"She doesn't want it. But he has worked upon her. He's told her she is bad; some dreadful things I guess he said. I don't believe in that man, Osmond. I never did, first minute I laid eyes on him." "No, grannie, he's not to be believed." "I thought maybe you'd better have the night-time to think it over in. You may want to do something." "Grannie, what can I do?" "I don't know, son. But you're the head of the house." Again he strode away on his impatient march, and grannie waited and prayed a little, and thought how her knees ached and how she hoped God would help him. He was back again. "You know how it is with me?" he said roughly. "Yes, child." "It's a big proposition." "It's the biggest there is, son. I've just been telling her so." "Rose? What has Rose said?" "Not much. Only I had the feeling, when I was with her, that she loved you and didn't hardly know about your loving her. So I came down here." "You did right to come." Grannie drew a long breath. The thing was out of her hands, now, she knew. What his hands would do with it did not yet appear. She rose. "Well, son," she said, "I'll go back. Come with me to the wall. Then I'll manage it alone." He did go with her, helping her in a tender silence, and at the door she kissed him good-night. "What time is breakfast, grannie?" "Eight o'clock." The next morning when they had assembled in the dining-room, grannie, standing with a hand on the back of her chair, waited. Her face had a flush of expectation. Her eyes sought the window. "There!" she said, "he's coming. Peter, I've moved your place. Osmond will sit opposite me." "Osmond!" Peter almost shouted it. "Yes," said grannie, in what seemed pride. "I thought Osmond would be here." Osmond came in, a workman in his blouse, fresh from cold water and the night's stern counseling. Rose, hearing his step, could not, for a minute, look at him, because he had once forbidden it. The commonplace room, with the morning light in it, swam before her. After he had spoken to grannie, he walked up to her and offered his hand. Then their eyes met. Hers were full of tears, and through their blur, even, his face looked stern and beautiful. "I wanted to see you," Osmond said; and she answered, feeling his kindness as from some dim distance,-- "To say good-by?" "No, not to say good-by." Then they sat down, and there was no constraint, but a good deal of talking; and, strangely, it was Osmond who led it. He did not touch upon things of wider interest than his own garden ground, where he was at home. He had pleasant chronicles of the work to give grannie, and MacLeod took a genial interest. Only Peter sat, wide-eyed at the turn things were taking, and Rose grew paler and left her plate untouched. She did not know whether it was joy that moved her, or grief at parting with him. Only the morning seemed like no other morning. When they rose from the table, Osmond turned at once to MacLeod.