'Yes,' was all her answer; but she raised her eyes and looked at him, and he knew then that the great loneliness of his life was gone for ever.
And Mildred, what were her thoughts as she sat with her lover beside her, looking down at the sunless pool before them? here, where she had grappled with death, the crowning glory of her life was given to her, the gray colourless hues had faded out of existence, the happiness for which she had not dared to ask, which the humble creature had not whispered even in her prayers, had come to her, steeping her soul with wondrous content and gratitude.
And out of her happiness came a great calm. For a little while neither of them spoke much, but the full understanding of that sacred silence lay like a pure veil between them. They were neither young, both had known the mystery of suffering—the man held in his heart a dreary past, and Mildred's early life had been passed in patient waiting; but what exuberance of youthful joy could equal the quietude of their entire satisfaction?
'Mildred, it seems to me that I must have loved you unconsciously through it all,' he said, presently, when their stillness had spent itself; 'somehow you always rested me. It had grown a necessity with me to come and tell you my troubles; the very sound of your voice soothed me.'
One of her beautiful smiles answered him. She knew he was right, and she had been more to him than he had guessed. Had not this consciousness added the bitterest ingredient to her misery, the knowledge that he was deceiving himself, that no one could give him what was in her power to give?
'But I never thought it possible until lately that you could care enough for me,' he continued; 'you seemed so calm, so beyond this sort of earthly passion. Ah, Mildred,' half-gravely, half-caressingly, 'how could you mislead me so? All my efforts to break down that quiet reserve seemed in vain.'
'I thought it right; how could I guess it would ever come to this?' she answered, blushing. 'I can hardly believe it now'; but the answer to this was so full and satisfactory that Mildred's last lingering doubt was dispelled for ever.
It was late in the afternoon when they parted at the vicarage gate; the dark figure in the wintry porch escaped their observation in the twilight, and so the last good-bye fell on Ethel Trelawny's astonished ear.
'It is not good-bye after all, Mildred; I shall see you again this evening,' in Dr. Heriot's voice; 'take care of yourself, my dearest, until then;' and the long hand-clasp that followed his words spoke volumes.
When Mildred entered the drawing-room she gave a little start at the sight of Ethel. The girl held out her hand to her with a strange smile.