“No, dear,” she said softly; “those who love are one. John Grange, I will never leave you, and your life shall not be dark. Heaven helping me, it shall be my task to lighten your way. You shall see with my eyes, dear; my hand shall always be there to guide you wherever you may go; and some day in the future, when we have grown old and grey, you shall look back, dear, with your strong, patient mind, and then tell me that I have done well, and that your path in life has not been dark.”
“Mary,” he groaned, “for pity’s sake don’t tempt me; it is more than I can bear.”
“It is no temptation, John,” she said softly, and in utter ignorance that there were black shadows across her and the stricken man, she bent down and kissed his forehead. “Last Sunday only, in church, I heard these words—‘If aught but death part me and thee.’”
She sank upon her knees once more, and with her hands clasped together and resting upon his breast, her face turned heavenwards, her eyes closed and her lips moving as if in prayer, while the two shadows which had been cast on the sunlight from the door softly passed away, James Ellis and Daniel Barnett stepping back on to the green, and standing looking in each other’s eyes, till the sound of approaching wheels was heard. Then assuming that they had that moment come up, James Ellis and the new head-gardener strode once more up to the door.
Chapter Eight.
Ellis had been so thoroughly astounded upon seeing Mary kneeling by John Grange’s side that he had made a quick sign to Barnett to come away; and as soon as they were at a short distance from the door he felt that his action had been ill-judged, and likely to excite the derision of his companion, whom he had begun now to think of as a possible son-in-law.
“Wretched—foolish girl!” he said to himself, and leading the way, they both entered the bothy.
“Mary!” he cried angrily, “I am here. What is the meaning of this?”