"A house I've settled on for our future home."
"Dick, don't be foolish. You know we must not think of that for months—years."
"Mustn't we?" laughed Dick. "There, read that," and he handed her Mr. Bidlake's letter.
"But, Dick!" she cried as she read, "this, this is——"
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Dick replied joyously. "Will you read it, sir?" and he placed it in old Hugh Stanmore's hands.
After that Beatrice no longer insisted that her lover must be treated as an invalid. Hour after hour they sat talking, while the wonder of it all never left them.
The next morning broke bright and clear. Spring had indeed come, gladsome joyous spring, heralded by the song of birds, by the resurrection of a new life everywhere.
"Will you go with us, Granddad?" asked Beatrice, as they prepared for their visit.
"No," said Hugh Stanmore; "I'll come across alone in a couple of hours." He was a wise man.
Neither of them spoke a word as they walked up the avenue towards the great house. Perhaps their minds were both filled by the same thoughts—thoughts too great for utterance. Above them the sun shone in a great dome of cloudless blue, while around them all nature was putting on her beautiful garments.