He saw only the spiritual face, over-pale, the slender, young, unformed body, graceful as a half-opened flower in its ill-fitting covering, the slender feet that had a suggestion of race, the toil-worn hands the fingers of which tapered to fine points.
"You have always done too much, child," he said, with sudden, tender compunction.
When he rose to go Mary clung to him as though their parting was to be for years.
"I will come in again to-morrow," he said.

"I shall sleep better to-night for thinking of you in this quiet, restful place.

Get some roses in your cheeks, little girl, before you come back to us." "I wish I were going back now," said Mary piteously.

She looked round the old walls with their climbing fruit trees as though they were the walls of a prison.

"It is awful not to be able to come and go.