Forrest did not answer. His face was very white. She believed his strength, once more, was going, and she moved closer, raising herself a-tiptoe on the rock, to brace her shoulder again to his weight. "Oh," she said, "we shouldn't have stopped here; we should have hurried straight down."
"Why, I'm all right." He leaned a little in spite of himself, and the arm on her shoulder shook. "Yes, I'm all right. But see here—see here—what does the Judge—know?"
She waited a moment, and the lark, nearer now, repeated his prelude,
"All things—all things—-come round to him—to him—who
will but wait."
Then she answered, almost in a whisper, with her lashes fallen and a soft brightness in her face, "That I—love you—Paul."
Colonel started, for the old madame, seeing them on the knoll, had crossed the yard to open the gate. Then, suddenly, as they went down, breaking the cello interlude of the falls, the voice of the lark, full, tender, impassioned, rose in full song.
THE END.
* * * * * * * *
"Oppenheim's Latest Success"
THE MISSIONER