t I
shouldn't like to lose you, David--I shouldn't really! Because you've
been so patient and gentle and grateful for the little I have been able
to do for you, that I've got fond of you, David! Yes!--actually fond of
you! What do you say to that?"

"Say to it!" he murmured, pressing the hand he held. "I don't know what
to say to it, Mary!--except--God bless you!"

She was silent a minute--then she went on in a cheerfully rallying
tone--

"So I don't want to know anything about you, you see! Now, as to Mr.
Reay----"

"Ah, yes!" and Helmsley gave her a quick observant glance which she
herself did not notice--"What about Mr. Reay?"

"Well it would be nice if we could cheer him up a little and make him
bear his poor and lonely life more easily. Wouldn't it?"

"Cheer him up a little and make him bear his poor and lonely life more
easily!" repeated Helmsley, slowly, "Yes. And do you think we can do
that, Mary?"

"We can try!" she said, smiling--"At any rate, while he's living in
Wiercombe, we can be friendly to him, and give him a bit of dinner now
and then!"

"So we can!" agreed Helmsley--"Or rather, so _you_ can!"

"_We!_" corrected Mary--"_You're_ helping me to keep house now,
David,--remember that!"

"Why I haven't paid half or a quarter of my debt to you yet!" he
exclaimed.

"But you're paying it off every day,"--she answered; "Don't you fear! I
mean to have every penny out of you that I can!"

She laughed gaily, and taking up the tray upon which she had packed all
the tea-things, carried it out of the kitchen. Helmsley heard her
singing softly to herself in the scullery, as she set to work to wash
the cups and saucers. And bending his old eyes on the fire, he
smiled,--and an indomitable expression of energetic resolve strengthened
every line of his features.

"You mean to have every penny out of me that you can, my dear, do you!"
he said, softly--"And so--if Love can find out the way--you will!"

CHAPTER XVI

The winter now closed in apace,--and though the foliage all about
Weircombe was reluctant to fall, and kept its green, russet and gold
tints well on into December, the high gales which blew in from the sea
played havoc with the trembling leaves at last and brought them to the
ground like the painted fragments of Summer's ruined temple. All the
fishermen's boats were hauled up high and dry, and great stretches of
coarse net like black webs, were spread out on the beach for drying and
m