"A man may do lots o' queer things in this world, an' so long as 'is old 'ooman don't find 'im out, it's pretty fair sailin'; but once a parson's wife gets 'er nose on to the parson's fav'rite, then all the fat's bound to be in the fire! An' quite right as it should be! I wouldn't bet on the fav'rite when it come to a neck-an'-neck race atween the two!" He laughed again, and they all talked awhile longer on this unexpected event, which, to such a village as Weircombe, was one of startling importance and excitement, and then, as the afternoon was drawing in and Mary did not reappear, Angus Reay took his departure with Twitt, leaving Helmsley sitting alone in his chair by the fire.

But he did not go without a parting word--a word which was only a whisper.
"You think you are _sure_, David!" he said--"Sure that she loves me! I wish you would make doubly, trebly sure!--for it seems much too good to be true!" Helmsley smiled, but made no answer.
When he was left alone in the little kitchen to which he was now so accustomed, he sat for a space gazing into the red embers of the fire, and thinking deeply.

He had attained what he never thought it would be possible to attain--a love which had been bestowed upon him for himself alone.

He had found what he had judged would be impossible to find--two hearts which, so far as he personally was concerned, were utterly uninfluenced by considerations of self-interest.

Both Mary Deane and Angus Reay looked upon him as a poor, frail old man, entirely defenceless and dependent on the kindness and care of such strangers as sympathised with his condition.