He thrust watch and chain into her hand, caught up his beaver, and walked hastily away, that is to say as hastily as it is possible to walk over a beach of sliding rounded cobble stones.
Her poor father! Poor—not in income, comforts, waistcoats, and hats—but poor in all that makes life rich, love surrounding, and within trust and strength, and self-respect.
Had he remained another moment facing his child, had she seen the tears flow over his cheeks, then, as surely as she discerned the chalcedony or the agate in the moistened pebble, so surely would she have seen in the weeping man—one not wholly worthless, not one altogether flint.
CHAPTER X
A RIFT
Delighted with her watch, Winefred curled herself up behind the mass of rock so as to be sheltered from the cutting east wind, that in comparative comfort she might watch the movement of the hands, hearken to the ticking, open the case and observe the swing of the balance wheel; even try the key timorously whereby the watch was to be wound, and ascertain in which direction to turn it.
The wonder, the pleasure, afforded by this watch surpassed previous experience.
A hand danced the seconds on a subsidiary circle upon the dial. Further exploration revealed an interior where all was dainty mechanism, a diamond on which the pivot worked, a hair-spring of incredible delicacy, and minute wheels of surpassing smallness. The study served to fill the girl's mind with astonishment.
At the beginning of this century watches were not in such general use as they are now; they were costly, and possessed by the rich alone. The farmer had to content himself with the clock, the labourer with the sun, and at night with the cockcrow.