She held out her hand in farewell, and he pressed it gently. Then he threw on his cap, and she opened her cottage door for him to pass out. A soft shower of rain blew full in their faces as they stood on the threshold.
"You'll get wet, I'm afraid!" said Mary.
"Oh, that's nothing!" And he buttoned his coat across his chest—"What's that lovely scent in the garden here, just close to the door?"
"It's the old sweetbriar bush,"—she replied—"It lasts in leaf till nearly Christmas and always smells so delicious. Shall I give you a bit of it?"
"It's too dark to find it now, surely!" said Angus.
"Oh, no! I can feel it!"
And stretching out her white hand into the raining darkness, she brought it back holding a delicate spray of odorous leaves.
"Isn't it sweet?" she said, as she gave it to him.
"It is indeed!" he placed the little sprig in his buttonhole. "Thank-you! Good-night!"
"Good-night!"