“Oh no, they don’t mind you at all,” answered Helen, always affectionate, if not always wise.  “Besides, I dare say you yourself were young once, Mr. Roy.”

Evidently Helen had no idea of the plans for her future which were being talked about in St. Andrews.  Had he?  No one could even speculate with such an exceedingly reserved person.  He retired behind his newspaper, and said not a single word.

Nevertheless, there was no cloud in the atmosphere.  Every body was used to Mr. Roy’s silence in company.  And he never troubled any body, not even the children, with either a gloomy look or a harsh word.  He was so comfortable to live with, so unfailingly sweet and kind.

Although there was a strange atmosphere of peace in the cottage that evening, though nobody seemed to do any thing or say very much.  Now and then Mr. Roy read aloud bits out of his endless newspapers—­he had a truly masculine mania for newspapers, and used to draw one after another out of his pockets, as endless as a conjurer’s pocket-handkerchiefs.  And he liked to share their contents with any body that would listen; though I am afraid nobody did listen much to-night except Miss Williams, who sat beside him at her sewing, in order to get the benefit of the same lamp.  And between his readings he often turned and looked at her, her bent head, her smooth soft hair, her busy hands.

Especially after one sentence, out of the “Varieties” of some Fife newspaper.  He had begun to read it, then stopped suddenly, but finished it.  It consisted only of a few words:  "’Young love is passionate, old love is faithful; but the very tenderest thing in all this world is a love revived.’ That is true.”

He said only those three words, in a very low, quiet voice, but Fortune heard.  His look she did not see, but she felt it—­even as a person long kept in darkness might feel a sunbeam strike along the wall, making it seem possible that there might be somewhere in the earth such a thing as day.

About nine P.M. the lovers in the window recess discovered that the haar was all gone, and that it was a most beautiful moonlight night; full moon, the very night they had planned to go in a body to the top of St. Regulus tower.

“I suppose they must,” said Mr. Roy to Miss Williams; adding, “Let the young folks make the most of their youth; it never will come again.”

“No.”

“And you and I must go too.  It will be more comme il faut, as people say.”

So, with a half-regretful look at the cozy fire, Mr. Roy marshaled the lively party, Janetta and David, Helen and the two boys; engaging to get them the key of that silent garden of graves over which St. Regulus tower keeps stately watch.  How beautiful it looked, with the clear sky shining through its open arch, and the brilliant moonlight, bright as day almost, but softer, flooding every alley of that peaceful spot!  It quieted even the noisy party who were bent on climbing the tower, to catch a view, such as is rarely equaled, of the picturesque old city and its beautiful bay.