There is no success so sweet as that which comes to a young man.

That night Keith spent out under the stars. Success had come. And its
other name was Alice Yorke.

The way before Keith still stretched steep enough, but the light was on
it, the sunshine caught peak after peak high up among the clouds
themselves, and crowning the highest point, bathed in perpetual
sunlight, was the image of Alice Yorke.

Alice Yorke had been abroad now for some time; but he had followed her.
Often when his work was done he had locked his door and shut himself in
from the turmoil of the bustling, noisy throng outside to dream of
her--to read and study that he might become worthy of her.

He had just seen by the papers that Alice Yorke had returned.

She had escaped the dangers of a foreign service; but, by the account,
she was the belle of the season at the watering-place which she was
honoring with her presence. As he read the account, a little jealousy
crept into the satisfaction which he had felt as he began. Mr. Lancaster
was spoken of too pointedly; and there was mention of too many
yacht-parties and entertainments in which their names appeared together.

In fact, the forces exerted, against Alice Yorke had begun to tell. Her
mother, overawed by her husband's determination, had reluctantly
abandoned her dreams of a foreign title with its attendant honors to
herself, and, of late, had turned all her energies to furthering the
suit of Mr. Lancaster. It would be a great establishment that he would
give Alice, and no name in the country stood higher. He was the soul of