Part 59 (1/2)
”Mary! See! Don't you think he knows?”
She stood hesitating, with a lovely wavering colour in her cheeks.
”Don't you remember,” he went on, ”you gave me a bit of sweetbriar on the evening of the first day we ever met?”
”I remember!” and her voice was very soft and tremulous.
”I have that piece of sweetbriar still,” he said; ”I shall never part with it. And old David must have known all about it!”
He took up the little sprays set ready for them, and putting one in his own b.u.t.tonhole, fastened the other in her bodice with a loving, lingering touch.
”It's a good emblem,” he said, kissing her--”Sweet Briar--sweet Love!--not without thorns, which are the safety of the rose!”
A slow step sounded on the garden path, and they saw Helmsley approaching, with the tiny ”Charlie” running at his heels. Pausing on the threshold of the open door, he looked at them with a questioning smile.
”Well, did you see the sunset?” he asked, ”Or only each other?”
Mary ran to him, and impulsively threw her arms about his neck.
”Oh David!” she said. ”Dear old David! I am so happy!”
He was silent,--her gentle embrace almost unmanned him. He stretched out a hand to Angus, who grasped it warmly.
”So it's all right!” he said, in a low voice that trembled a little.
”You've settled it together?”
”Yes--we've settled it, David!” Angus answered cheerily. ”Give us your blessing!”
”You have that--G.o.d knows you have that!”--and as Mary, in her usual kindly way, took his hat and stick from him, keeping her arm through his as he went to his accustomed chair by the fireside, he glanced at her tenderly. ”You have it with all my heart and soul, Mr. Reay!--and as for this dear lady who is to be your wife, all I can say is that you have won a treasure--yes, a treasure of goodness and sweetness and patience, and most heavenly kindness----”
His voice failed him, and the quick tears sprang to Mary's eyes.
”Now, David, please stop!” she said, with a look between affection and remonstrance. ”You are a terrible flatterer! You mustn't spoil me.”
”Nothing will spoil you!” he answered, quietly. ”Nothing could spoil you! All the joy in the world, all the prosperity in the world, could not change your nature, my dear! Mr. Reay knows that as well as I do,--and I'm sure he thanks G.o.d for it! You are all love and gentleness, as a woman should be,--as all women would be if they were wise!”
He paused a moment, and then, raising himself a little more uprightly in his chair, looked at them both earnestly.
”And now that you have made up your minds to share your lives together,”
he went on, ”you must not think that I will be so selfish as to stay on here and be a burden to you both. I should like to see you married, but after that I will go away----”
”You will do nothing of the sort!” said Mary, dropping on her knees beside him and lifting her serene eyes to his face. ”You don't want to make us unhappy, do you? This is your home, as long as it is ours, remember! We would not have you leave us on any account, would we, Angus?”
”Indeed no!” answered Reay, heartily. ”David, what are you talking about? Aren't _you_ the cause of my knowing Mary? Didn't _you_ bring me to this dear little cottage first of all? Don't I owe all my happiness to _you_? And you talk about going away! It's pretty evident you don't know what's good for you! Look here! If I'm good for anything at all, I'm good for hard work--and for that matter I may as well go in for the basket-making trade as well as the book-making profession. We've got Mary to work for, David!--and we'll both work for her--together!”
Helmsley turned upon him a face in which the expression was difficult to define.
”You really mean that?” he said.