He simply said "Good-night!" when he left her at her own door, and drove away, giving no sign that he ever expected to come back. He came, though, two hours afterward; he guessed where he should find her: in the greenhouse, by the lilies. He came over to her and asked,—
"How did you like my friend? Did she look as you expected her to?" The vision of his friend that her imagination had pictured came up before her in such ludicrous contrast to the reality that she laughed merrily, and Mr. Thornton joined it. There was no more talking in enigmas after that.
While the moonbeams fell upon their heads like a benediction, there were more revelations, as each read pages that no other eyes had looked upon. The tale was long, but the violets, nor the nodding roses, nor the lily bells ever breathed a word of it to anybody.
Weeks afterward it occurred to Lily to ask Mr. Thornton what the "H" in his name represented.
"Hathaway," he promptly responded, and immediately knew that his secret was out.
Lily and her grandfather exchanged wondering looks.
"Is it possible that you are—that you can tell me—who the friend is to whom I am so much indebted?" Mr. Winthrop said, his voice trembling with emotion.
"Thy Heavenly Friend," said Mr. Thornton reverently.
"IT is perfectly absurd that she should occupy the best room in the house. What difference can it possibly make to an old lady where she is, so she is comfortable? She ought to be thankful that you allow her to stay here at all."