"Am I presumptuous, child, to think that haply the meditation
in which I found you rapt was for one, unworthy though he be,
who went hence but some few days since?"

The ambiguous question drove every thought from her mind,
filling it to overflowing with the supreme good of his
presence, and the frantic hope that she had read aright the
reason of it.

"Have I conjectured rightly?" he asked, since she kept silence.

"Mayhap you have," she whispered in return, and then,
marvelling at her boldness, blushed. He glanced sharply at her
from narrowing eyes. It was not the answer he had looked to
hear.

As a father might have done he took the slender hand that
rested upon the grass beside him, and she, poor child,
mistaking the promptings of that action, suffered it to lie in
his strong grasp. With averted head she gazed upon the sea
below, until a mist of tears rose up to blot it out. The
breeze seemed full of melody and gladness. God was very good
to her, and sent her in her hour of need this great consolation
- a consolation indeed that must have served to efface whatever
sorrow could have beset her.

"Why then, sweet lady, is my task that I had feared to find all
fraught with difficulty, grown easy indeed."