What answer Maud would have made to the flowing speech it is difficult to tell, but there was a rap at the outer door, a hurrying along the hall and a mingling of voices that riveted her attention.
"An officer wants to see you, Miss Maud," said the maid.
"Show him in, Catharine," was her astonished answer, for the hour was already late.
"Dr. Beaumont!" she exclaimed, with flushed face, as she quickly rose to meet him.
"Maud Maxwell," was his only answer, as he grasped her hand in both of his, and looked down into the face that was ever near him, and of which he had dreamed so often.
In another moment she remembered that they were not alone.
"Major Morris—Dr. Beaumont"; and the two men clasped hands. Morris' expression was one of honest but pained surprise; Beaumont's, one of pleasure that needed no questioning. Maud's eyes told him that he was welcome. That was enough.
The Doctor's old regimentals had stood long and hard service, while his face was bronzed with travel and his hair unkempt. Still Maud thought—as he stood in careless attitude, so different from the dapper young man of long ago—that he was handsomer than ever. The contrast with the Major was marked. His clean-cut features, lace coat and silk stockings would have ornamented a drawing-room in London; while anyone could see that Beaumont had been a denizen of the woods.
He might have waited until his tailor had made him new again, but he would not; and with the wild freedom that the west had given, must be taken for himself, or not at all. Standing there, quick as a flash, he had taken a fresh grasp of life and knew his bearings.
The two men met again as old friends.