"Hear me, lass," said Dr. McDermott, his hands
resting upon the bent shoulders of Angella
Loring. "In the old land, I was a stable lad and
you the grand young lady of the manor house; my
father was your father's groom, and all the McDermotts
before me served the Lorings; but here in Alberta
we're naught but mon and woman, and as mon to
woman, lass, I'm asking you to be my wife."
She answered without words, laying her hands in
his, but as he looked into her eyes, the doctor saw
all the shadows of the sad years fade away like ghosts
before the dawn, and love like the sunlight of the land
of their adoption had taken their place.
"It's a puir rough sort of man you're getting,"
said the doctor huskily, but she laid her hands upon
his lips and answered:
"Dr. McDermott, I'll be getting the salt of the
earth!"
Hat twisting in his hands, outside the barn Cyril
waited for Nettie. As she came out, a pail of milk in
either hand, he gently took them from her and set them
upon the ground. He had learned that speech by heart--the
speech he was going to say to Nettie, but now as
they looked into one another's eyes, no words were
needed. As instinctively as life itself, they moved to
each other. Nothing on earth now mattered save that
they were in each other's arms.
In the house, hand in hand, they faced their friends,
and immersed in their own joy noted not that the doctor's
arm was about Angela's shoulders.
"Nettie and I are going to get married in the summer,"
said Cyril simply.
"Why wait for the summer?" rumbled their doctor
friend. "Angel and I are going to Calgary tonight.
Come with us."
"'Twill take a month or two to rebuild the home
again," said Cyril wistfully.
"Why build again," said Angella, softly. "There's
this house for you, Cyril. It's our wedding gift to you
and Nettie. I'll be going--" She smiled and blushed
like a girl, but finished the words bravely--"to my husband's
house," she said.
THE END