"No; I think it is quite cool. Look at the clouds. I shouldn't be surprised if there was rain;" and the widow looked up at the fleecy masses which had floated between the sunlight and the earth, hiding the glare and cooling the day.
"Yes, I think we want some rain. This is about the time it usually comes."
"Does it?" Halsa turned her eyes straight upon Galbraith as she said this and looked at him. They were very pretty eyes, very honest and true.
Galbraith had thought over what he meant to say, but could remember nothing. All at once a desperate courage seemed to possess him. "Halsa," he said--his voice was very low and tender--"will you give me this?" He took her hand as he spoke. It lay in his unresistingly. It seemed to return his warm pressure.
The widow's eyes were lowered now, and her cheeks like flame. "My dear," he said, and Halsa, lifting up her face, answered, "I will."
Galbraith could hardly believe himself. He could almost hear the beating of his own heart as he sat with Halsa Lamport's hand in his.
After a while she drew her hand gently away. "Was it this that you meant to tell me?" she asked, and John smiled back "Yes."
There was another silence of a few minutes. Galbraith breathed a silent prayer for the blessing which he believed had been vouchsafed to him. "Lord," he murmured to himself, "I see thy work in this."
"It's getting late," said Halsa suddenly. "They must be back from church now, and will miss us." She rose and stood near Galbraith, her dress touching him. John stood up meekly, and as he stood the widow started back with a little cry, "Don't!"
"Don't--what?"