hear.'

'That's right! The gayer welcome for him. How goes the time?'

'Just twelve, sir. He can't be long, sir.'

'Stir up the fire, and throw another log upon it,' said the Doctor.
'Let him see his welcome blazing out upon the night - good boy! -
as he comes along!'

He saw it - Yes! From the chaise he caught the light, as he turned
the corner by the old church. He knew the room from which it
shone. He saw the wintry branches of the old trees between the
light and him. He knew that one of those trees rustled musically
in the summer time at the window of Marion's chamber.

The tears were in his eyes. His heart throbbed so violently that
he could hardly bear his happiness. How often he had thought of
this time - pictured it under all circumstances - feared that it
might never come - yearned, and wearied for it - far away!

Again the light! Distinct and ruddy; kindled, he knew, to give him
welcome, and to speed him home. He beckoned with his hand, and
waved his hat, and cheered out, loud, as if the light were they,
and they could see and hear him, as he dashed towards them through
the mud and mire, triumphantly.

Stop! He knew the Doctor, and understood what he had done. He
would not let it be a surprise to them. But he could make it one,
yet, by going forward on foot. If the orchard-gate were open, he