I do not like to have a fool for the hero of my history; but this being a history and not a romance, I must tell you of events just as they happened, and of persons exactly as they were, else my conscience will smite me for untruthfulness.

Dorothy's last assault was too much for John.

He could neither parry nor thrust.
Her heart was full of mirth and gladness.
"None other but you, John," she repeated, leaning forward in front of him, and looking up into his eyes.

A ray of moonlight stealing its way between the forest boughs fell upon her upturned face and caused it to glow with a goddess-like radiance.
"None but you, John.

There never has been and there never shall be another." When John's consciousness returned he said, "Dorothy, can you love such a fool as I ?" "That I can and that I do with all my heart," she returned.
"And can you forgive me for this last fault--for doubting you ?" "That is easily done," she answered softly, "because doubt is the child of love." "But you do not doubt me ?" he replied.
"N-o-o," she answered somewhat haltingly; "but I--I am a woman." "And a woman's heart is the home of faith," said John, reverentially.
"Y-e-s," she responded, still not quite sure of her ground.