And Dimbie put a gentle arm around me and drew my head on to his shoulder. 'And have you no further need to ask for, sweetheart?' he inquired.
"'Not one,' I whispered. 'I am beginning to understand things—just a little, and I am at peace.'"
I stopped. Night had fallen, my story was finished. Jane got up—I could not see her face—and she walked across the lawn to the sweet-pea hedge. No sound broke the stillness of the garden.
Presently she returned and knelt in front of me.
"Little old pupil."
"Yes," I said.
"I want to say something to you. Most people say things when it is too late. I don't want to be too late. I want to tell you, now, that you have given me all the happiness I have had for the last eight years. An Indian station is a dreary place for a plain, unattached, working woman. I should have become hard, dull, apathetic but for your love, little Marguerite, but for your admiration of my poor qualities. Your bright, loving letters came each month as a draught of fresh water to a tired, thirsty traveller. Your faithfulness cheered me on my way. Your symp——"
"I don't want to hear any more, Jane," I broke in.
"And but for you I should never have returned to England."
"And you would have missed happiness, the crown of your life."