"What, you?" cried the preacher, hastening across the newly-swept flagstones to the gate.
Greta followed him, and they stood there, staring at Griff's dishevelled hair and happy face.
"You mean to make a honeymoon of your whole lives, you two?" said Griff.
The preacher's hand went out to him.
"I've lived a life of fear, Griff—constant fear. And now I'm free at last; free to look the sun in the face, and hob-nob with the wind, and feel that God's strength is His mercy, too. There is none like Greta."
"Except Gabriel," whispered the lass. But the laugh died on her lips, for she remembered the man's troubles. "What can any one say to help you?" she asked simply.
"Help? I don't need help. All's for the best in the long run. God bless you both! Good-bye."
"But, man——" began Gabriel.
His friend did not hear—or, hearing, disregarded it. He swung out along the road to Marshcotes.
Greta looked after him, and shook her head.