But he looked down at her as she knelt at her father's knee, her eyes upturned to his, and the tide of his fear retreated; for he saw in them the same look she had given him when she leaned her cheek against the moose's neck that afternoon.
When the clock struck twelve upon a moment's pleasant silence, John
Malbrouck said to Gregory Thorne:
"Yes, you have won your Christmas hazard, my boy."
But a softer voice than his whispered: "Are you—content—Gregory?"
The Spirits of Christmas-tide, whose paths lie north as well as south, smiled as they wrote his answer on their tablets; for they knew, as the man said, that he would always be content, and—which is more in the sight of angels—that the woman would be content also.
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