I know it isn't brave, but I can't be
brave any longer. I'm too tired--too old--"
I grasped the hand of each of those men who had stood
by me so staunchly in the year that was past. The words
of thanks that I had on my lips ended in dry, helpless
sobs. And because Blackie and Von Gerhard looked so
pathetically concerned and so unhappy in my unhappiness
my sobs changed to hysterical laughter, in which the two
men joined, after one moment's bewildered staring.
So it was that we did not hear the front door slam,
or the sound of footsteps in the hall. Our overstrained
nerves found relief in laughter, so that Peter Orme, a
lean, ominous figure in the doorway looked in upon a
merry scene.
I was the first to see him. And at the sight of the
emaciated figure, with its hollow cheeks and its sunken
eyes all terror and hatred left me, and I felt only a
great pity for this wreck of manhood. Slowly I went up
to him there in the doorway.
"Well, Peter?" I said.
"Well, Dawn old girl," said he "you're looking
wonderfully fit. Grass widowhood seems to agree with
you, eh?"
And I knew then that my dread dream had come true.
Peter advanced into the room with his old easy grace
of manner.
Pages:
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266