In the weeks which followed the trip to Fort Myer, Mary found an

astonishing change in her brother. For the first time in his life he

seemed to be taking things seriously. He stayed at home at night and

studied. He gave up Jerry Tuckerman and the other radiant musketeers.

She did not know the reason for the change but it brought her hope and

happiness.

Barry saw Leila often, but, as yet, no one but Delilah Jeliffe knew of

the tie between them.

"I ought to tell Dad," Leila had said, timidly; "he'd be very happy.

It is what he has always wanted, Barry."

"I must prove myself a man first," Barry told her, "I've squandered

some of my opportunities, but now that I have you to work for, I feel

as strong as a lion."

They were alone in the General's library. "It is because you trust me,

dear one," Barry went on, "that I am strong."

She slipped her little hand into his. "Barry--it seems so queer to

think that I shall ever be--your wife."

"You had to be. It was meant from the--beginning."

"Was it, Barry?"

"Yes."

"And it will be to the end. Oh, I shall always love you, dearly,

dearly----"

It was idyllic, their little love affair--their big love affair, if one

judged by their measure. It was tender, sweet, and because it was

their secret, because there was no word of doubt or of distrust from

those who were older and wiser, they brought to it all the beauty of

youth and high hope.

Thus the spring came, and the early summer, and Barry passed his

examinations triumphantly, and came home one night and told Mary that

he was going to marry Leila Dick. As he told her his blue eyes

beseeched her, and loving him, and hating to hurt him, Mary withheld

the expression of her fears, and kissed him and cried a little on his

shoulder, and Barry patted her cheek, and said awkwardly: "I know you

think I'm not worthy of her, Mary. But she will make a man of me."

Alone, afterward, Mary wondered if she had been wise to acquiesce--yet

surely, surely, love was strong enough to lift a man up to a woman's

ideal--and Leila was such a--darling.

She put the question to Roger Poole that night. In these warmer days

she and Roger had slipped almost unconsciously into close intimacy. He

read to her for an hour after dinner, when she had no other

engagements, and often they sat in the old garden, she with her

note-book on the arm of the stone bench--he at the other end of the

bench, under a bush of roses of a hundred leaves. Sometimes Aunt

Isabelle was with them, with her fancy work, sometimes they were alone;

but always when the hour was over, he would close his book and ascend

to his tower, lest he might meet those who came later. There were many

nights that he thus escaped Porter Bigelow--nights when in the

moonlight he heard the murmur of voices, mingled with the splash of the

fountain; and there were other nights when gay groups danced upon the

lawn to the music played by Mary just within the open window.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024