The Treasure of Heaven Part 43

"Not I!" and he smiled--"I'm very wide awake: I like your story, and I like _you_! Perhaps you'll come in again sometimes and have a chat with us?"

Reay glanced enquiringly at Mary, who had also risen from her chair, and was now lighting the lamp on the table.

"May I?" he asked hesitatingly.

"Why, of course!" And her eyes met his with hospitable frankness--"Come whenever you feel lonely!"

"I often do that!" he said.

"All the better!--then we shall often see you!"--she answered--"And you'll always be welcome!"

"Thank-you! I believe you mean it!"

Mary smiled.

"Why of course I do! I'm not a newspaper syndicate!"

"Nor a Mrs. Mushroom Ketchup!" put in Helmsley.

Angus threw back his head and gave one of his big joyous laughs.

"No! You're a long way off that!" he said--"Good-evening, David!"

And going up to the armchair where Helmsley sat he shook hands with him.

"Good-evening, Mr. Reay!" rejoined Helmsley, cheerily; "I'm very glad we met this afternoon!"

"So am I!" declared Angus, with energy--"I don't feel quite so much of a solitary bear as I did. I'm in a better temper altogether with the world in general!"

"That's right!" said Mary--"Whatever happens to you it's never the fault of the world, remember!--it's only the trying little ways of the people in it!"

She held out her hand in farewell, and he pressed it gently. Then he threw on his cap, and she opened her cottage door for him to pa.s.s out. A soft shower of rain blew full in their faces as they stood on the threshold.

"You'll get wet, I'm afraid!" said Mary.

"Oh, that's nothing!" And he b.u.t.toned his coat across his chest--"What's that lovely scent in the garden here, just close to the door?"

"It's the old sweetbriar bush,"--she replied--"It lasts in leaf till nearly Christmas and always smells so delicious. Shall I give you a bit of it?"

"It's too dark to find it now, surely!" said Angus.

"Oh, no! I can feel it!"

And stretching out her white hand into the raining darkness, she brought it back holding a delicate spray of odorous leaves.

"Isn't it sweet?" she said, as she gave it to him.

"It is indeed!" he placed the little sprig in his b.u.t.tonhole.

"Thank-you! Good-night!"

"Good-night!"

He lifted his hat and smiled into her eyes--then walked quickly through the tiny garden, opened the gate, shut it carefully behind him, and disappeared. Mary listened for a moment to the swish of the falling rain among the leaves, and the noise of the tumbling hill-torrent over its stony bed. Then she closed and barred the door.

"It's going to be a wet night, David!" she said, as she came back towards the fire--"And a bit rough, too, by the sound of the sea."

He did not answer immediately, but watched her attentively as she made up the fire, and cleared the table of the tea things, packing up the cups and plates and saucers in the neat and noiseless manner which was particularly her own, preparatory to carrying them all on a tray out to the little scullery adjoining the kitchen, which with its well polished saucepans, kettles, and crockery was quite a smart feature of her small establishment. Then--

"What do you think of him, Mary?" he asked suddenly.

"Of Mr. Reay?"

"Yes."

She hesitated a moment, looking intently at a small crack in one of the plates she was putting by.

"Well, I don't know, David!--it's rather difficult to say on such a short acquaintance--but he seems to me quite a good fellow."

"Quite a good fellow, yes!" repeated Helmsley, nodding gravely--"That's how he seems to me, too."

"I think,"--went on Mary, slowly--"that he's a thoroughly manly man,--don't you?" He nodded gravely again, and echoed her words----

"A thoroughly manly man!"

"And perhaps," she continued--"it would be pleasant for you, David, to have a chat with him now and then especially in the long winter evenings--wouldn't it?"

She had moved to his side, and now stood looking down upon him with such a wistful sweetness of expression, that he was content to merely watch her, without answering her question.

"Because those long winter evenings are sometimes very dull, you know!"

she went on--"And I'm afraid I'm not very good company when I'm at work mending the lace--I have to take all my st.i.tches so carefully that I dare not talk much lest I make a false knot."

He smiled.

"_You_ make a false knot!" he said--"You couldn't do it, if you tried!

You'll never make a false knot--never!"--and his voice sank to an almost inaudible murmur--"Neither in your lace nor in your life!"

She looked at him a little anxiously.

"Are you tired, David?"

"No, my dear! Not tired--only thinking!"

"Well, you mustn't think too much,"--she said--"Thinking is weary work, sometimes!"

He raised his eyes and looked at her steadily.

"Mr. Reay was very frank and open in telling us all about himself, wasn't he, Mary?"

"Oh yes!" and she laughed--"But I think he is one of those men who couldn't possibly be anything else but frank and open."