She stopped and faced him, her hands slipping out of his and creeping up to his shoulders and about his neck. “Dear lad—promise me one thing!—promise me we shall never forget the road! No matter how snugly we may be housed, or how close comfort and happiness sit at our hearthside—we’ll be faring forth just once in so often—to touch earth again. And we’ll help to keep faith in human nature—aye, and simple-hearted kindness alive in the world; and we’ll make our friends by reason of that and not because of the gold we may or may not be having.”
“And do you still think kindness is the greatest thing in the world?”
“No. There is one thing better; but kindness tramps mortal close at its heels.” Patsy’s hands slipped from his shoulders; she clasped them together in sudden intensity. “Haven’t ye any curiosity at all to know what fetched me after ye?”
“Yes. But there is to-morrow—and all the days after—to tell me.”
“No, there is just to-day. The telling of it is the only wedding-gift I have for ye, dear lad. I was with Marjorie Schuyler in the den that day you came to her and told her.”
“You heard everything?”
“Aye.”
“And you came, believing in me, after all?”
“I came to show you there was one person in the world who trusted you, who would trust you across the world and back again. That’s all the wedding-gift I have for ye, dear, barring love.”
And then and there—in the open road, still a good three miles from the Arden church—the tinker gathered her close in the embrace he had kept for her so long.