"Now—just a word to mother," she said.
Lane caught her hand and held it, following her to the end of the hall, where she opened a door and peeped into the sitting-room.
"Mother, is dad home?" she asked.
"No—he's out, and such a bad night! Who's with you, Mel?"
"Daren Lane."
"Oh, is he up again? I'm glad. Bring him in.... Why, Mel, you've your hat and coat on!"
"Yes, mother dear. We're going out for a while."
"On such a night! What for?"
"Daren and I are going to—to be married.... Good-bye. No more till we come back."
As one in a dream, Lane led Mel out in the whirling white pall of snow. It seemed to envelop them. It was mysterious and friendly, and silent.
They crossed the bridge, and Lane again listened for the river voices that always haunted here. Were they only murmurings of
