We'll be like father and daughter to the end, won't we ?" She put one arm about him coaxingly.

He did not answer.
"You won't go away from me now,--will you, David ?" she urged--"Even when you've paid me back all you owe me as you wish by your own earnings, you won't go away ?" He lifted his head and looked at her as she bent over him.
"You mustn't ask me to promise anything,"-- he said, "I will stay with you--as long as I can!" She withdrew her arm from about him, and stood for a moment irresolute.
"Well--I shall be very miserable if you do go,"-- she said--"And I'm sure no one will take more care of you than I will!" "I'm sure of that, too, Mary!" and a smile that was almost youthful in its tenderness brightened his worn features--"I've never been so well taken care of in all my life before! Mr.Reay thinks I am a very lucky old fellow." "Mr.Reay!" She echoed the name--and then, stooping abruptly towards the fire, began to make it up afresh.

Helmsley watched her intently.
"Don't you like Mr.Reay ?" he asked.
She turned a smiling face round upon him.
"Why, of course I like him!" she answered--"I think everyone in Weircombe likes him." "I wonder if he'll ever marry ?" pursued Helmsley, with a meditative air.
"Ah, I wonder! I hope if he does, he'll find some dear sweet little girl who will really love him and be proud of him! For he's going to be a great man, David!--a great and famous man some day!" "You think so ?" "I'm sure of it!" And she lifted her head proudly, while her blue eyes shone with enthusiastic fervour.

Helmsley made a mental note of her expression, and wondered how he could proceed.
"And you'd like him to marry some 'dear sweet little girl'"-- he went on, reflectively--"I'll tell him that you said so!" She was silent, carefully piling one or two small logs on the fire.
"Dear sweet little girls are generally uncommonly vain of themselves," resumed Helmsley--"And in the strength of their dearness and sweetness they sometimes fail to appreciate love when they get it.

Now Mr.Reay would love very deeply, I should imagine--and I don't think he could bear to be played with or slighted." "But who would play with or slight such love as his ?" asked Mary, with a warm flush on her face--"No woman that knew anything of his heart would wilfully throw it away!" Helmsley stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"That story of his about a girl named Lucy Sorrel,"-- he began.
"Oh, she was wicked--downright wicked!" declared Mary, with some passion--"Any girl who would plan and scheme to marry an old man for his money must be a worthless creature.