"It's wonderful!" cried Gilead Beck. "It's the Luck I've given away. It's gone to you, Miss Fleming. But it won't take the form of Ile."
"Then take it back, Mr. Beck," cried Phillis.
"No, young lady. The Luck left me of its own accord. That was shown when the Butterfly fell off the wires. It is yours now, yours; and you will make a better use of it.
"I think," he went on, with his hand upon the golden case,—"I think there's a Luck in the world which I never dreamed of, a better Luck than Ile. Mrs. L'Estrange, you know what sort of Luck I mean?"
"Yes, Mr. Beck, I know," she replied.
Phillis laid her hands on Jack's shoulder, while his arm stole round her waist.
"It is Love. Mr. Beck," said the girl. "Yes; that is the best Luck in all the world, and I am sure of it."
Jack stooped and kissed her. The simplicity and innocence of this maiden went to Gilead Beck's heart. They were a religion to him, an education. In the presence of that guileless heart all earthly thoughts dropped from his soul, and he was, like the girl before him, pure in heart and clean in memory. That is indeed the sweet enchantment of innocence; a bewitchment out of which we need never awake unless we like.
"Take the case and all, Miss Fleming," said Gilead Beck.
But she would not have the splendid case with its thick plate glass and solid gold pillars.