He did not question this decision--he knew that it was what he was intended to do--but it was the way that Margaret would take his confession that would make that journey hard or easy.
He did not know--that was the surprising thing--how she would take it.
He knew her so little.

He only knew that he loved her and that she would do, without flinching, the thing that she felt was right.

Oh! but it would be difficult! The house, the laurelled drive, the little road, the distant moor and wood--these things had to-night a gentle air.

Over the moor the setting sun flung a red flame; the woods burned black; the laurels were heavy with snow and a robin hopped down the drive as Olva passed.
He found Margaret in the drawing-room, and here, too, he fancied that there was more light and air than on other days.
When the old woman had left the room he suddenly caught Margaret to him and kissed her as though he would never let her go.

She clung to him with her hands.