Markland sighed.
"And you may be richer far than imagination has yet pictured. Look not far away into the shadowy uncertainties of coming time for the heart's fruition. The stones from which its temple of happiness is to be erected, if ever built, lie all along the path your feet are treading. It has been so with you from the beginning—it is so now."
"If I build not this temple, it will be no fault of yours," said Markland, whose perceptions were becoming clearer.
"Let us build it together," answered his wife. "There will be no lack of materials."
CHAPTER XXXVII.
WHEN the offer of Mr. Walker's cottage was made known in the family, there was a passive acquiescence in the change on the part of all but Aunt Grace. Her pride was aroused.
"It's very kind in Mr. Willet," she said—"very kind, but scarcely delicate under the circumstances."
"Why not delicate?" inquired Mr. Markland.
"Did they think we were going into that little pigeon-box, just under the shadow of Woodbine Lodge. If we have to come down so low, it will not be in this neighbourhood. There's too much pride in the Markland blood for that!"