“The empty future that suddenly grew so bright,” said Lady Mary, dreamily.  “Do you remember how you talked of—­Italy?”

“Where we shall yet spend our honeymoon,” said John.  “But I believe you liked better to hear of my shabby rooms in London which you meant to share.”

“Of course,” she said simply.  “I knew I should bring you so little money.”

“And you thought barristers always lived from hand to mouth, and made no allowance for my having got on in my profession.”

“Ah! what did it matter?”

“I think you will find it makes just a little difference,” John said, smiling.

“Outside circumstances make less difference to women than men suppose,” said Lady Mary.  “They are, oh, so willing to be pampered in luxury; and, oh, so willing to fly to the other extreme, and do without things.”

“Are they really?” said John, rather dryly.

He glanced at the little, soft, white hand he held, and smiled.  It looked so unfitted to help itself.

Lady Mary was resting in her armchair, her delicate face still flushed with emotion.  A transparent purple shade beneath the blue eyes betrayed that she had been weeping; but she was calmed by John’s strong and tranquil presence.  The shady room was cool and fragrant with the scent of heliotrope and mignonette.

The band had reached a level plateau below the terrace garden, and was playing martial airs to encourage stragglers in the procession, and to give the principal inhabitants of Youlestone time to arrive, and to regain their wind after the steep ascent.

Every time a batch of new arrivals recognized Peter’s tall form on the terrace, a fresh burst of cheering rose.

From all sides of the valley, hurrying figures could be seen approaching Barracombe House.

The noise and confusion without seemed to increase the sense of quiet within, and the sounds of the gathering crowd made them feel apart and alone together as they had never felt before.

“So all our dreams are to be shattered,” said John, quietly, “because your prayer has been granted, and Peter has come home?”

“If you could have heard all he said,” she whispered sadly.  “He has come home loving me, trusting me, dependent on me, as he has never been before, since his babyhood.  Don’t you see—­that even if it breaks my heart, I couldn’t fail my boy—­just now?”

There was a pause, and she regarded him anxiously; her hands were clasped tightly together in the effort to still their trembling, her blue eyes looked imploring.

John knew very well that it lay within his powers to make good his claim upon that gentle heart, and enforce his will and her submission to it.  But the strongest natures are those which least incline to tyranny; and he had already seen the results of coercion upon that bright and joyous, but timid nature.  He knew that her love for him was of the fanciful, romantic, high-flown order; and as such, it appealed to every chivalrous instinct within him.  Though his love for her was, perhaps, of a different kind, he desired her happiness and her peace of mind, as strongly as he desired her companionship and the sympathy which was to brighten his lonely life.  He was silent for a moment, considering how he should act.  If love counselled haste, common sense suggested patience.