they had been very quiet for a long time as they sat in the rose garden looking over the park. they could see the dappled deer under the great oaks; the shadow of the fine old house lay behind. there was something very soothing and peaceful about the picture. it was ralph who spoke presently; he had mary's hand in his, and she did not draw it away.

"it is a pity to lose this," he said, "to know that it has gone for ever. mary, you were better and braver far than you knew, when you turned your back on dashwood hall."

"was i?" mary asked absently. "it will always be a sadness and a sorrow to me, more from the knowledge of what i might have some day made the place than anything else. but i need not dwell on that. i have my living to get now."

"and i suppose i have mine," ralph said. "mary, you know what is on the tip of my tongue. could you share that lot with me? but i know that you would; i know what your feelings are. you told me the night you came back here; you said that my prophecy had come true; that you had returned to ask my pardon on your knees. do you regret that?"

"no," mary said resolutely. "i do not regret it for a moment. because it was true then, and it is truer now. it was connie who taught me that lesson, i think. she pointed out to me what a good thing a man's love was. and when i thought that i had lost you, why, then i knew what my mind was. if i am worth the taking, ralph----"

"my darling, you were always worth the taking," ralph cried. "even in the days of your pride i had dreams of the sweet mary that would like you to love her, and behold, here she is! and you are prepared to share the lot of a poor man without even a pedigree?"

mary swayed towards her lover, and he caught her in his eager arms. the next minute her face was hidden on his breast, happy tears rolling down her cheeks.

"don't," she whispered. "oh, please don't remind me of that, ralph. from the bottom of my heart i love you; i must have loved you from the very first. what does it matter what you are, so long as you are what you are--a good man, with a kind heart for a foolish girl like me? i am prepared to share your lot, and go where you like, ralph; anywhere you choose to take me. we shall be very poor, i suppose, but that does not matter. i am glad, glad that the day came when i had to leave the hall."

"and if you never return you will not regret it, mary?"

"no, ralph, not with you by my side. and as to poverty, why, it could not be worse than what i have gone through lately. we shall be very poor, ralph."

"not so very poor," ralph smiled. there was nobody near to see them, so the girl's head rested happily on ralph's shoulder, his arm round her waist. "dearest, i have a confession to make to you. we are not poor at all."

"but i thought that you had lost everything, ralph. that mr. mayfield had your money. but don't let us talk about him. it makes me hot and cold all over. to think that at one time there was more than a possibility that i should----"

"no, there was never the slightest possibility," said ralph. "i have had all the cards in the game from the very first. mary, i am going to tell you a little story; it is the history of a man who passed most of his early life in america, where he did not see many people. he was quite a well-born man, but his father had quarrelled with his relatives, and so he had not all the advantages which were due to his station. but he was well brought up, and prided himself that he had a high sense of honour.

"well, in time, he came to europe, and then he met the one woman that he needed. she was very lovely, very proud, and very distant. but that young man could see what lay under her pride, and he determined to win her for his wife. she liked him, but she refused him. and for two years he did not meet her again. then he came to england, and accident brought those two together again. in the meantime, the girl's father had come into possession of the family estates, and the girl was more proud and distant than ever. and still that young man was not dismayed.

"and now comes the strange part of my story. the young man, whose father had died in the meantime, had come here to claim a title and a property. he had not known anything of this till his father died, but he came, and his grandmother recognized him at once. but that very same property and title had passed to the girl's father. now, the young man might have told the girl this, and doubtless she would have married him. but he was a romantic young man, and desired to be married for his own sake. then another claimant to the property turned up, and the young man pretended to back this impostor's claim. he did this, so that the girl should go out in the world, as he felt that she would, and get her own living. and his estimate of the girl was correct, for she did so."

"go on," mary whispered. "you can't tell how interested i am."

"well, it was even as the young man had expected. the carefully-planned plot succeeded beyond the most sanguine expectations. the girl went out into the world, and almost at once her better nature began to prevail. she saw the world through other eyes; she learned what a wonderful and complex thing humanity is. and when that young man saw the girl again he was astonished and delighted. he did not regret his plot in the least. he knew now that here was the real girl that he loved, deprived of her pride and hauteur, palpitating with love and tender sympathy. . . . in your case would you have forgiven that man, mary?"

"oh, yes, yes," mary cried. "oh, i can read between the lines of your parable. i am the girl and you are the man who has brought me to my senses. ralph, it sounds like a fairy story. and so you took this means of opening my eyes, and showing me how small and narrow my world was. forgive you? could you ever forgive me? and to think that you are the son of ralph dashwood come back after all these years. and to think that lady dashwood should know and not tell me. marvellous!"

"i bound her to secrecy," ralph explained. "and, really, things fell out wonderfully for me. there was the incident of the fire and that matchbox, for instance; the incident that forced the impostor speed to declare himself. for, of course, you have guessed who the man who called himself sir vincent dashwood really was. i suppose we shall never hear who it was who tried to set the hall on fire."

mary laughed happily through her tears.

"and you never found that out?" she said. "why, i knew at once. and i was horribly afraid lest the person should be found out and severely punished. do you recollect the night that those men took possession of the hall, the night when you tried to save me from mayfield? old patience was there. it was one of her lucid nights when she possessed her full intelligence. and she kept on crying for somebody to smoke the rats out, for somebody who had courage to put the match to the faggot. i found her quite late, and took her to sleep for the night in my dressing-room. and when you came to save me, patience had vanished. i never had the slightest doubt who set the hall on fire, and i hope that you will not mention this to anybody, ralph. patience has quite forgotten it. i alluded to the subject only yesterday, and she expressed her indignation."

"well, that is the last of the mysteries cleared," ralph said. "i suppose the poor creature found that matchbox somewhere. the next thing is to proclaim myself, and then, mary, you can come back to the hall as mistress again."

"what happiness!" mary whispered. "but a different kind of happiness to the old. i shall hope a little later to see the old hall a different place to what it has ever been before. i should like to build a charming house close by for the benefit of girls like my friends connie and grace. i owe them more than i can ever repay; indeed, i owe humanity in general a deep debt of gratitude. you will let me have my own way over this, ralph, for i have set my heart on it."

"it shall be as you say, darling," ralph whispered, as he kissed the red lips tenderly. "for the honour of the house, for now and evermore."