THE HOSTS OF THE AIR



   Daniel Colton, now a colonel, his arm in a sling,
was not far away. Carstairs was there, a bandage
about his head, and Wharton was with him, his
shoulder yet sore from the path that a bullet had
made through it. It was decreed that while these
friends of John's should receive many wounds, all of
them were to survive the great war.
  They were to spend three days at the little house
beyond the Seine before sailing, and as the twilight
came on they sat together and looked out over the
City of Light, melting into the dusk after a golden
day. The subdued hum of Paris came to them in a
note of infinite sweetness and peace.
  John was stirred to the depths, but his emotion, like
that of most deep natures, was quiet. He felt Julie's
hand tremble a little in his own, as the voice of Paris
grew fainter but sweeter. The twilight faded into
the night and the buildings grew misty.
  "We have passed through many dangers, Julie,"
said John, "but for me at least the reward is
greater than them all. When did you begin to love
me "
  "You were my gallant knight from the first, but,
if it had not been so, how could I have kept from
loving the fearless crusader who dared all and who
risked his life every day in the country of the enemy
to save me"
  "I'd have been a poor and worthless creature if I
hadn't done so, Julie."
  "Few men have done so, though, even for love."
  Stirred by an emotion deeper than ever, and wholly
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