Some who had known Miss Jean all her life declared that she was far more beautiful at sixty than she had ever been in her youth. And naturally enough. For a life of glad service to a loving Master, a helpful, hopeful, self-forgetful doing of good as opportunity is given, for His sake, tell on the countenance as on the character; and the grave cheerfulness, the trustful peace that rested on the old woman’s face were beautiful to those who had eyes to see.
It was not May, but Miss Dawson, who came with the visitor that morning.
“Auntie Jean, I have brought Mr Manners to see you,” said she coming in unannounced.
Miss Jean received them kindly, but with a certain gravity.
“Yes, your father has been here. He told me who was coming,” said she, and her eyes sought Jean’s gravely and earnestly. Jean nodded and smiled, carrying her aunt’s look to the face of Mr Manners.
“Yes, auntie, that is the way of it.” Then Miss Jean gave him her hand again. “The Lord keep and guide you both. And the Lord deal with you as ye shall deal with the bairn that is willing to leave her father’s house to go with you.”
“Amen!” said Mr Manners, and he stooped and touched with his lips the soft wrinkled hand that had been offered him.
They had not very much to say to one another for a while. It was Jean who kept up the talk for a little, remarking upon the “bonny day,” and the flowers that were coming out earlier than usual, and on the sea, which was seen at its best to-day, she said, a sparkling blue that faded to pale green and grey in the distance.
“You have a wide view of it here,” said Mr Manners who was leaning against the ledge looking out.
There was nothing to be seen from Miss Jean’s usual seat, but the sea and one rocky cape in the northern distance. “It is company to me,” said she. “It is ay changing.”