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Not a word did he utter, but there was comfort in the holding of his arm. She went with him with the curious hushed sense of one who stands on the threshold of that which is sacred.

CHAPTER XIII

A FARMER’S WIFE

Two eyes, old but yet keen, peered forth into the wintry night, and a grey head nodded approvingly, as Jeff Ironside and his wife came in silence to their home. And then the bedroom blind came down, and Granny Grimshaw sat down cosily by her bit of wood fire to hold a strictly private little service of thanksgiving.

Downstairs into the raftered kitchen two people came, each holding each, both speechless, with a restraint that bound them as by a spell.

By nature the woman spoke first, her voice no more than a whisper. “Sit on the settle, won’t you? I’m going to get your tea.”

His arm fell from her. He sat down heavily, not looking at her. She stepped to the fire and took the empty teapot from the hob, then light-footed to the dresser for the tea.

He did not watch her. For a while he sat staring blindly straight before him. Then slowly he leaned forward, and dropped his head into his hands.

Not till the tea was made did she so much as glance towards him, so intent to all seeming was she upon her task. But when it was done, she looked at him sitting there bowed upon the settle, and very suddenly, very lightly, she came to his side.

“Jeff!” she said.

He neither moved nor spoke.

She laid a shy hand on his shoulder. “Jeff!” Her voice was pleading and rather breathless, as though she would ask him to bear with her. “I want to thank you so much–so very much–for your Christmas gift. See! I’m wearing it.”

She slipped her hand down into his, so that he held it pressed against his cheek. He spoke no word, but against her fingers she felt a quiver.

She bent over him, growing bolder. “Jeff, I–I want you to give me back–my wedding-ring.”

He did not stir or answer.

“Please!” she whispered. “Won’t you?”

And then dumbly, keeping his face hidden, he drew her hand down to his breast-pocket.

“Is it there?” she whispered. “May I take it?”

Her fingers felt for and found what they sought. Her hand came up again, wearing the ring. And then, with a swift, impulsive movement she knelt before him, clasping his two wrists.

“Jeff–Jeff! will you–will you try to forgive me?”

There followed silence, but very strangely no misgiving assailed her. She strove with gentle insistence to draw the shielding hands away.

At first he resisted her, and then very suddenly he yielded. His hands went out to her, his head dropped forward upon her shoulder. A strangled sob shook him.

And Doris knelt up with all her woman’s compassion leaping to his need, and clasped her warm arms about him, holding him to her heart.

That broke him, broke him utterly, so that for a while no words could pass between them. For Doris was crying too, even while she sought to comfort.

But at last, with a valiant effort, she checked her tears. “Jeff–darling, don’t let us be so–so silly,” she murmured, with one quivering hand laid upon his head. “We’ve got all we want–both of us. Let’s forget it all! Let’s begin again!”

He put his arms around her, not lifting his head.

“Can’t we?” she said softly. “I’m ready.”

He spoke at last below his breath. “You couldn’t! You’ll never forget what a brute I’ve been.”

She turned her head quickly and laid her cheek against his forehead. “Shall I tell you just how much I am going to remember?”

He was silent, breathing deeply.

“Just this,” she said. “That you love me–so much–that you can’t do without me, and that you were willing–to give your life–for my happiness. That is what I am going to remember, Jeff, and it will be a very precious memory. And I want to tell you just one little thing before we go any farther. It’s about Hugh. I don’t love him in the way that you and I count love. I did very nearly for a little while. But that is over. I don’t think–I never have quite thought–that he is altogether my sort, or I his. Jeff dear, you believe that?”