The day went on in the simplest, pleasantest fashion. After lunch, Hester opened her piano, and asked Miss Dasomma to sit down and play. A rosy conscious silence pervaded the summer afternoon and the ancient drawing-room, in which the listeners were one here and one there—except Corney and “Mrs. Corney,” as for love of Mark she liked to be called, on a sofa side by side, Saffy on the floor playing with a white kitten. Mr. Raymount sat in a great soft chair with a book in his hand, listening more than reading. His wife lay on a couch, and soon passed into dreams of pleasant sounds. The major stood erect by Miss Dasomma, a little behind her, with his arms folded across his chest, Hester sat on a stool beside her mother and held her sleeping hand, and Christopher sat on a low window-seat where the balmiest of perfumed airs freely entered. He could neither play nor sing—at least anything more than a common psalm-tune to lead the groans of his poor—and understood little of music. But there was in him a whole sea of musical delight.

Following an early dinner, the major stood, raised his glass, and proposed the health of his cousin Hester, and then made a little speech in her honour. But his praise did not make Hester feel awkward, for praise which is the odour of love is genuine and true and therefore does not sicken its hearers.

“And now, cousin Hester,” concluded the major, “you know that I love you like a child of my own. But it is a good thing you are not, for if you were, then you would not be half so good or so beautiful or so wise or so accomplished as you are! Will you honour me by accepting this little gift, which I hope will serve to make this blessed day yet a trifle more pleasant to look back on when I am gone and when Mark has got his old majie back. I hope you will fill this gift with many good deeds of the sort which only you know how to perform.”

With this enigmatic introduction, the major made Hester a low bow and handed her a small piece of white paper, twice folded, and tied with a bit of white ribbon. She took it with a sweetly radiant curiosity.

It was the title deed of the house in Addison Square. She gave a cry of joy, got up, threw her arms around majie’s neck, and kissed him.

“Ah!” said the major, “if I was a young man now, I should not have had that! But I know what she means by it—the collective kiss of all the dirty men and women in her dear slums, glorified into that of an angel of God!”