“Mr. Power helped you:  didn’t he?” said Christie, longing to hear more.

“So much!  I never can tell you what he was to me, nor how I thank him.  To him, and to my work I owe the little I have won in the way of strength and comfort after years of effort.  I see now the compensation that comes out of trouble, the lovely possibilities that exist for all of us, and the infinite patience of God, which is to me one of the greatest of His divine attributes.  I have only got so far, but things grow easier as one goes on; and if I keep tugging I may yet be the cheerful, contented man I seem.  That is all, Christie, and a longer story than I meant to tell.”

“Not long enough:  some time you will tell me more perhaps, since you have once begun.  It seems quite natural now, and I am so pleased and honored by your confidence.  But I cannot help wondering what made you do it all at once,” said Christie presently, after they had listened to a whippoorwill, and watched the flight of a downy owl.

“I do not think I quite know myself, unless it was because I have been on my good behavior since you came, and, being a humbug, as I tell you, was forced to unmask in spite of myself.  There are limits to human endurance, and the proudest man longs to unpack his woes before a sympathizing friend now and then.  I have been longing to do this for some time; but I never like to disturb mother’s peace, or take Mr. Power from those who need him more.  So to-day, when you so sweetly offered to help me if you could, it quite went to my heart, and seemed so friendly and comfortable, I could not resist trying it tonight, when you began about my imaginary virtues.  That is the truth, I believe:  now, what shall we do about it?”

“Just go on, and do it again whenever you feel like it.  I know what loneliness is, and how telling worries often cures them.  I meant every word I said this morning, and will prove it by doing any thing in the world I can for you.  Believe this, and let me be your friend.”

They had risen, as a stir within told them the guest was going; and as Christie spoke she was looking up with the moonlight full upon her face.

If there had been any hidden purpose in her mind, any false sentiment, or trace of coquetry in her manner, it would have spoiled that hearty little speech of hers.

But in her heart was nothing but a sincere desire to prove gratitude and offer sympathy; in her manner the gentle frankness of a woman speaking to a brother; and in her face the earnestness of one who felt the value of friendship, and did not ask or give it lightly.

“I will,” was David’s emphatic answer, and then, as if to seal the bargain, he stooped down, and gravely kissed her on the forehead.

Christie was a little startled, but neither offended nor confused; for there was no love in that quiet kiss,—­only respect, affection, and much gratitude; an involuntary demonstration from the lonely man to the true-hearted woman who had dared to come and comfort him.