you."

Isabella Spencer had hated this man; yet her hate had been but a
parasite growth on a nobler stem, with no abiding roots of its
own. It withered under his words, and lo, there was the old
love, fair and strong and beautiful as ever.

"Oh--David--I--was--all--to--blame," she murmured
brokenly.

Further words were lost on her husband's lips.

When the hubbub of handshaking and congratulating had subsided,
Isabella Spencer stepped out before the company. She looked
almost girlish and bridal herself, with her flushed cheeks and
bright eyes.

"Let's go back now and have supper, and be sensible," she said
crisply. "Rachel, your father is coming, too. He is coming to
STAY,"--with a defiant glance around the circle. "Come,
everybody."

They went back with laughter and raillery over the quiet autumn
fields, faintly silvered now by the moon that was rising over the
hills. The young bride and groom lagged behind; they were very
happy, but they were not so happy, after all, as the old bride
and groom who walked swiftly in front. Isabella's hand was in
her husband's and sometimes she could not see the moonlit hills
for a mist of glorified tears.