"That shall be as God wills it," said the parson quietly.
The lawyer had risen and drawn on his great-coat.
"She can stay here with me," continued the parson.
"No, she should marry now," said Mr. Bonnithorne, stepping to the door. "She's all but of age. It is hardly fair to keep her."
"Why, what do you mean?" asked the parson, a puzzled look on his face.
"She is rich and she is young. Her wealth can buy comforts, and her youth win pleasures."
The good old Christian opened wide his great gray eyes with a blank expression. He glanced vacantly about the simple room, rose to his feet, and sat down again.
"I never thought of that before," he said, faintly, and staring long into the fire.
There was a heavy foot on the path outside. The latch was lifted, and Paul Ritson stepped into the room. At the sound of his step Greta tripped through the inner door, all joy and eagerness, to welcome him. The parson got up and held out both hands, the clouds gone from his beaming face.
"Well, good-night," said the lawyer, opening the door. "I've four long miles before me. And how dark! how very dark!"