They had risen, as a stir within told them the guest was going; and as Christie spoke she was looking up with the moonlight full upon her face.
If there had been any hidden purpose in her mind, any false sentiment, or trace of coquetry in her manner, it would have spoiled that hearty little speech of hers.
But in her heart was nothing but a sincere desire to prove gratitude and offer sympathy; in her manner the gentle frankness of a woman speaking to a brother; and in her face the earnestness of one who felt the value of friendship, and did not ask or give it lightly.
“I will,” was David’s emphatic answer, and then, as if to seal the bargain, he stooped down, and gravely kissed her on the forehead.
Christie was a little startled, but neither offended nor confused; for there was no love in that quiet kiss,—only respect, affection, and much gratitude; an involuntary demonstration from the lonely man to the true-hearted woman who had dared to come and comfort him.
Out trotted neighbor Miller, and that was the end of confidences in the porch; but David played melodiously on his flute that night, and Christie fell asleep saying happily to herself:
“Now we are all right, friends for ever, and every thing will go beautifully.”
CHAPTER XIII.
WAKING UP.
