For a time the room was very still. Suddenly a thought occurred to Ian. “I have just remembered something,” he said; “I will get it.”
The rush of events had crowded the little pouch and its contents out of his mind, but his present mood reminded him of it.
He brought the amulet from its hiding place. Aline was still seated on the floor. He sat down on the floor also, a little behind her, and lifted one of the lovely hands. “I have something else that I meant to give you before,” he said, holding up the bracelet.
The strange blue stones shone in the firelight as if they themselves were on fire. “‘Weal where I come as a gift of love,’” he read. “Pray God it may be so, heart of mine.”
Aline leaned back and lay with her head on his lap, looking up at him as he told the story.
“There are no scars on the beautiful hands now,” he said softly.
She half drew the hand away and then stopped and it lay passively in his hold as he lovingly fastened the bracelet round the perfect wrist.
She did not thank him; she did not speak; she only lay there quietly looking into his eyes.
A log slipped from the fire; it did not make much noise, but the sound echoed through the deserted rooms. How absolutely alone together they were!