“I’m going to find out about the journey back,” was Mr. Leslie’s cautious answer. “We needn’t decide just yet on the time for it—especially as we shouldn’t be able to keep to any schedule. We shall have to return as best we can.”
“Are you going now, Cousin Henry? Which way?” asked Lucy, feeling suddenly very down-hearted at the thought of losing his brave, comforting presence.
“To Amiens to-day; to American Headquarters in this sector some time to-morrow, and back here to-morrow night. The distances are short, and I’ve already booked a ride in a motor-lorry to Amiens. I know you’re in good hands, little girl,” he added, rising from the bench and taking Lucy’s hands in his. “Miss Pearse has promised me to take care of you, and Major Greyson is right on the spot. I won’t be gone longer than to-morrow night.”
“All right—don’t worry about me,” said Lucy, summoning the ghost of a smile as she slipped her arm through his and walked with him to the ruined gateway of the little garden. All around the gate rose-bushes were bursting into leaf and bud as though this spring the stones of the wall were still solidly in place, and the garden paths still swept and tidy. Outside they met Major Greyson crossing the street from the officers’ mess.
“Are you off, Leslie?” he inquired, stopping at the gate. Then with a frank nod of cheerful encouragement at sight of Lucy’s serious face, he added, “We’ll have good news for you when you come back.”
“Keep your eye on this little soldier,” urged Mr. Leslie, trying not to feel anxious at the moment of departure.
“Don’t worry about Captain Lucy—oh, yes,” to Lucy, “that’s what they used to call you!”—was the prompt response. “I’m going to take her in now to see the Colonel. He’s really better, and the guns have slowed down a trifle—perhaps they can hear each other speak.”
“Good-bye, Cousin Henry,” said Lucy, still lingering at the gate. “Bring Mother back with you, that’s all I ask.”
On that day and the next, to Lucy’s unspeakable gratitude, Colonel Gordon continued to improve. Slowly he came back from the shadowy depths of unconsciousness, and hour by hour his powerful frame gained a new victory over his desperate weakness. His heavy, hard breathing grew gradually more natural, and on the morning following Mr. Leslie’s departure, for the first time in many days, the deadly pallor was gone from his thin face, and the lines of pain faded from his forehead as he slept. The artillery fire had slackened on both sides into what seemed comparative quiet. For long hours Lucy had sat beside him, a silent prayer of utter thankfulness in her heart, her only desire that her mother should come and find them together at this happy moment. Again and again she had imagined the meeting. Her mother’s tired and anxious face, worn with a long journey’s dreadful apprehensions, and the swift and joyful relief of the good news awaiting her. “If she would only come to-night,” she thought on the evening Mr. Leslie had promised to return. Fears and doubts on her mother’s account began to trouble her, though Miss Pearse assured her they were needless.
“She may have to endure a hundred tiresome delays on the road, but she will not be in danger,” the kind young nurse persuaded her. “The railroads are out of range of the guns. Just have patience a little longer.” Once more she repeated this as she and Lucy crossed the street that night on their way to bed. Mr. Leslie had not yet come, but it was early to expect him.