She was sitting one afternoon alone in the library when Ashe came home from a missionary expedition. The day was gray and gloomy, and the early twilight was shutting down already, so that the fire began to shine with a redder hue. Mrs. Herman was taking her tea alone, and as it chanced, she was thinking of her cousin.
"You are just in time for tea," she greeted him. "It is hot still."
"But I seldom take tea," he answered, seating himself by the fire with an air of weariness which did not escape her.
"That is so much more reason that you should take it now. It will have more effect. I can see that you are tired out. One lump or two?"
He yielded with a wan smile, and, resuming his seat, sat sipping his tea in silence for some moments. At length he sighed so heavily that she asked with a smile:—
"Is it so bad as that?"
"Is what so bad?" he returned, looking at her in surprise.
"You sighed as if all life had fallen in ruins about your feet, and I couldn't help wondering if there were really no joy left to you."
He smiled rather soberly, and did not at once reply. The fire burned cheerily on the hearth, noiseless for the most part, but now and then purring like a cat full of happy content; the shadows showed themselves more and more boldly in the corners, daring the firelight to chase them to discover their secrets. The colors of the room were softened into a dull richness; the dim gilding on the old books which had belonged to Helen's father, dead since her infancy, caught now and then a gleam from a tongue of flame which sprang up to peer into the gathering dusk; the copper tea equipage reflected a red glow, and gave to the picture a certain suggestion of comfort and cheer.
"I was thinking how comfortable it is here," Philip said at length.