“But, it’s no use pretending, she always manages to hear what we know about him. Don’t you tell him I said so.”
Cuthbert said nothing, for nothing was needed. A new vision had opened itself before Guy’s spirit. Was the strange comprehension between himself and Florella to bloom out into so lovely a flower?
“I owe her all,” he thought. “She set me fighting. I knew she was a saint and an angel. And I love her.”
He took up his arms again with renewed courage. Before he won Florella, he must be free. She was not only a helping angel, she was his heart’s love, and he must be strong enough to take care of her.
He gazed long at the little picture, then folded it away, and getting up from the sofa, went over to the old piano, unused for many weeks, and began to play the old North-country Christmas hymn, familiar to his earliest childhood, “Christians awake.”
“I can’t sing now,” he said; but he hummed the words softly, and sang a line or two at intervals—
“Peace upon earth, and unto men good will.”
“We’ll have a little Christmas,” he said, with a smile.