“While I have always treasured it consciously or unconsciously,” he returned, with eager joy creeping into the tenderness of his voice. “You were a blessed little prophetess, for it is here under the shadow of the old wood that love has at last built for us the fairest, holiest structure earth ever knew.”
Then they remembered the hour of the night and 210 the anxiety of her father and mother, and started back down the road, Nancy saying she would like to walk a little and Steve leading Gyp, who had been unconcernedly grazing by the roadside.
After a time the lover went on again joyously:
“We have equal right to one another now, have we not, sweetheart, for if I saved you from possible death at the moment of our meeting, you have probably saved me from a tragic end to-night. It is the way of our mountain life,” he added, his voice taking on a note of sadness; “our joy must always be mingled with tragedy until we learn the beautiful ways of peace.”
Then he stopped again and turned her face up to the moonlight once more.
“Will you be content, dearest, to help me in the work I have chosen,––it will probably mean sacrifice,––the giving up of your ambitions.”
She smiled back with a low, “More than content, if I may be always with you.”
The next day Steve met Raymond on the street, and the latter was more serious than Steve had ever seen him.
“Well, old fellow,” he said with an attempt at a smile, “you’ve licked me again. I know all about the sale of Greely Ridge and your narrow escape last 211 night. Those two things, I admit, show me I am a good deal of a fool, and something of a cad as I used to be. I want you to know that the business with the moonshiners is all off. The other victory you’ve won over me I can’t talk about. I acknowledge you deserve her though, more than I do, and I wish you luck.”