"We are so happy, John, so happy; why should we disturb the peace of life?
Never mind what we think on such matters; we have each other, dear!" He was silenced; with her clinging arm about him, and her tender eyes looking into his, he could not argue; he was the lover, not the preacher.
He kissed her between her level brows; it was easy to forget his duty! Yet his conscience protested faintly.

"If you would only let me tell you"-- "Not just now," she said, and Helen's voice was a caress.

"Do you remember how, that first time we saw each other, you talked of belief ?" It was so natural to drift into reminiscence, kneeling there in the firelight by her side, John almost forgot how the talk had begun, and neither of them gave a thought to the lateness of the hour, until they were roused by a quick step on the path, and heard the little gate pushed hurriedly open, shutting again with a bang.
"Why, that's Gifford Woodhouse," John said, leaning forward to give the fire that inevitable poke with which the coming guest is welcomed.
"No, it can't be Giff," Helen answered, listening; "he always whistles." But it was Gifford.

The quick-leaping flame lighted his face as he entered, and Helen saw that, instead of its usual tranquil good-nature, there was a worried look.
"I'm afraid I'm disturbing you," he said, as they both rose to welcome him, and there was the little confusion of lighting the lamp and drawing up a chair.

"Haven't I interrupted you ?" "Yes," John replied simply, "but it is well you did.