"You talk just like father!" she said, smiling—"He was always grateful for nothing!"
And rising from her kneeling attitude by Helmsley's chair, she went again towards the open cottage door, holding out her two hands to Reay. Looking at her as she approached he seemed to see in her some gracious angel, advancing with all the best possibilities of life for him in her sole power and gift.
"A Happy New Year, Mr. Reay! And success to the book!"
He clasped the hands she extended.
"If you wish success for it, success is bound to come!" he answered in a low voice—"I believe in your good influence!"
She looked at him, and whatever answer rose to her lips was suddenly silenced by the eloquence of his eyes. She coloured hotly, and then grew very pale. They both stood on the threshold of the open door, silent and strangely embarrassed, while the bells swung and clanged musically through the frosty air, and the long low swish of the sea swept up like a harmonious bass set to the silvery voice of the chimes. They little guessed with what passionate hope, yearning, and affection, Helmsley watched them standing there!—they little knew that on them the last ambition of his life was set!—and that any discovery of sham or falsehood in their natures would make cruel havoc of his dearest dreams! They waited, looking out on the dark quiet space, and listening to the rush of the stream till the clamour of the bells ceased again, and sounded no more. In the deep stillness that followed Angus said softly—
"There's not a leaf left on the old sweetbriar bush now!"
"No,"—answered Mary, in the same soft tone—"But it will be the first thing to bud with the spring."
"I've kept the little sprig you gave me,"—he added, apparently by way of a casual after-thought.
"Have you?"