Come! I want you to
see...."
He stopped. He was excited. And to David his face seemed many years
younger there in the moonlight, and he walked with the spring of youth
as he caught his arm and started down the valley. A strange force held
David silent, an indefinable feeling that something tremendous and
unexpected was impending. He heard the other's quick breath, caught the
glow in his eyes, and his heart was thrilled. They walked so swiftly
that it seemed to him only a few moments when they came to a little
clump of low trees, and into these Father Roland led David by the hand,
treading lightly now.
In another moment they stood beside someone who was sleeping. Father
Roland pointed down, and spoke no word.
It was a woman. The moonlight fell upon her, and shimmered in the thick
masses of dark hair that streamed about her, concealing her face. David
choked. It was his heart in his throat. He bent down. Gently he lifted
the heavy tresses, and stared into the sleeping face that was under
them--the face of the woman he had met that night on the
Transcontinental!
Over him he heard a gentle whisper.
"My wife, David!"
He staggered back, and clutched Father Roland by the shoulders, and his
voice was almost sobbing in its excitement as he cried, whisperingly:
"Then you--you are Michael O'Doone--the father of Marge--and
Tavish--Tavish.
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