At Love's Cost

"I must not keep you any longer, my dear boy!" he said, with a fond,

proud look. "I must not forget I am keeping you from--her! She will be

missing you--wanting you. You have kept your secret well,

Stafford--though once or twice I have fancied, when I have seen you

together--but it was only a fancy!--Are you going to announce the

engagement tonight? It is rather a good opportunity, isn't it? It will

make the night memorable."

The music danced madly through Stafford's brain as his father waited,

looking at him smilingly. What should he say?

"Not to-night, sir!" he answered. "I should like to speak to Miss

Falconer first."

Sir Stephen nodded and smiled.

"I understand, my boy," he said. "This kind of thing is not done now as

it was in my time. We used to take the girl of our choice by the hand

and throw back our heads, and announce the fact that we have secured

the prize, with all the pride imaginable. But that's all altered now. I

suppose the new way is more delicate--more refined. At any rate, you

belong to the new age and have a right to follow its manners and

customs; so you shall say nothing to-night, unless you like. And, if I

am asked why I look so happy, so free from care, I must say that it is

because the great Railway Scheme is settled and that I have won all

along the line."

As he said the last words there came a knock at the door, and Murray

entered with an injured look.

"Mr. Griffenberg and Baron Wirsch, would like to see you, Sir Stephen,"

he said, significantly.

Sir Stephen sprang to the table almost with the alertness of a boy, and

caught up the papers lying on his desk.

"All right, Murray!" he cried. "Sorry I'm late! Been having a talk with

Mr. Stafford. Come on!"

With a nod, a smile, a tender look of love and gratitude to Stafford,

the brilliant adventurer, once more thrown by the buoyant wave upon the

shore of safety and success, went out to communicate that success to

his coadjutors.

Stafford sank into his father's chair, and with his hands thrust deep

in his pockets, and his chin upon his chest, tried to clear his brain,

to free his mind from all side issues, and to face the fact that he had

tacitly agreed, that by his silence he had consented to marry Maude

Falconer.

But, oh, how hard it was to think clearly, with the vision of that

girlish face floating before him! the exquisitely beautiful face with

its violet eyes now arched and merry, now soft and pleading, now tender

with the tenderness of a girl's first, true, divinely trusting love. He

was looking at the book-case before him, but a mist rose between it and

his eyes, and he saw the mountain-side and the darling of his heart

riding down it, the sunlight on her face, the soft tendrils of hair

blown rough by the wind, the red lips apart with a smile--the little

grave smile which he had kissed away into deeper, still sweeter

seriousness.