Terence had been polishing up
the dial. It winked in the sun, and as I passed I stopped to read the
inscription--
"I count only the golden hours."
There was no stir of Terence about. Usually one heard him singing or
whistling or shouting half a mile away. I saw to my vases. I looked into
the room which Anthony used as a dining-room when he was at home, and
saw the table set, the old damask table-cloth, patched and darned by
Terence himself, warmly white, the silver and glass shining. I smiled as
I noticed that two places had been set. It was as though Terence
anticipated the wonderful days to come.
Anthony's chair was drawn in front of the fire, which had been lately
attended to, for the hearth was clean, and a log of cherry-wood burning
on the coals sent out a delicious fragrance. Presently Terence would
come bustling in to ask, "What news, Miss Bawn?" Sitting in the chair in
front of the warm fire, full of beatific dreams, I somehow fell asleep.
I had been dreaming the most wonderful things, and when I started out of
my sleep I thought I was still dreaming. Anthony was kneeling by me. His
arms were about me.
"I've been watching you for the last half-hour," he said; "and, faith, I
couldn't wait any longer for a kiss.
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