At ten o'clock the ladies retired. He accompanied them to the hall and lit their candles. Miss Lanyon bade him good-night and disappeared up the staircase. Ella held out her hand. He kept it in his for a moment.
“Won't you stay up with me a little longer?” he asked humbly. The light of the candle played amid the dark gold of her hair and lit up her face, that gleamed very pale in contrast with her high black dress. His eyes, resting upon her, found her stately and sweet. He forgot that only a few days ago he had despised her, classing her with the wanton of an inferior sex. She stood before him something noble, helpful, mysterious. In her calm gaze he read the certainty of a high companionship. He was dismayed by the sudden revelation of his loss.
“Willingly,” she said. “But I am so tired.”
“Just ten minutes,” he pleaded. “I hate to be alone.”
“You?” Surprise was in her tone.
“I have been alone so much,” he replied simply.
She blew out her candle and went back with him into the library. Then she sat down in Matthew's great leathern chair and watched him as he stirred the fire. Much of her bitter resentment against him had died by the old man's death-bed. The common sorrow had brought them once more on to the plane of old relations. The sudden change in his attitude had helped the promptings of her nobler nature, and generously she had given him the dumbly craved sympathy. Besides, the old man's tenderness was too fresh a memory for her to be harsh now to Sylvester.
The fire burst into a blaze. Sylvester drew himself up and stood on the hearth-rug looking at her, and all the hardness had gone from his face. Suddenly he spoke.
“I am a poor creature, Ella. I know it now. You have every right to think ill of me; but try to think as well as you can—for the old man's sake.”
“The last few days have changed so much,” she answered.