Once more, this time in swift solicitude, she was parting the rents in coat and shirt, and her cool, light fingers were on the burning hot flesh of the welt.
With the true nurse’s deftness she explored the injury, sighing with happy relief on finding it so trivial.
“Tell me about it,” she demanded.
Briefly, he told her; keen shame possessing him as he related, as modestly as possible, his exploit. She had taken his arm again, and as he talked they resumed their sauntering stroll.
When his recital was finished she pressed his arm tightly for an instant in silence. Then—
“Oh, I thank the dear Lord!” she breathed. “He brought you back safe!”
Dad’s other hand closed over hers as it lay on his arm.
“Back to—to you,” he said softly. And for a space they fell silent once more. But their walk waxed slower and his hand did not release hers.
“Emily,” said Dad, at last, speaking with a rush, as one who fears his courage may desert him at any moment, “I guess you know how much I care. It’s—it’s just everything. I can’t put it in any prettier words, because it means so much. Will—will you marry me?”
She looked up at him, her eyes big and dewy.