“I am glad,” he said, “that your path through life is coming to the roses now. I would hope the thorns are over for you—at least for some time. There have been no roses for me; but I can rejoice, I hope, with those for whom they blossom.”
And so he rode away from Berkhamsted, looking back to smile a farewell to Heliet and Clarice, as they stood watching him in the gateway. Long years afterwards they remembered that kind, almost affectionate, smile.
As the ladies turned into their own tower, and began to ascend the staircase—always a slow process with Heliet—Clarice said, “I cannot understand why our Lord the Earl has such a lonely and sorrowful lot.”
“Thou wouldst like to understand everything, Clarice,” returned Heliet, smiling.
“I would!” she answered. “I can understand my own troubles better, for I know how much there is in me that needs setting right; but he—why he is almost an angel already.”
“Perhaps he would tell thee the same thing,” said Heliet. “I am afraid, dear heart, if thou hadst the graving of our Lord’s gems, thou wouldst stop the tool before the portrait was in sufficient relief.”
“But when the portrait is in sufficient relief?” answered Clarice, earnestly.
“Ah, dear heart!” said Heliet, “neither thine eyes nor mine are fine enough to judge of that.”
“It seems almost a shame to be happy when I know he is not,” replied Clarice, the tears springing to her eyes; “our dear master, who has been to me as a very angel of God.”
“Nay, dear, he would wish thee to be happy,” gently remonstrated Heliet. “I believe both thou and I are to him as daughters, Clarice.”