Helen rises, and makes her way to the door, closely followed by Guy.
"I am going to say good-night to Aunt Helen," she whispers, her eyes drooping shyly under the steadfast gaze he bends upon her.
"I will wait for you here, dear," he says, and takes her hand in his, but she blushes so painfully he lets it drop again.
"Foolish little woman," he sighs to himself. "Shall I ever really possess her heart?"
In a few moments she rejoins him, and Guy puts his arm about her, and leads her into the music room. No lamps are lighted, but the window-shades are up, and the moon's soft rays shine through the panes, illumining mysteriously the great empty room. Far away, across the snowclad landscape, the slender spire of St. Andrew's points heavenward, and through the windows of the church shines the red glow of a light within. The scene is one of infinite peace and beauty, and the magic of the hour casts its spell over Helen and her lover, as speechless, motionless, they stand within the recess of the window, gazing out at the marvelous beauty of the night.
By and by, Helen moves a little closer to her companion.
"I have something to tell you, Guy," she murmurs, "and I haven't the courage to say it."
The old doubt, not yet dispelled, pales Guy's face.
"Don't tell me you are going to send me from you again, Helen."
The girl's heart throbs at the pain in his voice: