And what was going on around him? Just this: two lives, a man's and a woman's, long bound by the frost of circumstance, like the ice-bound river in full view from the manor, were in the process of being warmed through and through, thawed out; the ice obstructing each channel was beginning to move, that the courses of their lives, under the power of love's rays, might, at last, flow unhindered each into the other. So it seemed to me, at least, during those weeks of waiting for the spring. Did I know he loved me? Yes, I knew it; was sure of it; but no word was spoken, for no word was needed then. We understood each other. We were man and woman, not boy and girl. We recognized what each of us was becoming to the other in the daily intimate household ways of life--an enduring test; in the community of our human interests, in the common wealth of our friends, of our books. His best friends were mine; mine were his--all except Delia Beaseley; sometime I intended he should know her. I thought at first that would come about through the farm project; but Mrs. Macleod, Jamie and I had to acknowledge, soon after the Doctor returned, that the development of this plan was at a standstill. Naturally this pleased both mother and son. For them it meant the prospect of a return in the near future to their home in Scotland; finally to England, and London. Jamie confided to me he should cast anchor there for a time, his second book having been accepted by a good publisher in that city. He found opportunity in my presence to ask Doctor Rugvie, just before he left us, about his further plans for the farm scheme, and was told rather brusquely that certain complications had arisen, which must be cleared up before he could proceed to develop them. Not once did he drive over to the farm on his last visit. As for Mr. Ewart, he never mentioned the subject. Jamie was wise enough to refrain from asking questions of him. The Doctor's announcement kept Jamie guessing for weeks, his curiosity being unsatisfied; but as for me--I laughed in my sleeve, for I knew how that "third of December" birthday on my innocent part, had disarranged the good Doctor's philanthropic scheme, for the present at least. I was curious to know how he would proceed to "clear away" those complications. The fear of leaving Lamoral for good was diminishing; I knew that what held me there, held Mr. Ewart also. I rested content in this knowledge. XXIV It was the second week in May when the seigniory farmers began to arrive and closet themselves with Mr. Ewart in the office. The "going" was atrocious, and the appearance at the side door of the clay-clogged cariole, buggy, _calèche_ and farm-cart, bore witness to this fact.