"And that is—?"
"Freedom—and Home."
There was a short breath between the words which said much, for Denham was not given to sighing. Then voices outside told of the return of Colonel and Mrs. Baron. Denham stood up, murmured a hasty apology, and left the room.
"Poor fellow!" Jack said aloud.
[CHAPTER XLII]
LUCILLE'S APPEAL
JACK'S uneasiness grew as days went by. Denham was certainly in a condition by no means satisfactory. This last heavy blow, the death of his adored Chief—of the man who had been to him as a guiding star from boyhood—seemed to have shaken his hold on life, and the old courage and energy were gone. Though he struggled on, it was in a listless fashion.
Even the assurance as to Polly's constancy could not arouse him. The lassitude which oppressed him was unconquerable.
"It is so much the worse for her," he said dejectedly to Jack. "If she could forget me, she at least might be happy. She is wasting the best years of her life in this miserable waiting. I may be out here another ten years. I may never go home."
"You don't wish her to forget you, my dear fellow?"