Then he threw on his cap, and she opened her cottage door for him to pass out.

A soft shower of rain blew full in their faces as they stood on the threshold.
"You'll get wet, I'm afraid!" said Mary.
"Oh, that's nothing!" And he buttoned his coat across his chest--"What's that lovely scent in the garden here, just close to the door ?" "It's the old sweetbriar bush,"-- she replied--"It lasts in leaf till nearly Christmas and always smells so delicious.

Shall I give you a bit of it ?" "It's too dark to find it now, surely!" said Angus.
"Oh, no! I can feel it!" And stretching out her white hand into the raining darkness, she brought it back holding a delicate spray of odorous leaves.
"Isn't it sweet ?" she said, as she gave it to him.
"It is indeed!" he placed the little sprig in his buttonhole.
"Thank-you! Good-night!" "Good-night!" He lifted his hat and smiled into her eyes--then walked quickly through the tiny garden, opened the gate, shut it carefully behind him, and disappeared.

Mary listened for a moment to the swish of the falling rain among the leaves, and the noise of the tumbling hill-torrent over its stony bed.

Then she closed and barred the door.
"It's going to be a wet night, David!" she said, as she came back towards the fire--"And a bit rough, too, by the sound of the sea." He did not answer immediately, but watched her attentively as she made up the fire, and cleared the table of the tea things, packing up the cups and plates and saucers in the neat and noiseless manner which was particularly her own, preparatory to carrying them all on a tray out to the little scullery adjoining the kitchen, which with its well polished saucepans, kettles, and crockery was quite a smart feature of her small establishment.