At breakfast the next morning, which Alan had had served in the apartment again so they might have the last few minutes together, Alan asked Lance about his mission.
“How is it you could leave it over Sunday, Lance?” he asked. “Is it intermittent, or do you have it every week?”
“Oh, it’s every week of course,” said Lance, “but there’s another fellow who is studying in Bible school who takes it for me now and then when I have to be away.”
“You going to speak next Sunday?”
“Yes, I’m supposed to,” said Lance.
“Well, I guess I’ll run down and hear you next Sunday, if you don’t mind.”
“I was going to suggest,” said Father Devereaux, “that you spend next weekend with us, or as much of it as you can spare from your business. You know Mother and I are getting old and we like to have our children around us as much as possible.”
“Wonderful!” said Lance. “You needn’t make me the excuse. I’m nothing to hear after the speakers you have in the city here, but it will be great to have you come. Could you get down Friday night? The sledding is still pretty good.”
“I certainly will if I can get away,” said Alan eagerly, and his eyes sought Daryl’s face. He told himself that he must go very cautiously. He must not let her know that he loved her yet. It might startle her and spoil the pleasant friendship that he hoped might be growing up between them.
But Daryl looked up with only welcome on her face, and did he imagine it or was it true that the flush on her cheeks and the light in her eyes meant that she was really glad to have him come?
But he did not realize that he was letting his eyes speak things that he had not even dared to form in his thoughts as yet. Were her beautiful eyes answering his heart’s hunger or not? He could not be sure. He must go slowly.
So it was settled that he would spend the next weekend at the farm, and that made the good-byes easier.
“Well, he certainly is a prince of a fellow!” said Lance as they started on their way.
“Yes, he’s all that!” said Father Devereaux.
“He’s a dear lad!” said Mother Devereaux.
“He’s wonderful!” said Ruth.
Nobody looked at Daryl, and she sat quietly by her mother and said nothing, but there was a dreamy look in her eyes, and her lips were parted in a lovely smile.
“Have a good time, little girl?” Her father suddenly reached across her mother and patted her on the cheek.
“’Deed I did, Daddy,” said Daryl, reverting to her little-girl habit. “Had the time of my life!”
“Glad you came?” asked Lance slyly over his shoulder, winking quietly at Ruth.
“So glad, brudder!” Daryl said, laughing in the way she used to do years ago.
“Glad you sent the handsome brute flying?” dared Lance, growing bolder.
“Double glad, brudder!” And her laugh rang out clear and heart-whole, and the whole family sighed in relief. They had been so afraid that Daryl would get morbid about having done it when the excitement of their visit to the city was passed, but this certainly did not sound that way.
So they went happily home, planning what they would do next weekend when Alan came down.
Alan did a good deal of thinking that week, at least nights when he came back to the apartment alone. The daytime was filled with hard work and no room for personal questions. But in one of the watches of the night Demeter and her wild telephone call about a missing paper came back to his memory. He wasn’t sure just what she had said, he had been so excited about his guests. But now he remembered the paper he had brought away with him from the last fiery interview. He got up and hunted it out from the drawer where he had locked it away. He spent some time studying it carefully and wondered if he ought to call up Demeter in the morning. Perhaps he should tell her about it. But it was all a hectic mess, and he didn’t want to get into it. Perhaps he would better just put it in an envelope and mail it to her.
But in the morning when he tried to reach her he was told that the telephone was disconnected. He hung up and wondered what that could mean, and finally mailed the paper, having the address typewritten.
But the next evening as he idly glanced over a yellow news sheet left beside him on the seat in the subway he saw two items that startled him. One was a racy column of news-gossip, with a sting to it. A name caught his eye, the name of the count.
The article said:
It is rumored that a certain count who has been making himself unpopular crashing high-class parties in the city and selling stock in oil and silver to a number of our worthy and gullible citizens has suddenly disappeared and taken with him numerous large sums of money received in payment for said stocks. His disappearance seems to be simultaneous with the arrival from abroad of our old friend J. G. Bryerly who holds a quantity of these stocks, and had come over to investigate them. Rumor has it that there are no oil wells in the location described in the certificates, and that the silver mines are empty. If so, the shareholders are to be pitied, but not nearly so much as the count who has been wise to disappear.
It is said that a certain golden-haired woman’s smiles have aided and abetted the sale of these shares, and that she would perhaps be wise to disappear as well until the oil wells can be resurrected and the silver mines restocked. But all this is of course hearsay.
The article raced on to attack another character or two, but Alan read and reread the first part, and wondered what had become of Demeter, and if she were really in trouble. Wondered again if it were true that she had actually known how utterly worthless that stock was, and had yet gone on trying to delude people into buying it.
He turned the page over with a troubled frown, and then a news item in the social column caught his eye.
Miss Demeter Cass, a prominent member of the city’s social set, and active in the Junior League, has closed her apartment for the winter and had gone to southern California to stay with an elderly relative who is ill and needs her companionship. Miss Cass will be greatly missed in her own circle of friends, but it is hoped that she will return in a few months to her native haunts.
Alan paused and had to smile over the idea of Demeter Cass allowing herself even for a few hours to be the companion of an elderly invalid relative. It was so unlike Demeter. And then he threw down the paper and sat staring off into nothing, startled at himself. That was his present quick judgment of Demeter, and yet he had been so blind, so completely crazy not so very long ago, as to consider whether he might not marry her! How good God had been to him to save him from such a terrible mistake!
When Alan arrived at the farm in time for dinner Friday evening, there was as much joy over his greeting as if they all had been separated for months.
Ruth was there for over Sunday as usual, and they all acted as if they were blood relatives who liked nothing better in life than to be together.
The time passed all too swiftly, there seemed to be so many nice things to do, singing and reading and talking, skating and sledding, and doing little homey pleasant things about the house together, catching up for all the years they had not known one another.
And after they had spent a long, delightful evening together, suddenly Alan looked up at Daryl and said, “Daryl, why don’t we go down to the cellar again and get some apples? Come on, I’m hungry for an apple.”
And Daryl smilingly rose and led the way.
Lance almost offered to go, and then thought better of it and closed his lips, watching them with a pleased look in his eyes.
Alan went and found the willow basket they had carried down before, remembering where it hung on a nail in the pantry, and Daryl snapped on the cellar light.
When they started down the cellar stairs Alan surprised Daryl by slipping his arm around her waist and walking down the stairs in step with her.
“Now,” said he, as they reached the bottom of the steps and glanced up, “do you suppose if we stayed down here long enough some of them would come and turn the l
ight out on us? I’d mightily like to recapture the moment we had together before down here. It seemed to me it was the sweetest moment of my life. Daryl, look up!”
He took her face in his two hands and lifted it up so that he could look deep into her eyes, and then suddenly the moment returned to them—the thrill, the joy of being together, the dearness of each to her! Alan drew her within his arms and held her close, stooped down and whispered, “Daryl, I love you!” And Daryl yielded to his embrace, a flood of joy breaking from her heart.
“And I love you!” Daryl whispered back. “Oh Alan, I never dreamed there was anything as wonderful as this!”
“My precious!” he said, and suddenly reached out and snapped off the light, catching Daryl up in his arms as before, like a little child, and her face close to his own. They felt again the sweetness of that other moment they had tried so hard to put out of their memories. Oh, the joy of knowing that the other cared in this wonderful way!
And after all it was just for a minute again, for they could hear footsteps above and Mother saying, “Why, where are those two children? Do you suppose Daryl didn’t know where you put the barrel of apples?”
Alan gave her one tender, clinging kiss and set her down for they heard Father Devereaux’s steps coming toward the kitchen. In a minute he would discover that the light was turned off. Alan reached out and snapped it on, and they were both giggling softly as they took hold of each other’s hand and stole over toward the apples.
“But wait!” whispered Alan in a low tone, “I’ve something for you. I didn’t know whether I would ever have the chance to give it to you or not, but I thought I’d have it with me in case I dared!”
He took out a little white velvet box from his pocket and took something from it. Daryl could not see clearly in the dim cellar, but she suddenly realized that a wonderful stone was catching the garish little cellar light and flinging it all around the place.
Alan drew her hand up into his and fitted the ring on her finger.
“Is it big enough?” he asked anxiously, “because I told them I thought it would be the smallest size, for you have such little, lovely hands!” And he laid his lips down in the palm of one and kissed it tenderly.
“It’s perfect!” said Daryl. “Oh, it’s a beautiful ring. See it sparkle! Oh, Alan, how could you get such a perfect fit?”
“Well, I’ll have to confess. I stole one of your gloves when you were up in the city.”
“Oh, so that’s where my new gray glove went! I thought I had lost it in the store!”
They were having a wonderful time down there in the cellar. They almost forgot the apples until Lance called out, “Say, you two, aren’t you ever coming up again?”
And then they quickly gathered their apples and hurried up the stairs.
“Well,” said Lance, sharply eyeing their innocent faces, “you were gone long enough to grow a tree and pick the apples. Did you find anything besides apples down in the cellar? I was just about to organize a search party and send out for you.”
“Yes,” said Daryl, holding out her hand, her eyes sparkling in company with the gorgeous ring she was wearing. “I found something. I found this. How do you like it?” And she held her hand out shyly for them to see.
It was a wonderfully happy time that followed. They were all so delighted. Father and Mother Devereaux were touchingly glad. Lance cut up all sorts of pranks, teasing them and telling them how pleased he was, and Ruth went over and kissed Daryl’s cheek tenderly.
They hardly got to bed at all that night there were so many things to say, so much to talk over. Father Devereaux’s prayer when they finally knelt for the evening worship was so tender and full of thanksgiving that God had sent them a new son that the tears came to Daryl’s eyes, and Alan, who was kneeling beside her, reached over and pressed her hand tenderly.
But they did get to bed at last, too happy to go to sleep right away, with so much to think over and be thankful for!
It was Saturday noon that the special delivery letter arrived.
They had just come in from skating, hungry as bears and ready for the nice lunch that Mother Devereaux had prepared for them.
They all heard the car stop in front of the house, and a quick look of apprehension went around the table. What invader had arrived now?
Lance, with a quick protecting look toward Daryl, pushed back his chair and went to the door, and they all sat utterly silent while he was signing for the letter.
“It’s for you, Daryl,” he said, trying to sound natural, but he couldn’t help knowing that handwriting. There had been too many letters during the last few months coming to Daryl, written in that hand.
It was only Daryl of them all who seemed unconcerned.
“A special delivery for me?” She laughed. “Now who on earth can it be from? My best friends are all present. Which of you is guilty?”
Then she glanced at the big, bombastic script and knew of course. But her hand did not tremble, and she did not turn white. Her cheeks were still rosy from the exercise in the cold air.
“Excuse me if I read it, and we’ll get it out of the way,” she said and opened the letter.
They tried not to seem to watch her. They talked a little about the ice, whether it would last another week for skating. Father Devereaux sharpened the carving knife unnecessarily long and noisily. But they all cast furtive side glances at her and were relieved to see her face remain placid. Then suddenly she startled them by bursting into a clear gurgle of laughter.
“Listen to this, folks. You might as well hear this now and set your hearts at rest. It will only take a minute, and I know you’ve all been worrying that Harold is coming back again.”
Then she read:
Dear Daryl:
I feel that it is due you that I should let you know at once that I am married to an old sweetheart of mine. Her name is Elsie Bracken. We went to school together and have corresponded more or less through the years.
I am sure that you will understand that I could not go on waiting for you to make up your mind, but I thought it right to let you know at once so you will not entertain any more false hopes.
We were married this afternoon, a very quiet wedding since we are leaving at once for the far west where I expect to take a new position. Elsie is a very nice girl and well fixed, and I find that she has grown even more good- looking than she used to be. You were right when you told me that you and I were not suited to each other. I feel this is very true. Elsie is more pliable than you, and I feel that I can mold her character, and we shall have a very happy life together. But I shall always have a friendly feeling for you in my heart. You certainly have beautiful eyes.
Yours as ever,
Harold
P.S. Don’t bother to send wedding presents. It might make Elsie jealous and interfere with our happiness.
Daryl was laughing a bit ruefully as she read, and when she had finished she laid the letter down on the table. Then she looked shamefully up at them all and smiled.
“I feel as if I ought to cry out, ‘Oh, what a fool I was that I ever thought there was anything to him!’ I am so ashamed of myself. Won’t you all forgive me, dear folks, and won’t you forget that we ever knew him? I feel as if I never can thank God enough for saving me from a life with that man, and for”—she lifted shy, loving eyes toward Alan—“and for sending me somebody so fine and wonderful! I didn’t deserve it!”
Then suddenly Mother Devereaux, her dear eyes filled with joyful tears, got up from her chair, threw her arms around her girl, and kissed her, and one by one they all followed suit. Father Devereaux came with the carving knife still in one hand, and then Lance, gravely, dragging Ruth by the hand, laughing. And last of all came Alan, solemnly with a great light in his face and kissed Daryl there before them all.
“Now,” he said comically, “I can truly say that I am happy, since I know that I shall not have to contend with this Lothario who formerly aspired to your hand. It certainly relieves my mind. Tell
him he can send me all the wedding presents he wants to. I won’t ever be jealous again!”
“So that is that!” said Lance at last when they all sat down to their belated lunch.
“And now may I please have my lunch? I’m all caved in!”
The morning after Alan went back to the city he had a call from Dr. Sargent.
“I haven’t heard from you since I sent you off to what might have been your death in the worst snowstorm of the decade, and I thought I’d better look you up and apologize. Also I wanted to see if you needed my ministrations. I hear from the Watts family that you arrived in the nick of time, and the lady is on the mend in great shape. But they expressed great doubt as to whether you were yet alive, so I called to see!”
Alan welcomed him eagerly.
“Oh, you needn’t thank me,” he said, his face radiant. “You did me the greatest service a man can do for another. You were the means of my finding two of the most precious things in life. I not only found a wonderful girl who has promised to be my wife, but I came to know the Lord Jesus Christ as my Savior. Don’t thank me. Let me thank you!”
The doctor was still a moment staring at him. Then he said, “You would be as lucky as that, wouldn’t you? A lot of men find wives, but I didn’t know a mortal man could know the Lord.”
“Well, he can!” said Alan assuredly. “Not only find Him and know Him but feel His Presence with him guiding and keeping day by day. It’s wonderful! I want to tell you about it.”
The doctor studied his friend for a minute and then he said, “All right! I’ll be glad to hear. You always were different from anybody else I know. But just in passing, let me say that my only regret at the news is that we shall probably now not have your company at Christmas next year as we had hoped. You’ll likely be having a Christmas of your own. But I wish you joy! Now, tell me all about it!”
GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL (1865–1947) is known as the pioneer of Christian romance. Grace wrote over one hundred faith-inspired books during her lifetime. When her first husband died, leaving her with two daughters to raise, writing became a way to make a living, but she always recognized storytelling as a way to share her faith in God. She has touched countless lives through the years and continues to touch lives today. Her books feature moving stories, delightful characters, and love in its purest form.
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