At last, when she was too weak to swim another stroke, she sank despairingly, and found the firm ground under her feet. It was easy then, and she half dragged him ashore.
When she awoke out of what seemed a horrible dream, she was in her own room, and Mrs. Kitson was bustling about her with motherly solicitude. Jack was kneeling beside her, and when she opened her eyes, his were shining with the "light that was never on land or sea," as he took her hand.
An answering glow crept into her face and he stooped, unafraid, to her lips. There was no need of words between them—love went to meet love with open arms.
As soon as she was able to sit up, they made plans for their future. "Just our two pens, Jack," she said happily, "to buy everything we want. But we won't want much else, if we have each other." A lump rose in his throat, but it was not yet time to tell her.
He went to the city every day now, "on business," as he said, and as the summer faded, and the leaves turned crimson and gold, Constance began her wedding gown. She put so many hopes and fancies into it with the tiny careful stitches she took that had the white not been senseless, it must have turned to rose under her hands.
They were married in a little church on a glorious autumn day.
"I think it's the last day," she said; "the summer only just waited for us."
He would not tell her where the wedding journey was to be, and she showed little curiosity.
"I don't care where we go," she said as they left the house for the last time, "only you mustn't be extravagant."
It was not until the train stopped at a little town by the sea, and very near the city, that he gave her any hint of his plans. They had taken a carriage and driven down a beautiful winding road. He waved his hand towards a distant hill.