They seemed so also to Aura, who at that moment--looking as if she might have stood as illustration to Keats' "St. Agnes' Eve"--was standing at her window in the moonlight. Four days had passed since her grandfather's sudden fainting fit, and he was quite himself again. He had even been able to see Mr. Hirsch, who had called in his motor; and Peter Ramsay, after delaying his departure a day or two, had left. There was nothing more to be feared for the present; and for the future, a peaceful, unemotional life was all that was required. So well, in fact, was he that Ted had obeyed an urgent summons from Mr. Hirsch, and, much against his will on this last night of the Old Year, had gone over to him at Aberafon. It was a bore, he felt; and yet the last few days of closer companionship with Aura, of her natural inevitable reliance on him, had made him leave her with a lighter heart.
"You will be sure and come home to-morrow," she had said, and the word "home" had brought a great tenderness in his reply, "Of course, I shall be sure."
She felt glad of the assurance as she stood there looking out on the hill-side, where everything in the midnight moonlight seemed as if carven out of stone; for her grandfather had been captious that evening, absolutely refusing to give up his annual habit of sitting up to see the New Year in. And he had been annoyed at Parkinson, the parlour-maid's, failure to appear, when, as the clock struck twelve, the personnel of the establishment were expected to wish and be wished long life and prosperity.
"Gone to a revival meeting," he had echoed querulously, "a singularly inadequate excuse! She might have read her Bible at home; but I will speak to her tomorrow."
To which Martha had replied austerely, "It ain't no good speaken', sir; I've spoke till I'm dumb. And it ain't her Bible she's wantin', but 'er best 'at; for she's that frivolous at forty in the dry, as beats me wot she must 'a bin' in the green. An' Bate 'ud a' gone too--oh yes! yer wu'd Bate, so it ain't no good speakin'--only I told 'im plain. 'Bate,' says I, 'you know as you're a deal too light-'earted to go cadgin' about with a 'orse and cart when there's liquor 'andy, an' that ain't in it for temptation with a midnight meetin' with the likes o' her for company, as makes me sick to cook for 'em. An' what is the shine in them hot stuffy revivals beats me. I wouldn't go to one of 'em. No! Not if I was 'anged for it. I'd just say to the cart, Drive on!'"
The dramatic finale had made Aura laugh. She smiled at the remembrance of it now; but then she smiled at the remembrance of many things in the last four days.
How kind the world had been to her!
A faint clatter in the back premises made her smile again. Martha must be waiting up till the light had gone from her room in order to play that ridiculous game with stockings on which Ned had insisted on this New Year's Day, which was her birthday also.
Oh! How kind they had all been. She could not spare one of them.
She blew out the light, and the pulsing of the stars seemed to find an echo in the pulsing of her heart. Suddenly she leant out to stretch her warm young hands into the frosty air, over the flower graves in the garden, over the whole wide glistening world.