It was another fortnight before the fugitive was able to return to Sagamore Hall. Huntington telephoned, as he had promised, but he also found it necessary to run down there himself, to explain in detail the miracle which had happened. Mrs. Thatcher appreciated his thoughtfulness of her, Merry expressed her full approval, and incidentally he found the experience agreeable, so the necessity of his appearance in person was unanimously conceded. Still, the satisfaction of this visit was completely overshadowed by his feeling of triumph when Hamlen actually accompanied him.

The drone of the motor-car brought Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher and Merry to the door to greet them, for Marian wished their welcome to express to the fullest the fact that whatever had occurred was forgotten. Hamlen read it so, and it helped him.

“I have to move a bit slowly yet,” he explained as he rose cautiously in the tonneau. “Another month and I’ll be as good as new.”

They assisted him up the steps and through the hallway to a great easy chair on the piazza beyond. Then, after a few moments of general conversation, they left him alone with Marian.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” he exclaimed with frank delight. “I’m as pleased with myself as a kitten with two tails.”

“You well may be!” she laughed at his expression, which in its nature was eloquent of the changed mental attitude. “And our rejoicing is not far behind yours.”

“I know it; that is the most wonderful part of the whole thing. No matter how idiotic my actions, you and Huntington have stuck right by me, and have proved me wrong by the bigness of your hearts.”

“Forget the past,” Marian urged, “and start things from to-day.”

“No; I wouldn’t want to do that, even if I could.”

He paused for a moment, and played with a tassel which fell across his lap from the cushion she had placed in the chair.

“Of course,” he said without looking up, “much of it will always seem like a delirious dream, but after all it is the past which has given me the present. And except for the past I should not have Huntington.”

There was a wealth of feeling in his words which showed Mrs. Thatcher how strong a hold his friend had gained upon him.

“Does he know how much he means to you, I wonder?”

Hamlen looked up quickly. “He hasn’t the slightest conception,” he answered. “I have never seen a man so oblivious to the power he exercises over others, or to the results which he obtains. He really thinks I’ve come through this crisis because of some latent strength of character, when in reality it has been the reflection of his own. He would tell you that when I was dying of shame and mortification I took myself by the boot-straps and pulled myself out of the abyss, and he would never believe it was the result of the philosophy he demonstrated by every word and act. He positively made me ashamed to do anything but respond. And now that I am out, he has fired me with a desire to use the years which remain in doing something for some one else. Can you wonder that I love him?”

Marian’s face reflected the pleasure his words gave her. “This is the real Philip Hamlen I have seen behind his mask,” she exclaimed; “this is the Philip I tried in my mistaken way to rescue from the chaos of confused ideals. I failed but Mr. Huntington succeeded; my gratitude to him passes all bounds.”

“You must take some of the credit whether you wish to or not,” Hamlen insisted. “When you invaded my Garden of Eden last winter and made those disturbing statements, you weakened the barrier of false beliefs with which I had surrounded myself. You could have restored the structure had I permitted it, but I wasn’t ready for it then. You were entirely right when you said that I had forgotten the teachings of the masters I venerated, that I was blind to the difference between the means and the end. But, Marian ” for the first time his voice quavered “that was before I had a friend! Think of living all those years without a friend! It was through your invasion that my horrible tranquillity was disturbed; it was through you that I met the one man in all the world who could take advantage of that condition to build a human structure upon such ruins.”

“Give me all the credit you can, Philip. I need it to help me to forget.”

“Tut! tut!” he chided her. “I may touch upon the past, but to you it is forbidden! Through you” he went on “I gained my friend, and, as if to demonstrate the philosophy he lives, in giving him to me you gained him too; for to your daughter is assured the most wonderful of companionships. Now, by the same token, in giving him to her, I shall expect the reward of being admitted to full friendship in this family whose members mean the world to me.”

“We already count you one of us, Philip, and we shall accept nothing less.”

“Then am I rich in friendship!” he exclaimed. “The law of compensation gives a greater joy of realization to one who has drifted than to him who has lived a normal existence: such a man is spared the depths, but he can never reach the heights.”

Two duster-clad, begoggled figures burst unceremoniously through the hallway onto the piazza where Marian and Hamlen had been scrupulously left alone by a comprehending family.

“Well, I’m glad to find some signs of life!” cried a familiar voice.

“Edith!” Marian exclaimed. “Where on earth did you come from? And Mr. Cosden!”

“Connie and I crept up on the house to surprise you,” she explained, as greetings were exchanged all around, “but we began to think the joke was on us and we’d struck the morgue by mistake. Where are the people anyhow? We can’t stay but a minute.”

“Here we are!” Merry answered her, and as if by magic the entire family appeared from various directions.

“Where did you come from, where are you going, and why can’t you stay but a minute?” Huntington demanded of Cosden as he grasped his hand.

Cosden grinned and looked at Edith.

“Oh, go ahead and tell them if you want to,” she remarked indifferently. “They’re sure to find it out some time, and it might as well be now.”

“What in the world ” Mrs. Thatcher began.

“We’re married!” Cosden announced, his face beaming with happiness and satisfaction.

“Yes, that’s right,” Edith corroborated, seeing doubt in the eager faces peering at them, speechless with surprise. “I told you that if once I gave Connie half a chance he’d have me packed up and shipped before I knew it, and that’s just what has happened!”

“Don’t apologize,” Marian laughed, kissing her. “I think you’ve done a very smart thing to elope like this.”

“Good heavens, Connie, I never thought of that! An elopement for me would just be the last thing in the world! How can you call it that when there is no one to elope from but Ricky!”

“Whatever you call it, I’ve got you!” Cosden declared, tapping his pocket. “The parson gave me a perfectly good bill of sale, and it will take some trying to break this contract. Now don’t you try!”

Thatcher was the only one who rose fully to the occasion, and as a result of his presence of mind the butler appeared with a bottle of Pommery from which he filled the accompanying glasses. After Thatcher proposed the toast to the happy couple, Huntington again raised his glass to Cosden.

“Here’s to Edith, God bless her!” he exclaimed.

Cosden understood, and the spirit of mischief seized him.

“How about that other toast we drank that night, Monty?”

Huntington put his arm around Merry’s waist and drew her closer to him.

“It stands!” he replied with smiling defiance. “To Marian little Marian God bless her!”

“You rascal! You slipped it over on me!”

“Well, good-bye, people!” Edith interrupted.

“Stay for supper,” Mrs. Thatcher urged.

“No; here it is five o’clock and the wedding breakfast hasn’t been served yet. We’re off!”

“It is pitiful to see you kidnapped like this,” Marian teased her.

“Oh, well!” she looked slyly up into her husband’s face. “Connie’s not a bad sort as men go, and I’m game to take a chance.”

“Isn’t she the best ever?” Cosden cried proudly. “I’m strong for the Benedicts and the Benedictines! Hurry up, Monty, go and do likewise!”

They were off like a whirlwind, then all returned to Hamlen on the piazza. The two boys had stayed with him while the farewells were spoken at the door. Billy felt a bond of sympathy at last, for he too had suffered from the perfidy of woman! Philip was genuinely fond of Hamlen, and the older man clung to his friendship with even greater tenacity since this return to his normal condition.

“We are talking war,” Hamlen explained to Marian as they returned to him. “These boys are eager to see what is going on over there.”

“So we’ve heard,” she replied, smiling indulgently. “They have presented the case to us from as many angles as a certain manufacturer has varieties of pickles.”

“It would be a wonderful object lesson,” Hamlen said meditatively. “Even to read about it makes our own troubles insignificant; what an opportunity, if on the spot, to give out from one’s own personality, and thus demonstrate the teachings of the humanists in practical fashion!”

The idea seemed to take possession of him, and his rigid figure and set features so clearly betrayed the workings of a strong emotion that no one interrupted him. At length he turned abruptly.

“Huntington!” he cried.

His friend stepped quickly to his side.

“I believe this war was started especially for me!” he declared.

“For you?” Huntington echoed, surprised.

“Why isn’t this my opportunity? Here I am, longing for the chance to express myself in doing something for some one else. I haven’t a tie in the world to keep me from going over there. I have money which couldn’t be devoted to a better cause, and I speak the languages like a native.”

“By Jove!” Huntington replied; “you’ve solved the problem! Be the first to endow a college unit, Hamlen, and let it be for the glory of Harvard. You can equip the outfit, select your professional corps, and go over with it to superintend the business end. It’s a capital notion!”

“I’ll do it!” Hamlen said decisively. “With a definite purpose like this ahead of me, I’ll shake this weakness in no time. How about the boys? I’ll need some chauffeurs.”

“Not Philip!” Mrs. Thatcher cried.

“Let me have him, Marian?” Hamlen begged. “The personal danger will be slight, and I don’t need tell you that I’ll watch over him as if he were my own son.”

She looked appealingly to her husband.

“I’d let him go,” Thatcher said. “There’s no chance for him to get started in business for several months yet, and I’m grateful to Hamlen for offering him this opportunity under such wonderful conditions.”

Philip pleaded. “You won’t hold out now, will you, Mother?”

“I can’t,” she answered soberly. “With your father’s approval, and with Mr. Hamlen’s assurances, I should surely be opposing Nature, shouldn’t I?”

Her question was put to Huntington, who understood it. He smiled approvingly.

“Good for you, little woman,” he whispered. “There are times when we must bow to something stronger than ourselves; this is one of them.”

“How about me?” Billy demanded.

“I think I may promise to secure consent,” Huntington assured him.

“Come on, Phil,” Billy seized his chum’s arm. “Let’s go out in the garage and practise on those cars.”

Marian disappeared within doors to quiet the apprehensions of her mother-heart; Thatcher drew a chair beside Hamlen’s to discuss the war, which now assumed a personal interest; Huntington and Merry quietly slipped down the steps, and wandered through the formal garden to their favorite retreat.

“Why not watch the sunset from the water-garden?” Merry asked.

The sun set in proper and glorious fashion into the sea at the foot of the avenue of maple trees, but the successful completion of its task did not suggest to the lovers a return to the house. Still they sat on the curiously-cut stone seat, and told each other that story which is older than the stone, and which was first told long before Benten became the Goddess of Love. Twilight deepened into dusk, and stirred within Huntington’s mind a quotation from a kindred soul who felt as he felt, but who couched his thought in more fitting words than he himself could choose:

“I wonder if you love to listen to the music of the night as I do, dear heart, with its space, its mystery, its uplift of spirit? It is written in the key of the ideal and in the cadence of the divine.”

“Oh, Monty!” she murmured contentedly, “I do; for it is written in the key of happiness, and in the cadence of my beloved’s voice!”

“You forgive me for being too old?”

“Not too old, my darling, just born too soon!”