So the toast was drunk with all due honors: but when Barnabas sought an explanation, the Viscount laughed and shook his head.
"Pray ask my Viscountess," said he, with a fond look at her, and turned away to rebuckle a trace under the anxious supervision of Master Milo.
"Indeed, no, Barnabas," said Clemency, smiling, "I cannot explain, as Dick well knows. But this I must tell you, while you lay here, very near death, I came to see you often with my dear father."
"Ah!" exclaimed Barnabas, "then you met—her?"
"Yes, I met Cleone, and I—loved her. She was very tired and worn, the first time I saw her; you were delirious, and she had watched over you all night. Of course we talked of you, and she told me how she had found my letter to you, the only one I ever wrote you, and how she had misjudged you. And then she cried, and I took her in my arms and kissed away her tears and comforted her. So we learned to know and love each other, you see."
"I am very glad," said Barnabas, slowly, and with his gaze on the distance, "for her sake and yours."
Now as she looked at him, Clemency sighed all at once, yet thereafter smiled very tenderly, and so smiling, gave him both her hands.
"Oh, Barnabas," said she, "I know Happiness will come to you, sooner or later—when least expected, as it came to me, so—dear Barnabas, smile!"
Then Barnabas, looking from her tearful, pitying eyes to the hand upon whose finger was a certain plain gold ring that shone so very bright and conspicuous because of its newness, raised that slender hand to his lips.
"Thank you, Clemency," he answered, "but why are you—so sure?"