peter—­as much as ever you loved Charmian Brown?”

“Yes,” said I; “yes—­”

“And—­nearly as much as—­your dream woman?”

“More—­much more, because you are the embodiment of all my dreams—­you always will be Charmian.  Because I honor you for your intellect; and worship you for your gentleness, and spotless purity; and love you with all my strength for your warm, sweet womanhood; and because you are so strong, and beautiful, and proud—­”

“And because, Peter, because I am—­just—­your loving—­Humble Person.”