"All ban't never well with men an' women. But I'm more fortunate than I deserve to be, and can make myself of use. I've lived a score of years since we met. An I've comed back to find't is a difficult world for those I love best, unfortunately." Thus, in somewhat disjointed fashion, Chris made answer. "Sit a while and speak to me," replied Martin. "The laddie can play about. Look at him marching along with that great branch of king fern over his shoulder!" "'T is an elfin cheel some ways. Wonnerful eyes he've got. They burn me if I look at'em close," said Chris. She regarded Timothy without sentiment and her eyes were bright and hard. "I hope he will turn out well. Will spoke of him the other day. He is very fond of the child. It is singularly like him, too--a sort of little pocket edition of him." "So I've heard others say. Caan't see it at all myself. Look at the eyes of un." "Will believes the boy has got very unusual intelligence and may go far." "May go so far as the workhouse," she answered, with a laugh. Then, observing that her reply pained Martin, Chris snatched up small Tim as he passed by and pressed him to her breast and kissed him. "You like him better than you think, Chris--poor little motherless thing." "Perhaps I do. I wonder if his mother ever looks hungry towards Newtake when she passes by?" "Perhaps others took him and told the mother that he was dead." "She's dead herself more like. Else the thing wouldn't have falled out." There was a pause, then Martin talked of various matters. But he could not fight for long against the desire of his heart and presently plunged, as he had done five years before, into a proposal. "He being gone--poor Clem--do you think--? Have you thought, I mean? Has it made a difference, Chris? 'T is so hard to put it into words without sounding brutal and callous. Only men are selfish when they love." "What do you mean?" she asked. A sudden inspiration prompted his reply. He said nothing for a moment, but with a hand that shook somewhat, drew forth his pocketbook, opened it, fumbled within, and then handed over to Chris the brown ruins of flowers long dead. "You picked them," he said slowly; "you picked them long ago and flung them away from you when you said 'No' to me--said it so kindly in the past. Take them in your hand again." "Dead bluebells," she answered. "Ess, I can call home the time. To think you gathered them up!" She looked at him with something not unlike love in her eyes and fingered the flowers gently. "You'm a gude man, Martin --the husband for a gude lass. Best to find one if you can. Wish I could help'e." "Oh, Chris, there's only one woman in the world for me. Could you--even now? Could you let me stand between you and the world? Could you, Chris? If you only knew what I cannot put into words. I'd try so hard to make you happy." "I knaw, I knaw. But theer's no human life so long as the road to happiness, Martin. And yet--"